Tiny flames sprout from his fingertips, but they do not scare me. Shadows of my own making flit around the edges of the room as I rise to my feet. Where rage and fury would normally overtake me, a killing calm settles instead.
“With all due respect, Lord General, which is none, you can go fuck yourself.” I round the table to step into Marks’ domineering space. “The only person with authority to speak on behalf of the Emerald Region is its governor. Whatever your reasoning for committing the treason that gave me the title, it isminenow. And yours will be next.”
“You are nothing.” Marks grips me forcefully by the chin. Soulless black pits stare into me and I meet them with a fiery defiance. “You might be an heir, but you will never sit on a throne. Now run back to your pathetic little region and wait for your betrothed to return.”
Green movement draws my attention just over Marks’ shoulder. Verdant vines crawl slowly across the brown stone walls. Vines of my own making come to life without so much as a command from me. Vines with a mind and a power of their own.
The temperature in the room plummets suddenly, the fire extinguished by an icy wind that ripples through the room.
“Down, pup,” Marks snarls at Cal, dropping his hold on my face. “You know what it will cost you. But you …” His attention is back on me now, black spots forming at the edge of my vision. “You have no idea what it will cost you. Foolish girl, daring to play the game without knowing all the players.”
Wisps of black shadows swirl over the Lord General’s arms, skating across his chest. His head drops, eyes following them as they twist around his massive form. He waves a hand dispersing my misty black bands into nothing as his head lifts slowly.
Preternaturally golden eyes drag up the length of my body until they lock onto mine. The muscles in his face and neck look primed to snap. A wolf ready to unhinge his jaws and rip out my throat.
“Go. Home.”
Each word is forced through clenched teeth, his voice a low, foreboding growl that causes the last remaining servant in the room to faint. The Lord General pushes past me, the fur of his cloak flaring behind him as he crosses the room in giant strides.
“Come, Callan,” Marks commands.
Cal shoots me a single, unreadable glance before reluctantly following his commander to the edge of the room. Marks haltswhen he reaches the door, pivoting to face me so quickly that Cal nearly runs into him.
“If you step foot in Amale, Ivy Fellows, I will personally make sure you meet your father. And trust me, Death will have no mercy for you.”
The coffee is bitter and lukewarm at best. Between sips of the rich, bold liquid, I admire my handiwork. Thick bands of vines at least six inches in diameter decorate the stone walls. Running both in parallel and perpendicularly are vines of variegated ivy. Forest green leaves rimmed in white tangle amongst the solid, sprawling vegetation.
Magic must have a signature. I recognize mine even when I don’t feel its familiar tingle in my blood. The tugging sensation that flares within me every time I use it didn’t come, but these plants are mine. I can sense my life in them. The pulsing heartbeat of air, water, and chlorophyll. I created them and they answer only to me.
I’ve felt Cal’s magic and now I’ve felt Marks’. Each different. Each unique.
I snap my fingers and watch as the plants begin to shrivel, slowly compounding in on themselves until they crumble. By the time I’ve drained my second cup of coffee, the stone walls are bare again. Piles of dust along the floor are the only evidence that something occurred here. And even though the vines are no longer living, the decaying death that stripped them of theiressence is as much mine as the life that coursed through them minutes ago.
Ever since my magic manifested I’ve kept it hidden, terrified that someone would exploit me against my will. But that deep-seated fear has vanished. I am a weapon, and if I don’t wield it, someone else will. I broke my personal blood oath of secrecy and snapped the rigorous reins of my own repression. This magic, both beautiful and deadly, is as much a part of me as my blood and bones.
It’s time I started acting like it.
The courtyard isn’t far from the dining room, but I take my time getting there. Cal is undoubtedly getting an earful from Marks anyway. I recognized the cold air that extinguished the fire as his, and I’m certain his commander did too.
Soldiers in gray uniforms trimmed in gold file down the large staircase and out the doors, each carrying bags, swords, or furs. I watch them in quiet contemplation, but even as the last of the envoy heads towards the stables, Kieran doesn’t appear.
No matter. Whatever happened in the hallway last night was denouncement enough of this proposed union.
Tables made of red-veined marble sit every few feet along the hall that leads to the courtyard, each topped in a vase filled with winter roses. Blooms clipped from the hedges that cover the gardens and stripped clean of their thorns. I pluck one from its urn, trailing a single finger down the slick, green stem. Sharp, brown points sprout from the scarred places where they once protruded. I slide the pad of my thumb across one. The prick doesn’t sting or burn; in fact, my nerves barely register it at all. Bright red blood pools to the surface of my skin. Blood that looks the same as it did yesterday, but feels infinitely more powerful.
The sun is bright against the snowy drifts that cover the paved walkway. The green of the hedges contrasts beautifully against the stark white. Four thick hedges, each at least eightfeet tall, create the outline of a square. A golden fountain nestled in the center forms the crowning centerpiece of the courtyard. Roses, petals shriveled and frozen, dot the thorny rows. Wilted blooms perk up, life filling them again as I walk past.
I close my eyes, tilting my face towards the warmth radiating from above. With an exhale, I breathe out the essence of existence. Deep violet crocus blooms burst brazenly from the empty, frozen garden beds. Drooping green and white snowdrops, yellow daffodils, pale narcissus, orange pansies, winter daphne, and bold pink camellias join in a color symphony that looks as if it was sent by the Goddess of Spring herself.
Power flows effortlessly from me. With barely more than a thought, I can summon more magic than I ever dreamed possible. I wielded only a fraction of this in the woods, when I commanded the earth to swallow the dead and conceal every trace of the gruesome scene. Using that much pushed me past the brink of exhaustion, but I don’t even break a sweat now.
My skin tingles as a warm, familiar power washes over me. I know he approaches before I hear his footsteps.
“Did you know?” I say without turning around.
“Ivy.” Pain laces his voice, the single word telling me the truth. But I need to hear him say it.
“Did you know?” I ask again slowly.
