The Treasured One (The Golden Children #1)

PROLOGUE

24 YEARS AGO

A tall, cloaked figure made its way up a winding stone staircase. Sparks of dust performed a mischievous dance where the figure stepped, and the air took on a distinct chill as they climbed. There was no light to see by, save for the pale glow of moonlight from windows every few feet along the outer wall.

As the figure reached the top of the tower, an ornate oak door with iron hardware came into view. They hesitated a moment before lifting one slender, sculpted hand to knock.

“Come in,” a voice called from within. The language they spoke was not English. Indeed, it was not a language spoken on Earth at all.

The door opened of its own accord, and the cloaked figure stepped into a room furnished only with the necessities: a wrought-iron bed frame with a wool-stuffed mattress, a sturdy bedside table with a washbasin, a massive wardrobe, and a single chair by a fireplace, where embers dwindled into ash.

The cloaked figure looked about the room before settling their gaze on the bed, which was half-hidden in shadow.

“You know why I’m here?” a mature, feminine voice inquired, the words spoken with a surety that made the question sound more like a statement .

“I do,” a youthful voice responded from the shadows. “You feel it. We all do.”

“What is it?”

“The magic.”

The cloaked figure stood there, head cocked in question. When the voice in the shadows made no further attempt to speak, they grew impatient.

“What about the magic?” they demanded.

“It grows.” The voice sounded contemplative. “It seeks an escape.”

“An escape? What ever does that mean?”

“If it doesn’t find one,” the voice continued, unruffled by the cloaked figure’s agitation, “it will create one. I believe it has already begun.”

The figure tensed. “And then what?”

“Then it will no longer be alone. Neither the magic, nor our world.”

“For Valuen’s sake.” The cloaked figure threw up their hands in frustration. “This is not the time to speak in riddles. Tell me plainly, what must I prepare our people for?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I shrugged,” the voice explained helpfully, since the action wasn’t visible in the dim light. The cloaked figure whirled about and began to pace before the door.

“It can’t leave us!” they exclaimed. “The magic has been ours for millennia; we cannot function without it now. We were chosen by the Goddess! Why would She desert us?”

“Perhaps She does not desert us,” the voice mused. “Perhaps, She is simply choosing to bestow others with Her blessing as well. It is not our place to question Her will.”

“Keerya spoke true,” the figure spat, eliciting a gasp from the shadows.

“You will invoke the Goddess’s wrath with such profanity,” the voice chided. “Be calm. She has not revealed Her intentions, but I sense no animosity toward our people. I believe this is no punishment, but rather an opportunity. A sort of test—a chance to prove our worth.”

“I don’t like it,” the figure grumbled. “Why must we prove anything?”

“You must walk carefully, my queen. Soon, you will come to a crossroads. The decisions you make will affect us all, and your success or failure may very well decide our fate.”