Page 6 of The Never List (Never List #1)

Rylee

One thing I can give the kings credit for—beyond the beauty of their palace—is their insistence on keeping a gargantuan library of records.

I follow the route I’ve memorized from Ivy’s map of the palace, easily slipping from the balcony and inside, turning left down one hallway and right down another until I’ve found the room I’ve been waiting a year to get into.

I can almost hear my sister’s voice challenging me, urging me to look for all the exits, even the ones that aren’t obvious.

Slipping through the unguarded double doors, I note two doors in the back of the expansive room and a dozen windows on the second level that I can duck out of if necessary.

The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves encrusted with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. The tomes glow from hidden lights lining the shelves, making each glisten like a gem begging to be plucked. The amount of magic it must take to power this place is completely unfathomable to me.

I hurry deeper into the room, the smell of leather and paper beckoning me. I’ve always loved books, but they’re a rarity in the Ashlands. Stealing books is the only thing I’ve ever actually felt bad about. Taking the wealthy’s food or money never brings me guilt, but their books? What kind of an asshole steals someone’s favorite escape?

Me.

I’m the asshole.

But to be fair, the kings banned books from Ashlanders, so desperate times. We’re all taught to read so we can better serve in the Ashlands, but reading for pleasure is what’s forbidden.

But I’m not after a book today, despite the worn bindings lining the shelves practically screaming for my attention. One crack of a cover and I can be in a different world. Between the pages, I’m not a thieving Ashlander living for scraps from the royals—I can be a princess or a warrior or an enchantress. Any given story can become my entire personality if I wish.

I skim my fingers over a wooden table the size of a small pond that dominates the center of the records room, stopping before a massive row of scrolls speared on iron rods for easy access. This information isn’t secured because no one cares about the names on it. And knowing the names and locations on the list doesn’t hold any power, either—hence this room remaining unguarded.

But I care. I care so deeply about this.

My pulse races as I unroll scroll after scroll, searching, searching…

The Never List. I try not to squeal in victory. Almost there, Erin. Wherever they sent you, I’m coming. I hurry through the list of names and take a silent moment to thank the goddesses that it’s in alphabetical order.

“Gray, Gray, Gray.” I whisper our surname. “Goddess, how many Grays are on this thing?” There are so many, the common surname going on for ages. Several of them have Palace Dungeons next to them; some of them are stricken through with a thick line of ink, which I assume means they’ve passed.

I pause when I see our parents’ names and the location Erithmore written next to them. I swallow around the lump in my throat, the old wound throbbing with a dull ache only decades of separation can manage.

Despite the hardship they’d faced, my parents lived a simple life and were content with the family they’d built. Their first names were never added under the Gray surname on the list until they were caught crossing borders one night, dressed above their station—my father wanted to take my mother to a tavern in Leaf and Claw for their anniversary celebration. Their punishment earned them a one-way trip to Erithmore on a fatal mission for the kings.

That was the year I turned twenty-one, reaching the age of maturity where we stop counting the years. We live hundreds of years if we’re lucky, but usually that high number is only reached by the wealthy, who can afford to live that long.

There’s no line stricken through their names, so a small hope grows that they may be alive in Erithmore.

Just as quickly that hope disappears.

They left two decades ago. We never saw them again. It’s a fool’s dream to think them anything but dead.

I move past their names, waiting for Erin’s to appear. For her name to jump out at me with the location appointed to her when she got caught here last year, whether that be dungeons or somewhere overseas. Because that’s what had to happen, even though it doesn’t make sense.

Erin could get out of any tight situation, physically or mentally. She could charm or seduce her way out of the worst trouble with the kings’ enforcers and was practically best friends with the shadows. How did she get caught? How in the goddesses’ names did she draw enough attention to herself for them to realize she was an Ashlander?

“Gray, Gray, Gray…”

I hunch over the scroll, my eyes darting back and forth a few times, checking the aliases I’ve known her to use, too…

She’s not here.

Her name isn’t on the list.

My stomach drops to the floor, and I back away from the scroll like it might explode any second—some horrible, awful trick set just for me by the kings.

But I’m not significant enough to merit a trick from them, so I hurry to roll it back up and return it exactly as I found it.

Slowly, I walk toward the double doors, my mind whirling.

If Erin didn’t make the Never List, then what happened to her?

A traitorous image flashes through my mind, one of Erin meeting someone at the Choosing and running away with them. Starting a new life somewhere far, far away from the Ashlands. She could do it. She could succeed in the shadows, live unchecked and unmarked by the kings’ enforcers if she wished, but we’d always wanted to stay and do what we could to help the people there. Stealing food was a weekly outing we did together, along with scavenging for clothes or medicine for those who needed it, too.

What if she wanted to put all that behind her? Saw a way out and took it?

I force the thoughts away. She wouldn’t have left me behind—

The door swings open just as I’m reaching for it.

“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice says, a pair of indigo eyes locking with mine. “What have we here?”

My lips slip into the innocent smile I know men love, and I tilt my head to the side for good measure. “The funniest thing,” I say as I look up at him. “I was searching for the wash chamber and found this place instead. Can you blame me for sneaking a peek?” I stroll to the nearest shelf, trailing my fingers over the spines. “I’m a sucker for a good book.”

He stalks over to me, hands sliding into his pockets. The metal mask looks more intimidating in this light, the angles sharper, the slash for the mouth more severe. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as he stops before me, leaning one arm on the shelf to the left of my face, partially caging me in.

I wait for the instincts to rise, the same ones that are triggered whenever Turner has me up against a wall, cornered and helpless.

But they don’t.

For some reason, I’m not afraid of this stranger when I most certainly should be. He’s obviously wealthy, and if he knew I’m an Ashlander? Goddess, he could have me thrown in the dungeons with a snap of his fingers.

“You’re lying,” he deadpans, not budging an inch. “That mouth again,” he continues. “You should do something about it.”

I tip my chin, not showing him an ounce of the rising panic climbing up my throat. We’re alone in a spot in the palace that is most certainly forbidden. “Oh, I bet you have all the thoughts on what to do about it,” I say, my tone slipping into that seductive lilt Erin taught me—a little softer, a little stickier.

“What’s your favorite?” he asks, giving me whiplash.

“Excuse me?”

He draws up his free hand, skimming it along a book on the right of my cheek, completely caging me in now. Something sparks between us, a charge that will either blister or burn, I’m not sure which, but I’m instantly hooked.

“You said you’re a sucker for a good book,” he says. “What’s your preferred poison? Romance, horror, suspense?”

I bite back a genuine, unstoppable smile. “Why can’t it be all three?”

A flicker of amusement flashes in his eyes. It’s the only emotion I can see with the mask covering his face. I have the most ridiculous urge to reach up and slide it off to see what lies beneath.

His eyes narrow behind the mask, searching me, scanning me. Confusion settles there.

“What are you looking for?” I ask.

“You,” he says, shifting closer. Goddess, he smells good, all leather and smoke. “You’re alone in a room with a stranger. And the music from the party is so loud, no one would hear you scream,” he continues. “But you’re not trembling, not even trying to get away.”

My heart flutters. “Is that what does it for you, stranger? Making women like me scream?”

“Depends on the type of scream,” he says.

Heat crashes over me like a wave. I know I should be scared, but I’m not. Maybe I’m numb from not finding the information I needed. Maybe I’ve known too many men like Turner, the real ones to be afraid of, so I can tell on instinct who is a threat and who isn’t.

Maybe I’m too addicted to the rush of danger, like Ivy said.

“What’s your favorite type of scream?” I ask, playing right into whatever game he’s started.

Shock radiates from behind the mask. “I haven’t found a favorite yet, butterfly,” he says, eyes flickering to my pin again. “But if I do, I’ll be sure to tell you.”

The music outside cuts off, the announcer informing the crowd it’s thirty minutes to midnight.

I blink out of the haze the stranger has put me under and jerk to attention at the realization that I’m out of time. Once the Legends choose their potential mate, the party will disperse, and it’ll be an even bigger risk to be caught hanging around here.

I’ll be leaving this Choosing empty-handed. The weight of that hits me dead center in the chest, and I duck beneath his muscled arm.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, following behind me. “You going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight?”

A laugh slips from my lips as I clear the double doors, hurrying down the hallways. “One for fairy tales, huh?”

“Only the darker ones,” he calls, keeping a casual pace behind me that rattles me more than if he sprinted. Even at this speed, it feels like I’m being chased.

And I like it.

The open air is cool and welcoming when I make it back onto the balcony. I spot Ivy and Layce across the way, chatting up a couple of masked fellows that are flagging down drinks and no doubt showering them with compliments. I wonder if they’ve lifted anything from them, or if they might string them along for a night of fun.

The starlight glitters like diamonds beneath my heels as I make my way across the floor, more than ready to join my friends and nurse my wounds back at Ivy’s. I make a mental note to steal a bottle of whiskey on the way out. I’ll have to come up with a new plan to find Erin, maybe one that involves searching every damned royal city for her. Even if she did run away…I deserve answers.

“Dance with me.” I hear the stranger’s voice at the same time he touches my wrist, whirling me around and into his embrace in a move so smooth, it should be criminal. I immediately fall into step with him. His other hand snakes around the small of my back, eliciting a trail of fire anywhere he touches.

Goddess, he feels good, maneuvering us around the floor as if no one else is here. His motions are effortless, like shed silk pooling on the floor. I’m lost in it, swept up in a swirl of emotion that’s too intoxicating to be real. I haven’t had that much to drink, but in his arms, the music and stars twinkling around us, I feel as if I’ve had several.

“What do you do?” I ask, trying to ground myself in reality, even though we’re dancing on starlight.

“Right now, I’m dancing with you, butterfly.”

The term of endearment shoots lava through my veins. I’m suddenly starved, but not for food.

“You know what I mean,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Do you work in the royal city?” I assume from the cut of his suit and the detail in his mask that he has to live here, or in one of the Legends’ cities at the very least.

“Sometimes,” he says simply.

Dangerous. He’s danger and thrill personified and so damn tempting. It would be too easy to distract myself with him tonight, to fall into whatever spell he’s weaving and let him help me forget that I’ve failed, forget that I’m no closer to finding my sister and that I’m still just an Ashlander in a pretty dress.

“Where are you from?” he asks. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“Do you memorize every Choosing’s guest list?”

The hand on the small of my back flexes. “Dodging my question,” he says, his voice like liquid honey. His indigo eyes fall to my lips. “Better than lying. Maybe that mouth is warming up to me.”

“Sounds like you have an issue with liars,” I say, noting he’s brought it up twice.

“I hate liars,” he says smoothly. “Lumathyst is filled with them.”

“Yes,” I say. “And the biggest ones usually have the deepest pockets.” I bite my lip, instantly regretting my retort.

Shock churns in his eyes.

The music fades, the song ending, and I step out of his embrace.

“Thanks for the dance,” I say with a wink.

“Don’t I get another?”

“Time’s up.”

Something tugs on me the farther I get away from him, but I ignore it as I finally make my way to Ivy and Layce.

“It’s midnight,” the announcer says. “Time for the Legends to announce the potential mate of their Choosing.”

“Who was the guy?” Ivy leans down, whispering the question in my ear.

My eyes immediately dart to where I’d left him, but he’s no longer there. I scan the crowd but can’t find him. “No one,” I say, my chest tightening. Except maybe someone worth sneaking over borders for. I didn’t get his name, though. Probably for the best.

“Didn’t look like no one,” she says. “Not the way you were dancing.”

I wave her off, still searching for him.

The kings rise from their thrones, raising their glasses as the Legends make their way to the stage.

“Wait—” I glance at Ivy, then the dais, as the men who were announced as the Legends don’t budge an inch. Instead, three men emerge from the crowd in suits of ruby, emerald, and sapphire, climbing the stairs to stand with their backs to the kings.

Their masks… They all look…

“Bait and switch,” Ivy says, impressed, and Layce laughs at the trick.

But I can’t share in their impressed intrigue. I’m too busy feeling the floor shift beneath my feet.

“Thank you all for coming,” the one in the suit of sapphire says, his voice deep and coarse. “With so many amazing and eligible potentials, it’s never an easy decision. On behalf of the Legends of Chaos, we want you all to know how grateful we are that each of you came to meet us. So, for tonight, the number of the potential is—”

Another man cuts in front of him, a pair of indigo eyes finding me through the crowd.

No. Fucking. Way.

“Thirteen,” he says, that silken voice awakening every nerve ending in my body. “The Legends of Chaos choose number thirteen.”