A Taste of Gold

The silver dagger felt heavy in my palm, and the Prince’s pulse felt even heavier against the blade’s edge. 

Kage didn’t flinch. He didn’t scream. He simply looked at me with eyes the color of a winter sea before a storm—cold, deep, and terrifyingly calm. The gold ichor of his magic wasn't just a glow anymore; it was a physical weight, a humid heat that pressed against my skin, begging for an exit. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a trapped bird sensing an open cage.

"Do it, little thief," Kage whispered, his voice a low vibration that traveled up the steel and into my marrow. "Take what you came for. See if you can carry the sun without burning alive."

I didn’t think. If I thought, I’d remember that I was a girl from the Silt, a scavenger who ate charred rat and slept on damp stones. If I thought, I’d remember that killing a Royal was a ticket to the Iron Maiden. 

I twisted the knife. Not deep enough to kill—I needed him alive for the tether to hold—but enough to break the seal of his skin.

The world vanished in a roar of white light.

The sensation wasn't a trickle; it was a flood. Molten gold poured into my veins, scouring away the cold, the hunger, and the constant, dull ache of being nothing. It tasted like honey and ozone. It felt like standing on the edge of a mountain and realizing I didn't need to jump because I could already fly. 

Kage let out a choked sound, his knees buckling. I caught him, not out of mercy, but because the connection was a physical rope binding us. For a heartbeat, our breaths synced. I saw a flash of his memory—a high balcony, the smell of jasmine, and the suffocating weight of a crown he hadn't yet earned. 

Then, the gold settled. The roar dimmed to a vibrant hum beneath my skin.

I shoved him away. He collapsed against the velvet upholstery of the carriage, his face pale, the glowing sigils on his throat flickering like dying embers. 

"You—" he gasped, clutching his chest. "You actually took it."

"I took what was owed," I said, but my voice sounded wrong to my own ears. It was richer, layered with a resonance that didn't belong to Elara of the Silt. I looked down at my hands. Dirt-stained, scarred, and trembling—but beneath the surface, faint gold light pulsed in time with my heart.

The carriage lurched to a sudden, violent stop. Outside, the sounds of the gala—the violins and the polite laughter of the High-Born—were replaced by the rhythmic clatter of armored boots and the sharp snap of crossbows being cocked.

"Prince Kage?" a voice barked from outside. "We heard a disturbance. Step out of the coach."

Panic, sharp and cold, sliced through the golden haze. The Royal Guard. If they saw Kage like this—drained, bleeding—and saw me with his light leaking out of my pores, they wouldn’t bother with a trial. 

Kage looked at me, a strange, twisted smile touching his lips. He should have been calling for help. He should have been pointing a finger at the girl who had just committed the ultimate sacrilege. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing the hem of my tunic.

"They'll kill you," he said. "Unless you use it."

"Use what?" I hissed, backing toward the far door. 

"The Solar Spark. My magic." He coughed, a spray of red dotting his silk cravat. "It’s not just a trophy, Elara. It’s a weapon. Push it out. Imagine the sun behind your eyes and let it scream."

The door behind Kage swung open. A captain of the Guard stood there, his silver breastplate reflecting the moonlight. His eyes went from the blood on the Prince’s shirt to the knife in my hand.

"Assassin!" the Captain roared, reaching for his hilt.

I didn't think about the Sun. I didn't think about the Spark. I thought about the hunger. I thought about the years of being stepped on, of being the dust under the boots of men like this. I reached deep into that new, burning well inside me and I ripped the plug out.

The carriage didn't just vibrate; it exploded outward in a wave of incandescent heat. The wooden panels splintered into toothpicks. The leather seats disintegrated. The Captain was thrown back twenty feet, his armor glowing cherry-red as he hit the cobblestones. 

I stood in the center of the wreckage, my hair whipping around my face in a wind I was creating. I felt powerful. I felt divine.

I also felt my own memories beginning to fray at the edges. For a second, I couldn't remember my mother’s face. I could only see the jasmine-scented balcony from Kage’s mind.

"Elara!" Kage’s voice cracked through the gold fog. He was on the ground, shielded by a fragment of the carriage frame. "Stop! You're burning through your own mind!"

I sucked the power back in, the retraction so violent it knocked the wind out of me. The street was a ruin. Five guardsmen lay groaning in the dirt, their uniforms singed. The gala guests were screaming now, a sea of silk and lace fleeing back toward the palace.

I looked at Kage. He was watching me with an expression that wasn't anger. It was hunger. The same hunger I had felt my whole life.

"They're coming for you," he said, nodding toward the palace gates where the secondary line of defense was forming. "Run. To the Iron Market. Find a man called Vane."

"Why are you helping me?" I demanded, the gold light still stinging my eyes. "I robbed you."

Kage stood up unsteadily, wiping blood from his mouth. "You didn't just rob me, Elara. You shared me. You have a piece of my soul in there now. If they kill you, parts of me die too. And I’m far too selfish to let that happen."

The sound of dogs barking—the Mage-Hounds—echoed from the courtyard. They could smell the theft. They could smell me.

I turned and bolted into the shadows of the nearby alleyways. My feet hit the ground with more force than usual; every muscle felt wound like a crossbow string. I ran faster than I ever had, the city a blur of grey stone and flickering lamplight. 

But as I ran, a cold realization settled in my gut, heavier than the stolen magic. 

The gold wasn't just sitting in my veins. It was eating.

I tried to recall the name of the street where I was born. *Miller’s Row? No, that was where the bakery was.* I tried to remember the color of my father's eyes. They were... blue? Or were they the winter-sea grey of Kage's?

I slowed to a stop in a damp cul-de-sac, gasping for air. I leaned against a soot-stained wall and gripped my head. 

"My name is Elara," I whispered to the dark. "I am seventeen. I live in the Silt. My mother’s name was Maryam."

The name *Maryam* felt like a word from a foreign language. I knew it was important, but the emotional weight of it—the warmth, the smell of woodsmoke and lavender—was being replaced by the phantom scent of jasmine and the cold, hard pride of a prince.

I looked at my reflection in a puddle of oily water. My eyes, once a muddy brown, now had a ring of liquid gold around the iris. 

I hadn't just stolen his power. I was becoming the vessel for his history. 

A shadow moved at the end of the alley. Not a guard. This was something thinner, sharper. A man dressed in rags that moved like smoke, holding a lantern that burned with a sickly green flame.

"Elara?" the man asked. His voice sounded like grinding stones.

"Who are you?" I asked, my hand instinctively moving to the stolen dagger at my belt.

"The Prince sent word," the man said, stepping into the dim light. He was covered in tattoos that seemed to writhe under his skin—The Marked. Those who had been touched by magic but remained unblooded. "I'm Vane. And you look like a girl who's about to forget who she is."

I took a step toward him, but my knees buckled. The golden heat flared one last time, a blinding surge of Kage's arrogance and power, before plunging me into a freezing darkness. 

As I collapsed, the last thing I felt wasn't fear. It was the terrifying sensation of a second heartbeat starting up in my chest, stronger and louder than my own.

The gold was winning.