Purely earth-blessed with stronger or more than one earth-kind affinity.
Cason snorted at their belief that one magic was better than another, or that the magic could be tainted by several gods-blessed gifts. Sometimes he wondered if the elitist earth-blessed were as bad as the shadow-cursed that had once lived and later developed their own cult. Then he remembered how pompous the sun-blessed royal family of Anfroy was, and he decided that anyone who didn’t appreciate other gods-given gifts weren’t worth his thoughts.
Tainted by multiple gods-blessed magic. How disrespectful.
Cason bit down a snarl as Druet, one of the Rooke princes, dismissed a blonde woman who had approached him. Her eyes shimmered a deep blue, and her tattoos signified her average earth-kind water strength but one of the strongest moon-blessed healers he’d seen all night. She was also the most stunning woman Cason had seen at the Earth Festival, and easily the most dignified in dress, but she was cast aside as if she was worthless.
Perhaps if he hadn’t been tied to Serill’s side all night to make up for the Rooke Guard’s unprofessional security, he would have sought her out.
He scoffed.
As if he’d ask her to dance.
As if she’d give him the time of day.
No one here would, and not just because he was fully clothed or because he wastaintedby multiple gods-blessed magic. No, he bore the tattoos with pride whenever he wasn’t in Rooke’s forest. Hells, he had more tattoos than anyone here, and ink meant everything in Rooke.
These people wouldn’t care about the designs that covered his right arm, declaring his senses the strongest sun-blessed perception magic one could wield. That blonde woman would actually pay attention to him if only his left arm was visible, the markings proof that he was also the strongest moon-blessed storm magic wielder.
But everyone attending the festival would run and hide if they saw the tattoos that covered his chest—the symbols of sun-blessed fire that curled around a body that could have passed as earth-kind strength, if it weren’t for the tattoos. That ink—just theamountof it painted on his chest—was more deadly than his mastery of two very different gods-blessed magic.
Sun and moon; one gift from his mother, the other from his father.
No one bore the fire marks in the forest, but he was sure they sensed it in him. Even the sun-kind in Ciethy, Anfroy’s capital, were wary of his potential to set their surrounding forest ablaze, especially since he possessed more fire magic than the King who was already well-known for his strong affinity.
That was the real reason no one came any closer to his side of the table than they had to. Close enough to respect the Prince of Severina, but still avoiding any sort of acknowledgement that there was fire burning just inches away from their homes.
“You know, it won’t actually kill you to have some fun,” Serill whispered, elbowing Cason’s side. “An evening with a woman could do you some good, but that glare is scaring them away.”
Cason grumbled, his eyes still scanning the crowd for danger. “That’s not what scares them, Your Highness.”
Serill rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Case. It’s a festival. You’re here as my friend, not Captain of my Guard, but we are also guests of the Rooke princes and Lord Gerrart.” The prince sighed, offering a polite nod to a young woman who had the markings of an herbal affinity. “A smile would lessen their hesitations. When you glare like you’re going to burn down their forest, they’re going to think you want to burn down their forest.”
Cason turned to look at Serill who still had his eyes locked on the woman. She was probably just a year or two younger than the twenty-four year old prince, and while Cason admired her modest skirts and bodice, Serill was clearly taking in the exposed skin. The prince was all too aware of his good looks, as were most of the women here who knew they had no chance of snagging a Rooke prince. While the Prince of Severina blended in with his dark hair, his tan skin and amber eyes were a contrast to the lighter skin and blue-green gazes of the forest. Even his simple tattoos, traced with the royal markings of Severina, seemed exotic, even if he wasn’t the strongest moon-blessed healer. The prince had no hesitations about revealingthosemarks tonight.
He remembered when Serill had gotten his third ink at the moon temple; the intricate mark on the outside of his shoulder that signified his growing strength as a healer. Cason was just a year younger and already marked to the point the needle hadn’t made him flinch, but he laughed at the seventeen-year-old prince who hated every second of his inking. They’d spent plenty of time together before, and Cason was already training to be in the Royal Guard, but that moment had forever bonded them as friends.
Because, for the first time in Cason’s life, someone had looked at the scrawling art of a sun-blessed fire wielder and not been afraid.
So, for the sake of his friend, Cason pushed the edges of his lips upward.
Serill turned to the captain and snorted, spitting his drink back into his cup. “Oh, gods. Don’t smile. It’s worse.”
He kept his face in a forced smile. “Good. Then no one will consider approaching you. We may be honored guests at the Earth Festival because you’re friends with those men, but I should remind you we are also here on business.Yourbusiness.”
Serill waved him off. “Lord Gerrart left two hours ago with Lady Lorana, but I could see the glint in his eye. The man knowsexactlywhat he has in his possession. He’s in no rush to show me that Veil dagger, but if I make myself look desperate or go searching through the house we’re guests in, he’ll only use that to drive the bidding war. Do you know how many false leads I’ve heard about that blade?”
“Four,” Cason replied instantly. As if he could forget being dragged on four separate trips between Rooke and Anfroy just to watch the prince play with blades that meant nothing.
The prince shrugged. “Exactly. While I think the haul that the auction has coming at the end of the Festival could have some hidden gems that will rival any artifacts I have, you know I’d never pass on a chance to bid for the dagger of the Veil Scholar before it’s offered at that party.” Serill leaned closer. “Can you imagine the beauty?That artifact holds so much history—so many stories passed through the generations. You think the King of Anfroy would treat it with any respect?” He huffed a breath as he sat back in his seat. “Gerrart is a friend, which is why he offered me the chance to see it first, and also why he is allowing us to stay with him, if you recall, so try to lighten up. With as much as you’re fondling your sword, I figured you’d want to get your hands on the dagger and see what it’s worth.”
“I have no desire tofondlea shadow-cursed blade from that cult,” Cason replied, his eyes returning to the crowd. “But, even if I dislike those Veil Worshippers, I don’t believe in disrespecting their history, especially with that cursed dagger.”
“And I thought Lord Gerrart was superstitious,” Serill laughed. “I never thought the man who could control fire would be afraid of shadows.”
Only a fool ignores the shadows.
His mother had told him that. She used to share stories about the shadow-cursed and the monsters they could control.Illusion. Shade. Command.All dark magic.
