Astrid is a vygoraâa rare being that can absorb oneâs life force energy and transfer it to another with only a touch. Only two people know what sheâs truly capable of: her best friend, Ilona, and her mother, the Queen of Hakran, a powerful myndox.
When foreign royalty and their handsome guard, Dashiel Dargan, show up unexpectedly with the ability to mute myndox manipulation, Astrid discovers sheâs been a prisoner to her motherâs power her entire life, and sheâs not the only one. Faced with a lifetime of memories built on lies, sheâs caught between the story she thinks she knows, and the one she doesnât remember.
But when she canât trust anyone, how can she figure out which story is true?
Astrid is a vygoraâa rare being that can absorb oneâs life force energy and transfer it to another with only a touch. Only two people know what sheâs truly capable of: her best friend, Ilona, and her mother, the Queen of Hakran, a powerful myndox.
When foreign royalty and their handsome guard, Dashiel Dargan, show up unexpectedly with the ability to mute myndox manipulation, Astrid discovers sheâs been a prisoner to her motherâs power her entire life, and sheâs not the only one. Faced with a lifetime of memories built on lies, sheâs caught between the story she thinks she knows, and the one she doesnât remember.
But when she canât trust anyone, how can she figure out which story is true?
Iâm not in the mood to murder someone tonight, but I must.
My pulse quickens as I gaze at the dozens of sweat-slicked bodies filling the sandy beach, twirling and touching beneath the moonâs glow.
I wonder which one I will absorb the life force from.
Palm trees line the jagged edge where sand meets jungle, standing crooked from years of braving summer storms. Though the night air is heavy with moisture, the sky is clear. Stars litter the space overhead, shimmering off the equally dark sea. A raging bonfire sits at the center of the revelry on pale sand, bathing those who dance around it in a warm hue.
Off to the side, closer to the dense forest than the water, I watch from an enclosed ruby- colored tent as bodies squirm in tune to rhythmic drums and string instruments. Squeals and chatter battle with the music, filling the air. Some folks wear the finest garments they ownâsilk slacks or breezy gossamer skirts in every shade imaginableâbut the majority wear only their skin.
Tonightâs bacchanal is especially rambunctious. The pleasant weather allows for celebrating on the beach rather than in the palace, like weâve been limited to in the weeks past, and the joy is contagious.
I fan myself with one hand, lifting a heavy curtain of hair off my neck with the other.
âI donât know how they stand to have a fire in this heat,â Ilona says, her freckled face moist from the humidity. She pulls her fiery red curls off her shoulders, tying them with a strip of cloth. âThat cannot be comfortable.â
âItâs not about their comfort. Itâs all about the atmosphere,â I say, reciting my motherâs words with an eye roll.
Mother prefers to go all out for the events she hosts; she has a flair for the extravagant. Though sheâs uncharacteristically late tonight.
Itâs just Ilona and me sitting on a blanket littered with snacks, in a grand tent watching the revelers. Our stomachs are filled to the brim, and our bare toes wander off the blanketâs edge, digging into the cool sand as we watch the nightâs events. The tentâs opaque material is specialâa one-way viewing fabric. We can see out onto the beach, but no one can see in.
âDonât you pity them?â Ilona asks, stuffing a chunk of cheese in her mouth, moaning at how good it tastes. âGoddess above, save their poor souls.â
I grab a piece of bread off the wicker platter and chuck it at her. She ducks just in time, and it misses, hitting the cloth behind her. Her pale cheeks flush as she swallows her mouthful.
âOh gosh, Astrid. You know thatâs not what I meant. I meant save them from the heat, not from you. The poor things will probably die of heat stroke or dehydration long before you evenââ
She catches herself rambling and trails off. I snicker. Ilona might be my best friendâmy only friendâbut she fears my mother and me. There isnât any real reason for it, at least not one sheâs aware of. Itâs not like weâve ever used our magic on her. Mother only uses her myndox powers on her enemies and disobedient servantsâpersuading them to do her bidding with mental manipulationâand I only use my vygora powers once a week at these bacchanals, when I absorb the life force energy of a willing participant to transfer to Mother.
Itâs dirty, useless magic that I neither want nor need.
But if Ilona knew I was responsible for her motherâs death, she would have true reason to fear me. Her sentiments would transform to hate in the blink of an eye.
It was an accident. I discovered what I was in that moment, in the most unfortunate of ways, when I was nothing more than an innocent six-year-old with a proud, gap-tooth grin.
I only remember a plump, redheaded woman hugging meâMotherâs handmaiden. The hug was enchanting, like warm sunshine on my bare skin. Until the woman went still and the feeling washed away. She went slack in my arms, and I didnât have the strength to hold her upright as she toppled to the ground, shriveled beyond her years as if she had aged decades in those brief moments.
Hours later, Mother found me sobbing on my bony knees at the womanâs side, fists clutching her skirts. She took one look at the desiccated face before me, those unseeing eyes, and recoiled.
That was the day we learned Iâm a vygoraâan energy reader and life force absorberâbut not a regular vygora. Transference is unheard of, yet I can absorb and transfer energy from one body to another, much to Motherâs delight.
At first, Mother only brought me prisoners to practice my ability on. When the well of prisoners ran dry, she sought volunteers to come to the palace grounds under the guise of these weekly festivities. Over the years, the gatherings have become larger and more excitingâthe islanders eager to partake in a bacchanal with their queen. As for Ilona, she never learned the truth about her motherâs death. We took her in, and sheâs been like a sister to meâproof that my callous mother does indeed have a heart despite what the masses assume.
âTheyâre well aware of their potential sacrifice. They choose to be here, Ilona,â I say, fingering a frayed edge of the blanket. âIâm not the monster here.â
âI love you, I do, but I just find it hard to believe so many people willingly show up each week, knowing they might die.â She sighs, but her emerald eyes donât waver from my face. As irrationally fearful as she can be, Ilona always says whatâs on her mind and keeps it straight with me. At least someone does.
âItâs their choice.â I shrug, not wanting to get worked up over something I canât change. âAre you sure your mother doesnât... you know, influence them?â
I sigh. This again?
Mother doesnât use her abilities on innocents. I may have had my doubts in the past, but
sheâs denied it any time Iâve asked. I truly hope she doesnât invade the minds of others out of selfishness. Then again, she hosts these weekly sacrifices purely for her benefit. She has me drain a willing participant of their life force, only to transfer it to her so she can stay young, beautiful, and powerful.
She is known among the people of the islandâand even those living across the Insipid Seaâfor making morally ambiguous decisions. Like executing all the island prisoners when I was young. Nobody knows the truthâthat she rounded them up for me to practice my powers on.
It worked for us both: she became infamous, and I was protected.
Crime rates certainly dropped after that decree. They began calling her the Dead Queen because of her supposed ruthlessness. Itâs a nickname she now wears proudly. But she is capable of compassion. Why else would she take in a young Ilona and shelter her from the truth of her own motherâs death?
As uncomfortable as I am with murdering people on a weekly basis to allow Mother to stay young and powerful, I truly believe the island of Hakran is safer with her as their queen. Our rule is better than the alternatives.
For example, the countries on the mainland, like Stellaris, are strict and old-fashioned. They donât let women rule or join the guard. They marry off their heirs to other countries for political alliances. Itâs barbaric and oppressive, especially considering our magic came from the original goddess long ago.
Despite her vices, Mother has been a good ruler. Her mental powers help her rule effectively.
âOf course she doesnât use her power on them.â I pluck a purple grape and toss it up to catch. I miss, and it bounces off my nose before rolling into the sand. âShe wouldnât do that.â
âHow sure are you? What if sheâs manipulating them into thinking they want to be a sacrifice?â
âSheâs not that powerful. You know she canât affect people beyond her immediate proximity, let alone control the entire village like youâre suggesting.â
âWhat if thatâs what she wants you to think? What if sheâs got a hold on you too, and youâre doing her bidding against your will?â Her voice drops an octave. âI know sheâs your mother. I mean, sheâs practically mine as well, and sheâs the queen, but I canât help it. I find it hard to trust myndoxes.â
âWhy are you doing this again? Is this your way of justifying my choices instead of accepting me the way I am? Am I not good enough for the perfect Ilona? Too dark, too broken, too willing to do my duty and protect my people that you have to change my narrative?â
âGosh, no,â she whispers.
âThen let it go. Stop making me feel bad about completing my duty.â
âI just... Iâve been having this recurring dream... It feels so real. And in it, youâre confronting your mother about her lies. Iâm not really sure what the full extent of it was... I canât remember. But I have this weird feeling, and thenââ
âItâs a dream,â I say in a flat voice. âA nightmare. Whatever you want to call it. It isnât real.â âBut it feels so real. And itâs recurring. I keep having the same one!â
âJust because it feels real doesnât mean it is. You of all people should know this.â
âMaybe. Or maybe Enira is capable of more than you think. Do you truly believe her powerââ
âOh, does it truly matter, dear Ilona?â Motherâs monotone voice reaches my ears, and I look over my shoulder to see her parting the tentâs flap and entering. Her ebony eyes pierce me, and her blood-red lips curve up on the side. Tonight, she wears a dressâif thatâs what it can be calledâthat matches her eyes. Itâs constructed of thin swatches of burgundy, which barely cover her sensitive bits.
Ilona wipes her hands on her slacks and stands, eyes on the ground. âIâm s-sorry, Queen Enira. I didnât mean it.â
âYour chatter is bordering on treasonous today. You know how I handle treason, regardless of the mouth from which it spills,â Mother says. She waggles a finger before gliding to my side, skirt swishing around her thighs. Pausing behind me, she rakes her ruby nails through my sleek hair. âDarling, you are goddess-blessed with such luxurious locks. Have I informed you of how lucky you are?â
Fighting a scowl, I keep my eyes locked on the revelers outside the tent instead. A droopy- eyed brunette with sun-crisped skin takes off her top. Sheâs so close to us that her elbow swipes the tentâs fabric. Her large, bare breasts hang heavily. Reddish-brown nipples stare at me like lopsided eyes, as if they can see me through the opaque fabric after all. âYes. You have, Mother.â
âOh, what I would give for such hair.â Her voice is sharp as glass as she pulls her hands away, reaching for the pile of scarlet fabric on the ground by my sideâthe veyl I wear during these ceremonies. Tutting with dismay, she shakes out the sand and crumbs. âIlona, run along, dear. Astrid must tend to her duties. You two have dallied long enough.â
âYes, Queen.â Ilona gives an awkward half bow. Sheâs been with us seventeen years now, since we were both six, and still isnât sure how to address Mother. Iâd laugh if I wasnât so annoyed at her. Despite our quarrel, she reaches in to hug me, whispering in my ear, âIâll see you later. Remember who you are. The most incredibly strong woman I know.â
With a quick wave, she parts the tentâs slit and darts away. Sheâll likely head up the trail to the palace rather than stick around the beach. Like me, she enjoys watching the debauchery but doesnât care to take part. I bet Iâll find her sipping a cup of ginger tea and reading a steamy novel up in her suite after the ceremony.
âWas that necessary, Mother?â I snatch the veyl from her hands, not looking forward to putting it on. The people donât know Iâm the one who performs the transference. Mother keeps me covered, referring to me only as âthe vesselâ during the bacchanal and transference ceremony. She says itâs safer this way, so people donât know what their princess is truly capable of. Plus, it makes her look even more commanding to be fully in control of a being with such dangerous power.
Vain.
Other than Ilona and Mother, and perhaps a few of the queenâs closest advisors, no one knows Iâm the one underneath these concealing drabs each week.
âIt was,â she says. âYou two have spent more than enough time on gluttony this evening. She distracts you.â
âNo, actually she keeps me grounded and makes me feel more human, Mother.â Unlike you, I want to add, but I keep my mouth shut.
âQuit with the dramatics.â With her porcelain-smooth skin and severe black bob, she looks like my sister rather than my mother. Perks of receiving the extra life force energy. Though the texture of our hair is similar, my skin is a deeper olive than hers, my eyes a unique shade of teal. Where her features are sharp and angular, mine are softer. Attributes from my father, Iâd assume, though Iâve never met the man. In my twenty-three years, my mother and I have only spoken about the topic a handful of times. Mother claims she had many lovers around the time she conceived me and that it makes no difference which male sponsored my creation. Crass.
âGo. The energy is resplendent tonight. Do not let it go to waste.â Itâs only one night a week.
Itâs not all the time.
Iâm goddess-blessed.
I can do this.
âYes, Mother.â Groaning inwardly, I stand, slipping the veyl over my head. The heavy fabric covers all five feet of me from head to toe, falling in a pool by my sandy feet. Not a single millimeter of flesh peeks through; thereâs not even a cut out for my eyes. Like the tentâs fabric, the veyl allows me to see out, but nobody can see in.
âGo, Astrid!â She grabs my shoulders, steering me to the tentâs slit and pushing me out into the night.
Outside the tent, the air is only a few insignificant degrees cooler. My thick thighs stick together. Salt from the sea wafts through the air, mingling with the fireâs smoky scent.
As I round the tent, making my way toward the bonfire on the beach, my feet drag.
Bacchanals awaken my guilt. I donât want to steal the life force of others to keep Mother young and healthy. But I also know itâs our best way to protect our rule on the island. The sacrifice of one life keeps many others safe.
Mother once said, âPeople can fear you, or they can love you, Astrid. One offers protection, while the other makes you weaker. Let them fear you.â
If they fear Mother, her power, no one will question her rule. The other countries stay away; weâre protected from their potential invasions. The islanders are safe because they remain obedient. Crime is nonexistent. The palace servants stay loyal. Everything runs efficiently.
Turning back toward the tent, I see my mother standing with hands folded delicately in front of her. Elegant. Graceful. Sheâs a stunning woman, but one look at her face reminds me of what she is capable of.
Sheâs the only person I know of who can enter someoneâs mind and influence their thoughts, shaping their reality until they submit to her control. I obey her because I value my freedom. Some might say that makes me selfish or weak, but I say it makes me smart.
In the past, sheâs threatened to force me into line if I disobey, but sheâs never actually used her powers on me.
At least, not that Iâm aware of.
Iâd know.
Or would I?
Ilonaâs words haunt me, and I curse her under my breath.
Bodies sway in circles around the bonfire, succumbing to the trance-like rhythm of the drums as I draw nearer, dragging my feet through the sand. Cheers and chatter litter the air, and the energy is ecstatic. Ilona is right. Itâs strange that each person is so joyous at the prospect of possibly sacrificing their life. Itâs common knowledge this isnât a normal party, yet theyâre always utterly delighted.
But thereâs no way theyâre all under Motherâs influence. Nobodyâs magic is that strong.
Countless bobble-headed partygoers thrash against one another. Scanning the crowd of sticky flesh, I look for someone highly energeticâsomeone young, with much life to give. On the other side of the fire, near the water, a group of six is fully engrossed in one another as their lips mash and their hands explore. People get carried away during Motherâs bacchanals, which works perfectly. Sexual energy is one of the strongest and easiest to absorb because of its intensity.
My cheeks no longer blaze with heat like they did when I was young.
I start in their direction, but movement farther down the beach catches my eye. Moonlight gilds the brunette I saw earlier, the one with the observant breasts, as she straddles a man with thick eyebrows, their mouths merging ravenously.
She will do.
Heading in her direction, I pass the bulk of dancers, thankful to leave the heat of the fire behind, as I slink toward the pair.
âVessel! May the original goddess bless you!â someone yells over the ruckus. A few more people turn, regarding me with awe. Conversation picks up a notch as they recognize the symbolic red veyl. A few people bow their heads in a show of respect, and itâs quite humorous, considering many are stark naked.
If only they could see it was their princess under this garb. That would be a priceless reaction.
Others dance faster, moan louder, thrash against each other harder, all in a desperate bid for me to acknowledge them. To choose them. They want me to see how lively they are, that theyâre worthy of sacrificing their life for their queen.
Ilonaâs words make me view it all through a new lens tonight, and it looks sad. Pathetic. They truly want to be the reason their queen is young, beautiful, and forever powerful. Week after week, I see so many of the same faces. A few are even nobles from the village.
Ilonaâs voice haunts my mind: âWhat if sheâs manipulating them into thinking they want to be a sacrifice?â
Balling my hands into fists beneath my veyl, I brush off the thought. Thereâs no way Mother could manipulate this many people for so long, and from such a distance. Her power doesnât work like that. As odd as it may seem to Ilona that people would choose to die for their queen, she needs to accept itâs true.
My lungs burn for fresh air as I close in on the brunette and her thick-browed man. Their exposed, overlapping thighs are slick with humidity and pleasure. Averting my eyes, I reach one bare hand through the only slit in my veyl, planting it on the womanâs back.
She shudders at my touch.
âForgive me,â I mumble, knowing she canât hear me. Even if she could, she wouldnât accept my apology. They always find honor in their sacrifice.
Focusing on pulling her energy into my body, my hand tingles, emanating a soft golden glow where it meets her flesh. The woman gasps at the sensation, throwing her head back with a throaty moan and thrusting her hips forward, as if my touch is as pleasurable as the manâs lips were on her neck a moment prior.
My own eyes roll back in my head as a wave of synchronized pleasure consumes me too. Thereâs no denying how good it feels. For us both. I canât stop, canât pull away. The sensation is incredible. Energy absorption is pure indulgence for me. I hate that something so cruel feels so goodâand that I like it.
The surge rushes through my veins as I pull all the energy out of her body with a single touch. It continues to pour into me until sheâs left dry and unconscious, and the connection between us fades away. Drained of her youth, all that remains is a shriveled shell of a human. Her head flops forward, hanging limp, and Iâm grateful I canât see her withered cheeks or the final gaze of her vacant eyes.
âThank you for choosing her, vessel.â The thick-browed man places her limp body on the sand before bowing to me and taking off into the crowd.
Waves lap the shore a few feet away, almost inaudible over the chaotic music and shrill revelry around me. Iâm tempted to close that distance. To step deep enough into the ocean that it wraps its liquid arms around me, absolving me of my guilt.
But I donât.
Motherâs waiting for me.
The sacrifice is over, but the celebration is not. As the wine flows and fire burns, so will the activities of the night. The people will continue to party, thanking their queen and the original goddess for blessing them, while I curse her for damning me.
These Wicked Lies follows Astrid, a princess with the rare power to absorb life force from one person and transfer it to another, a power she uses to her mother Queen Enira young and beautiful. Enira herself is incredibly powerful and uses her abilities as a myndox to manipulate others into compliance and maintain her hold on the island of Hakran.
When foreign royals who are immune to Enira's powers arrive on the island, Astrid will slowly start to realise she has been her mother's prisoner for all her life, and it will take all she has to know who to trust while untangling the deep web of lies she finds herself in.
These Wicked Lies is a great read for any fantasy and romance fans. I loved following Astrid, who is a truly compelling main character. She is complex, conflicted, opinionated and fierce, and it was really refreshing to read about a protagonist who is not just good and fated to save the world. Essentially, a deliciously morally grey character at her finest.
The cast of secondary characters was also varied and really interesting to read about. It was clear none of them were a mere filler, but at the same time, some definitely had more space than others to truly shine. As this is only the first book though I expect we'll see much more of them in future instalments. I particularly enjoyed the dark, brooding love interests and the banter between Astrid and other characters. It was also just spicy enough, with one more explicit scene but plenty of other delightful romantic exchanges.
I also really enjoyed the worldbuilding. It is very easy in fantasy books to either have massive infodumps or a system far too complex for readers to keep up with, but there was no such issue here. I liked how the author managed to explain the world and magic systems clearly while avoiding long expositions and also pacing it in such a way that there was plenty of time to absorb key information before new reveals. The settings were lush and intriguing, and the descriptions of food definitely made me hungry!
The plot was twisty enough to keep me reading well into the night. I had an inkling about some reveals, but I was still surprised when they rolled around as I had not quite expected that, and there was more still that I had absolutely not seen coming. The foreshadowing was executed really well, so that at no point did it feel like things were coming out of nowhere. The ending absolutely blew me away and I need Book 2 as soon as possible! It is a cliffhanger ending, so just be aware of that if you dislike them.
I did have some small issues with pacing, and a few passages felt slightly repetitive, but overall this was a wicked read and a great debut novel, which is likely to appeal to fans of romantic fantasy and Sarah J. Maas.