The Secret Gift: The Queen's Rise Series, #1

dedication

To all the readers who know what it’s like to accidentally stay up reading until 2am.

1

"L ET’S HOPE YOU NEVER develop that barbaric Gift your mother had, my father grumbled after his second cup of mead. He was getting an early start tonight. That woman thought she could use me to hide her shifting? In the end, I used her Gift to my advantage far more than she ever—" The rest was too muffled to hear, but it was no doubt the same litany of complaints I’d heard every night for as long as I could remember.

I shrunk inward, shoulders curving forward, chin dropping to my chest. Focusing on the dirty plate in my hand, I scrubbed hard enough that there should’ve been a hole.

He tossed his empty drink in my direction.

I didn’t need to duck, but I still flinched. The wooden cup bounced harmlessly across the wood floor halfway across the small room, dribbling liquid onto the surface that was covered in stains.

Jezebel. Another, he mumbled, closing his eyes and burrowing deeper into his Lacklore-hide chair. He draped his arms over the bear-like paws, with claws still sharp, and leaned back beneath the ox-like head where it was stuffed and set into the tall back of the chair.

Growing up, I used to whine that he could take care of himself. Without fail, he would point to his legs—those legs that started out like any other Jinni male, but transformed into the legs of a goat. Hoofs and all. A permanent gift from my mother.

Yes, father. I lifted my chin and obeyed, bringing him a third full cup, setting it on the table beside him. My hand shook slightly, straining against the desire to slam it down or scream at him. I kept my face serene.

Sometimes I secretly wondered how my mother had stopped at the legs alone.

Our home was small. Only a few steps to get back to the sink, where I continued to slowly do the dishes. If I looked too idle, it’d only encourage him to focus his bitter diatribe on me.

I stared out the kitchen window, past the faded blue curtains, at the street below where my few friends gathered, waiting for me to join them. They were the ones who mattered. They respected me.

Asher waved when he saw me, but I couldn’t wave back without giving myself away. Pressing my lips together in a pained smile, though he was too far below to see, I wished I was with them.

Other Jinn my age had mentors after their discipline years ended, including some of my friends. As their Gifts manifested between the ages of fifteen to twenty-two, someone with similar Gifts would take them on and train them in how to use them. How to be a lethal weapon or a benefactor or anything in-between.

I was only seventeen, so some would say I still had time.

Clenching my fists underneath the hot water, I wrung the rag between my hands. I deserved a mentor. But I couldn’t tell anyone that.

My Gift was still fairly new. It’d manifested a few short months ago, after I’d finished my discipline years. One night, I’d lain awake, wishing for something more. Wishing I could hide from everyone. Wishing I could be small. Like the little green lizard that crawled along my ceiling.

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply, picturing it.

Suddenly, the covers began to suffocate me. I opened my eyes to find myself buried beneath them. As I struggled to claw my way free, I emerged from beneath the blankets to find the moonlight shining down on shimmering, green scales.

I’d become the lizard.

Panic made my tongue flick in and out wildly. How did this happen?

Dizzy, oddly hungry, and confused, I searched for the Jinn who’d changed me. Is my mother here?

Shifting was her Gift—this had to be her.

But no one appeared. Nothing else happened.

I curled up on my pillow, squeezing my eyes shut tight. Please, oh please, turn back. Turn back.

Out in the main room, a glass clinked as my father set it down, making my heartbeat double in speed. Turn back! Now! I screamed at myself mentally. I could not be seen like this!

I envisioned my body as it should be—pale skin, dark hair that skimmed my lower back, sky-blue eyes, and my nightgown—and imagined myself shifting.

Like my mother.

At first, I couldn’t, because part of me refused to believe it was even possible.

But what if it was?

Once I opened up to the possibility—that I might have the same Gift as my mother—my skin began to tingle.

With all my energy focused inward, I felt the change this time. Limbs ached as they shifted from little claws back into hands. Muscles in my legs popped and stretched as they grew larger and longer, until my toes once again hung off the edge of the bed.

It didn’t hurt exactly.

But it didn’t feel good either... It was like stretching a muscle to a breaking point, but instead of snapping, the muscle became flexible like soft clay and loosened into its new form. Or, in this case, its original form.

Breathing rapidly, I ripped the covers off and flung myself across the small room, as far from the bed as possible. I patted my sides and arms, searching for any remaining green scales.

None.

It was as if it’d never happened.

A cold sweat broke out across my skin.

My hands were clammy.

It can’t be.

I shook my head, trembling fingers touching my lips in horror. Anything but this.

Shape-shifting was one of those rare Gifts that was considered too strong. It couldn’t be controlled by the royal family and because of this, they feared it. They weren’t alone. Everyone feared a shifter.

Because who could stop a shifter from impersonating another Jinni? No one.

To my knowledge, a mentor for shifters didn’t exist, but even if someone knew how, none would ever consider working with me. It was too risky.

Swallowing hard, my mind tried to skirt around my next thought, which was too terrifying to even consider, but I couldn’t help myself. There’d be no way to stop a shifter from posing as someone in power—maybe even the king or queen themselves.

How would my friends or acquaintances react if they knew I had this Gift? Not well. An understatement to say the least. And that wasn’t even considering how a stranger might respond.

I sank down the wall until I hit the floor. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I buried my face in them, unable to stop shaking my head.

What the Jinn feared, they removed.

Which meant that a Gift like mine would either be carefully guarded or—if that was deemed too difficult—severed completely.

Once I reached this thought, I couldn’t escape it. It taunted me, echoing in my mind.

No one survives a Severance.

Over and over, the words repeated.

No one.

A single tear trickled down my cheek, soaked up by my nightgown. Grumbles came from the living room. My father’s hoofs tromped across the wood floor, paused as a glass clinked, then shuffled back. The chair groaned as he fell back into it.

He'd likely push for a Severance.

Who wouldn’t?

It didn’t matter that I hadn’t asked for this Gift, that I didn’t want it. If anyone found out, nothing would ever be the same.

I did not sleep that night.

An entire week passed before I dared to attempt my Gift again. Before I dared to even think about it again.

There was no doubt about it. I’d developed my mother’s shape-shifting Gift.

Thankfully, no one else was aware.

And I, for the most part, was too terrified to use it.

Still, I would never have a mentor because no one could know my true Gift. I’d learned that from my mother.

Just five years old when she’d left, I’d gripped her short skirts and wrapped myself around her tall legs, pulling on her sandal straps where they laced around her calves. Please don’t leave, mama.

I have to, darling, she’d said, ruthlessly prying me off of her before retying the laces and strapping on her ornamental breastplate. When you have Gifts like mine, that’s all anyone can see. The royal family fears this Gift and wants to take control of my abilities, as your father did. She stood. I’m not going to let them.

But papa loves you, I’d cried.

He loves my Gift, she’d snapped, bending down again to face me. And I plan to break him of that. Her grip on my shoulders hurt as she shook me slightly. Always remember this: don’t share your Gifts with anyone, Jezebel. People will use them and use you. Better to keep them for yourself. She’d stood, brushing off her hands against her skirts as if brushing me off for the final time. If I could go back in time, I’d keep mine a secret. Then we’d know how your father really felt.

Releasing the rag from its chokehold, I frowned at the bit of blood in the water. My nails had dug into my skin and left a mark. Could I shapeshift away a cut?

I narrowed my eyes in concentration, searching for the way. Hissing in frustration, I gave up, returning to scrubbing another plate and setting it out to airdry. If there was a way, I couldn’t find it. A mentor could’ve told me if it was possible.

The soap and unreachable answers just made the cut sting more.

Yanking my hands out of the water, I wrapped a rag around the tiny wound and viciously pressed down. The pain distracted me, but only briefly.

If my mother had known that I’d develop the same Gift as her years later, would she have stayed?

Or, better yet, would she have taken me with her?

I still didn’t know the answer, but I’d never forgotten her words. Part of me wanted to believe she was wrong. The burning question came back as it always did: if I showed my true self to someone, would it change how they saw me? Would they still love me?

My father certainly wouldn’t. He hadn’t been the same since she’d left.

Your mother’s Gift was as useless as her, he said now, as if he’d picked up on my train of thoughts, sloshing his drink as he lifted himself out of the chair. He set the cup down and made his way to the bed on the far side of the room, falling into it. He’d moved it out of his bedroom to eliminate unnecessary steps.

That was my cue to go to my own room for the night, though it wasn’t even dark out. Better to let him sleep it off than to make noise and risk waking him.

I dried my hands quickly. As I was dimming the flickering ceiling lamp and pulling my door closed, he muttered, She was ugly besides.

Despite myself, I paused and looked back at him.

His cold eyes were on me, clear for once. You look just like her, Jezzie.

My hands twitched, wanting to touch my long, black hair and my pale face. Lips too small and thin. Brows too thick. Nose too long. I knew it all by heart.

Instead, I let the door to my room close softly, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Though he didn’t realize it, I could easily change all of that. And someday, I would. Someday, I promised myself I’d get away from him. And I’d never let anyone call me that nickname again.

The minutes passed slowly as I paced my tiny room from one side of the small bed to the other, past the bare walls with peeling gray paint, my few possessions inside the dark dresser, and the small gold mirror that hung above it. It was one of my favorite possessions—one of my only possessions. A gift from my mother.

Sometimes I stopped in front of the mirror to stare at my reflection. To see if the hidden power underneath my skin shone through. It never did, of course. But I still imagined what it might look like.

Outside, the sun began to set. The glow on my skin from the last golden rays gradually faded to gray, and my confidence dimmed along with it. This was all anyone could see.

Only when my father’s heavy snores pierced the air did I finally tiptoe toward my window and crack it open.

Our cramped living quarters were on the third floor of the acropolis surrounding the capital. Hundreds of Jinn lived in the little apartments above, below, and on both sides of our own. Even more Jinn walked the busy streets no matter what time of day, so this was always a fear-inducing moment.

It was far too high to jump. And the spells surrounding the acropolis prevented traveling—a simple Gift that allowed a Jinni to instantly cross an enormous distance in the span of a heartbeat. Barely even considered a Gift, except to the rare Jinn who didn’t have it.

Since I wouldn’t dare sneak past my father, that left me with only one option.

I shifted as quickly as possible into a green lizard the size of my palm, just like the one I’d accidentally become that very first time. Glancing at the door, I kept an eye on it over my shoulder until the round curve of my skin grew flat and the cream-color turned green and scaly, along with my clothes, which ceased to exist. This form would be permanent until I chose to shift again.

Using my helpful sticky footpads, I crawled up my bedroom wall,