Twisted Roots and Soil (Poison Gold #1)

1. Chapter One

Chapter one

Not for the first time, I wish I could tattoo the empty skin over my heart myself.

It wouldn't take much to add the missing constellation of four-point stars, and I'd love not to start every day with a reminder of my greatest failure, the one that ripped away my gods-given right to power.

But the ink and the magic it represents are a result of the ritual we only get one shot at, so I'm eternally cursed to hide the blank space—and the deadly truth it reveals.

"Do you even check the mirror before you go out, Alyxia? Or do you truly care so little about your appearance?” My mother's icy tone and curled lip make her displeasure clear as she stalks into my room.

The woman may be an Adaptor—the Restorative Magic Wielders focused on inventing and manipulating materials, but I swear, her real superpower is making me feel two inches tall.

While she's not completely wrong—I do avoid looking at my reflection—her question is ironic, considering I’m currently standing in front of a mirror, trying to tame my long chestnut hair into submission.

I need it out of my face while I'm rushing around today, and this battle with the brush is proving to be an exercise in futility.

Mother scowls at my tunic, plain and black, like all the clothes I choose, as if its mere existence is a personal insult.

I fold my arms in front of my body, trying to protect against her scorn.

"I'm heading to the Trivialis shortly for Giving Day, Duchess.

There's really no need for concern about what I'm wearing with so much work to do.

Willa's coming to help, and she'll be in her oldest leathers, so it wouldn't make sense for me to–"

She cuts me off, eyes narrowing. "Yes, I'm well aware of where you're choosing to spend your time today, daughter. Didn't you say the Queen is stopping by your little event this time?"

Shoulders slumping in defeat, I let out a quiet sigh, knowing full well this is not an argument I'm going to win.

I bypass her overwhelming disapproval of the program I started to help feed the non-magical people of our realm, who live in the Trivialis at the base of the mountain plateau housing the city of Raviaz.

Despite being twenty-eight, my parents chastise me for wanting to spend this single day every few months down there with the Trivs.

It’s not an activity they consider appropriate for someone from one of the highest-ranking noble families in Zelindyr—never mind it's damn near the only thing that gives me any sense of purpose.

Mother taps her foot impatiently, waiting for an answer.

"Yes, she very kindly offered to open Giving Day since it's the two-year anniversary.

She's even going to help with the food service for the first hour, which means I really should go.

I can't be late." In truth, I've left myself plenty of time.

I'd just rather not be alone with Mother any longer than necessary.

Not that she cares. "You're not going anywhere until you change into something befitting your station and fix your hair.

" There's no point arguing when she marches to the back corner of my closet, returning with a dress she insists is a flattering cut.

I think the dusty pink color makes me look horribly washed out.

Plus, the jeweled neckline, full skirts, and velvety fabric make it far too formal for today.

I need her to not be my enemy right now, though, so it's easier to duck behind the dressing screen and put the damn thing on. Mother looks me up and down after lacing me in ridiculously tight, pursing her lips and letting out a loud sigh as she holds out a hand, demanding the hairbrush.

Reflexively, I stand straighter, shoulders back, stomach sucked in, trying to give her less to critique.

"You really should be wearing a proper corset.

At least it's better than that dreary, colorless sack you had on before.

You may never be a beauty like your sister was, but that's not an excuse to dress more like the staff than a member of this family, particularly with so many eyes on us this week. "

Was? She's using past tense when referring to Bri now? I bury the ever-present ache of missing her and ignore the rest of Mother's caustic criticism. When she yanks at my sleep-tangled tresses, I’m unsure if her words or her actions are the cause of my pain.

I've had every flaw pointed out a thousand times, so while her disapproval shouldn't still hurt, occasionally, the sharp comments strike like a physical blow, stripping away my carefully constructed defenses.

"Don't be late to the opening feast tonight," she continues.

"You need to make an effort—smile, mingle, show them what it means to be a golden daughter of Zelindyr.

It's just the two of you Reyaals now, with your sister gone. "

She really is speaking as if Bri is never coming home.

Deciding to disobey our parents and stay in the Grotto to research was not well received.

It's frowned on for any magic-wielder to miss the Renewal—a week of inter-realm trades, celebrations and the Amplifier Trials.

Not being here when Zelindyr hosts the annual event, when we're from one of its four Foundation families, is unheard of.

Given our blood—along with Atafye's eleven other founding bloodlines—plays a critical role in reinforcing the protective barrier containing the southern point's ruinous soil.

These past three months without my younger sister have been excruciating.

Knowing I'll see her once the week's over is the only thing keeping the ache of missing her at bay.

I hope she'll be ready to leave the Grotto and come home by the time I finish my mentor duties there.

Whatever her reason is for staying away longer than expected, I need her here.

I won't survive this family on my own, and our older sister is rarely around, leaving me to bear the brunt of our parents.

"For stars’ sake, are you even listening to me, Alyxia?"

No. No, I was not. "Apologies. I didn't catch that last part."

She lets out a huff. "I said, would it kill you to spend part of the evening with Kentiz? He sought me out earlier in the week and complained you barely give him the time of day."

"It actually might be the death of me," I mutter under my breath. Obviously, not nearly quiet enough, because she meets my eyes, narrowing hers when I flinch again.

"What's with the sour face? He's a four-star and has just been promoted to Captain, which will only improve his prospects.

If you're not careful, he'll move on to someone else who'll be of age sooner, like Willa, and then where will you be?

" As if my closest friend, would ever be interested in the social-climbing Shield ranger my parents want to match me with.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes, forcing my features to relax into the closest thing to a neutral expression I can manage with Mother tugging and twisting the strands of my hair into an elaborate braid.

"I just have a lingering headache after the contraceptive shot yesterday," I mumble, desperate to keep the peace and let her finish so I can get away. She narrows her eyes, and I rub at the red welt on my arm, evidence of the painful shot we're forced to endure every six months.

Only the women, of course. The men simply have to swallow two small capsules, and they're done, though still signed off under the watchful eye of the King's guard to protect the bloodlines at all costs. I guarantee if it was the other way around, they’d dedicate the resources and do something about it, but the pain connected to having, or not having, children is considered private women’s business.

"I'm assuming you made a tonic to get rid of the headache?

" Mother demands. "If not, skip going down there today and rest instead.

This is not the night to sit in the corner playing wallflower.

" With a frown, she pins the final tendril of my hair in place, and my scalp throbs in response.

"Actually, I feel a migraine starting myself.

Come identify the cause and make me a tincture before I have to go greet our visitors from the other realms." Rubbing her temples in emphasis, my mother perches delicately on the edge of a cushioned stool to avoid crushing the vibrant orange fabric of her floor-length skirt.

If I really was a Remedy wielder with one-star strength magic like I've pretended to be for the last eight years, I could easily determine the cause of someone's illness or pain.

Instead, I've had plenty of practice nervously dodging requests like this, especially when they come from her.

Shoving aside the jolt of panic shooting up my spine, I open the small chest of vials on the low table by the window until I find the pale blue one I need.

"I have to get going and shouldn't need to diagnose a headache.

Let me get you a glass of water, and you can take a dose of pain relief to get through the day. "

With a haughty scowl, the Duchess considers me, as if the suggestion is ludicrous. "A basic tonic isn't going to cut it. And by the way you're still grimacing, I’m assuming yours is ineffective, so no, I won't take a double dose of that. Make me a proper elixir."

She spits the last part, and I know I'm going to have to diffuse the situation before she gets worked up. Fuck, I really can't afford to use my ring for something so insignificant, not when I have no idea how many more times it will work, or if Bri will have found another way to replenish it.

Mother isn't giving me a choice as she beckons me over, looking impatient.

The last thing I want is more of her scrutiny, which is exactly what I'll get if she senses there's a deeper reason behind my reluctance.

I just need to make it through the week and get to the Grotto so I can sort this out with my sister.

"Stop being difficult. Just figure out the cause and make it go away.

Surely even you can handle that much. Or did you drain your magic trying to diagnose a papercut in the library yesterday?

Or maybe one of the stable hands had a bruise you needed to investigate.

" Her mocking tone and matching sneer flame my cheeks hot with embarrassment.

There's no point bothering to defend myself.

As far as she and my father are concerned, nothing can make up for the sin of failing the Ritual and ending up with weak magic like everyone thinks I did eight years ago, despite the success of every Golden before me.

If only she knew my failure was so much worse—but my complete lack of magic is a truth only Bri and the High Sage of the Grotto can ever know.

Returning and lying about only receiving one star had been excruciating enough.

"Not at all," I grit through clenched teeth.

Stepping closer, I subtly slide the glittering black tourmaline ring higher on my finger, clenching a fist until its tiny pin pierces soft flesh, deep enough to draw blood.

Despite Mother's glare, I leave my hands at my side just long enough for the liquid to trickle down into the hidden well at the base of the large blue garnet, then reach out to hold them above her temples as vivid green mist flows from my fingertips.

Just like magic. Except it's not.

Conveniently, most people tend to close their eyes when someone's examining an injury or diagnosing an illness.

Meaning they're far less likely to notice anything unusual about the dispersing wisps of green that only closely resemble Remedy magic, instead of smoke from compressed puffball fungi and young gum leaves reacting with my blood.

A quick pause to make it seem as if I'm analyzing the possible causes of the headache, and I pull my hands away, turning back to the wooden chest and hurriedly mixing herbs into a double dose of the tonic I'd offered earlier.

"It's just tension and a touch of dehydration," I say over my shoulder, adding the valerian root extract and watching the liquid turn a shimmering white.

The lie rolls off my tongue with practiced ease.

A glance to make sure she's not paying attention, and I add two potent drops of an existing tincture into a tall glass of water, along with the rest of the tonic I just created, and tuck the large silver bottle that makes all the difference back into its velvet pouch.

Mother doesn't need to know it will only block her pain receptors instead of treating whatever is really at the root of her headache.

I hand her the glass, and she drains it, standing to smooth the non-existent wrinkles from her brightly colored skirts. "Do not be late or underdressed tonight." She gives me a curt nod and slips into the hall.

Immediately, it feels as if the oxygen in the room has doubled.

I slip on the impractical heeled boots she set out for me and try to convince myself the ring can't possibly feel lighter after one small use.

It has to be in my head. A vice squeezes my insides at the thought.

What am I going to do if Bri meant what she said about not being able to imbue it anymore?

I have no idea what her process was or why it had to be done at the Grotto.

My sister was always so secretive around the whole thing.

She'd take my ring for the six-week period she’d be there and bring it back to me fully imbued, ready to keep my secret safe for another year.

Meanwhile, I'd spend those weeks a jittery, anxious mess, desperately hoping nobody asked me to do anything involving magic.

And now, I'm right back there again, except this time, it might be permanent. If it is, I'm fucked.

Not something I want to dwell on, now or ever. After a quick glance in the mirror to confirm the telltale blank space above my heart is completely covered by the awful dress, I shove my tunic and leggings in my satchel, grab a cloak, and hurry into the hall.