The Treasured One (The Golden Children #1)

1. The Golden Child

CHAPTER ONE

THE GOLDEN CHILD

When the world found out the fae existed, everything went to shit.

Pardon my French.

It happened twenty-four years ago. An irreparable tear—dubbed The Rift—appeared out of nowhere, cleaving the sky in two and creating a permanent bridge between two planes of existence. Our world leaders scrambled to make a good impression on the impossibly strong, inconceivably beautiful beings that existed on the other side. Science as we knew it became obsolete. Governments collapsed and were reformed. New religions emerged.

After some time, it became apparent that The Rift was a momentous accident, and the fae wanted nothing to do with us. They kept to their side; we kept to ours. But as it turned out, the presence of The Rift had introduced more than just the fae to our world; it also introduced magic—in the form of a select few individuals known as “Golden Children.”

When I was eight years old, I discovered that I had the power to heal others. My parents couldn’t deal with the resulting chaos, so I was brought to Washington, D.C. to live at the White House at the tender age of fourteen. Marcia, a girl from Brazil who could manipulate her appearance at will, was also brought to live there, and the two of us became friends. We were given everything a teenager could want, with the only downside being that we couldn’t leave.

Of course, that didn’t stop us. One day, we snuck out, prancing into the wild that was the city with more courage than brains. I was found and brought back, though irreparably traumatized. Marcia wasn’t so lucky—she didn’t come back at all, and though they searched for her for years, it was like she’d disappeared into thin air. I made a vow to myself that from then on, I would be grateful and do whatever was asked of me. I couldn’t risk upsetting my government caretakers—not when everything I had, everything I was, hung in the balance.

So every month, it was the same affair; I’d go out to the White House fence and heal a handful of the terminally ill people who waited there for me. It took weeks to get used to their presence. In the beginning, the screaming kept me up for days. I piled things against the windows in desperation, wrapped myself in layers upon layers of blankets, and rocked myself to the closest approximation of sleep I could manage. Eventually, the ruckus became background noise, and I settled into a routine. Noise-canceling headphones were a lifesaver. Still, I never could shake the feeling that everything would fall to pieces someday.

Little did I know that day would come sooner than I thought.

Standing in an opulent dressing room, I studied my reflection in a floor-length mirror. I was bathed in tiers of white chiffon and gold-tipped feathers that were meant to make my reddish hair pop. Like everything I wore for these healing events, the dress was a designer piece. I’m sure the effect was meant to be magical. In actuality, it looked more like a hotel room after a bachelorette party pillow fight: goose down and champagne on every surface. The dozens of fluffy layers, combined with the apprehension that always plagued me at these events, made it hard to breathe.

The thought of pillows brought my attention to my tired face, framed by limp bangs. Since when did I have dark circles? Even with a more than generous smattering of freckles—which were par for the course, being a ginger—and ample amounts of makeup, they were still noticeable. And had my cheekbones always been this prominent? My body felt so heavy. All I wanted to do was curl up somewhere warm and quiet and… not feel for a while.

Oh, well. Duty called.

I didn’t have the right to be miserable. My meals were curated by top-notch chefs, and a bevy of private tutors oversaw my schooling. I had access to a movie theater, tennis courts, and a pool. I spent most days watching YouTube videos and playing computer games on a high-end PC with dual monitors and surround sound. Last Saturday was my birthday, and the president was there. How many people got to say that? I was living my best life. Sure, I couldn’t travel the world, but I was safe and cared for, and that was far more than most people had.

Reminding myself of that, I frowned at my reflection and turned away from the mirror. Beside me, my stylist was taking her time picking through hairpins, but I put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Let’s get this over with,” I said, gathering fistfuls of my dress so that I could walk unimpeded. “Nobody cares what I look like.”

That wasn’t exactly true. Photos of me from today would be popping up all over the place, as they always did after my healing events, but I couldn’t summon the energy to worry about what news outlets and influencers thought. The only people that mattered were my “patients,” and I could be seven feet tall and bright pink all over with seaweed for hair for all they cared.

Skirts in hand, I made for the door. Devon and Chris, my personal security detail, were on the other side as usual, never more than a shout away. Although we kept things professional, they were the closest thing I had to friends since Marcia disappeared. Devon was of European origin and six feet of too-serious, ex-military muscle in a tailored suit. With the right incentive, I’d admit to having a teensy crush on the man; the man bun really did it for me.

Chris was Asian, a little shorter than Devon, and kept his dark hair cropped close to his scalp. A total goofball, he was the kind of open, easygoing person that made anyone comfortable. He had recently gotten engaged to his long-term boyfriend, and we regularly joked that his partner must have undiagnosed issues if he was crazy enough to settle for him.

The two of them made things a little less lonely… most of the time.

“New dress?” Chris asked with one bushy eyebrow raised, trying and failing to stifle his laughter as I emerged from my room in a flurry of feathers. I shot an exasperated glare his way.

“I’ll have you know that no less than twenty baby swans died to make this dress,” I responded with a solemn air. “The least you can do is respect their sacrifice.”

“Cygnets,” Devon corrected me matter-of-factly, face blank as he adjusted his suit cuffs, “Baby swans are called cygnets.”

“Oh my God, thank you, that’s so good to know,” I drawled, my voice dripping with sarcasm even as a smile tugged at my mouth. “You must have been popular in school. In all seriousness, I’m sure someone paid a lot of money for me to wear this. Who am I to turn them down?”

“An up-and-coming star in the fashion world from Wisconsin,” my stylist supplied from behind me. “The collection hasn’t been officially launched yet. Such a treat to see this piece in person. Thank you.” Her thanks were directed at Chris, who had reached over to shut the door behind her since her arms were full of bags and tools. She directed a megawatt smile at me .

“See you next month, Ms. Nelson,” she said, bobbing on her feet in an almost-bow. “Good luck with your healing!” In a flash, she was gone.

Without meaning to, my gaze lingered on her retreating form, and a pang of longing went through me. If I saw her more than a couple of hours every month, maybe we could have been friends. Heaven knew it got stifling at times without many other young adults around.

“Well, then. Shall we?” Chris offered me his arm, but I shook my head.

“Thank you, but I’ll need both hands to get this dress and myself outside in one piece,” I said wryly, gathering up my skirts once more and following my bodyguards as they led the way to the Entrance Hall. The closer we got, the more I became aware of my heart pounding away in my chest. A clammy sweat began to develop along my exposed neck. I’d been doing this for years with no incidents—today would be no different. I just had to keep telling myself it was safe. There was a fence and guards; nobody could get to me here. I was safe.

We were met in the foyer as usual by George Kepler, the official Secretary of U.S. Rift Affairs. He was one of the few human beings who had been through The Rift and seen the fae in person. He was also the one who made most of my decisions for me. I couldn’t help thinking that such an important position called for someone who didn’t look like they might keel over with a stiff breeze. He’d been old when I first met him—surely the man was pushing eighty by now? I liked to think that he had my best interests at heart, even though he was as much a slave to the system as I was. He had always been nice to me, at least.

“Good morning, Miss Avery,” he greeted, politely ignoring the mess that was my dress.

“Morning, George. How’s the turnout?” I asked, peering past him. It was nearly impossible to see the edge of the grounds from inside the Hall, but it was habit to try nonetheless. Part of me always expected the shadows from my past to be lurking just past the threshold, malicious strangers waiting to pounce the moment I let my guard down. I still remembered how easy it had been for hostile hands to pluck me off the bustling streets of D.C., even in broad daylight and with Marcia mere feet away. The memory gave me chills.

“Excitement is high as always,” George reported, a touch of weariness in his tone. “We’ve estimated 7,000 attendees. Plus representatives from the major news outlets, of course.”

A lump developed in my throat. I was grateful for my healing powers, grateful for what they could do for others, but they didn’t go very far; I could only heal a handful of people before succumbing to exhaustion. Recently, that number got smaller and smaller, and the familiar pull of magic became harsher. The last few times, using my abilities had bordered on pain and left me weak for days instead of hours. Even if all went well and I did great, I knew a thousand people would be left disappointed for every one I helped. “Great.” I tried to keep my tone light rather than let despair creep in, but couldn’t resist a touch of sarcasm in the face of the situation. “Let’s not keep my adoring public waiting, then.”

“Be my guest.” George gestured for me to walk ahead. Already, the muffled roar of the crowd outside was making me itch. Devon stepped forward to get the door for me, and I no longer had time to hesitate. My eyes closed for a brief moment. As the door opened, I was inundated by screams. Inside, the walls muffled the worst of it, but the intensity was something else. I would never get used to the sight either, the thousands of people that filled Pennsylvania Avenue, barely held back by thin strips of wrought iron. Armed military personnel lined the path to the fence just in case. No one had tried any funny business recently, but they couldn’t be too careful with me and the president living in the same building.

A cool breeze met me at the threshold. I savored what little comfort it brought me. If Devon and Chris noticed my hesitation, they were too kind to comment. Taking a deep breath to steel myself, I raised my chin and headed down the stairs toward the visitor’s entrance where the throng awaited me. At the front, immediately within my line of sight, a wheelchair-bound lady with an oxygen mask grasped the bars with arms that were skin and bones. Next to her, a man who appeared healthy held a baby up as high as he could while shouting something incomprehensible. The weight of their attention was palpable, the miasma of desperation so thick that it hung in the air and made it difficult to breathe.

I didn’t let my steps falter, but my nerves started getting to me, and dread weighed down my feet. What if I couldn’t even heal them both this time? How long had they been waiting for me, finally feeling hope instead of despair for once? Now I was all that stood between them and a future, and if I wasn’t strong enough, I was taking that from them.

I stopped a few feet away. The man was drenched in desperation; he practically shoved the baby through the bars to me. Its howling screams joined the others to the point that they blurred into an indiscernible cacophony of sound. The woman was hardly able to hold herself upright, much less call out to me, but her eyes pleaded with me. All of them did—there were thousands of eyes on me. My head spun, and bile crawled up my throat.

“You okay?” I could barely hear Chris over the crowd.

“Yeah,” I lied. My voice was a whisper. I nodded, half for his sake, half to convince myself. Swallowing down the nausea, I pressed my lips together and stepped toward the bundle of joy. Tears of relief streaked down the baby’s father’s face as he realized that I approached them. As I went, I began to brace myself for the harsh pull of my magic.

I was careful not to reach past the bars. In the early years, before we’d worked out a system, someone had yanked me off my feet and nearly taken off my arm. As terrifying as it had been, I understood why, and I didn’t blame them. It bothered me that this was the only way I could help. One of the baby’s sock-clad little feet stuck between the bars, so I carefully extended my arm enough to secure my fingers around it.

It took me a moment to determine the problem. With my eyes closed, I could sense the body’s processes. Normally, it functioned like well-directed traffic flowing along the highway. If I focused, I could find the flaw, the traffic jam holding the rest of the commuters back. It was a sense of something wrong that begged to be corrected. In this child, it was more like a multi-car pileup. That told me that whatever ailment they had, it was serious.

Heart swelling with sympathy, I reached for my magic without delay. It was a constant presence, like a flickering flame in my chest. For some reason, it was harder to reach than it usually was. My nerves must have been getting to me. Eyebrows knitting together in concentration, I put more effort into it. Eventually, warmth signaling the flow of magic rolled through my body. I shuddered at the feeling, as though something vital was wrenched from me. How much more of this could I take? The queasy feeling got worse.

Abruptly, the baby stopped crying. The foot was yanked from my hand, and in the second it took for me to open my eyes, the man and the baby had been swallowed by the crowd. Exhausted and blinking back tears, I turned to the lady in the wheelchair. Gray spots danced at the edge of my vision. When I stepped forward, my feet wobbled. In an effort to stabilize myself, I caught the frail hand that reached for me through the bars. I had to grit my teeth against the urge to lean against the fence for support. One more, at least. These people were in pain, and I was the only one who could help them. Giving up wasn’t an option.

“Let’s get you well,” I whispered, closing my eyes again. I found the problem even faster in the woman than I had with the baby; her sickness was more advanced. She had weeks left, if that. I reached for the flicker of magic within me. Had it always been so small? Worry crawled up my spine. I got a hold of it, but this time, it fought me. My eyes snapped open in confusion. The lady’s expression hadn’t changed, still so hopeful. She wouldn’t have registered that something was off; she had no idea how this worked. I had to try again, for her sake.

“Sorry, one moment…” With a frown, I closed my eyes once more and focused harder. The flicker of my magic winked in and out, barely there. Perplexed, I braced myself and tried again, straining for the flame and attempting to cajole it into action. With significant effort, I was able to grasp an ember, a spark. My hands began to warm around the skeletal extremity I was gripping, and I was relieved. I’m strong , I told myself. I can do this.

The magic flared suddenly, sending scorching threads of pain through my body. I dropped the lady’s hand with a gasp. A distant voice called my name. I spun around to face Chris, and the world continued to spin even as I stopped moving. I couldn’t breathe—either the dress was cinched too tight, or something had stripped the oxygen from the air.

“I-I can’t,” I stammered, swaying on my feet. The sounds, the smells, the light—it was too much. The nausea amped up. My ears rang. Something roiled underneath my skin, foreign and angry. Overwhelmed, I struggled to remember how to speak. “It’s not working… I don’t know what went wrong… I…”

My voice fell away as the scenery began to tip to one side. The last thing I saw was Chris rushing forward to catch me before everything went black.