by Josie Gold
I gasped and choked, the power was too much. It was filling me up too quickly, tearing at the seams of my very being. It would kill me if I continued to take more. I refused to stop, though. I felt a hand in mine, fingers intertwining with my own.
Harken.
“Don’t bear it alone,” her voice, her lovely voice, was in my ear. “Give some to me.”
If I could take, why could I not also give?
I gripped her hand hard and pushed Destruction’s life force into her. Her nails dug into my palm and she gasped in pain, but she didn’t let go.
I could feel Destruction becoming frail under my hands.
“She’ll die,” Destruction cried, “you’ll kill her.”
I knew that. And I hoped Karsea would forgive me.
Karsea’s face lost all its color. Her skin became papery thin. Her life drained into Harken and me.
“I love you,” I whispered to Karsea.
Destruction tried one last desperate attack, bringing down more stone from the ceiling. But Harken flung out one hand and easily caught the rocks with her wind.
Before our eyes, the fire in Destruction’s eyes slowly faded. That spiteful, ancient aura drained out of my sister and returned to the shadows of its prison. It was still so angry, that presence, but it was now tinged with deep sorrow.
I held Karsea to my chest as the rest of her life slipped into me, and the last of Destruction slipped from her body.
“I will never stop trying to leave this place,” a voice, hot and dripping with venom, whispered in my mind.
I believed the God. But without Karsea’s body as a vessel, it would remain here.
Karsea gasped out one last breath. Her eyes blinked rapidly. I saw only love there. Then her eyes went milky. I released her body from my magic and pulled her into my lap.
Above us, the clouds faded. The Library appeared to be stitching itself back together, the stones of the ceiling returned to their proper places. Kylarn and Torra watched us from the floor, unable to move from all their broken bones. But they watched me with pity in their eyes. Harken sat down beside me and rested her head on my shoulder.
And I cried, deep, wrenching sobs, as I held my sister’s corpse.
20
HARKEN
In Kartheya, it is tradition to wear your loveliest clothes to a funeral. The throngs of people filling the park at the center of the Royal City wore gossamer and jewels. The fine clothing contrasted sharply with the somber mood.
I didn’t wear my finest dress. My finest dress was the one Fennion gave me for the masque and that didn’t feel appropriate. Instead, I wore my plain mauve dress. Beside me, Fennion wore a simple dark blue jacket. On his left, his dear and kind maid Mrs. Clemena wore an old-fashioned lace gown. She held Fennion’s arm, tears streaking silently down her wrinkled face.
It seemed as though all of Kartheya was bearing witness to Princess Karsea’s funeral. Commoners stood beside dukes. People sobbed openly.
The people of Kartheya adored their Princess and heir. That was the reason we decided to lie about what happened. We told Queen Cheyla and Prince Highlar the truth, of course. But to the citizens of Kartheya, Princess Karsea died while heroically defending the Library.
And maybe there was some truth to that. She did what she did out of love for her country. In the end, she allowed her body to be sacrificed to stop a mad God. Karsea was a hero and I hoped she was at peace.
The autumn wind blew hard, sending red and yellow leaves sailing through the air. As subtly as I could, I lifted one hand and urged the wind to cease, and the clouds to open up. Sunlight slowly filled the park. I was still learning how to use my newly unlocked weather powers, but I was strong enough to send Karsea away on a sunny day.
Karsea lay on a pyre of silver birch and blue lilycups. Her dress was amethyst and velvet, her long hair was unbound, and her face was peaceful. Fennion grabbed my hand as Queen Cheyla slowly approached the pyre with a torch of yellow mage-fire. The fire wouldn’t stop burning until she was ash. Highlar stood beside Karsea, his face gray and grim. He didn’t once look our way.
High Queen Cheyla said no words to the assembled. What was there to say? Our good, soft-hearted princess was gone. The Queen touched her daughter’s hair one last time, then touched the torch to the pyre. The fire spread quickly, engulfing Karsea’s hair.
Long after she had turned to ash, the fire continued to blaze. Long after the crowd dispersed, Fennion and I stood before the pyre holding hands. He didn’t cry. His face was stony and brittle.
As the fire finally died, Fennion raised a hand. Karsea’s ashes scattered across the ground. He closed his eyes as the ashes began to glow green. The ashes sank into the ground and then before my eyes, a tree sprouted from the ground. It grew and grew until it was nearly our height. It was thin and elegant, with violet blossoms lining the branches.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, “Karsea would love it.”
Fennion nodded, unable to speak.
We walked arm in arm back to the Library. We passed by the Politician’s Square, where I saw Mother and Father speaking to a group of politicians. Mother noticed us and watched me pass with a gleam in her eyes.
“Ignore them,” Fennion whispered.
“No,” I replied, “I won’t do that anymore.”
That night, when Fennion touched me, it was gentle but with an undercurrent of desperation. Like he was afraid it would be the last time. Like he wanted to fuse with me so that I would never leave him.
I matched his passion, raking my nails down his back. Marking him as mine.
Afterward, we lay in my bed together. The Library had made my bed big enough to fit the both of us. My head was laying against his bare back as he sprawled on his stomach, still catching his breath. I breathed in his scent. Cedar and clean, salty sweat.
“Do you think you will try to find him?” I asked. “Your… sire?”
Father felt like the wrong word for it.
Fennion’s breathing stuttered. I worried it was too soon for me to bring it up.
But then he said, “My mother believes that he doesn’t know of my existence.”
I hummed, tracing the muscles of his back, letting him continue or be done with it as he willed.
“I have too much keeping me here,” Fennion murmured, rolling over and cradling me close to him.
He kissed me, a simple peck of the lips, but it still sent a thrill of desire through me. Since our first kiss, I had been a mess for this man. A constant flame had lit inside me, constantly craving his touch.
“The Library needs me,” he went on, “so does my mother.”
“What about me?” I wondered coyly. He squeezed me hard, chuckling.
“I don’t have any delusions about you needing me, love. I’d say you tolerate me at best. And use me for my body.”
With a flick of my hand, I conjured a small rain cloud over the top of his head. He just cackled as he was rained on. Then he kissed me hard and the cloud dispersed.
I was floating along the line between asleep and awake when Fennion whispered into the dark, “Perhaps, one day when Kartheya and Vestan put down their swords, we can try to find him.”
He said “we.” A word of futures and promises. I relished it.
“I love you,” he mumbled into my shoulder.
I knew. He said the words after our first night together, when we had been a panting tangle of limbs. And now Fennion told me at every opportunity he could, but I hadn’t said it back yet.
A few days after Karsea’s funeral, I walked through the gates of Politician’s Square. I hadn’t been here for nearly six months. The square was made up of bright red townhouses with ivy creeping up the sides. My family’s townhouse was the one closest to a fountain filled with marble statues. I used to play in the water as a child.
I walked up the steps and knocked on the door. I waited for anxiety to roil my insides, but the feeling never came. I felt calm.
The maid opened the door and in s
hock she ushered me into the parlor. It was just as I remembered. Gilded floral wallpaper, a piano, a hearth, and several dainty chaises and couches.
Mother and Father tried to look casual as they entered with tea and cakes, but Father's fingers jerked anxiously and Mother’s smile was too wide.
I allowed for small talk. I talked about the Library, about my new magic. Mother told me about all of Ivelle’s prospects and Mireel’s adventures, and Father told me about his most recent painting.
“I’ve noticed you and Prince Fennion have become close,” Mother said slyly as she sipped her tea.
“I have no interest in becoming a Princess, so give up that dream,” I said simply.
I thought back to this morning, waking up naked in Fennion’s arms in his bedchamber. Of him refusing to let me leave the bed until my insides turned velvety and the smile wouldn’t leave my face. What Fennion and I had was stronger than alliances or marriages and I had no need to justify it to anyone else.
Before Mother could quibble, I set my cup down sharply.
“I love you,” I told my parents, “but you cannot be in my life if you won’t accept my choices.”
Both of them looked stunned.
“We just want what’s best for you,” Father said.
“Surely you don’t want to spend the rest of your life as a Librarian,” Mother scoffed.
I rubbed my forearm, where my new tattoo was. I took the vow again gladly. With some alterations. I was no longer bound to the city so I could travel wherever I wanted without worry of the Library’s magic harming me.
“I want to spend my life making choices that suit me, not you,” I said. Father nodded sadly, but Mother pursed her lips stubbornly.
“After everything we did for you, how can you—”
“Why did you never hold me after Larka died?” I cut her off. My voice wasn’t accusatory or angry. Just questioning. Mother stilled.
“Why did you never talk to me about her?” I went on, “why didn’t you try to help me when you saw I was hurting?”
“I tried,” Mother’s voice was weak, her eyes wide.
“You pushed me to be someone I was not. You tried to mold me into a good, useful daughter, when you should have just loved me.”
“We just wanted you to have a good life,” Father said when Mother didn’t reply. I nodded.
“I know. I have a good life now. And if you want to be in it, you need to respect me. Love me for me, and not for what I can bring to the family.”
I stood and hugged both my parents. Father accepted the hug with his whole body, enfolding me against him. He was never a cruel man, just a man who was never sure how to show love properly. When I hugged Mother, she was limp in my arms as if in shock.
“You can find me at the Library if you need me,” I said, then let myself out.
I opened the parlor door to find Ivelle with her ear pressed against the door. She squeaked upon being caught, but quickly composed herself.
“You look beautiful,” I said honestly. Her cinnamon-red hair was perfectly curled and her dress the height of fashion. She waved off the compliment, searching my face with huge doe eyes.
“Did you really save the Library?” she asked quietly. I smiled and hugged her.
“You are a magnificent courtier,” I said in her ear, “but remember to think of your happiness too.”
I let her go and made for the door. I was walking down the steps when I heard the door open. Ivelle flew down the steps after me. She stopped in front of me, suddenly unsure.
“Can I visit you? At the Library?” she asked. I smiled.
This room in the Library was new. It was lined with desks and there was an area in the corner covered in sitting pillows. At one end of the room was a larger desk and a chalkboard. I set up the small desks with parchment and quills.
A knock came at the door and then the children let themselves in, led by Arla.
“Take your seats,” I called to them, sitting at my desk. The children obeyed right away. I pulled out a new book and asked which student would like to read first.
The Library has been low on Librarians ever since Destruction’s attempted coup. Torra had not begged me to stay and take the oath, but he had made it clear he wanted me to. I did too, but I wouldn’t agree unless he changed the rule of allowing children in the Library. After long negotiations, he finally agreed. This room was mine and its sole purpose was for teaching any child who desired to read and write.
As Arla picked up where the last child left off, the door opened quietly. Fennion stood in the doorway, watching. It irritated me that he looked so damned handsome in his new Librarian robes. I still refused to wear mine. But I had gotten into the habit of putting books where they belonged.
Most of the time.
I joined him by the door.
“Shouldn’t you be having lessons with Torra?” I whispered sternly.
Torra was teaching Fennion how to use his Vestian magic properly. So he wouldn’t hurt anyone or himself. He was also grooming Fennion to become the new Assistant to the Head Librarian. Rumors flew that when Torra died, Fennion would be the new Head Librarian.
“I’m not sure if you are aware,” Fennion said, ignoring my question, “but I am utterly in love with you.”
Even though he had said it so many times already, this time felt different. It felt important, like a magic spell or a sacred vow. That gray, tangled mass inside me bristled, then shrank even smaller.
I looked over my shoulder and said to the class, “Continue, I’ll be right back.”
I pulled Fennion out of the doorway and then pushed him against the shelf nearby. He laughed throatily, but I swallowed the noise up as I kissed him.
“I love you,” I said grudgingly.
Fennion went rigid, then pulled me against him and kissed me hard. I laughed and pulled away, fixing my gold tunic. He watched me leave with flaring green eyes and gritted teeth. I shivered, thinking of what he would do to me tonight. He had a room next to mine in the Library, but he often spent his nights in my bed.
“I love you,” I said again, this time with a small smile. He smiled back, his face filled with joy. I closed the door and returned to class, my chest light.
FENNION
“Remember, you do not need to dominate,” Torra said, “submit, and the power will flow stronger and freer.”
Sweat poured down my face. My fingertips touched the petals of a blue and white potted flower. The urge to just take was strong, but I fought it. I willed my inner self to touch the petal, to ask for permission. The flower was stubborn. It needed reassurance that I would not hurt it. I sent waves of promises and trust toward it.
Every living thing was different. They all had energies and auras and wills. And I was learning how to read their will and convince them to give me some of their energy for my magic. Torra was right—I didn’t need to dominate, I could submit to the energies of living things.
Finally, the flower allowed me in. Delicately, I siphoned from its life force. The magic was cleaner and easier to use this way. Domination was an unruly magic. Submission was often more difficult to achieve at first, but once you and the living thing made a pact, the magic was easier to tame and didn’t burn out as fast.
I was still working on plants for manifesting. Next I would move on to creatures, and then people. Already Harken had volunteered to help with those lessons.
“I love you” she had said only mere hours ago. My insides felt like warm velvet and my magic latched onto that feeling. I easily manifested a cat made of green light. It slunk around the room lazily. Torra nodded in praise.
Although I was closer to being at peace with my magic, I was less at peace with my origins. It still hurt, knowing I had been lied to. Knowing the man I called my father was truly a stranger, and my true sire was an enemy. Knowing my own brother blamed me for it.
But each day it was slightly easier to bear that weight. Harken had a role in that. Not once did she not make me feel lesser for b
eing half-Vestian. She just listened and reassured me. And loved me.
After magic lessons with Torra, I headed to the palace. Fluffy was still lying on the Library steps. He was chomping on what looked like cookies made of berries and rabbit. The Library spoiled him.
I got into the saddle and we went soaring into the air. I would need to take out Karsea’s dragon soon. Since Karsea’s death, I had taken to caring for the nubile water-wyvern. Selkie had become melancholic and thin since her rider died, but Fluffy tried his best to cheer her up.
My chest tightened, thinking of Karsea. Thinking of how desperate she must have felt to go to such lengths. How had I not seen it?
“She died in the arms of someone who loved her,” Harken would whisper to me when I woke up screaming and sweating, Karsea’s gray face in my nightmares.
Harken was right, but the hurt would linger with me forever.
I met my mother in the War Room. I now attended as many meetings as possible and had a more vocal role in the conflict with Vestan. It was still a secret that I was half-Vestian, which was unfortunately necessary for my safety and Queen Cheyla’s reputation.
I had convinced the Queen to cease any further attacks on Vestan for now, but Highlar, now the reluctant heir to the throne, fought us on every decision.
My mother looked up from the map of Vivus and smiled at me. She was trying. She threw herself into including me in all affairs of the kingdom. But we haven’t spoken of my origins since that fateful night.
I’m not sure why I decided to bring it up that day. Maybe it was Harken telling me she loved me. But I no longer wanted to lug around anger or despair.
So I said, “I forgive you.”
Queen Cheyla barely reacted. Her expression was steely, but her lips were drawn downward. I approached her and took her hands in mine. Hers shook.