Chapter 1 #2
The nightmares, left behind by the creature who must have been his creation, have gotten so frequent that I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night.
The visions have only gotten darker—bottomless pools of blood, the Amethyst Throne on fire, and a name my soul knows that I can never recall when I wake.
Whatever waits for me there may very well be the end of me.
“Did you see the physician today?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
I’ve summoned every doctor, naturopath, and spiritual healer that tried to save my mother and they’ve all had the same answer. There’s nothing to do but make him comfortable, and he refuses every tonic they offer.
A violent coughing fit seizes him. We both pretend not to notice the blood that leaks from his mouth before he quickly swipes it away. Fragments of my foreboding dreams flash through my mind again at the sight of the crimson liquid. Snippets that I have been trying to forget all day.
“Say a prayer for your father, will you?”
He jokes as he dismisses me, but his humor is misplaced. The gods never heard our prayers when my mother lay dying, and they’ve done little for us since.
Neither of us are pious, but in a country that claims to be the favorite of the gods, nonbelievers are shunned or killed. So we attend temple services and erect statues in their honor despite holding no love for the gods who abandoned us long ago.
False devotees for false gods.
I scoff at their stone effigies that adorn the courtyard gardens as I avoid the dining room.
The ground is barren around them, just like Corinth under their watchful eyes.
Their prized jeweled nation battered and scarred in the wake of a holy war.
Our determination to convert the people of Synal and the island nations found us on the receiving end of an invasion—something entirely avoidable and entirely orchestrated by the Lord General.
My magic is primed, itching to be used after hours of sitting in an uncomfortable chair while listening to minuscule men debate my ability to sway a vote. Here, away from prying eyes, I can finally release it.
No one will notice a little more ivy mingled amongst the already thick vines that crawl up the stone tower or a few more blades of grass along the flagstone path.
I’d like to disappear deep into the Godswood and use my magic until it’s depleted and I fall asleep under the stars, but there’s no time.
A quick detour through the garden to my favorite patch won’t be the same, but it’ll satisfy my magic for now. A right past the fountain, a left at the bust of the God King Nobus, and another right past the holly bushes leads me to my destination.
The gardeners planted the seeds of godsbane at my insistence.
Their hesitance to add something poisonous amongst the wholesome blossoms further fueled my attachment to the flower.
If it wasn’t crucial that everything be intentionally placed by them first in order to hide my powers, I would cover every square inch of this garden in the death plant I’ve become so fond of.
I pick a small bundle of the deep-purple, nearly black blooms, carefully regrowing the missing flowers that surround the northern base of the faceless statue of the Goddess of Light.
Her name and likeness are both lost to history.
There’s barely a mention of her in the sacred scriptures and holy texts, and not a single portrait in the temples depicts her certain beauty.
All that remains of her is a stony, featureless face and a lithe, marble body draped in flowing cloth resting across a crescent moon.
A sliver of light from the setting sun peaks through the graying dusk illuminating the statue’s outline on the still pool at its base.
I kneel, pausing at my own reflection on the water’s glassy surface.
Pushing the tangle of brown waves from my forehead, I scrutinize the green eyes that stare back at me.
Eyes that mirror the color of a region that holds barely any love for me.
Eyes that don’t match my mother’s no matter how much I wish they did.
A spark snakes down my spine at the memory of her, magic emanating from the tattooed bloom between my shoulder blades.
Ink painstakingly added to hide the ghostly patch of skin left behind by the primordial sea beast who simultaneously saved my life and damned me, leaving me with strange power and even stranger dreams.
Ripples disturb the smooth surface as I trail my fingers through the water.
I linger here, wishing to hear her long silenced voice but nothing comes.
The dead don’t talk and the gods don’t grant wishes.
Magic that shouldn’t exist in this world sings within me, always drawn to the water since that day.
There is no explanation for the secret power that I possess. The more my magic has grown, the further inward I’ve retreated. I use my anger-fueled words to distract people from looking too closely, staring too long. Even the few people I’ve let behind my defenses don’t know what runs in my veins.
“IVY!”
Eileen’s voice echoes through the garden, snapping me from my introspection and causing me to drop the flowers into the pool. The sky opens as the matronly woman rounds the corner, fat raindrops pelting her head as she swats them away.
“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Dinner is starting and you look like something a cat would drag in from the Godswood.”
“Please, we both know cats hate me,” I joke, ducking under the now open umbrella in her outstretched hand. “And I look fine.”
“You’d look better in a dress. You would have had time to change into the special one laid out for you if you hadn’t wasted so much time in the garden. I swear, sometimes I think you prefer plants to people.”
“Plants don’t tell me to shut up,” I mumble as Eileen ushers me to the covered walkway at the edge of the garden. For someone whose job is to attend to my needs, she sure is opinionated.
“Was it Lord Yarrow again? I don’t know why you still associate with his son. The way his father treats you is abhorrent.”
“Miles isn’t like his father,” I say. “We aren’t our parents.”
“I think you’re more like your mother than you remember,” Eileen offers with a knowing smile. “I also think the gods have big things planned for your future, Ivy. Try not to miss it.”
“How could she miss something that looks this good?” Miles Yarrow steps out of the archway that leads back into the manor’s main hall, arms outstretched as he turns in an exaggerated circle. “Come on, Ive. You’re going to miss your own birthday dinner.”
“You’ll never find a husband while you associate with him,” Eileen chides as she takes the umbrella and departs for the dining room.
“Good thing I’m not looking for one!” I call after her.
My father would never dream of betrothing me against my will, but Eileen would have me married off before sunrise if she was governor. A fact that she has told me many, many times.
Miles, son of the man who is a perpetual thorn in my side, is an integral member of the trio that is the subject of much of the Emerald Region’s gossip.
Made up of an unruly, unwanted heir and the oldest children of powerful nobles, Miles Yarrow, Quinn Bartlett, and I have a knack for igniting rumors that spread like wildfire through the circles of the elite.
“Well … aren’t you going to tell me how good I look? This is a new jacket.” Miles smiles, puffing his shoulders and tugging on the fabric like a preening bird.
The rich embroidery of golden thread across the emerald lapels is a perfect complement to his sandy blonde hair. He’s an irrefutably handsome man. Women fall over themselves for a single night with him and he is more than happy to oblige. He’s an absolute rake and the brother that I never had.
“Not until you tell me how good I look.” I smile, already knowing that ‘good’ isn’t an adjective I would use to describe myself at the moment.
“Let’s see …” Miles circles me as he takes in my disheveled appearance. “You haven’t slept in days, you’ve clearly been tugging on your hair … likely out of frustration over something my father said … but damn your ass looks good in leather pants.”
“Thank you for finding at least one nice thing to say about me,” I joke, swatting his shoulder as finishes his assessment. “I’ll consider that my birthday present.”
“Oh no, I’ve got a much better birthday present for you. A piece of scorching hot gossip fresh out of the oven. You’ll never guess who—”
“Whatever piece of undoubtedly scandalous information you’re about to share with my daughter will need to wait, Lord Miles.”
My father, now dressed in his finest suit, steps out of the archway.
The emerald velvet jacket is cut perfectly to fit him and I can nearly see my reflection in his overly polished shoes from across the way.
He stifles the same cough with a new handkerchief, fresh crimson spots bright against the crisp, white fabric.
“I’m off to rearrange place cards.” Miles winks at me before bowing to my father and disappearing down the hall.
Lightning flashes overhead in the sky. The thunderous clap that follows hides the clack of the wooden cane my father uses to close the distance between us. Something he has refused to use before today.
“I don’t like leaving you in this condition, Father.”
“You worry too much, Ivy. Death comes when he’s ready, not when we are, my flower.”
“I believe you’re right. And I believe our guests are also ready, Governor.” I wrap my arm through his, squeezing gently to savor what may very well be one of our last memories together.
I don’t tell him that I believe Death is ready for us both, because to tell him that would require the true story about what happened that day in the sea. Divulging the secret of my power is an unnecessary complication that would serve no purpose but to ruin the limited time we have left.
If he suspected that I had magic, he never once mentioned it. I walked that harrowing journey alone, just as I will this one.