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But before I could stop myself, my feet stomped over and my hand was scraping the crumbs off the table and into my hand, my elbow shoving Parys’ feet off.
“No one sits at the table,” I said, dumping the crumbs onto the tray. I picked that up too, shoving it into Cyara’s surprised hands. “We don’t use it for storage either.”
They all blinked, stunned into silence—probably by the fact that I cared at all.
They could chalk it up to my hangover. I didn’t care. I just wanted to go back to sleep. So, I left them to exchange looks and whispers and aimed for the refuge of sheets and pillows.
52
ARRAN
The sun was tracking downward, casting the sky in golds and pinks. The elemental kingdom was different than any place in the terrestrial, or any of the others I’d visited in those hundreds of years of battle and bloodshed. It had its own beauty, I could admit.
Though none of it compared to the female hiding in the shadows at the edge of my balcony.
I was exercising my magic.
While the elemental fae controlled fire, ice, wind, water and weather, to varying degrees, the terrestrials fell into just two camps: fauna or flora-gifted. Fauna—the power to shift or to control animals. Meanwhile, the flora-gifted among us could bend the trees and grass to our will, or coax deadly plants to grow. When a terrestrial child was born, families waited on tenterhooks to see where their affinity would lie. Flora or fauna. Never both.
Until me.
If I’d been born a female, I would have been the heir presumptive for the Offering. But with a male elemental heir foretold early in Uther and Igraine’s reign—Arthur—my gifts had been put to other uses. Killing, mainly.
But despite all of that, here I was. Offered to Veyka, reluctant Princess of Peace and reigning Queen of Secrets.
The beast inside of me made his needs known, demanding to shift. But the other side of my magic, for all that it was steady and quiet, was no less deadly. It had saved us from the skoupuma. My vines had held enemies in place while I tortured them, as good as any shackles. The roots I summoned from the ground had ripped armies limb from limb.
Tonight, the victims were all inanimate.
Pink-studded fuchsias swung from hanging planters on either side of my veranda. With a flick of my fingers, the delicate blooms tripled in size, the vines thickening and multiplying until they formed twin columns that stretched to the floor.
The spiky cacti in planters—everything was in planters in this damn palace. I focused on the spikes, channeling my power until each spike was the size of a rapier, longer than my arm and wickedly sharp.
It started systematically. I’d had two dozen various plants brought into my chambers. I started with those that seemed the most threatening—the cacti and carnivorous flowers. But as my magic surged, building within me, my movements became erratic, motivated by instinct and desire. Innocuous flowers turned deadly, big enough to swallow a male and squeeze the life from his body. What were once beautiful, potted rose bushes turned into spiky instruments of death.
But there was no one to strangle the life out of, to kill and maim. My brutal gift strained at the edges, wanting to burst from the veranda, through the doors, to find a victim. This power inside of me wanted one thing, always—to kill.
What would the cost of this magic be? I already knew.
Others paid for the magic with aches and pains, with deep sleep lasting days or the loss of something valuable—an object or wager. I knew the cost of this magical ‘gift’ that lived inside of me, had paid it a thousand times over.
My soul.
The slithering of a vine caught my eye. Of course, I’d had half an eye on her for the last hour, as she crouched in the darkness, watching.
As her slippered feet hit the floor soundlessly, I turned to face her. My breath was coming in heavy pants from the exertion. I didn’t bother trying to hide any of the emotions playing across my face as I met her clever blue eyes. She knew I’d been watching her, I could read that easily as her lips curved into that wicked smile that spoke right to my darkest desires.
She wore the palest color I’d ever seen her in, a light orangey gold that reminded me of the goldstone palace itself, though a bit more muted. For once, her garments clung to her body rather than draping over them. No long, loose trails of fabric. Just that close-fitting pale gold, right down to her matched slippers.
Not ideal for climbing or trekking through the mountains, but perfect for silence. Which meant whatever she was up to this evening, it would take place within the walls of the goldstone palace.
Veyka tipped her head toward the pillar of fuchsia nearest her. “Impressive.”
I rotated my wrists, working out the tension. “You should see what I can do when the plants are actually rooted in the ground, rather than stunted in clay pots.”
She tested the sharpness of the edge of one of the cactus spikes. “Such an exhibitionist.”
“Not everyone keeps their powers as close as you,” I said, letting my feet take me closer to her.
