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CHAPTER 1

Part One

Runon

CURLED INTO A ball at the bottom of the stairs, the servant lay shaking like a leaf.

As hiding places went, it wasn't the best — a high traffic area, the connected hallway linked the guest rooms with the kitchens, and the boy hadn't scooted back far enough to be hidden in the shadows. I stopped by the doorway to stare at him, assuming he'd glance up and see me waiting, and he did nothing of the sort. He just sat with his arms wound tight around his knees, trembling like his bones were threatening to jump out of his skin.

It was only when I crept closer that the burn marks along the tender inside flesh of his arms became noticeable. The blistering skin summoned a sharp wave of irritation; Zakio had been playing again.

The servant didn't notice me until I was standing directly over him.

"What's your name?" I asked, more frustrated than anything else.

He leapt to his feet as if his heels were on fire, and the shaking he'd gotten under control erupted again. He looked like a willow tree caught in a summer storm the way his limbs were flailing to either side, and I had to take a step back to avoid being hit.

"I'm so sorry, Prince Yudai," he sputtered, "I wasn't being lazy, I was —"

"Hiding from Zakio," I interrupted. "I know."

Gods, he was young. His bottom lip jutted out as his eyes started to water, and I moved away because I didn't particularly want a servant crying all over me. He attempted to pull himself together in the breaths that followed, though he wasn't nearly quick enough in twisting his burned arm out of sight. Even though I'd already noticed the red welts, he gave me ample time to note them again before remembering it was evidence.

But he didn't lack common sense; I'd give him that. He knew showing off the bubbled skin would only result in worse treatment the next time around.

"Do you need something, Your Highness?" he asked.

Two fat tears rolled down his cheeks, smudged with kitchen grease. All I'd wanted was to get to return to my room and avoid my father's endless parade of nobles practically throwing themselves down to get the chance to kiss his boots, and instead, I found this. Zakio assumed himself above the rules of common decency, and my father had never put the mages on a short enough leash. This was the worst.

I sighed. "Where is he?"

"What?" The servant's eyes went so wide I could see my reflection suspended in them. "Who?"

"You know who," I said. "Zakio. Where is he?"

"Your Highness, I don't —"

"Either you tell me, or I set the whole castle on fire to smoke him out."

I'm not sure the boy really believed me, but his fingers were trembling against his thighs again, so maybe he did. I wondered what stories about me were circulating the servants' quarters in whispers that week; at the very least, I hoped they were more flattering than the last bunch.

Of course, if the visiting nobles and their daughters got wind of a few more inventive rumors, the lot of them might go running for the hills, but I'd never get that lucky. I doubted anything less than my death would stop my father from bargaining away the princess crown that would come twin to my own.

Honestly, he'd probably conduct a grotesque marriage auction around my corpse.

"He's …he's in the mages' quarters," the servant said, which meant he either believed my threat or simply wanted the conversation to be over.

"Lovely," I replied, and I meant it; blowing off steam was exactly what my black mood needed. "That's just where I would have thought to search first."

IT WOULD BE tempting to sing Zakio's name as I made my way to the mages' quarters, but better not to announce my presence without knowing if he'd be the only one there. The torch-lined hallway, filled with the slightly sweet scent always following the mountain rains, sat quiet enough to bounce my footsteps back at me. My father had the castle scrubbed every summer from rafter to cellar trying to chase the smell away, but I found it comforting, and in the back halls where the ceilings hung lower and the rooms shortened, it lingered more strongly.

My arms tingled as someone within the hallway used their abilities. So, the rooms weren't deserted. I stopped, paused just outside the first doorframe, and waited to see if anyone emerged. The magical aftershocks left a thin film at the corner of my mouth, and sweeping my tongue over it produced a burst of sweetness.

Muffled rustling sounded from the opposite side of the heavy wooden door, and despite two more echoes of magic against my ears, only one set of footsteps sounded inside. Good — maybe the day wouldn't be so horrible after all.

When I walked in, Zakio started so badly he dropped the flask he was holding, and it shattered on the stone floor. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't satisfying.

"What are you doing here," he asked through clenched teeth, "sneaking like a rat through the halls?"

"Your insults are so boring," I replied. "I mean, could you put some effort into making them more original?"

His mouth stretched, teeth glinting in the flickering candlelight. Zakio was lanky and towering, taller than me despite being a year younger. He'd cut an intimidating presence if I didn't already know what a sniveling weasel he was, hiding behind his High Mage mother's unjustly influential robes. She wasn't here, however, and he knew I had him cornered.

"Get out," he ordered. It lacked punch.

"Look, as royalty, I really think you should be using inventive, unique insults for me," I said. "I deserve at least that much."

"You've no idea what you deserve." Flecks of spit accompanied the syllables, and the stack of books next to him teetered close to collapse, swaying each time he stamped his boot against the floor. Most people would know better than to needle a strong mage.

I wasn't most people.

"It seems you've been toying with the servants again," I said. "You wouldn't have held him with magic when you were torturing him by any chance? Since, as you are well aware, using your abilities against another human without permission goes against the laws of your station."

Zakio deflated, but only a little. "You've no proof."

"The boy's got burn welts all up his arm."

"He works in the kitchens, that's a common injury."

I cocked my head at him because I knew it'd annoy him when I batted my eyelashes. He lost his temper so easily. "And who do you think my father will believe, me or you?"

"Surely, he knows better than to believe anything that comes out of your mouth," Zakio said with a growl. "Though I'm surprised there's any time for stories considering all the other things they whisper you put in your mouth."

"Oh, now that was almost good," I replied, smiling widely. "You saved your best ones for last, didn't you?"

Zakio's hand came down hard on the table, knocking several quills and an inkpot to the floor. He didn't seem to notice when the ink spread black around his boots. "Get out!"

"Stop hurting the servants, or I report you to my father."

"You're an arrogant bastard," he said.

"My mother was queen, but try again."

If I were anyone else, he'd have had me up against the wall with his magic, holding me in place as he summoned flames from the hearth to blacken my skin. As it stood, all I'd really done was deny him an outlet for his rage, which in hindsight might not have been my best idea. I made a note to make sure the servants stayed away from the mages' quarters until he'd calmed down enough to avoid doing anything monumentally stupid. As much as I'd like something to take Zakio down with, having blood on my hands didn't sit well.

It could get me out of the evening's banquet, but — well, it probably wouldn't.

"One day —" Zakio was breathing so hard his chest heaved beneath his dark robes. "One day, you'll get exactly what you deserve."

"If you've been listening to my father, that will probably come wearing a ball gown and dark rouge." I turned to leave, clasping my hands behind my back.

Then I paused and turned. "Oh, and Zakio?"

His eyebrows rose to his hairline as I pointed at a haphazard stack of parchment. Some of the characters on the top one were smudged, as if written in a hurry and hadn't fully dried before an errant sleeve dragged across them.

"Those papers look awfully important," I said.

His shouts of alarm as I sent the papers flying toward the crackling hearth were worth any punishment my father doled out later.

BY NIGHTFALL, THE banquet hall had filled with people and sound. Glasses clinked as servants distributed my father's finest vintage made from the sweet grapes that had survived the first frost settling down the mountainsides — a drink I'd never been particularly fond of. In the space not taken up by nobles, their eligible daughters, and their sizable entourages, sat long tables draped with fine red silk, as if the color itself could stir romance — or at least the illusion of romance slipped over promised favors and heirloom jewels. Walking through the crowd took considerable skill, but I'd long grown adept at snaking away from conversations I didn't wish to be part of. And the watered wine, though teeth-numbingly saccharine, offered a buzzing escape.

My father must have invited all of Runon. I wondered who was guarding the borders he steadfastly refused to reopen; perhaps, in the past, there'd have been foreign dignitaries present, and maybe they, too, would have brought potential matches for me. A princess from a neighboring kingdom would probably be just as bad as the daughter of one of my father's simpering minions, but at least it'd be different and offer me a chance to use my Common, which had fallen sorely out of practice. Chayd to the south, for example, might have been willing to mend our broken relationship through a political marriage. My father had closed those roads before any of the others, however, and Runon was effectively an island in the sea of our mountains.

The whole affair churned my stomach. If I focused my eyes too long at a single point, all the colors blurred together to make me dizzy. The wine helped, but not nearly enough, and the crown already weighed heavy enough on my head to drag me down through the castle cellars.

In my effort to avoid making eye contact with any of the invited nobles — lest they get the wrong idea and shove their daughter at me — I turned in a slow circle until I spotted Zakio on the far side of the hall. His mother stood next to him, plainly annoyed, as if she was the one being offered for trade like a prized warhorse. Zakio glared at me and normally it would have brightened my thoughts, but the walls were too close and the air too hot. I'd find no respite in angering him further tonight.

I'd made it to the bottom of my second glass of watered, too-sweet wine by the time my father strode to my side. The large crown around his head was ornately studded with gems rendering it impractical to use for anything but ceremonial events. I wondered, not for the first time, how much heavier it must be than my own. I'd never bothered to try it on, since I'd find out sooner or later and would rather not hasten the inevitable.

"I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight," he warned, like I was still a child ducking beneath the draped tables.

"If only I knew what that was," I replied.

He clearly wanted to answer but never got the chance, for my cousin appeared at his side in one of the garishly dyed cloaks he favored. A buffoon, the only good thing he'd ever done was siring a daughter, but, at two years old, she hadn't joined her father this evening. A pity — it would've been a nice diversion to chase her between guests' legs.

"Your Majesty," my cousin said, bowing low. "There's a fine crowd in attendance tonight."

"So many beautiful young women as hopefuls for the crown," my father added.

They both looked to me, expecting a response.

"Beautiful," I echoed. They might be, but I wouldn't know. If the defining emotion of the rest of my life was going to be misery, I hoped my future bride would at least have a good sense of humor. In truth, I didn't know why my father continued the charade, but maybe we all clung to the lies we desperately wished to believe. I knew I did.

That path was too melancholy to go down with so many others staring at me. I grabbed for another glass of wine, ignoring the ache already starting in my temples. At this rate, I'd be out cold before the dessert course and couldn't find it in myself to care.

My father reached for my glass and didn't make it. Instead, my reactive jerk away splashed wine over the goblet rim, hitting my sleeve. I didn't much care about that, either; I'd pull the fires free from the kitchen and make the flames dance with whatever wine remained, and they'd all be properly dazzled again.

These parties were so predictable.

"Ah, here comes Wahara now," my cousin said, as if my father and I were both blind to the approaching figures. He just wanted to be part of the inner circle. Despite all his bumbling, he was calculating when he needed to be. I wished I could push him out the east tower to avoid his tales when he'd had too much to drink.

Wahara brought with him his daughter — whom I'd met twice before, each time in a more expensive silk gown — and three others. One of them, a young man about my age, was pushed forward beside Wahara's deep-bowing daughter, which must make him the son and heir.

As both Wahara and his daughter lowered their heads to my father's crown, the son's eyes roved over me from head to toe and then back up. Ah. Tonight was shaping up to be far better than I'd dared hope for. He was certainly easy on the eyes, and locks of his black hair were falling over his forehead just enough to give him a sultry look, the kind his sister probably pined for. The look slid effortlessly across his features, and she pursed her lips beside him in a pale imitation.

"Wahara," I said, "it's genuinely good to see you again."

If he brightened because he assumed I was pleased to see his daughter alongside him, well, it wasn't my fault he'd mixed up the sentiment.

THE SON DIDN'T even make it an hour before he was hovering deliciously at the side of my vision, just beyond the nobles with their shrewd gazes and the princess-hopefuls with their layers of silk. The amount of silver in the room might have emptied an entire mine, and at least one of my father's advisors owned one deep within the mountains, so the excess made sense.

The party guests had made short work of my father's good wine stores, and the servants began pouring fermented niyun, a red fruit that soured considerably when the alcohol was released. The brew was a sign my father thought the party was going well enough to risk losing favor with the lesser- quality drink.

I'd had enough that my vision was spinning the chandeliers overhead, but with Wahara's heir loitering nearby, the blur wasn't a bad thing. Making inadvisable decisions came easier when I couldn't quite get my thoughts in order.

One of my father's advisors cornered me against the largest table, his bony fingers wrapped around his daughter's thin wrist. She looked like she'd rather be anywhere else, her small silver eyes darting around the room much like a frightened doe. I didn't blame her; being paraded around like fine merchant's ware got old before the first course was served. She couldn't be any older than fifteen. Even if I were interested, she was far too young to be desirable, and any attraction her father hoped to cultivate lingered in the realm of wishful forward thinking.

My eyes slipped over his shoulder to Wahara's son. He played coy at first — as if I couldn't tell he'd been finding excuses to remain in my line of sight — but finally met my gaze with defiance. The resulting rush turned my blood to fire. I finished my goblet without caring about the sour aftertaste of the niyun wine and set the glass on the table.

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Excerpted from "The Life Siphon"
by .
Copyright © 2019 Kathryn Sommerlot.
Excerpted by permission of NineStar Press, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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