Royal & Ruin (Gifts of the Gods Book 1)

by Josie Gold

  I ate the rabbit but I couldn’t taste it.

  I shouldn’t have brought it up.

  The cry of a distant animal had us both tensing up.

  “Probably an ice-cat,” Fennion remarked, “or maybe a draugr. But they won’t come closer because of Fluffy.”

  I wanted to tell him that I felt relieved, but I stayed silent instead.

  Fluffy curled up outside of the tent, protecting us. When Fennion wasn’t looking, I kissed Fluffy on his snout.

  “Watch for monsters,” I said to the dragon. Fluffy inclined his head, then turned his large eyes to the trees to keep watch.

  We only brought one tent so that we could pack light. We rolled out our sleeping mats and blankets. We laid down, inches from each other. I stared up at the ceiling of the tent, wide awake. Outside, the tree branches groaned, and night-creatures clambered and called to one another.

  “I shouldn’t have brought it up,” I whispered. I heard Fennion roll toward me, but didn’t meet his eyes.

  “Why did you?”

  Because I couldn’t stop thinking about the third prince that was taught he wasn’t enough. Because I had called him the Useless Prince plenty of times. Because I was no better than Highlar.

  “Karsea doesn’t know either,” Fennion said suddenly. I still couldn’t look at him.

  “She loves me. So does the Queen.”

  “Of course Karsea does,” I said scornfully, “you’ve heard what they call her. Soft-heart.”

  “Don’t call her that—”

  “But just because her heart is soft, and the Queen is strong, doesn’t mean they loved you properly.”

  I don’t know where the words came from. But I kept going.

  “My mother and father love me,” I murmured, “but their love always felt conditional.”

  I stopped, unsure if I could continue. Fennion stayed quiet. But I could feel his eyes on me. I cleared my throat, fighting against the tight feeling.

  “I wasn’t like my siblings. They had skills and roles to play,” I laughed a little, the sound hollow and dark, “all my life, my parents have been desperate to find a place for me in the world. One that would give them more power and influence.”

  I could hear the arguments of the past.

  You lack ambition. You don’t even try. Why can’t you be like your siblings?

  “How did they feel about your magic?” Fennion asked faintly. I turned on my side to look at him. Our faces were so close. Breathing the same air.

  “At first, they were delighted. Finally, I could be of some use to them. But, I failed the entrance exam to get into the Council of Mages.”

  I shivered at the memory. The tests were cruel.

  In the first round, I simply had to use my magic to exhaustion so they could test my magical reserves. I was bedridden for days. The second test I was forced to fight one of the magical War Makers. I was beaten in nearly two minutes. The third test was the worst. I was forced to perform my magic in front of all the mages in the Council, without any real instruction or prompting. I could still see their sneers, hear them whispering about how weak I was. That it was a pity that a Kenza was so unremarkable.

  Afterward, they announced to an audience of nearly all of the Royal City, my family among them, that my magic was pitiful and unruly. That I was barely worthy of it.

  “The look on Mother’s face when she found out I failed. Like I had broken her heart.”

  “Is that why you joined the Library?”

  “I had no choice,” I closed my eyes at the memory, “the Council of Mages don’t just let mages exist. There’s a caste system, to control us. It was either be a Librarian or be a house-witch.”

  Being a house-witch was a worthy path. It was simply a mage who sold their powers to whoever needed them. But I hated my magic too much to be involved in a life that solely relied on magic for income.

  I was in shock when I made my vows and got the tattoo. The life I had known was over. Mother would never love me enough. I could see it in her face when I agreed to join the Library.

  “Why did you hide your magic in the first place?” Fennion wondered. I ignored the question.

  “I’m going to open a school,” I said instead, “with the money you give me. For commoner children. I don’t want them to be trapped by their circumstances.”

  Fennion’s eyes, as green as sea glass, shone with admiration. He reached out and touched my face.

  “I’m sorry your parents made you feel like you were never enough.”

  I reached out and touched his face too.

  “I’m sorry, love, that your family made you feel like you didn’t belong.”

  We stayed like that for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes. We were very different, the Prince and I. And yet, the pain in his eyes echoed the pain in my heart. The idea didn’t frighten me as it should have.

  Silence came over us again, but it was lighter. I closed my eyes, still facing Fennion.

  “When you make your school,” Fennion’s voice was low and half-asleep, “I would like to help.”

  I opened my eyes. Fennion’s face was relaxed and his eyes were closed. I took that moment to admire the strong line of his jaw, his soft lips. Something tight in my chest began to unwind, just a little.

  “I would like that.”

  FENNION

  The next two days of the journey were some of the best days of my life. It was like some kind of seal had broken between us. Harken shared with me stories of her childhood. She told me how she worried about her sister, and that her brother was a smug bastard. She told me about her father’s art and her mother’s schemes.

  Some of the stories broke my heart. And others made me laugh out loud.

  The only thing she wouldn’t talk about was why she hid her magic for so long.

  I shared my life with her too. The good, the bad, the downright depressing.

  “I don’t think you're useless,” Harken told me on the second night as we laid in the tent together, “I hate myself for saying that.”

  I shushed her, touching her hair. She had been wearing it down the last day, allowing the wayward strands to float in any direction they liked. She looked more beautiful than ever while flying, cheeks wind-kissed and eyes bright with joy.

  “I’m sorry for being such an irritating bastard to you for all those months.”

  Harken’s eyes narrowed.

  “Why did you insist on bothering me every day?”

  It was something I had been wondering about for months now too. At first, I thought it was masochism. That I deserved her cold and cruelty.

  “I’ve been in love with magic since I was a little boy,” I explained thoughtfully, “and… I don’t know. It was like I could sense something about you. Something untapped and wondrous. I couldn’t resist you.”

  Harken’s expression softened for a moment. And then she smirked coquettishly.

  “It wasn’t because I was so beautiful that you couldn’t stay away?”

  “Oh no, love. You were sullen and jaundiced when we first met. Only recently have you become attractive.”

  I laughed as she hit me. I grabbed her wrists and pulled her close. We panted, staring hungrily at each other.

  “I hated you because you reminded me of someone I lost,” she whispered. I let go of her wrists, surprised. She pulled away and lay facing away from me.

  But, the next morning, I woke to her sleeping pressed against my back.

  In the middle of the third day, after a few more hours of bantering and telling tales, we landed in a meadow in the Forest of Fell. We would have to walk from there. We left Fluffy behind. He nuzzled Harken before launching into the sky to hunt.

  Although we had a map, I never once had to glance at it. I seemed to just know the way.

  The forest was quiet here. The shadows were watchful. It made my hair stand on end. It felt like the forest itself was slumbering and that everything around it was trying its best not to wake it. I shivered, not wanting to
know what would happen if it woke up.

  After an hour of walking, the forest floor became wet and the air turned humid.

  And there, ahead of us, were the Sinking Swamps. The home of the swamplings.

  11

  HARKEN

  I immediately understood why it was called the Sinking Swamps.

  The water seemed to suck at the land, pulling more and more of the forest into itself. Eventually, the whole forest might be consumed. It was eerily quiet. The air was thick and moist, coating our skin in a film of greasy dampness. It smelled like wet earth and something else, something feral that made my stomach sour. The sunshine was sucked back behind a layer of bruised-looking clouds. The water was greenish brown and sunken trees jutted from it like fractured bones. No animals seemed to live here.

  My magic skittered across my scalp, urging me to leave this place.

  Beside me, Fennion’s golden-brown skin was pale and waxy as he surveyed the Swamp. He shivered hard before kneeling to rifle through the bag on his shoulder. He pulled out the plain jewelry box. Then, he tightened the strap that held the sword to his back.

  “There’s one here. Listening to us,” Fennion murmured.

  “How do you know?” I asked. But Fennion didn’t answer. He stepped closer to the edge of the water and cleared his throat.

  “Swampling, “ he called regally, “we’ve come to bargain.”

  His voice echoed over the unnaturally still water.

  Nothing responded to his call. He looked back at me with a frown, and so he didn’t notice the subtle shift in the water. Or the long, skinny arm that reached from the water and gripped his ankle. Before I could even scream, Fennion was dragged under the water.

  I ran to the edge of the water, hesitated, and then leaped in after him.

  The water was lukewarm and gritty, like someone’s dirty bathwater. I could barely see under the water. I splashed about, trying to find Fennion. Then, I felt a caress against my calf, before I was yanked down.

  I found myself face to face with a creature with contorted, elongated limbs and beady swamp-green eyes.

  The swampling was so much worse than the book had depicted.

  It looked vaguely humanoid, but its skin was translucent and covered in black, pulsing veins. It didn’t have a nose or any hair. Its ribs popped out from its thin skin. It didn’t appear to have any genitalia. Its face was sharp, its mouth a gaping hole. It appeared to smile at me, and like its skin, the swampling’s small, sharp teeth were translucent.

  I kicked out, trying to fight the creature off. My lungs were burning. But the swampling reeled me in closer, then sealed its mouth over mine. Its long, slimy tongue dove into my screaming mouth—licking at the roof of my mouth, coating each of my teeth. I gagged, gorge rising up my throat. But then, it released me.

  “Breathe, pretty thing,” the swampling’s voice made my blood curdle. It was high-pitched and slightly lisping. Like its sharp teeth got in the way of its tongue.

  Unable to help myself, I opened my mouth and prepared for the stream of water to flood in.

  But my chest expanded and then deflated. I was breathing.

  The swampling smiled again, its black tongue trailing over its teeth. It took my wrist and started to swim. Its skin was slippery.

  “Your little Prince is waiting,” It said.

  The swampling dragged me further into the dark water. I didn’t fight it off.

  We came upon an underwater cave, and when its eyes began to glint, I realized the swampling could see in the dark. This didn’t make me feel any safer. The swampling swam confidently through the cave, avoiding the sharp, jutting rocks.

  The swampling suddenly kicked up. We broke through the surface, and I realized we were in an air pocket within the cave. There was a small bank of sharp pebbles and gently glowing stones. Fennion was kneeling on the bank, his expression wild and panicked. He reached for me and I yanked myself away from the swampling. It let me go with a hissing chuckle. Fennion pulled me from the water and held me for a moment, shaking. I realized I was shivering too.

  Behind us, I heard whimpering. I turned my head and gasped.

  Against the wall, chained so tightly that he was forced into a tight crouch, was a man. He was so emaciated that I couldn’t tell his age. His clothes were rags, his eyes unseeing. He was breathing slowly, the sound was wet and laborious. All around him were bones. Some looked like animal bones while others were clearly human.

  “Well,” said the swampling, peering at us slyly from the water, “what is your bargain?”

  Fennion did the talking. He showed the box to the swampling and explained what it could do. His voice was calm and persuasive, but I saw his eyes flicking back to the imprisoned man now and again.

  From the water, the swampling listened thoughtfully. Its face was half obscured by the water, but its beady eyes were keen.

  “Even long after a… victim dies, you can store their misery for weeks, continuing to,” Fennion hesitated, eyes flickering again, “feed.”

  The swampling’s eyes crinkled in delight. It swam sinuously toward the bank. It heaved itself up, towering over us. It held out its hand. It had eight long fingers, ending in sharp green claws.

  “Tell us where the Gloves are first,” I demanded. Its eyes knifed to my face. It licked its lips.

  “Long after the Gods left this plane of existence,” the swampling began slowly, each word hissing and brutal, “the swamplings prayed to our sire, Destruction. We killed in His name. And we tracked the Glove’s movements. We are loyal to him.”

  “Yes, yes, how lovely,” Fennion said impatiently, “where are the Gloves now?”

  The swampling grinned at Fennion like he was a pet that performed a new trick.

  “Many times over, the Gloves have changed hands. Destruction left the Gloves in the kingdom of Vestan,” It paused, clearly enjoying the way we listened intently, “but they were stolen nearly three decades ago.”

  “By whom?” I said pithily. The swampling’s eyes lingered over Fennion.

  “Kartheya,” It said with relish, “and they have been kept in the House of Eris ever since.”

  Fennion and I frowned at each other.

  “What is—”

  The swampling snarled at us, eyes narrowed in disgust.

  “How quickly mortals forget true names. You, pretty thing,” it flickered its tongue at me, “smell like it. Like books and magic and chaos.”

  Slowly, the realization came over me.

  “The Library,” I whispered. Fennion’s eyes widened.

  “This whole time, the Gloves have been in the Library,” I said, mind racing, “and that’s why the Librarians are being killed. The murderer is trying to steal them and the Librarians must be in the way.”

  The swampling watched us with a smug expression on its ghoulish face. Fennion nodded at me, then took a cautious step toward the swampling. It eyed the jewelry box covetously.

  Fennion put the box in the swampling’s outstretched claws.

  “Thank you,” Fennion said. The swampling admired the box for a moment. Then it grabbed the back of Fennion’s head and slammed it into the wall beside him.

  Fennion crumpled to the ground, eyes closed and blood dripping down his face.

  I screamed his name.

  Then the swampling was coming at me in a blur of pale skin and teeth.

  FENNION

  Inside the warm, soft darkness, I felt safe.

  Wake up

  The voice was soft and insistent. It repeated the words over and over. The peaceful feeling faded. Fear gripped me. I kicked out in the dark.

  Someone was in trouble, someone needed me.

  Harken—

  My eyes flew open. Pain immediately bloomed across my scalp. My eyes were bleary and I could hear whimpering nearby.

  “Larka,” a voice said, so timid and heartbroken.

  My vision cleared and I had to fight not to scream.

  On the other side of the embankment, Hark
en was being cradled in the arms of the swampling. She laid limply in its arms, her eyes gray and dull. Her tunic was ripped down her chest. The swampling’s mouth was attached to the skin just above her left breast. The swampling’s expression was one of bliss as it drew upon Harken’s flesh.

  A grotesque pantomime of a mother breastfeeding her child.

  I rose shakily to my feet. I felt behind me and to my relief, the sword was still strapped to me.

  “Larka,” Harken called again, tears streaming down her face. The swampling moaned in pleasure.

  I came up behind it stealthily. The blade felt right in my hand, filling me with courage. I held it over my head, ready to strike—

  The swampling swiveled and lashed out at me. It dropped Harken, who fell with a broken thud.

  The swampling laughed, stalking me across the embankment.

  “Such deep sadness the delicious lovely has,” the swampling crooned, “her misery tastes so sweet.”

  It swiped at me again and I barely dodged in time.

  “Will you taste as sweet, Miracle Prince?” It cocked its head to the side, eyes gleaming hungrily.

  A cold explosion of wind sent the swampling sprawling against the wall, the force of which made the cave tremble. The swampling’s body went limp.

  I looked over and saw Harken on her knees, her palms outstretched. Her expression was filled with utter rage. Tears still fell silently down her face.

  I ran to her, helping her up.

  “We need to go,” I said. She nodded, eyes beginning to glow. I heard a gasp behind me and remembered the man.

  “We can’t leave him.”

  I raised my sword and swung at the chains. After several more swings, the chains snapped. Harken and I helped the man up. We dragged him to the edge of the water.

  “We’ll never make it to the surface,” I realized. Harken shook her head.