Royal & Ruin (Gifts of the Gods Book 1)

by Josie Gold

  Fennion’s face broke into a grin, but it was easier now to see that very few of his smiles reached his eyes.

  “I have an idea,” Fennion said, “if you’re up for it.”

  His green eyes dared me and I couldn’t help myself.

  I shouldn’t have said yes.

  “This is silly,” I complained.

  “The Library came to my aid. And yours,” Fennion said, his eyes closed and his hand outstretched.

  “So?”

  “So,” he said impatiently, “it likes us. It wants us to figure out who the murderer is. So let’s ask it for help.”

  “The Library hates me,” I retorted. Fennion opened his eyes to give me a flat look.

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “It greatly dislikes me then. I’ve been sabotaging it for months.”

  Fennion looked at me thoughtfully, then snapped his fingers.

  “Apologize,” he said like it was the simplest thing in the world.

  “I’m not going to apologize to a building,” I deadpanned.

  “You are if you want to be paid,” Fennion grinned. The blood had stopped flowing from his head and he insisted he was fine. But I was keeping a close eye on him anyway.

  “Fine,” I rolled my eyes, lifting my chin as I thought about my next words.

  “Library,” I began, voice cordial, “I apologize for my past actions.”

  “And...”

  I sighed.

  “I will try harder to be a good Librarian. So, can you please help us find more information on the Gloves?”

  I waited a moment. Another. I whirled on Fennion.

  “See, this is stupid—”

  And then I felt a warm feeling against my back. Like someone was urging me to go somewhere with them. By the look on Fennion’s face, he felt it too.

  FENNION

  We followed the Library to the stairs of the Forbidden Section.

  “No,” Harken said. But she took an involuntary step forward. And we both plunged into the cold, unnatural darkness.

  “I was meaning to ask Torra for permission to come down here,” I laughed nervously as we took the stairs slowly.

  “What stopped you?”

  I couldn’t meet her eyes.

  We fell silent again, allowing that warm, feminine feeling to lead us where we needed to go.

  The Forbidden Section looked relatively normal. Like what an ordinary library may look like. All shelves and desks and dust, just darker. The shadows were so deep they seemed to swirl around us. But it felt wrong. Like something caged and malevolent was watching us.

  We walked through the rows side by side, arms nearly touching. We came across a steel door with ancient writings carved into it. I reached out to touch it, but Harken yanked me back. Her eyes were wild and fearful.

  “Don’t,” she said as she pulled me away.

  I obeyed, but couldn’t stop thinking about the door. My fingers twitched as if imagining pushing it open. I shook my head hard and thought hard about the kind of book I wanted to find. The Gloves, I chanted inside my mind.

  A book suddenly fell off the shelf right in front of us. I yelped, but Harken was more composed and merely jumped. I cautiously picked it up.

  “‘Destruction’s Kin,’” I read out loud.

  “That sounds promising,” Harken remarked. I was pocketing it when we saw mage-lights filling our peripheries.

  Someone else was down here.

  I grabbed Harken and yanked her into a corner.

  “Hello?” Torra called from the other end of the Forbidden Section.

  I flattened Harken against the wall, chest pressing against hers. I heard her inhale sharply. She pushed against my chest.

  “What—”

  “If he catches us, he might not let us keep the book,” I murmured in her ear.

  I doubted the punishment would be severe if he caught us, or that Harken would even care. But I didn’t want to risk losing the book or incurring Torra’s wrath. Or worse, his disappointment.

  Surprisingly, Harken must have felt the same way. She stopped pushing at me and I felt her nod, her nose brushing my throat.

  We both went quiet, listening as Torra searched the stacks. In the dark and silence, I was hyper-aware of Harken’s warm body so close to mine. I noticed she was trembling.

  “Shh. I’ve got you,” I said low, putting my hands on her waist gently.

  This close, I could feel her hair against my face. Soft and citrus scented. She was breathing hard against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. The shine of Torra’s mage-light came closer. I gently pushed her harder against the wall so that we were even more well hidden. I perched my chin on her head. Now there was zero space between our bodies.

  Heat bloomed across my stomach. She was so close. So warm, and soft, and she smelled so good. As Torra continued to search the stacks, I couldn’t help but nuzzle my nose against her hair. I breathed in deeply. She gasped, her lips brushing the skin of my neck. I suppressed a groan.

  But then her hands touched my chest. Gentle and searching. Encouraging.

  My head ducked and I buried my face in her neck. She groaned, quiet and desperate. She clutched at my back. I brushed my lips against her neck. Not quite a kiss, but the promise of one. Harken mewled quietly.

  “Quiet, love,” I whispered against her skin. Torra seemed to have given up and was making his way back to the stairs. Harken didn’t notice. She pulled me closer, her hips digging into mine.

  Gods and Hells.

  I gave in and ran slow, lingering kisses down her neck. Harken’s hands wandered across my chest and up my spine, nails raking me gently.

  Torra’s light disappeared.

  I lifted my head, my face inches from Harken’s. Her eyes were dark and half-closed, her cheeks red. She parted her lips and my eyes fell to them. Her upper lip was slightly fuller than her bottom lip and I had an urge to bite it.

  I felt myself leaning in, my hands gently skirting up her waist, relishing her warmth.

  Right before my lips met hers, Harken’s eyes went wide and she pushed me away. I stumbled, an apology already on my lips.

  But Harken was already walking away, her expression prim and proper.

  I leaned against the wall heavily.

  Fuck.

  HARKEN

  As I practically ran out of the Forbidden Section, I could still feel Fennion’s soft, hot mouth on my skin.

  Shit.

  8

  HARKEN

  We both silently agreed to never speak about the incident in the Forbidden Section.

  I had already rationalized it. The proximity, the adrenaline. Any flesh and blood woman would have been caught up in it. But it didn’t mean anything. But, as we read Destruction’s Kin together in my room, I could feel Fennion’s eyes on me. The skin of my neck prickled, remembering how his lips felt against—

  No. We’re here for research.

  I leaned in closer to read over his shoulder, ignoring the scent of his hair, or the way he tensed.

  “Here,” I pointed to the page. The page depicted a humanoid creature with milky white skin, black veins, and elongated limbs.

  “‘Swamplings,”’ I read out loud, “‘were Destruction’s most loyal creations. Although driven by a hunger for...’” I paused, voice shaking a bit, “‘misery, they were at Destruction’s beck and call.”’

  “They are said to live in the Forest of Fell,” he said, grimacing.

  I read further, nodding.

  “In the Sinking Swamps.”

  We stared at the picture a bit longer, then made eye contact, wincing.

  “Fuck,” Fennion groaned, collapsing back on my bed.

  These creatures may know how to find the Gloves. Which meant we had to seek them out.

  Fennion and I wandered the streets of the Royal City, enjoying the brisk Autumn air. The wind brushed through us, teasing my hair, and I told myself that I didn’t enjoy the feeling.

  Fennion had said fresh air wo
uld do us good. I agreed easily. He bought me a drink, a tart tea, while he bought himself something ridiculously chocolatey and decadent. I looked at him sideways as he licked the foam from his lips. He caught my stare and winked.

  “You have the palate of a small child,” I remarked. He grabbed my drink and took a sip. His face screwed up in disgust.

  “Ugh. You have the palate of an old lady.”

  “It’s called having a refined taste,” I sniffed, taking my drink back. He scoffed, but he was smiling at me. He seemed… lighter since finding the book. Since I defended him against Highlar.

  I was worried he would be angry at me for stepping in. That he might have felt emasculated. But if anything, he was more friendly to me than ever. Reverent, even. It made me uncomfortable.

  “The way I see it,” I said, pulling him over to a bench in the park, “there’s no reason why the swamplings would speak to us.”

  “They’ll just eat us,” Fennion said solemnly.

  “Well, feed on our misery.”

  “Whatever that means.”

  “So, we need to give them a reason to speak to us,” I finished. Fennion’s expression turned thoughtful.

  “We need to bargain with them. Like a faerie from a story.”

  “Exactly,” I agreed.

  We lapsed into silence, easier and warmer than it had been before. I told myself not to get used to it. But lately, being around Fennion felt less like a chore. He was still irritating though.

  “What could a swampling possibly want?” I wondered.

  “Another meal?” Fennion suggested, only half-joking.

  Fennion and I took the long way back to the Library. He guided us down a street lined with tiny rust-red houses. I watched as he approached a group of commoner children, some of whom I recognized from my lessons.

  My brow shot up as he kneeled in front of them and offered them candies and coins. They warily took the offerings. One of them said something that made Fennion throw back his head and guffaw.

  Later, when he walked me back to the Library, we didn’t discuss his kindness. But I spent the rest of the night with the sound of his laugh in my mind.

  FENNION

  Ever since that day in the Library, Highlar had ignored me. It was just a different kind of cruelty. Instead of bruises and harsh words, he simply acted as though I wasn’t there. Like I wasn’t worthy of a thought, glance, or word.

  I wanted to shout at him, to make him finally explain what I did to make him hate me. But instead, I just smiled at him whenever he passed. I pretended, as always, to have little care.

  It was a relief, though, to not have to constantly look over my shoulder. I could feel the tension leaving my body. Even Mrs. Clemena seemed to notice the change in my mood.

  “Do you have a special friend, laddie?” she asked me one night while tidying my room.

  I snorted, momentarily distracted from my notes on swamplings.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You always got a dopey smile on your face,” Mrs. Clemena said cheekily.

  Unbidden, Harken’s face flashed across my mind. Her golden eyes, her haughty lips. The devastating calm on her face when she used her magic on Highlar.

  “You’re the love of my life,” I told Mrs. Clemena, giving her a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

  Karsea was holding a town hall meeting that night. This gave people of all castes an opportunity to air their grievances. My mother attended these, as did Highlar, but Karsea had run them for years.

  It was during these town halls that Karsea seemed the most queenly. When her “soft-heart” was an asset.

  I didn’t attend these meetings often, but I was hoping to gain some inspiration from hearing what other people needed and wanted.

  I sat at the long table, at the very end. Queen Cheyla had reluctantly given me a seat at the table after I had given her my best “pretty please” face. She sat on Karsea’s right while Highlar sat on her right.

  One by one, the citizens of Kartheya stood before Princess Karsea and asked for favors, complained, and argued. And throughout, no matter how outrageous the request was, Karsea’s face was serene and her voice was steady.

  One village woman accused Karsea of hiding behind her “kindness” but not being willing to help the poor and those in need. It was the only time I saw something fierce and dark slide into Karsea’s eyes. But it vanished quickly and she spoke softly to the distraught village woman.

  The town hall eventually winded down. There was only one citizen left to see Karsea. The guard opened the door and the most handsome man I had ever seen waltzed into the room.

  “Your majesty,” Kylarn Vachta purred. His voice was deep and silken. More than one lord and lady at the table blushed. Hells, I was blushing. Even Karsea’s tranquil expression grew warmer.

  Kylarn Vachta was the Royal Smith. Smithing, or forging, was the rarest magic in Kartheya. He could imbue objects with magic. He could create daggers that never missed, necklaces that made the wearer unearthly lovely. He was born in a far-off village, but once his abilities manifested, the Royal City became his home and he was faithful to the crown.

  “I have no complaint, no wish, and no quarrel. All I wish to do is give you a gift,” Kylarn vowed, his honey-colored eyes never straying from Karsea’s face.

  If my reputation was that of a partier, Kylarn’s was of an absolute rake. We ran in similar circles, so he could often be seen at my revels charming some new lord or lady. But he was so gallant and kind to his lovers that there was never any animosity when he moved on.

  He was a beloved rascal, with his curly tawny hair, thick beard, and tattooed amber skin. More than once, he had offered to warm my bed. And Gods, I was tempted.

  “I present, to my most beloved Princess, a key,” Kylarn bowed deeply and pulled an ordinary-looking copper key from his pocket.

  “What could this key possibly open?” Karsea pondered.

  “Anything you desire,” Kylarn’s voice was warm with innuendo. Kylarn and Karsea continued to banter back and forth, but my mind was buzzing too loudly to pay attention.

  He could make a key that could open anything you desired.

  What else can he create?

  The next morning, I excitedly entered the Library, eager to tell Harken of my new plan.

  The Library was covered in golden sand and sloping dunes. Although I didn’t know where Harken was, I picked a direction and started to walk, following my instincts. In no time I found her. She was clearly on a shift and it appeared that for once she was shelving the books properly. I paused, watching her for a moment longer.

  “...if you promised to behave yourself, and they promised to behave themselves, children could come in,” she was saying.

  I felt a fond smile steal across my face.

  She was speaking to the Library—without any condescension or reluctance. And based on the swirling of the sand, the Library was listening.

  “They are very good listeners,” she continued, “and it’s so important to nurture a love for reading at that age.”

  She would have said more, but she looked up and saw me watching. A blush spread across her cheeks. In fact, her skin was looking less sallow these days. And the shadows under her eyes were nearly gone.

  “Apologies,” I said to her, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

  “Liar,” she said, but it lacked any true sharpness.

  “I have an idea,” I said, unable to help my grin.

  HARKEN

  Fennion’s plan was… good.

  I had never met Kylarn the Smith before, but his reputation as a charming rake preceded him.

  “How are we going to convince him to make something for us?” I asked. Fennion’s grin, already absurdly wide, became even wider.

  “You.”

  “Me?” I repeated warily.

  “You’re going to seduce him.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud. The sound was harsh and wispy as if my lungs weren’t used to making the
sound. But Fennion watched my face, rapt.

  “There is nothing seductive about me,” I insisted. Fennion’s eyes became dark as they slid down my neck. As if remembering that day in the Forbidden Section.

  “I beg to differ,” he said it low, his voice rumbling and dark. I tried to swallow but my throat felt thick. I cleared it, looking away from his hot gaze.

  “I’m not my sister,” I said, “I can’t simper and smile to get my way.”

  “Then don’t,” Fennion said simply, “be your usual terrifying self. Kylarn will see it as a challenge.”

  “It won’t work,” I swore. But Fennion’s eyes were bright and sure.

  “It will. And I have the perfect setting for it. The Harvest Masque.”

  I could see it, suddenly. Masked women and men, whirling together in a sea of colors and costumes. Kylarn dancing with me. Whispering in his ear. Fennion there, watching with jealousy—

  I shook my head, banishing the image.

  “It won’t work,” I repeated.

  “Do you have a better idea?” Fennion challenged.

  FENNION

  That night, we stayed up late together, discussing tactics for Harken to seduce Kylarn. Harken underestimated herself. Having been raised by politicians, she was naturally crafty. She just needed more confidence in herself.

  We were in her room again. I sat on her bed, leaning against the headrest. She sat at the end of her bed, back straight and face frowning.

  “What do you usually do when you want someone to kiss you?” I pressed. Harken refused to look at me. A mischievous grin played on my lips.

  “No, Harken, love. Don’t tell me you’ve never been kissed?”

  “I’ve been kissed plenty of times,” she said sharply, eyes flashing. I sat up and draped my arms over my raised knees.