Carved in Crimson (Heirs of Lirien #1)

Prologue

Calix

Two years earlier

Waking up in Ederyn’s most notorious prison with a splitting headache and an eye so swollen I could barely see was the least of my problems.

The dungeons had gone silent.

I peeled myself from the ground wincing, a putrid piece of straw clinging to the scruff of my jaw. The constant, dissonant moans I’d heard all night had vanished.

He’s here.

Fuck.

I combed through my muddled memory, trying to recall a healing spell my childhood nurse had used for scrapes, but the pain in my head clouded my thoughts.

Straightening my untucked shirt, I muttered a quick gesture spell to mend a rip in my trousers, then dragged my fingers through my long hair, knotting it at my nape.

The steel door thundered open.

My father entered, dressed in full regalia, his face twisted with displeasure. Only he could command such absolute silence in the dungeons.

A single window provided light, its narrow beam illuminating the swirling dust motes in the early morning sun.

He stepped into the glow, the golden hue draping him like a mantle.

Love him or hate him, Father was king in every sense of the word, as though the Warrick bloodline had known his destiny from conception.

“Calix.”

The low timbre of his voice suggested fury. Father enraged was deadly calm and collected—one of the few traits I admired about him.

“Collecting me in person, Father? I’m flattered.”

His steel-blue pupils wreathed with green—identical to my own—narrowed. Unamused. Humor wouldn’t save me today.

“When my youngest son destroys the most beloved tavern in Suomelin, burns down a city block, and is dragged to prison, a personal call is disappointingly critical.”

I crossed my arms, straightening. “The tavern owner was keeping an Ibarran woman as a concubine. In a cage.”

“So, you burned the place down?”

“No. I rescued her. The fire was … accidental.” My shirtfront, sticky with dried blood, remained plastered against my skin.

“How so?”

My throat tightened at the memory of her—beautiful and fragile—clinging to me as I carried her from that filthy enclosure. Then the gasp—the bright burst of crimson as a crossbow bolt embedded itself in her throat.

“He killed her,” I said hoarsely. “As I took her out. My anger may have … tipped out of my control.”

To be fair, I hadn’t meant to cause a conflagration.

On the other hand, I didn’t regret it.

The footfalls of Father’s fine boots echoed against the stone floor. “And then you killed the man.”

“Can I help it that he fell into my sword?”

Father’s gaze hardened. “You are a prince and an heir to the throne, Calix. Executing a citizen—no matter how despicable—without trial is forbidden. Even for you. You are not above the law because you are my son. This on the heels of that disaster on the border of the Dreadwood. ‘Scourge of the Viori’ indeed.”

I refused to let him bait me into discussing that. And heir? I nearly laughed. Convenient, considering six older brothers had claims before me. “You are the law, Father. You could change it. Or grant me clemency.”

“And if I don’t?”

From the spark in his eyes, I was dangerously close to the edge of his patience. “Then I suppose I’ll have to adjust myself to the thought of a shorter funeral pyre.”

“You dare jest?” His roar fractured the silence, reverberating off the walls.

I might have pushed him too far this time.

“You’re lazy and spoiled,” he grated. “The only one of my sons in whom I can find nothing to be proud.”

I flinched. “Maybe that’s my accomplishment.”

His sword came free from its sheath with a ringing clang. My sword.

The guards must have handed it to him. He studied the blade, a family heirloom said to have been forged by fae and carried by the first Ederyn king.

“You don’t deserve this gift of the gods. Or my name. You’re utterly useless.”

“The gods died a long time ago.”

His nostrils flared. My blasphemy infuriated him, and some twisted part of me enjoyed it.

“You’ve relied on my protection for too long. Every realm I’ve sent you to, you’ve been more trouble than you were worth.” He gestured sharply. “The scribes at Doba wanted me to ban you altogether.”

“Because I suggested commoners be educated? Literacy is a right, not a privilege.”

“And the swordsmiths in Volker?”

“Their prices are impossible for most Liriens. Our people deserve weapons to defend themselves.”

“The soldiers of Pendara protect them. We do not need an armed populace.” His voice rose. “There is peace in Lirien.”

I scoffed. “The Viori raids leave the borderlands in ruin. The Unbound poison minds against the Bloodbinding. The children of the Bound realms gather in secret, more than ever—”

“Enough.” His whisper was more chilling than a shout. “Kneel.”

“Why?”

Father sheathed the sword and drew a dagger, its hilt glittering with rubies and emeralds. “You’ve squandered your powers for too long. It’s time you learned discipline … and fealty.”

As though containing my powers was so easy. I had tried. And I’d failed, despite my efforts. Maybe not my best efforts, but what choice did I have? “There isn’t a Sealed Master who would truly train me, even on your orders.”

He ignored me. “The tavern keeper’s son and the shop owners demand justice. You went too far. I can’t save you this time.”

Fear slithered through my chest.

He was going to execute me.

I swallowed hard. “And if I demand a trial?”

“There will be no trial. I sentence you to exile for two years to satisfy those who want your blood. But you will not waste this time away from Ederyn, my son. You’re going to Pendara. This time, no Sealed Master will refuse you.”

I straightened, towering several inches taller than him. What in Nyxva?

“Kneel, Calix. You will yield. You will be Sealed as a Pendaran. You must learn fealty to my crown and understand your duty, and why our ways are best, before your rebellious thoughts and ideas of justice take you down a path that excludes you from my protection. Your role requires your head to command your heart, not the other way around.”

Sealed? Only Bound children were Sealed.

Every ten years, each realm selected three of its most promising.

To be chosen was the highest honor in Lirien.

The Sealed were masters of their realm’s craft.

I was a full eleven years older. Twenty-six—and fully aware of the consequences of the Bloodbinding rites and the Sealing.

I retreated a step. “And if I refuse?”

The cell door opened, and the head of my father’s royal guard, a beast of a man named Ulf, entered, four more guards at his heels.

The guards’ hands clamped around my arms like iron bands. I thrashed, but they shoved me to my knees, my shoulders screaming in protest as rough stone scraped my legs. One man sliced my shirt from my back. My hands fisted as two others pinned my ankles.

My father gripped my jaw. “You do not refuse your king,” he gritted out softly. “This is mercy, Calix. Without it, you’re already dead.”

“And yet, I still refuse.”

Pain exploded as his fist connected with my face. Bone splintered. Blood gushed down my lip as his guards held me firmly.

While I considered myself clever and had powers, my inability to wield them effectively, especially against someone like my father, limited me.

This battle was already lost.

“Only the Bound can be Sealed,” I gasped. The guards tightened their hold. “You can’t seal me—I’m not Bound. It could destroy my powers forever.”

Regret flashed in my father’s face as his thumb brushed my jaw. The touch felt foreign—almost gentle—but it didn’t temper the iron in his eyes. Blood smeared his fingers, and he pulled his hand back, staring at it. His hesitation was palpable.

Seconds ticked by, and my heartbeat was erratic with fleeting hope. He wouldn’t really do this to his own son … would he?

For a moment, I thought he might stop.

“I’m King Magnus Warrick of Lirien. I can seal whomever I want, to whichever realm I want. And if the Sealing binds your other powers forever, so be it.” He rounded behind me as Ulf forced my head down in a vise-like grip.

I dug my heels into the stone, thrashing. Futile. Their grips were unyielding. The cool press of the blade against my skin sent a shiver of foreboding down my spine.

My father loomed behind me, whispering incantations in Old Ederyn. The razor-edged blade sliced into my skin, carving symbols between my shoulder blades. Agony radiated through me. The incantation felt alive, heavy with power, each syllable cutting deeper than the blade itself.

Blood spilled in rivulets over my shoulders, its heat trickling down my sides. The metallic scent clawed at my senses, sharp and suffocating. My jaw clenched, a scream trapped in my throat, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I focused on the red drops, desperate to steady my breath.

The Seal burned, alive with magic, etching itself into the flesh between my shoulder blades. I didn’t have to see it to know its shape: crimson and black, intricate as ink, a crossed sword and shield—the symbol of Pendara.

When he’d finished, my father faced me, wiping my blood from his blade across my chest in an X. The fire searing my back refused to abate, magic sinking into every nerve, leaving me trembling with rage and pain.

I refused my father’s gaze.

“You will leave here today and go to Pendara. Present yourself to the warlord in Cairn Hold. For two years, you’ll train alongside their most skilled warriors.

Your other powers will be Bound and the name Calix Warrick is forbidden to you.

Only when you’ve proven yourself will I remove the Seal. Do you understand?”

I closed my eyes, my head pounding fiercely. The powerful magic surged through my veins, limiting my speech. The Seal conferred special abilities, honing its recipient’s skills. But the process was excruciating.

And in my case, it was destroying every other power I possessed.

The fire that had always simmered at the edge of my veins snuffed out.

Desolation curled through my core as an integral part of my being was ripped away.

The Bloodbinding.

This was what the rite did to every child born outside of Ederyn. On the king’s orders, their gods-given gifts were suppressed, unless those gifts aligned with their realm’s lawful craft.

Now I knew what it truly meant to be Bound. To have the very essence of who I was smothered, flickering out like a dying flame. This was the fate of every child born beyond Ederyn’s borders.

And now, it was mine.

I would never be myself again.

Humiliation and anger flooded me. My father’s punishment was a stark reminder of why no one—including my brothers—dared disobey him.

“Yes, Father,” I rasped.

My father jerked my chin with his fingertips. His gaze softened, the steel in his eyes tempered by something far deeper.

Is that fear?

“This is the only way,” he murmured. “You’re my son, but you’re not invincible. Rebellion isn’t strength—it’s ruin. You’re too much like him. That same fire, that same defiance. It ruined my brother and I won’t let it ruin you. Or this kingdom. Fire destroys, Calix.”

Then he straightened and set my sword at my feet. “When you return, you’ll take your place by my side, in the role I choose for you.”

I hated my resemblance to him. Hated those green and blue eyes—the golden hair my brothers and I shared. The sharp, strong cheekbones and firm jaw. The wide, Ederyn forehead.

But he was wrong. I’d never settle for a role chosen for me. Though my other powers were smothered now, I would find a way to reignite them.

Fire consumes everything in its path. Even chains.

My path was mine to forge … or burn.