Royal & Ruin (Gifts of the Gods Book 1)

by Josie Gold

  “Oh? Do tell.”

  “You first,” she countered.

  “Not much to tell,” I drawled.

  “Not from what I heard.” Her golden eyes were hard. I waved my hand nonchalantly.

  “The rumors of my many conquests are greatly exaggerated.”

  Her expression said, “oh no, you’re not getting out of this.”

  I huffed out a deep breath and laid down on my stomach. The top of my head grazed her thigh.

  “I’ve kissed many women. A few men,” I winked, “but I’ve only had one lover.”

  “One?” Harken sounded shocked. I turned my head to look at her, smiling dreamily.

  “I’m a romantic.”

  “So,” she swallowed hard, “you loved them?”

  “Her name was Tearlyn. She was from Saidna. Her father was an ambassador. We spent a summer together.”

  An ache filled my chest, remembering the way Tearlyn’s white hair contrasted sharply with my dark skin as we lay in bed together.

  “Why did it end?” Harken asked, her voice was suddenly hushed and distant.

  I shrugged, “She went back to Saidna. Last I heard, she married well.”

  “But if you loved her, why didn’t you ask her to stay? To marry her?”

  There was talk of it. It was considered a good match. But the idea of someone so strong and intelligent being the wife of the Useless Prince, of being shackled to someone like me…

  “It just didn’t happen,” I lied.

  She had asked to stay. I told her to go.

  Silence, heavy and filled with questions, came over us.

  “Now you,” I reminded her. Harken’s hand gripped the blanket on her bed hard.

  “I've been kissed a few times. Men and women. But none kept my interest for long.”

  “You’ve never been in love,” it wasn’t a question, but she nodded anyway.

  “There was one person,” she hesitated, “I thought maybe with her I could… but we were very young. How could I have known if it was love?” She laughed bitterly.

  I didn’t press her for more.

  Later, after arguing about what seductive tactics were the best (“I’m not going to just grab his buttocks” “It would work on me” “But you’re a pig”), we dozed off. Our legs were tangled together and I could feel her breathing softly against my hair—

  Screaming rent the air.

  Instantly, we were both out of the bed and running toward the sound of the screams.

  HARKEN

  No. I can’t see another dried out body—

  But this scream was different. The other times, it was as if the Library had been screaming. This time, the screaming was human. Terrified, but human.

  We careened through the Library, following the screams.

  “This way,” Fennion panted, grabbing my hand.

  We skidded to a halt at the end of one of the rows. In the low mage-light, it was difficult to see what was happening. But what I could see had my magic leaping out of my skin.

  A Librarian was on the ground, screaming and fighting desperately. Crouched over the Librarian was a cloaked figure.

  “No!” I yelled, raising my palms. Magic shrieked out of me. Glacial, roaring wind, as strong as a hurricane, erupted from my palms and straight for the cloaked figure.

  The cloaked figure was thrown back and away from the Librarian. I kept my palms raised. I was vaguely aware I was screaming. The cloaked figure tried to rise, but Fennion drew a dagger from his jacket and was stalking toward them. I directed my wind so it wouldn’t touch him.

  The cloaked figure scrambled to their feet and took off running. Fennion bellowed and made chase. Wind kept blasting out of me, the magic inside me was giddy.

  “Stop,” I told it, but it continued to roll out of me. I tried closing my palms but it didn’t work. The Librarian was pinned to the floor, unable to move or else they would be hit by my wind.

  “Stop, please,” I begged my magic. But it continued to howl and shriek. I felt myself getting sucked into a dark and hollow place, the magic taking more from me than I could give.

  And then, a gentle hand landed on my shoulder. Torra. He spoke in my ear.

  “Don’t fight it,” he said, “convince it.”

  I closed my eyes and whispered to that bellowing thing inside me.

  Stop.

  My magic paused.

  They’re safe now.

  For a moment, my magic continued to rage out of me. But then slowly, the wind died. I felt my magic retreat back into my ribcage and curl up like a cat.

  Fennion and I sat together on one of the couches in the Library. The Library conjured blankets and tea for us.

  “The Librarian didn’t see who attacked them,” Fennion said finally, “but they were trying to take them somewhere.”

  I hummed, questions raking across my skull.

  “You saved them,” Fennion breathed. I turned and found his eyes on my face.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I begged him. He looked puzzled.

  “Like… like I’m something wondrous and good,” my voice was hoarse and miserable.

  His brow furrowed further.

  “Harken, how can you not know?” He took my hand. His skin was warm against my chilled hands.

  “You’re radiant,” he said reverently. I tried to pull my hand away, but he didn’t let me.

  “Have you seen yourself recently?” he asked. “You’re more lovely than ever. Your skin is glowing and your eyes are so bright.”

  He was right. Since I had started using magic more often, my skin had become a healthy peachy shade, and my eyes were more vibrant. And that frightened me.

  “I want you to learn how to use your magic properly,” Fennion said in a princely tone that made my jaw clench.

  I pulled away from him and stood, but he caught my arm and backed me into a bookshelf. That time in the Forbidden Section flashed in my mind.

  “If you master your magic, you can defend yourself and others,” Fennion said, his tone serious.

  “Get off me,” I said. He moved closer, his mouth inches from mine.

  “Make me,” he challenged.

  “My magic is depleted—”

  “If you took your lessons seriously, you’d learn how to siphon it properly.”

  His grin was cocky, but his eyes were earnest. His nose brushed against mine. His hands were beside my head, caging me in. But I didn’t feel scared. Not of him.

  What frightened me was how much I wanted to close the small gap between us. He must have seen something in my face because his head ducked. The russet tunic I was wearing showed off my clavicles and so his lips were against my bare skin. He traced the bones there.

  “Make me stop,” he said huskily. One of his hands lifted and tucked itself into my hair. It was in a chignon, but he snarled his hand inside, pulling a bit at my scalp. I gasped.

  “Make me stop,” he repeated. His tongue darted out to lick my neck—

  My magic perked up and dragged itself out reluctantly. I managed to manifest a weak gust of wind. It burst out between us, pushing Fennion away.

  He stumbled back, smirking triumphantly, but his eyes were heated.

  “Will you take your lessons more seriously?” he panted out. I was panting embarrassingly heavy as well.

  With a demure lift of my chin, I agreed. At least until we caught the killer.

  9

  HARKEN

  “You’ve improved greatly,” Torra commented from his desk. I was on the ground, wheezing. My magic stretched and purred in my chest. In the last two weeks, Torra had taught me how to better control my wind power. I no longer completely burned myself out while using them.

  “It’s not about control,” he had explained, “it’s about submission. Magic wants to be used. Give in to it, and it will give in to you.”

  It was difficult to submit when all my life I’ve kept my magic locked inside me.

  “But, you’re blocked,” Torra said. I wiped
at the hair sticking to my wet forehead.

  “What does that mean?”

  “There’s something inside you that is keeping you from your true potential,” he gestured at his forehead vaguely, “some call it trauma. Heartbreak, even.”

  —the fire spread to her hair—

  I stood up shakily.

  “Thank you,” I said to Torra, turning to head for the door.

  “You could be a great mage,” Torra called after me.

  “I don’t care,” I replied, but I was no longer sure that was the truth.

  The night of the Harvest Masque had arrived, and Fennion insisted that I get ready in the palace with a team of servants.

  I used to have servants when I lived in the Politician’s Square, but none of them attended me personally. I was not used to being fussed over by so many people. Fennion was loaning me the room next to his. It was gorgeous, with burgundy walls and soft leather furniture.

  The servant had me bathed and then insisted they do my hair. I wouldn’t let them. After some arguing, they relented and started applying my makeup. Fennion had a dress commissioned for me, but had refused to tell me what it looked like.

  One of the servants applied gold to my eyelids and then dusted green glitter over every inch of my exposed skin. When they painted my lips oil slick black, I raised a curious eyebrow but didn’t argue. When they were done, I tilted my head back and forth, studying my face. I looked like a beguiling, dangerous creature from one of the books I read to the children.

  Fennion still hadn’t arrived with my dress, but I needed to figure out what to do with my hair. So I shooed the servants away and then started to pull my red-gold hair out of its braid.

  The moment I freed it, my hair started to move of its own accord. As if my hair had little care for the rules of gravity. It lifted and floated around my head gently as if the wind was always playing with it.

  “So that’s why it’s always up,” Fennion said huskily from behind me. I swiveled around and found him leaning against the doorway, a garment bag in his hand.

  I opened my mouth to demand he leave, but the look on his face had me snapping my mouth shut. He stared intently at my floating hair, his mouth slightly agape. He took a few steps toward me. His fingers twitched like he was dying to grab something. Heat spread up my spine.

  “Has it always done that?” he asked. I turned back to the mirror and grabbed my brush.

  “Since my magic emerged,” I replied. I pulled the brush through my hair as Fennion came to stand behind me. He met my eyes in the mirror.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered.

  I saw him lift a hand, hesitate, then slowly reach for a tendril of my hair. I held my breath. He played with my hair in his hands. Part of me wanted him to stop. But another wanted him to sink his fingers deeper into my hair.

  He met my eyes again, curling a tendril around his finger.

  “I think you should wear it down more often,” he said, his voice was a silken rumble. I blinked hard, then snatched my hair back from him.

  “Get out,” I said, “I need to finish getting ready.”

  Fennion lingered for a moment longer, then grinned mischievously. He laid the garment bag on the couch behind me and then bowed mockingly.

  “Kylarn won’t stand a chance,” Fennion winked before closing the door behind him. I waited a moment, then nearly sprinted to the garment bag. I unzipped it and my jaw dropped. Gods. I hated how well he knew me. The dress was gorgeous. Exactly what I would have picked for myself.

  I pulled it on carefully, worried the delicate fabric might rip. Then I stood in front of the mirror and gaped at myself.

  The dress was nude-colored and shimmered subtly. It was overlaid with embroidered green and gold leaves. The sleeves were long and ended in points that were attached to my middle fingers. A sheer, leaf-green cape that glowed with gold accents attached to my shoulders and trailed gracefully behind me. To complete the look was a simple gold mask with green vines streaked through it.

  Between my floating hair, black lips, and gown, I looked like an ancient wood nymph. Wild and powerful. I smiled at myself in the mirror, letting my canines show. Fennion had given me the perfect armor for tonight.

  In the end, I put my hair in a simple crown atop my head to emphasize my sharp cheekbones. To finish the look, I attached a headpiece of delicate golden antlers to my hair. The headpiece’s band was translucent, so the antlers really did look like they sprouted naturally from my forehead.

  The masquerade had already begun, but Fennion and I agreed I should arrive late for a bigger entrance.

  I descended the spiral stairs into the ballroom, enjoying the way my cape rustled behind me. Below me, the grand ballroom was alive with colors and fantastic creatures. The chandelier glimmered in the mage-lights. Delicacies and sparkling wine overflowed on the tables. The room smelled like jasmine and excitement. Everything was golden and hazy, the room filled with a delicate fog that made the whole scene look like a dream. I saw lions and centaurs, queens and fairies.

  I spotted my sister, Ivelle, standing out in the crowd in a white peacock dress. Her bodice was tight, emphasizing the heaving swell of her breasts, and her skirt was made of feathers. Every time she moved, a trail of loose feathers followed her. She met my eyes from behind her mask. Her eyes widened as she took in my dress. I smirked at her as I joined the crowd, but she just smiled at me like she was overjoyed to see me.

  I walked among the other guests, head lifted regally, cool and distant. Men and women tried to stop me, to talk or dance with me, but I pretended not to see them.

  Finally, I spotted Kylarn. He was flirting with a handsome young lord. He was dressed like fire itself, his shirt was gauzy and billowed like a real flame. Feeling eyes on him, Kylarn looked up and caught my stare. I refused to look away, a challenging smirk on my lips. His eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth lifted wolfishly. Then I turned away in a swirl of fabric, confident that he would follow.

  An arm caught mine.

  “Harken?”

  My spine stiffened. I looked down into the eyes of my mother. She stared at me, shocked but thrilled.

  Briarnee Kenza was not a beautiful woman, but she was seductive. She was short and generously curved, with brassy hair and plump lips. Like my sister and I, she had a mole, but hers sat alluringly on the corner of her lip. More than once I had seen her use her snake-like charm to get her way. Mother was born for politics. She was ruthless, intelligent, and rarely compromised. She represented the merchants of Royal City and was responsible for many of the village taxes. She was not well-loved, but she was respected.

  Tonight, she wore a tight royal blue dress and a scaly mask. A siren, I guessed.

  “What are you doing here?” Mother asked, before turning her head slightly, “Dear, look who it is.”

  Behind her, my father Renson Kenza was speaking to another man. Although dressed as a pirate, you could never mistake my father for anything but an artist. He was tall and bald with bushy ginger eyebrows, and his hands were always covered in paint. He represented the artists in Kartheya. Although he was stoic with people, he was passionate about art.

  Father’s brown eyes widened at the sight of me.

  “Daughter,” he greeted me, awkwardly kissing my cheek.

  “What a relief it must be, to be out of that dreadful building,” Mother said. Before I could say a word, she went on.

  “You look so pretty. Why couldn’t you have looked like this for the balls I sent you to?” she pouted, “Have you seen your sister? She’s received three more proposals since we last saw you—”

  “Aren’t you going to ask how I am?” I blurted. Mother blinked.

  “Of course, dear.”

  I could feel myself slipping back into my old role—the stubborn, sullen middle sibling—the one that wasn’t good at anything.

  “Has your magic improved?” Father asked politely. Father meant well and I think he did love me, but he didn’t always know how to show it
.

  “Yes,” I replied. Mother’s golden eyes, exactly like my own, narrowed.

  “Show me,” she demanded. I told myself I no longer needed her approval. And yet, I opened my palm and conjured a swirl of wind. I sent it up to the ceiling. It caused the chandelier to sway dangerously.

  Mother watched the wind covetously, eyes lit with interest.

  “You could be tested again,” she said excitedly.

  “No, I don’t want that,” my voice was high-pitched and child-like, but she didn’t appear to hear me.

  “You could join the Council of Mages. Maybe you’ll finally have a place—”

  “What, in our society?” I interrupted sharply. “In this family?”

  Mother stepped back, her wide smile drooped a bit.

  “Control your temper, dear. It isn’t attractive,” she tutted. Father winced.

  My magic swirled in my chest and right before I gave in to it, I felt someone come up behind me.

  “Harken, love. Dance with me?” Fennion asked, his breath was warm against my ear. For once, I was so grateful for his presence that I nearly sagged against him.

  “Excuse me,” I said to my parents coldly. As Fennion led me away to the dance floor, I looked over my shoulder. Mother was watching us with a calculating expression.

  “She’s going to try to make a match for us,” I grumbled. The band started up a dark, romantic song.

  “The horror,” Fennion teased. He put one hand on my waist and held my other hand aloft in his. Then we were swirling around the room to the music. I knew this dance by heart and allowed myself to get lost in the movements.

  “That’s the second time you’ve saved me from a family member,” I half-joked.

  “Well, after what you did to my family member, I thought I owed you,” Fennion was smiling, but his green eyes were scanning the room.

  I looked over my shoulder and saw Highlar drinking with Princess Karsea and the Queen. The Queen wore a shimmering gown of gold crystals that were so bright it made my eyes hurt. In her hair, she wore a headpiece of sunbeams. The sun itself. No doubt Karsea, in her matching dress of silver crystals, was the moon.