RUIN

The trek to the palace is very brief, but I notice more servants milling about than usual. They're dressed in pale purple and silvers, their uniforms a bit nicer this evening. I suddenly stop worrying about Miguel and start worrying about the fact that there may be a party planned. After all, we don't get visits from the elves very frequently—they live on the other side of the world, across the Unburdened Sea. Our people don't tend to mix with each other as there's a lot of bad blood between us. It seems odd that we would get an elf for a visitor and I'm curious but also concerned. His Resplendence is notorious for seeking out high profile people and trying to add them to his cabinet as a show of power. Maybe that's what's happening now. I'm unsure and nearly fall into Pennbrooke when I trip, too absorbed in my worries to pay attention to where we are. Whoever designed this palace liked small sets of stairs… everywhere, really. I've biffed it more than once, which is just sad because I'm supposed to be a badass warlock, but my enemies are little stairs scattered everywhere like too much spice on a meal.

His Resplendence's study is as impassive, intimidating, and elegant as ever. Sage, pale purple, and silver tapestries hang from the walls etched with famous battles and what they think are warding runes but are just decorative. His ornate desk is made of cherry wood and sits in front of his bookshelves as a testament to his power and knowledge. Not many places have the tomes that he does, and I've spent many hours trying to get at them. I even convinced Miguel to grab some for me, but he bitched and moaned so much afterwards that I hardly got a chance to read before giving them back. I leave Shatterjaw and Pennbrooke outside the study, which I can tell irritates them, but I have no choice. However, it's not like having them inside with me would make any difference if someone was trying to murder me. Elves are extremely fast, and I don't like my odds anyway. No need to throw them into it.

The windows are open, and I can smell the mountain irises from the gardens as the sun sets over the lake, the water shining orange. I wish I was back in my tower, but I bow as best I can.

"Your Majesty," I say politely and step in. He's seated, which means I should head for a seat myself, but his alcohol cabinet looks awfully tempting and I hesitate.

"Ruin," King Oathblade doesn't stand for me and simply nods his head. "How good of you to join us."

"It's my pleasure, Your Resplendence," I say and inch towards the alcohol. His dark eyes follow me, always seeing more than I'd like. Like Miguel, his skin is a pleasant oak and his hair midnight black. He's Archkethian, from the isles at the edge of southern Ordesh. They're tropical and I've never been but mainlanders rarely find reason to leave the safety of Ordesh itself. The isles belong to the throne but are used mostly for commerce. Well, that was until they showed their teeth. King Oathblade has been king for over thirty years now, inheriting the throne after his father took over in an unsettling coup twenty years prior.

I look around for the elf but before I can find them myself, there's movement in the corner and I'm drawn to it. A tall, breathtaking man is straightening up and putting down his glass of unfinished wine. I've never seen anyone like him before. I've only seen an elf once before, but it was dark, so I feel like I didn't have the full experience. I see that it's true what they say about their otherworldly beauty. His blue eyes cut into me mercilessly and his raven black hair is braided carefully, falling behind his shoulders in a stunning display of artistry. His skin is as pale as the snow, and he has the sharpest features I've ever seen. His cheekbones are high, his jaw sharp and masculine, and his ears have an inhuman tip to them at the top. There's something shy and assessing about his gaze and I can't stop gaping like a love-struck teenager.

He's wearing pink silks and leather pants, and his rapier is marvelous, full of runes and jewels, humming with magical power. I don't know much about elvish weaponry—what human does—but I do know they favor rapiers.

All of that is incredible, but that's not why I'm staring. The man—the motherfucking elf— is glowing, glittering like a rainbow. I don't have to ask if anyone else can see it. I know they can't. It's just me and my magical sight messing with me.

"Holy fuckballs," I breathe, and King Oathblade laughs.

"Please, forgive my Grand Maestro," he says, nodding at the stranger. "He's… young."

"I've just never seen a rainbow lord before," I grumble and this time, I make it to the alcohol cabinet and pour myself an entire cup of… whiskey. Maybe? I don't really care at this point. This is stressful as all the hells combined.

The stranger laughs and I barely manage to suppress a shiver.

"‘Rainbow lord'?" He asks, cocking his head. "That is a new one."

His voice is honey, dahlias, and sweet whispers of nothing with an accented lilt to it that's entirely disarming.

I swallow past the dryness in my throat and don't bother sipping the whiskey. I drink it deeply instead.

"It's… an expression," I say vaguely, lying out my ass. "Don't worry about it. Just means you're magical. Very… very magical."

I think. That must be it because what else would it be? He exudes power and it's such power that I've never felt anything like it before. It's… interesting but intimidating. I've gotten lazy with my spellwork, and I am painfully aware that this elf could lay me out. That's not at all disconcerting.

He nods slowly .

"I see. You can see my magic?"

I blink at him in surprise. Everything I've heard about elves is that they hate humans and are condescending and stay on their continent for damned good reason—that reason being that they can't stand our faces. That was just reinforced when I met an elf in a back alley who boasted about his people in a really unattractive way. And he said all humans were seedy little cunts, which really did not help ingratiate him to me.

"Well. Yes. I am the Grand Maestro," I say, downing more whiskey like it's my life's work. I need to feel numb now, thanks.

The stranger looks… impressed , which startles me, and I worry my lip, clutching my drink like a crutch.

"You were telling the truth when you said he is unique, King Oathblade," he says and takes strides to the windows. "It is a rare elf who can see my magic, let alone a…" He clears his throat. "… a young human."

His Resplendence grins, looking like a very fat cat who just caught a rat.

"I know," he beams. "He's an asset to the court."

"Excuse me," I say and sit down heavily before the spinning takes me out. I'm not usually this drunk, but I'm not usually having my senses assaulted by an elf that looks so fuckable I forget my own name. Is it magic? "What the fuck am I doing here? I can't be interesting enough for…"

I gesture at the elf, his pristine frame making me want to smack him, but also kiss him. Fuck. What if he can tell?

"Actually, Ruin," King Oathblade has the nerve to look amused . "Lord Vestergaard is here for you."

I snort and down more whiskey before I realize they're both looking at me guilelessly.

"What?" I'm baffled and put down my glass. "What… what the hells? What did I do?"

I've never heard something so ridiculous in my entire life. Elves are not immortal like the fae, but they do have very long lifespans and, great Ishta's tits, there's no way I, a measly, pathetic human of 29, have anything to offer this… god.

Lord Vestergaard smiles at me gently.

"I read your report, Maestro. In fact, my entire faculty read it. We are…" He looks me over, his ocean eyes flashing something I don't quite understand. "… fascinated and intrigued. Impressed, even ."

Dear gods, I think he means it.

"And I have been sent to investigate the depleting magic in the Immortal Plains, as per your request," he says simply, cocking his head.

I stare in utter disbelief. Is someone pulling my leg?

"What… university are you from… my lord?" I ask slowly, cursing myself for drinking at all. It's a rare moment when I feel like drank too much and now I'm shoving embarrassment away so I don't choke.

"The Royal O'trana University of Mathematics and Magic," he says easily. "I am sure you have heard of it. Everyone has."

He sounds bored with this information and my head spins more. He's talking about the premier university in the entire world for the study and research of magic. I've wanted to go there since I heard of it, but, of course, humans aren't allowed because elves are, historically, pricks.

"You're… telling me that the entire staff read my report and saw fit to send… you here ? With—with me?" I blink in awe and notice King Oathblade glaring at me, no doubt at my lack of decorum. "… my lord?"

Vestergaard smiles and it isn't cruel or mean or condescending like I expect him to be. It's kind and gentle and, dammit, I resent him for it. How dare he challenge my beliefs.

"Yes. I am telling you exactly that, Grand Maestro. Though… it was not the entire staff, if you must know. The cleaners did not seem interested in such matters." he says softly and smiles such a cute smile that I'm forced to look away. My gaze travels to King Oathblade. All of this mind-boggling ridiculousness aside, that report is important. More important than my life. What am I supposed to do now?

Vestergaard saves me.

"When did you first notice the depleting magic, Grand Maestro?" He asks, his whole being intent on my answer.

I shake myself, trying not to cripple under the weight of his attention.

"Three years ago," I say and turn to him, eyeing his rainbow magic cautiously. "It's not very noticeable, but…" I pause, wondering if I should mention my patron. "… I noticed it. I've been monitoring it since then, Your Excellence."

"Fascinating," Vestergaard murmurs to himself and watches the sun pensively. "Truly. Incredible. And you have been a warlock for how long?"

I have to mask my pain.

"Since I was eight," I say baldly, leaving him to sort out the horrors of that comment.

He snorts and, like everyone else, he thinks I'm joking. King Oathblade notices my irritation.

"It is abnormal, Lord Vestergaard," he offers. "But I can assure you, it is correct."

Now Vestergaard looks baffled.

"I thought human warlocks burned out after ten to fifteen years?"

King Oathblade nods.

"They do. But I have an eye for talent and Ruin just turned 29 and all his faculties are intact."

He boasts of it, proudly, as if it's his blood, sweat, and tears that have made me live this long. As if it's not Sparks, my otherworldly patron, and his godsdamned stubbornness.

Vestergaard turns towards me again, and this time… it's wonder in his features.

"Who's your patron?" He asks, urgently, and I grit my teeth.

"That's a pointless question, Vestergaard," His Resplendence offers. "A warlock and patron relationship is incredibly binding and private. Ruin has expressed that he'd rather be drawn and quartered than discuss it and I daresay, he was quite serious."

I nod, appreciating the backup even if it's from a snake.

"It's true. So don't ask again," I snap, guarded and off-put by the very question. It's complex with Sparks and I. He has, after all, been my… uh… parent since I was little. This elf can shove it right up his perfect asshole.

Does he have a perfect asshole and how do I find out? Why do I want to find out? Fuck, there's something wrong with me.

"My apologies," he says and bows. "It is simply… irregular. Highly, highly irregular."

All I hear is "I have a lifetime's worth of questions for you" so I stand up a little too quickly.

"Well, if that's all, I'm leaving," I say, headed towards the door. "Nice to meet you, Lord Vestergaard. Good to see you, Your Resplendent Majesty."

I give a feeble bow and Vestergaard looks… panicked? Why would he be…?

"Ruin," His Majesty sighs and rubs his face. "Sit down. Now."

I sit.

"Lord Vestergaard would like to see the Immortal Plains for himself. You are to take him and discuss your research."

There's no room for argument in his tone or his glare, but I just gape at him. He's letting me leave the castle grounds? What the hells? I can get away from Miguel?

Even if it's only for a few weeks, it's something.

But Vestergaard seems to be misreading me.

"If you do not wish—" He starts, and I shut him down immediately.

"No, no. Of course I'll take you," I say in a rush. "The wards can wait, as long as we're back in a few weeks. It's fine. I'm almost done. I'll go get ready. Right now."

"No," King Oathblade snorts as I rise. "Ruin, it has been a few hundred years since the O'trana royalty sent a representative. We're going to have a celebration tonight. You'll leave in the morning."

I only see Vestergaard's reaction out of the corner of my eye, but he looks disgusted for a moment before carefully masking it and bowing.

"It would be my honor, Your Resplendence," he says with the utmost politeness and the king looks pleased.

But I gaze at him for a moment. He's too polite, too collected, and, I realize, too withholding.

I don't know what's going on with him or the university or the elves, but his look of longing out the window makes me decide it isn't anything good.