Royal & Ruin (Gifts of the Gods Book 1)

by Josie Gold

  I cried out and gathered her in my arms. She felt so slight in my arms. I cradled her against me and finally allowed myself to weep.

  Above us, the towering indigo and red flowers blew in the breeze.

  I held Harken for some time. I didn’t know how long. Hours, most likely. Fluffy eventually joined us, gazing up at the flowers curiously. He nudged Harken’s arm, then grumbled at me in confusion when she didn’t wake.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to him. To her. “I’m so sorry.”

  I said it over and over, under my breath. I rocked Harken back and forth in time with the swaying of the flowers. They looked so beautiful, it made me want to wretch. The cost of their beauty was too high. The memory of taking Harken’s energy made me want to rip my skin off.

  It felt so good. Euphoric.

  Hot and cold at once, sending goosebumps across my body. It was more thrilling than flying Fluffy or kissing Harken. It was addicting. I could feel something inside my mind, something that had always been there but lay dormant until now, itching for me to perform more magic. I resisted the itch, the need to feel that building feeling again, the rush and the power.

  My mother, my brother, and all the War Makers and politicians were right. The Vestians had to be evil if this was how their magic manifested. Taking and taking to make something new, no matter how lovely, was abominable.

  Oddly, though, I felt a strange sense of relief. After the initial shock of learning my true heritage, disgust had set in. But so did understanding. Everything about my childhood, about my relationship with my family, and my place in Kartheya made sense. I was treated like an outsider and a pest because I was one. I was given no place within my family because I didn’t belong. I was given no path or purpose as a royal because I was an imposter.

  I wasn’t useless. I was unworthy.

  Harken shifted in my arms, moaning. I held her loosely as she awoke, sure she would push me away. She opened her eyes and gazed up at me. Despite waking from a deep sleep, her eyes were clear and her expression was hard.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m a wretch. I’m evil, I’m—”

  She reached up and put a hand over my mouth. I leaned into her touch, expecting it to be the last time she ever touched me. I braced myself for her final rejection, for her to say she hated me.

  “I know it feels like everything has changed,” she said, her words firm and confident, “and it has. Gods, Fennion of course it has.”

  I felt myself shaking, my breathing stuttering. But her eyes never changed. She looked at me frankly and without fear.

  “But the way I feel about you has not changed,” the words were zealous and almost aggressive. Her hand traced my jawline. I felt my eyes welling with tears again.

  “Please tell me you forgive me,” my words were pitiful and wet sounding.

  Instead of answering, she pulled my head down and kissed me softly. The kiss was chaste, but passionate. A vow. When I pulled back, color was beginning to return to her face. Her hair started to float again.

  “Help me up,” she ordered and I laughed in relief at her imperious tone. As I helped her up she marveled at the huge flowers.

  “Beautiful,” she breathed, then looked at me with wonder in her eyes. She took my hand in hers and squeezed.

  “We’re going to return to the Royal City,” she said with finality, “and the first thing we are going to do is confront the Queen.”

  “But the Library—”

  “And we are going to demand answers. Because none of this is your fault,” Harken said with so much conviction my chest tightened. “You did not ask for this. You had no choice. But she chose to lie to you. To all of us. And she will answer for it.”

  I couldn’t help it. I closed the space between us and kissed her. Without hesitating, she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me back ardently.

  I fussed over her as she climbed atop Fluffy, which earned me a few half-hearted swats. The sky was still clear and blue as we set off again. But in the wind, I could feel the chill of an oncoming storm.

  16

  FENNION

  The Royal Palace loomed in the distance, the stone looked midnight blue against the orange and lilac of the setting sky. Frantic energy buzzed inside me as Fluffy steered us toward the stables. It wasn’t my magic—which was an ever-present thrumming in my bones. No, it was anxiety. Or maybe it was anger. Throughout the rest of the flight home, Harken and I were silent. In my head, I tried to plan out what I would say to my mother. Should I lead with anger, or hurt?

  Harken must have sensed my unease. She didn’t say anything, but her hands would brush mine as if reminding me she was there.

  Harken helped me get Fluffy settled back into his stall. The stable hands checked his wings for damage, but miraculously the only concern was minor muscle strain. I gave Fluffy extra food and water, and a few treats. Gods knew the silly beast had earned it.

  Harken and I stepped outside of the stable and stared at the palace for a few long, tense moments.

  “Whatever happens,” she said, her expression stormy, “I’ll stand with you.”

  Instead of replying, I took her hand in mine. The same hand I had leeched her energy from. I shivered, both in disgust and at the thrilling memory of the magic.

  We went straight for High Queen Cheyla’s chambers. Two guards stood outside.

  “The Queen is not taking visitors,” one of the guards said, her voice bored.

  Without pause, Harken lifted one hand and sent a blast of wind toward them. Both guards slammed into the wall beside the Queen’s door and crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

  Despite myself, I gawked at Harken, but she just shrugged dismissively.

  I took a deep breath in and opened the chamber doors. Inside, my mother stood by her large desk, her sword, Realm Cleaver, brandished. Her stance was immaculate and I had no doubt she could gut both of us easily. Her sword lowered as she took in Harken and me. Her brows were stitched in confusion.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, looking behind us at the guards puddled on the ground.

  All words left me, now that this moment had finally come. Instead, I gave into that insistent plucking sensation in my veins. I reached down and touched one of the guards' heads. As carefully as I could, I siphoned from him. I bit my lip in concentration, trying to control the need to take more. The guard’s energy filled me, warmer than fire and as delicious as sparkling wine. I let go before the guard started turning gray.

  I held his energy to my heart, cocooning it safely for a moment, wrapping it in my will. The feeling was heady. The ability to create anything I wanted. Harken touched my arm and I whirled toward her. Both she and my mother were watching me. Harken with trust and worry, and my mother with pure astonishment.

  I untethered my will and a sparkling green light erupted from me. The light was harmless. It gave off no heat or sparks. It crackled and snapped around me, haloing me in its light. I smiled giddily for a moment.

  But then I heard a loud thunk. Cheyla dropped her sword out of utter shock. And devastation. Her eyes were wide, her veins strained against her regal neck. She suddenly looked decades older. I willed the lights away and faced my mother with as much calm as I could muster.

  “Well, Mother? Or should I even call you that?” I asked. For a moment, she was unable to speak. She gasped and took a teetering step toward me.

  “Of course I am your mother,” Cheyla insisted. I snorted, my anger resurfacing.

  “But I suppose it’s safe to say my father was not the High Consort? Hmm?” I sneered.

  The Queen opened her mouth to respond, but at that very moment, Highlar came thundering into the room, sword raised. Harken lifted both palms and shot him back before he could get close to me. Highlar landed hard on a table, breaking it.

  “Oh good,” I said with false cheer, “you should hear this too. In fact, we should call Karsea here too. Where is she?”

  “Leave he
r out of this,” Highlar struggled to his feet, but stayed where he was when Harken kept her hands raised toward him. His face was in a ferocious snarl. But it no longer frightened me.

  I turned back to my mother, raising my brow.

  “Tell us, Mother.”

  High Queen Cheyla inhaled sharply and seemed to choke on it for a moment. She took a seat at her desk with her head bowed.

  “Twenty-five summers ago, Antress called a summit meeting between all five nations of Vivus,” she began slowly, “a call for peace, for the sharing of resources. All five nations agreed to put aside any conflict while in Antress. My husband had already been bedridden with the Seizing Sickness for five years.”

  I remembered Karsea telling me stories about my fathe—no, the Consort—and how the Seizing Sickness took his ability to walk or speak. But he remained cheerful until his death. Months after I was born. The Miracle Prince. My bones felt like liquid and I realized I was trembling.

  Cheyla went on, “I met a young man there. He didn’t treat me like a Queen. He spoke to me like a person. And it had been so long since someone had made me feel desirable.”

  Shame twitched across her face. Highlar was listening intently, without a shred of surprise on his face. Only disgust.

  “He was the nephew of Vestan’s High Priest. We both knew the arrangement was temporary and wouldn’t change anything,” Cheyla’s eyes were wet but she didn’t cry, “I was so lonely, Fennion.”

  Pity rose in me, but I pushed it back.

  “So, I’m the bastard son of our enemy,” I laughed ruefully, “it explains a lot, eh Highlar?”

  Highlar took an aggressive step toward me, ignoring Harken’s warning.

  “Shut your mouth you little—”

  “All those years of torment,” I interrupted, feeling reckless and unhinged, “all those years of telling me I didn’t belong. I guess you were right, brother. How did you know, anyway?”

  “He came with me to Antress,” Cheyla murmured, a hand on her throat, “he caught us in bed together.

  Highlar spat on the ground near my feet. He refused to look at our mother.

  “Does Karsea know? Did your husband?” I asked.

  “My husband never knew. But Karsea does.”

  Of course, Karsea knew. She was kinder than Highlar, but just as distant and dismissive as my mother. Too soft-hearted to hate me, but unable to treat me as an equal.

  “I understand now,” I seethed, “I really do. Why I didn’t have a place within this family. Or a purpose as a royal. The son of the enemy could never truly belong. So you made me into a useless outsider. Bravo, Mother.”

  Tears finally started falling down Cheyla’s ebony face. I relished them.

  “I never meant for you to feel like a stranger in this family.”

  “Highlar did,” Harken finally spoke up.

  All eyes swung to Harken. Her red-gold hair floated wildly around her and her eyes glowed vengefully. She gestured at Highlar, a curl of wind sprouting from her finger.

  “He knew. And he punished Fennion for something that was not his fault. And you let him,” she bared her teeth at Cheyla, who recoiled, “because it was easier for Highlar to blame Fennion. To hurt Fennion instead of you. Because you, Queen Cheyla, are a coward.”

  Highlar bellowed and yanked a dagger from his boot. Harken’s attention was filled up with her anger at my mother, so she didn’t have time to use her magic on him. I watched in horror as his knife arced toward Harken, headed straight for her heart with his warrior’s precision.

  A small piece of the guard’s energy still buzzed inside me. I put all my will into it and then sent an arrow made of pure green light at Highlar. It struck him in the shoulder, sending him flying back. But not before he sliced Harken’s arm with the dagger.

  Highlar was stuck to the wall by the green arrow, which sent shocks down him every few seconds. He shook and seized, drool running down his mouth and into his red beard. Queen Cheyla tried to stand, but I looked at her sharply and she sat back down. Power surged through me.

  I approached Harken, touching her wound gently. It was bleeding profusely, but looked shallow.

  “Love?” I murmured.

  She nodded once at me, pressing a hand to her wound. I kissed her neck briefly and then I kneeled in front of Highlar. His eyes were black and bloodthirsty despite being pinned and trapped.

  “You made me afraid all my life,” I whispered. “You made me feel useless and unworthy. You relished in taking my power from me.”

  I reached out and pressed my fingertips to Highlar’s sweaty forehead.

  “I wonder if it wasn’t just hatred that drove you to hurt a child,” I mused, sucking his energy into my body. “But if fear also drove you, because you knew that if I ever found out my true heritage, I could take your power so easily.”

  I pressed my fingers hard into Highlar, draining him greedily. Euphoria mixed with shame. I took and took. Highlar’s energy tasted tempestuous, like steel and fire. It made me feel strong. Under my fingers, Highlar’s skin turned gray and waxy. His dark eyes started to dull.

  I was killing him, but I didn’t care.

  HARKEN

  Fennion was killing Highlar. And as blood dripped down my arm from Highlar’s blade, I found myself not caring to stop him. Highlar was a cruel, terrible man. As far as I was concerned, this was justice.

  “Stop him,” the High Queen said hoarsely.

  I flicked my eyes to her. She was on the ground now, her hands clutched to her chest as she watched her sons. She dragged her eyes to mine, dark and pleading.

  “Please,” she begged. My nose curled.

  “Why should I?”

  “Do it for Fennion,” she said, crawling toward me. The sight disgusted me. She was the High Queen. Warrior Queen. And here she was, begging for the life of the monster that tormented her youngest son.

  “I’m a coward,” she cried, “I am, I know it. If I had been strong enough, none of this would have happened.”

  I scoffed.

  “No one blames you for needing comfort, my Queen,” I said. “Well, perhaps Highlar does. Fennion is not angry because he’s a bastard. He’s angry because you treated him like one. If you had been honest with him, and if you had made an effort to love him as equally—”

  “I did—”

  “You did not!” I yelled, my wind manifesting ice cold and whirling from my palms. “If you had, he would have grown up confident and sure of his place in the world. You made him the Useless Prince.”

  Highlar started making a choking noise. Fennion was still kneeling in front of him, his eyes closed and his mouth slack. A greenish glow surrounded him as he dominated Highlar’s energy.

  “If he kills Highlar, he will never forgive himself,” the Queen said softly, brown eyes wet and earnest.

  And, damn the Gods, she was right. After the effects of the magic wore off, Fennion would be consumed with guilt. He wouldn’t be able to live with it. So, for purely selfish reasons, I approached Fennion and knelt beside him. I wrapped myself around him, holding him tight.

  “You are more than your origins,” I murmured against his neck. “You are more than your past. Your family. More than your fears and your shame. His anger and fear do not define you. You are good, Fennion. You are smart and kind and passionate. Let him go, love.”

  Fennion twitched.

  “Let him go,” I said, “and prove yourself the better prince. The better man.”

  The green glow started to fade. Fennion’s fingers trembled for a moment, then fell away from Highlar’s forehead. Highlar remained unconscious, but he was alive, his chest was falling and rising slowly. Fennion turned in my arms and embraced me. He was shivering.

  “I’m proud of you,” I said over and over, stroking his back.

  “Thank you,” the Queen whispered. She had moved closer to us, but still kept a safe distance.

  Fennion turned his head to look at her, his expression was heartbroken.

  “Do y
ou even love me?” he asked, sounding broken and childlike. My chest ached. I held him tighter.

  “Yes,” the Queen vowed, and I knew it was true. She loved Fennion. She just never learned how to do it properly.

  “And did you steal Destruction’s Gloves from the Vestians? Have you been attacking them?”

  “How do you,” the Queen started, shocked, but stopped herself and began again. “My lover told me about the Gloves. I stole them before you were born. And, yes. We’ve been attacking Vestan’s shores for nearly a year.”

  Fennion nodded and kissed me on the nose, before standing. He helped me up, then walked to his mother. She watched him warily, but took his hand when he offered it.

  “Things are going to change. No more lies,” Fennion said.

  Relief broke across Cheyla’s face—

  An earth-shattering shriek filled the air.

  I doubled over, clutching at my ears. But as soon as it started, it ended. We looked around in bewilderment. A small bird flew into the room. It buzzed around, flitting anxiously. As it dipped closer, I realized it was not truly a bird. It was in the shape of a bird, but it was a clockwork creature, made of bronze and gears. It let out another horrible shriek, leaving my teeth buzzing and my head throbbing.

  “It must be one of Kylarn’s,” Fennion said once the sound died down, reaching out toward the clockwork bird. It landed on Fennion’s hand, as small and delicate as a hummingbird.

  It opened its beak and I prepared for another ear-bleeding scream. Instead, Kylarn’s voice emitted from the bird, his voice was loud and desperate.

  “The Library is under attack.”

  17

  HARKEN

  The clockwork bird flew after us as Fennion and I raced for the stables. Queen Cheyla was calling for the guards and the War Makers to go to the Library, but we could get there faster if we took Fluffy.

  Fennion threw open the stable door. All the dragons were stomping in their pens, bellowing as if they knew something was wrong. We ran to Fluffy’s pen and didn’t bother to put the saddle on him.