Heir of Stardust and Secrets (Mythic Spark #1)

10. Dichotomous Medallions

Chapter 10

Dichotomous Medallions

I was exiled from the realm of dreams with a force that had me sitting up and clutching my chest. My breaths came in ragged gulps, as if I’d forgotten to breathe while I slept. Mercifully, I was spared the memory of the dream’s contents, although I couldn’t say the same for the bedding. The sheets were wrapped around me in a wild, twisted mess, while the pillows were strewn across the room. Even the blouse I still wore bore evidence of the terrors I must’ve witnessed—I’d have to see if I could find the buttons later. Extricating myself from the tangled covers, I padded to the lavatory.

I didn’t linger long on my reflection, but it was enough to see how wan I’d become. The deep circles under my eyes were now accentuated by purple along my lash lines. I splashed cold water on my face, to little effect. Sighing, I strode back into the chamber toward the wardrobe, lazily tossing the pillows back on the bed as I passed them.

There was a soft pair of slacks and a dark-blue shirt laid out for me. I silently thanked the stars for no laces and slipped into the comfortable clothing .

I found my escort dutifully waiting for me just outside the doors. His presence caught me off guard and I scrambled to collect myself.

“Good morning,” he said before I could, then signaled for me to go in the same direction as before. I still didn’t know his name, but I was too tired to ask and he didn’t seem inclined to share.

We made our way to an intimate solarium, where the king was waiting at the head of the table.

His features warmed as I entered and he rose, pulling a chair out for me. “Good morning, Nyleeria,” he said, offering me a welcoming smile.

“Good morning. Thank you,” I said, settling into a seat next to him that offered a sweeping view of the expansive gardens.

“Beautiful, no?” the king asked, noting what held my attention.

I remained fully transfixed by the land beyond the windows. “Stunning,” I said, unable to pull my gaze away.

“Would you like breakfast?” he asked.

I nodded.

A moment later, he placed a plate in front of me. It was brimming with scrambled eggs, cured ham, a medley of fruit, and a warm roll dripping with molten butter.

“Thank you,” I said, feeling an ache for Mrs. E. Until that moment, I hadn’t even considered the ramifications my new life would have on our relationship.

Fork poised, a surge of nausea overwhelmed me. The familiar aroma of breakfast wafted up from my plate and I had to force myself to breathe through my mouth. There was no way I could palate this food. I surveyed the table weighing my options. Filling a cup with tea, I nursed it in the vain hope it would settle my roiling stomach.

Very little made me queasy. But in that moment, I would have given anything to have this plate disappear. Not wanting to offend, I tore off a tiny morsel of bread and attempted to eat it—I couldn’t force it down.

“You can’t make yourself eat, can you?” the king asked, his attentiveness catching me off guard .

“I… No. I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. The meal is lovely, I just… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Nyleeria. When my parents died, I had a hard time eating too. I’ve learned over time that grief can have that effect. What you’ve gone through—what you’re going through—it’s okay.” Relief washed over me from his kind words, the feeling quickly muddied from the stark reminder of my parents’ deaths. Hands below the table, I rubbed my thumb over the ridges of my knuckles, trying to root myself in this moment and keep the sorrow at bay.

“I’ll have the chef make some soup for you,” the king said. “I’ve found liquids easier to palate during times like this, and it’s been too long since you’ve eaten a proper meal. Your skin is ashen and you’ve lost weight.” Deep concern creased between his brows.

“Are you this kind to everyone?” I asked, unsure of how to accept his doting.

Putting his fork down, he leaned in, resting a palm on the white linen between us. “Nyleeria, I don’t think you quite understand just how important you are to me.”

Right. I was his lifelong pursuit. For centuries, he’d looked upon an enchanted page, only to find it blank. How had he not forsaken hope? A man of lesser quality would’ve surely succumbed to despair. I still needed time to reconcile everything, but I was important—to him. In what way exactly? I wasn’t sure. I’d be lying if I claimed it didn’t feel nice to matter to someone, if not somewhat foreign. Yet, the fragment within me that anchored to him under the willow, urged me to lean in again. And in that moment, I allowed myself to be important to him.

Weathering the intensity of his gaze, I said, “So, what now?”

His lips curved into a crooked smirk as if he’d been waiting for me to utter those very words. “Now, you learn our real histories, and we figure out what exactly the spark is, and how it works.”

After breakfast, I accompanied the king to a hexagonal room. It was intimate, about half the size of the chamber I was staying in and featured windows instead of walls on every side apart from where we’d entered. The room was devoid of adornments. No furniture. No curtains. Nothing.

As I surveyed it, I could feel the king’s unwavering gaze upon me. Turning to face him, I raised a brow in silent question and a ghost of a smile tugged at his features.

“This,” he said, stepping into the middle of the room hands gesturing to the sides, “is where I started training many, many moons ago. It’s witnessed more spells than anywhere else on the estate. My hope is that exposing you to magic, even small amounts, will help us learn about the spark.”

“Why this room?”

“I’m not entirely sure how my ancestors decided. Location, perhaps? One thing I’m certain of though, is that the echo of residual magic it holds makes spellcraft easier—as if it’s primed to obey our summons.”

With a subtle upward twist of his wrist an ancient tome materialized, then turning his wrist downward it was gone just as quickly as it had arrived. It was simultaneously fascinating and jarring.

I wondered if I’d ever fully acclimate to this alternate reality of magic. And monarchs. And fae.

He made a sweeping motion toward the far wall, and to my astonishment one of the windows transformed into a door that now led out to the sprawling gardens. He stepped toward it.

“Aren’t we going to train, or whatever it is we’re going to do?” I asked, following him. He paused, allowing me to catch up to him.

“Not yet,” he said. “I gathered you would be more comfortable if we took a stroll through the gardens and eased our way into things—I don’t want to overwhelm you again.”

Embarrassment rose up my cheeks, stealing my words.

We ambled down a meandering path brimming with the vitality of spring. Flawlessly manicured lawns carpeted the land in patterns that accentuated the garden’s beauty. I yearned to kick off my shoes and feel the lush blades against my soles and I wondered if I would prefer its feeling to moss .

Long moments of quietude passed, and I found myself grateful to the sovereign for extending me this courtesy. He didn’t have to cater to the anxiety and overwhelm that were now my constant companions.

“How can you wield magic like you just did?” I asked.

“It wasn’t magic, per se, but spellcraft.”

“But in the stories I’ve read, spells need some sort of incantation, or something of that nature to work. Is this not the case?”

“That’s true, and for centuries it was true for me too. But I’ve learned to wield spells with thought alone.”

“Can others do that?”

“To my knowledge, no. I am the only one.” There was no arrogance in his words, only fact.

“Why?”

“Well, I suppose no other human has been granted the luxury of time to perfect it like I have.”

Right, he was immortal—I shook off the strange concept and pressed on. “But what about the fae? The stories claim they’re immortal too. Wouldn’t that mean they’d have similar abilities?”

“Yes, Lady Time has blessed the fae with immortality, but they weren’t granted the ability to wield spells. As far as I can ascertain, the inherent magic coursing through their veins prohibits it. Simply put, their bodies aren’t compatible. It’s akin to comparing a human to a tree,” he said, laying a palm against the papery bark of a nearby aspen. “We inhale oxygen and turn it into carbon dioxide, while a tree is the polar opposite. You see, we can both harness the same elements, but in a dichotomous way.” We continued walking. “Everything in life, and death, is all about balance, Nyleeria, including magic.”

I pondered his words for a long moment.

“So, it’s like fae and humans are two sides of the same medallion,” I said. “Bound by the Mother, but on opposing sides.”

He smiled and I could have sworn a glint of pride lit his eyes. “Yes, that’s exactly it.”

We continued on, lazily crossing the threshold to the forest.