Chapter 5 Roommates
Roommates
The Knight of Wands is ruled by fire and cannot be tamed, and though charismatic and alluring, his impulsiveness can lead to dangerous desires.
OF ALL THE PEOPLE, demons, whatever he is, to be stuck in close proximity with, he’s the last I’d choose. All I see when I look at him is my father’s necklace disappearing into the shadows. The weight of the day snaps something in me.
I bend down, yank my boot off, and chuck it straight at his stupid head.
It’s something I never would have dared do to the Lord of Westfall. But I’m done scraping and bowing and kowtowing. I left that version of me behind to burn.
Clearly, Prince Draven wasn’t expecting it, but he’s on his feet impossibly fast. I barely register the blaze of golden light in the air, a tarot card of a skull-faced grim reaper flashing, and my boot disappears into shadows.
My fury doubles, my vision reddens as I realize I’ve just thrown the last thing my mother gave me away.
I grasp a glass vase off a sideboard just as a portal opens above my head, the boot colliding into my temple. I stagger, clutching the wound in shock.
“You demonic little asshole!” I growl.
He warns, “Don’t!”
I hurl the vase at him anyway. He merely twists his hips, the glass launching past him and shattering in the fireplace. He turns to me with a snarl on his full lips, his mouth open in outrage, as if he hasn’t earned a lick of this fury. He’s earned the whole damn platter.
I grab the next thing I see, a penknife, and this time, when I throw it, he doesn’t try to avoid it. A flash of a card and it turns into a salamander. He brushes it off, where it skitters across the wood floors and jumps happily into the fire.
“I liked that pen knife,” he says humorlessly.
“Then go fetch your new pet,” I snarl.
“That’s not how magic works,” he mocks.
As my fangs slide down, his come out to match, wings spreading high. He truly looks like a beast now. I back into the sideboard, a second vase toppling into my hand.
Draven grits his teeth. “Oh, come on.”
I chuck it at his head, but the vase pauses as if trapped in time. He moves around it, yanking it from thin air, and bears down on me. I’m frozen like a fossil in amber glass. He did this to me. I try to break from it, throwing my might behind each movement but I’m stuck in place; panic rises.
He thuds the vase back onto the buffet, his hands moving in constant, furious motions, drawing a combination of cards I can’t make out. My body jerks into motion as if on strings, walking forward like some puppet, plopping into an armchair, a blanket unraveling into ropes that strap me down.
He levels a glare at me. “First rule of starting a fight in another kingdom: don’t start shit until you understand how things work.
” He holds up a tarot card of a man hanging upside down, his hand glowing crimson red before he flicks the back of the card.
The color dissipates and movement slowly returns to my body.
I jerk forward, as if everything I’ve tried to do catches up at the same time.
But he doesn’t release the ropes. He holds up another card, this one of a grim reaper. “Second rule of instigating: use your head.” Shadows open above me. I flinch as my boot drops into my lap.
He stops walking, dropping back onto the couch, his hair less perfect than moments ago, his face a little red. “Then maybe you’d have thought to … I don’t know? Learn how to use the magic we’ve promised to teach you before attempting to murder me for no gods damned reason.”
“No reason? You stole something from me!” I slam against the bonds, but they won’t budge.
“What’re you … oh. Is this all because of that trinket?” Draven’s clearly flummoxed, his head rolling back. He twists his hand, and the shadows reappear, the pendant along with it, cord looped around his deft fingers. “Is this what you want?”
My mouth curls as I look him over, his smug face half cast in shadow, lips lifting in a daring smirk. He’s not in the armor he wore to the Selection, but instead wears a black buttoned shirt, the top undone. Hints of tattoos peek out, including two entangled serpents, one white, one dark.
“That’s mine,” I growl.
He stands, coming around my back. Every part of me seizes, preparing to fight as he leans over me. My necklace is strung between his hands, his breaths coiling at my nape, a caress against my ear. “All you have to say is please.”
I turn to take more of him in, but we’re too close, our breaths sharing the same space.
“Please give it to me.” I meet his eyes. “And I won’t break your pretty fucking nose.”
Draven scoffs, tongue tracing a sharp canine, and I can tell he’s caught between amusement and annoyance.
Chewing his lip and whatever retort he looks primed to fling at me, he laces the necklace back in place, drawing it flush against my skin.
He crosses to the couch, scooping up his tarot cards he left on the coffee table.
He huffs out a sigh, lazing confidently, arm resting across the back. My glower fades—but only slightly.
“Why didn’t you just let me have it back there?” I ask, eyes narrowed.
“Because you’re not allowed to keep …” He looks me over, and I swear I hear the amendment in whatever he was going to say, his tone adjusting.
I’m sure to him a bone pendant necklace is the epitome of peasantry—the very threads along his collar and every button tracing his chest shine in molten gold.
He clears his throat. “You can’t hold on to anything that ties you to your past. Whoever you were before means nothing now. ”
It means everything, whatever lands I’m in.
He tsks and a suspicion raises in the back of my mind once more that he heard that thought. But Prince Draven just leans forward, elbows on his knees, strong hands shuffling his deck of cards, the paper black as pitch, the gold foil patterns shimmering in the hypnotic movement.
“What about the other items I brought … is there any chance—”
“Your clothes likely have met the incinerator by now.”
His gaze travels the length of me as I fall against the ropes. I don’t care about the clothes … well I do, but not the way I do losing that piece of my brother.
“Were they dreadfully important—”
“Why are we the only ones in this house?” If I’m stuck with him, at least I can get information out of him. I’m certainly not going to open up to him about something so personal.
“It’s a Hearth,” he corrects. His eyes avoid mine as easily as he did that question.
“Can you untie me so we can have a civilized conversation?”
“That depends. Are you going to behave?”
“So long as you give me some answers.”
We stare at each other for a moment, and I recognize something in him that I see in myself every time I look in the mirror.
Resolution. Stubbornness. We might sit in these chairs glowering at each other until our bones grow brittle and our hair gathers dust. He rolls his eyes at me finally, impatience winning even if trust is too fragile to lace between us, and my ties drop.
I rub my arms where they squeezed too tightly.
“You and I are the only ones to be chosen for this Arcana in half a millennium.”
I knew it must be rare by the lack of rooms available, but … I didn’t expect it to be that extraordinary. “Why is that?”
He shrugs, wetting those lips as he avoids my eyes, wrists coaxing, fingers twisting as he shuffles those cards over and over. “I’ve no idea. It’s … an extremely coveted Arcana. I’m just as confused as everyone else as to why it’d choose someone who so clearly doesn’t want anything to do with us.”
I force my expression into neutrality.
“Is it coveted because people want to be closer to the prince”—I gesture in his direction—“or for its rareness?”
Draven’s smile spreads like a wildfire. “Both.” He examines his nails, and hair rises on my arms as I wait for the talons to appear that I know he can summon in a moment. But he keeps them at bay. “The World as your Arcana means you have immense magical capabilities.”
“Oh, like that little magic show you just put on?” I prod, pointing blatantly at his cards now. “Seemed an awful lot like you were trying to impress me.”
He ignores my jab. “It also gives you immense political influence. You could be … useful.” Or dangerous, is what he doesn’t say. “But perhaps the Arcana won’t stick. Maybe it’ll decide you’re not worthy of it.”
“Well, fuck you, too.” I grasp my necklace, clutching it tightly until it digs into my palm. He said that last sentence as if it was on his mind from the moment the World chose me. “So … me being chosen means your special Arcana is a little less rare … am I a threat to you?”
He meets my gaze, incredibly steady. I don’t look away.
“Only if you stand in my way.” His coldness is far more chilling than his fire ever was. “I’m up at four thirty every morning, gone by five. Stay out of my sight, and I’ll stay out of yours. Don’t try to kill me in my sleep. It’ll go very poorly for you.”
He moves toward his room, all preternatural grace.
I stand, nearly tripping on the loose ropes of the blanket, stepping out of them awkwardly.
My anger has mostly subsided, but I’m still frustrated, nerves burning through me so hard that I shake like a lightning-struck tree. I’m not done with this conversation.
“Are you going to tell me what the hells the World Arcana’s magical power is?” The heat from the fire doesn’t reach me. For all the warmth this room inspired when I first entered, I feel nothing but cold and alone now. “What’s the big secret?”
Draven doesn’t look back at me, only stares ahead into his room, a refuge my questions hold him back from. I think about what Ember said, He could be an ally, or a tool.
Finally, he turns to look at me, the shade in those eyes brightening again, resting in indigo.
“It’s all of them. Everything.” Those full lips quirk up in the corner. “If you’re strong enough.”
His eyes flick away dismissively, but I’m not done.
“I don’t understand this place.”