Tanith & Shaw (The Fealty of Firstborns Series Book 1)

by H. V. Rosemarie

  Tanith tucked the name away. “Why would he be interested in seeing me?” The same reason he was interested in Kent, she hoped.

  “Wouldn’t you be interested if there were foreigners in your land?”

  “Stop engaging,” the guard in front of her grunted.

  “I’m only making conversation,” the curly-haired one brushed off.

  Tanith already knew which one she liked more. “I wouldn’t be actually. There are foreigners in my land all the time. Then again, my kingdom isn’t invisible.”

  After receiving no response, she decided to ask a riskier question. “Why are your ears pointed?”

  “Why are yours round?”

  The quip made her hum in thought. “Round is normal, or at least it has been for the six standing kingdoms and the three fallen ones.”

  “Pointed is normal here,” the more friendly guard countered, flashing his sharp teeth in the process. “It’s up to the king if he wants to explain why.”

  “So, there is a reason?”

  “Of course, there’s a reason.”

  Tanith nearly sighed. “Then why don’t you just tell me?” Again, she received no answer. “Can you at least tell me what this place is called? Surely you don’t call your own island ‘the Invisible Island.’”

  The curly-haired guard shook his head and glanced to his fellow as though in permission before responding. “The island is called Wickenvare.”

  “Wickenvare,” she repeated to herself, itching to write it down in her journal. It had a name. The island had a name, and if she could get that information back to Ellesmere, it would go down in history. They’d have to publish her, and they’d have to let her be a real historian, princess or not.

  As the palace became closer with every trot of the horse’s steps, she repeated the important things in her mind.

  Wickenvare. Find Kent. Look for the Sight. Return to Ellesmere. Wickenvare. Find Kent. Look for the Sight. Return to Ellesmere.

  CHAPTER 13

  Tanith was pulled off the horse, dragged inside the palace of stained glass and sculpted stone. Had the structure been designed in any human manner, it might have looked like a gigantic church, but she’d never seen anything quite like it.

  It was tall enough to pose a threat to the low-hanging clouds, its points sharp enough to stab birds mid-flight. Dozens of guards circled the grounds as Tanith was led up the steps, rigid in their manner of walking. Somewhere, Shaw was among them, but Tanith had taken a much more direct approach to entering the strange palace. A faster one.

  Her escorts knew just where they were going, turning a single corner before coming upon a tall set of double doors. They waited for the other set of guards to open it, leading her inside without a word to prepare her.

  The throne room.

  It was long and wide with ceilings that must have reached three stories tall. Silver pillars lined the way, a black carpet so dark it hurt Tanith’s eyes to look at rolled down the middle. All those grand things pointed straight towards the end of the room, to a rounded dais with a warped silver throne jutting out the middle of it. The seat was made of thick metal chains, unmistakably layered on top of one another and polished to shine—not a speck of rust visible to the human eye. Tanith couldn’t help but tense as she neared it, or rather, as she neared the man seated upon it. His was a familiar face, one she’d seen not long ago.

  The man from the city.

  He was different up close, his average, simple clothes partly shielded by a grand black velvet cloak draped over his shoulders. His skin was lighter than hers, not brown, but tan, his hair a lighter shade of silver than his dark crown and chopped bluntly at his shoulders. His eyes were gray too, a mockery of the chains beneath him, yet surprisingly warm. Curious in his evaluation as Tanith neared. The lack of color in his appearance was shocking, but it was probably on purpose, she realized. He wasn’t old. Mid-thirties, maybe.

  She knew he recognized her by the twitch of his dark brow. The look he’d gotten of her days before hadn’t been much, but it was enough. Enough for him to exchange silent information with the guards as they stopped her a few yards away.

  Without being told, they took the chains off her hands, offering no apology when she rubbed her wrists as though to prove to herself that she was free. Sort of.

  “Your name?” he asked simply.

  She had a name to give him, but it wasn’t her own. Still, she pushed down any ounce of defiance that crept up, knowing better than anyone how careful one had to be in the presence of kings, and there was no mistaking who she stood across from.

  King Riven.

  “Tanith Estiellon,” she answered honestly. “The firstborn Princess of Ellesmere,” she added for good measure.

  He nodded, shifting slightly on his throne. It couldn’t have been comfortable, all that texture beneath him, but he didn’t complain. “In that case, it’s an honor to host you. I am King Riven the fourth of Wickenvare, but if I may call you Tanith, then you may refer to me as Riven.”

  It was a simple statement, but she read the silent question. Was she going to be difficult?

  “Sounds fair to me,” she answered simply.

  His face relaxed slightly, pleased. “Excellent. Given that you stole someone’s horse and rode rampant through the city streets with no obvious purpose, is it safe to assume your goal was to have an audience with me?”

  She nodded. “It was.”

  “There were easier ways to go about that,” he insisted, but she didn’t miss the subtle humor to his tone.

  “On the contrary, I secured myself passage and an escort with little trouble at all. There might have been a quieter way to get here, but not a faster one, and I’m sure you know time is of the essence.”

  King Riven lifted his chin in interest. “What makes you say that?”

  Tanith hesitated for a moment, wondering if he was serious. “I believe you’re well aware that your island is invisible, save for every two hundred years.”

  “I am.”

  “And you know that the six standing kingdoms send their firstborns when the time comes.”

  “I do.”

  “Then you also know how important it is for us to get back before the island disappears again,” she concluded, receiving only a hearty laugh from the older royal. His teeth were dangerously sharp, longer than the others she’d seen.

  “That’s not how it works. I’m surprised none of the locals filled you in. Then again, most don’t like to get involved in the human games.”

  Tanith couldn’t help but frown. “What are you talking about?”

  The king sighed slightly. “It’s a conversation we have every two hundred years when the firstborns inevitably find their way to the palace. Are you ready to have it and willing to listen now, or would you prefer to continue our discussion later? There’s a room for you upstairs should you prefer to adjust and rest beforehand.”

  She resisted the urge to tilt her head in confusion. “Now, please.”

  He smiled slightly. “It all began with a test from the Ghods. Thousands of years ago, they created this island. There wasn’t a creature upon it. No sin or despair. There was only a gift they left for humanity, should they dare to touch it.”

  “The Sight?” She couldn’t keep the hopefulness out of her voice, but Riven was quick to crush it with a single shake of his head.

  “No. The Light, but I suppose that to humanity, the Light and the Sight are one and the same.”

  A shiver ran through her, fingers trembling. “It’s real.”

  “It is, but it isn’t what you think. The Light rested here on Wickenvare for hundreds of years until finally, a firstborn stumbled upon it. My ancestor was taught as you were; that it was meant to be taken home. That it was a tool that would save humanity from the Crish.”

  Tanith swallowed. “But?”

  “But there is no such thing as a Crish. The only disease is humanity. The only evil perceived by your people is rebellion,” Riven admitted, watching her
reaction carefully.

  She was frozen on the spot; unsure how trustworthy the strange king truly was. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because it’s the truth. My people are descendants of yours. Our ancestors were all firstborns, all searching for the answer to save their homes, but their homes can’t be saved. All kingdoms fall. Eventually, they will all decimate into nothing. That is the curse of humanity and the temporary constituents that accompany it.”

  Tanith shook her head in denial, her shaking hands closing into tight fists. Her stomach was in knots, her lessons possibly for nothing. “Then why does the Sight—or the Light exist? Why is it here if not to save us?”

  “To change us,” Riven retorted proudly. “Our lineages were flawed. Our people selfish, weak, and afraid. The Ghods took pity and gave us the chance to be more like them. To start anew as our old worlds die out until it’s time to expand our new one.”

  “Then why did you kidnap Kent? If the firstborns eventually come here, what was the point? Where is he?”

  The king lifted his head in interest. “Then you’re the girl he wants so badly to return to. I see why. Don’t worry about the young prince. He’s in good hands, and you’ll see him at dinner. I took him because these games need to come to an end. Where one goes, others follow. It will be thousands of years more until the remaining six kingdoms dwindle into nothing, yet every year, the firstborns avoid our civilization more and more. Before long, you’ll be too difficult to keep track of, and I can’t have six humans darting around unsupervised. Five,” he corrected, making her aware that he was already aware of Hisrele’s demise.

  “You’re afraid we’ll find the Light,” Tanith noted boldly, recognizing the careful stillness to his gaze.

  “My fear is that a human will find it and not know what it really is or what it does. That’s how we were made in the first place. How some of us still are made.” There was a hint to his tone, and she picked up on it easily. How she could be made if she were to become like them.

  “And how is that? What is that?”

  Perhaps the question was rude, but the king didn’t blink. “A single touch from the Light blessed by the Ghods will change you.”

  “Into what?” she asked again, afraid for the answer.

  Riven gestured to himself. “Into a faerie. The gift is immortality and all that comes with it. Patience, peace, prosperity.” The black jewels of his crown glinted as though in favor of the speech. “We are fast, strong, and healthy. Cunning, brave, and our natural laws go beyond that of human comprehension.”

  “You’re anything but natural,” Tanith argued. “You met me fifteen minutes ago and you’re dumping this on me. I’d say there’s a reason for that.”

  “I offered you a chance to rest first,” he reminded her. “A change in what you thought was a solid reality can only ever be difficult to wrap your mind around. Luckily, you have time.”

  “No, I don’t. Even if what you’re saying is true, which I doubt, the island could disappear at any moment.”

  Riven smiled again. “The island reveals itself when I allow it to. It disappears when I command it to, and I only do so when all the firstborns have made a choice. Either you choose to stay, or you return home.”

  “And what’s the catch?” There always was one. She was sure of it.

  “We take your memories of the fae and our world. You return blissfully unaware of what you’ve learned and go back to your life as it was. That is your choice to make.”

  “It isn’t a fair one,” Tanith argued.

  “And yet, all the firstborns before you have done it. It’s your turn now, but you may take your time. It’s every royal child’s birthright to decide whether or not to be blessed, and some have taken months to weigh the pros and cons.”

  “How do I know you’re not lying?” she asked finally.

  The king was obviously expecting her question, gray eyes twinkling as though proud to share his knowledge. “Faeries can’t lie without repercussion. The Ghods don’t allow it after we touch their blessing. For every lie we tell, a mark appears on our otherwise perfect skin. Sometimes its new, made by magic itself. Other times, if we wear a fresh mark—a scar that simply won’t heal.”

  For good measure, Riven pulled up his white sleeves, showing her his perfect tan skin underneath. There wasn’t even a freckle to be seen, not a scratch or a bruise. He was telling the truth.

  “Those are my options, then? I can either be one of you or return home without remembering any of this?”

  The king nodded in confirmation, pulling his sleeves back down. “Yes.”

  She frowned. “Why? There has to be a third door.”

  “There isn’t one,” he insisted. “There’s a reason humans are so willing to believe in a false disease. Imagine if they knew of us. They’d force our hands in retaliation to whatever foolish war they’d bring to my doorstep, and I’d have to bring about their extinction much more quickly.”

  At the end of the day, she had to choose whether or not she wanted her lineage to survive forever, and that was no simple call. “You said every royal had the right. What about my mother and my sister?”

  Riven nodded. “If you choose to bring them, they have the right to touch the Light. Even your bastard brother would be welcome.”

  Tanith almost argued at his name-calling, but she’d called the rambunctious little devil a nasty thing or two herself. “Then who would be left to rule Ellesmere?”

  He didn’t bother to answer when they both already knew. No one—and neither Meelah nor her mother would let that happen. They’d both rather die than see a non-Estiellon sitting on the throne. They’d said as much.

  “If it’s any comfort, your legacy will go on in name alone.”

  “But I won’t be a princess anymore,” she noted, wondering if that was really the worst thing. She could be a historian—the best there ever was considering she could live forever. She could see all of history, and that was tempting enough to sway her in a new direction.

  “Something tells me that won’t matter,” Riven replied, catching the interest in her gaze. “What would you be if you weren’t royal?”

  She didn’t even need to think of her answer. It had been the same for as long as she could remember. “A historian.”

  “Perfect,” he chimed. “My best historians operate from my private library. You could have a place right here, almost as though you’re still royalty.”

  A tempting offer indeed. “But what about—”

  A set of doors to the side opened up, interrupting Tanith mid-sentence. Her head snapped to the left where she saw a guard let himself in.

  But it wasn’t just any guard.

  It was Shaw.

  CHAPTER 14

  In surprise, Tanith took a step back.

  It was him, or at least she thought so. It had been his hair… his skin, but now her sight was blocked by one of the large pillars. She could hear the footsteps of the man in the guard uniform, steady and even. If it were really Shaw, they would have been quick. Rushed. Why would he have even been near the king? It wasn’t him. It couldn’t have been. That was what Tanith told herself until he stepped into view again, walking straight towards the throne.

  Shaw. It was definitely him and Tanith watched as he casually approached the king until he bothered to glance over, stalling in his tracks, eyes wide and mouth parted in shock.

  The silver coat was in his size, the black detailing more heavily decorated on his outfit than the others she’d seen as though on purpose, an equally dark sash thrown over his left shoulder. There were pins and ribbons over his left breast, his blue-silver staff in his hand. The same staff many of the other guards used, just in color.

  “Admiral Shaw,” the king greeted as though speaking to an old friend. “They said you delayed the departure of your fleet. Were you expecting interference on your ship’s course?”

  Tanith was stupid. She was so remarkably, embarrassingly stupid, and she couldn’t keep the disbel
ief—the hurt from her eyes as she watched Shaw hesitate.

  He swallowed before gazing up at the king and bowing. “Your Highness… I… Yes. There’s been a delay, but we expect to set off later in the week.”

  Riven made a face as though aware he was lying. “Does your belated departure have anything to do with your brother? I promised that I would deal with him according to his choice. I doubt you’ll sway him.”

  Tanith remained still. Kent had gotten the same speech. The same choice. What had he decided upon? She wondered if his decision would affect hers.

  “In part,” Shaw admitted, warily glancing back at Tanith.

  She was muddled with confusion, but something she was sure of was that Shaw had either already made his choice and chosen to stay, scoring a job as… a ship captain, or he had come onto the island already familiar with it. She wasn’t sure which would have been the more outlandish claim.

  “Do you two know each other?” she asked.

  The auburn-haired man tried to shake his head, his mouth parting, but no sound coming out.

  Riven extended his hand, gesturing to Shaw. “This is Admiral Shaw. He leads my navy fleet. Should any of the firstborns choose to invite others of royal blood, he will collect them, and come the time when the last standing human kingdom falls, he will be at the forefront of our migration.”

  Swallowing her betrayal, Tanith narrowed her eyes on the king. “How long has he worked for you?”

  “Tanith…” Shaw started, but even he couldn’t muster another lie.

  The king didn’t hesitate. “Five years this coming Autumn. I have no doubt you remember him as the firstborn prince of Shadow Hunt, so it must be a shock, but let it be known that the others before you who’ve chosen to stay live very long, happy, and fulfilled lives.”

  “I’m sure,” she muttered, scanning the man she’d thought she’d come to know. “Your ears aren’t pointed. Your teeth are dull,” she noted blandly. “I’d have thought that someone who’s been working for…the fae…might have touched the Light by now.”