A Touch of Gold Read online

  PRAISE FOR A TOUCH OF GOLD

  “A dazzling retelling full of adventure with a dash of betrayal, A Touch of Gold will grab your heart and not let go.”

  BRENDA DRAKE, New York Times bestselling author

  “Sullivan spins an engaging tale of insidious curses and abandoned gifts. A Touch of Gold is a thoughtful addition to the myth of King Midas, told through his daughter Kora’s perspective. I dare say it should have been Kora’s story all along.”

  EMILY R. KING, author of The Hundredth Queen series and The Evermore Chronicles

  “Land and sea, riches and curses, despair and love—this book has it all.”

  New York Times bestselling author WENDY HIGGINS

  “Utterly charming! This fresh take on a classic tale will be treasured by fans of myth and romance alike.”

  SARAH GLENN MARSH, author of the Reign of the Fallen series

  “With high-seas adventures and a swoony romance you can’t put down, A Touch of Gold is an imaginative and heart-pounding retelling of King Midas. Full of pirates, curses, sirens, and thieves, Sullivan captures the thrill of first love—and first betrayal—on the high seas.”

  ASHLEY POSTON, author of Heart of Iron

  “A charming tale with a heart of gold.”

  ELLY BLAKE, New York Times bestselling author

  BLINK

  A Touch of Gold

  Copyright © 2018 by Annie Sullivan

  This title is also available as a Blink ebook.

  Requests for information should be addressed to:

  Blink, 3900 Sparks Dr. SE, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546

  Epub Edition July 2018 9780310765974

  ISBN 978-0-310-76635-3

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  BLINK™ is a registered trademark of the Zondervan Corporation.

  Cover design: Brand Navigation

  Interior design: Denise Froehlich

  Printed in the United States of America

  * * *

  18 19 20 21 22 / DCI / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To my family, with love:

  Mom, Dad, Katie, Patrick, Michael S.,

  Danny, John, Maggie, and Michael K.

  CONTENTS

  Praise for a Touch of Gold

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Acknowledgments

  Discussion Guide for a Touch of Gold

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  Once upon a time, a little girl helplessly watched as liquid gold spun a web across her tiny frame, racing to wrap her up in an icy cocoon. Her mouth hung agape. Her limbs stayed outstretched toward a father she could not reach. Her legs refused to respond, to carry her far away. Only the sound of bones crackling, drying into rigid metal fossils, sliced through the night air.

  The gold hummed a haunting lullaby as it pooled in her ears, and specks of gold whirled across her vision. She had time for one last breath, but her throat hardened before the air ever reached her lungs. Finally, a burst of gold clenched her heart and squeezed until blood ran out of it, hardening like candle wax as she succumbed to the golden curse.

  She could neither hear nor see the outside world. All she could feel was the constant, icy pressure of the gold on her body. Her limbs tingled, liked they’d fallen asleep, but this tingling never went away. It increased with each passing moment; tiny swords pricking her skin over and over again, leaving behind invisible wounds. If her hands could move, she would’ve clawed the gold from her skin.

  Over and over again in her trapped mind, she replayed the way her father’s face had recoiled in horror, how his upper lip receded and his brow crinkled over bulging eyes as he pulled away from her.

  What had happened? What had she done to deserve this?

  She asked the questions a thousand times as the gold weighed down her body.

  All she’d done was run into her father’s arms as she had every time he came to look for her in the palace rose garden. But this time had been different from all the rest. She’d frozen at his touch, becoming a statue every bit as lifeless as the stone swans spewing water atop the nearby fountain. And just like those swans, she couldn’t fly away from this nightmare.

  Because the nightmare had started long before the mysterious stranger had turned up at the castle that morning.

  In fact, it began long before the little girl was even born. Her father and his brother, Pheus, had been poor farmers, coming through the mountains to sell cabbages in town. Their donkey had twisted a leg on the rocky mountain passes, and the little girl’s father had wanted to turn back. But Pheus convinced him to keep going and was so sure they would make it that he left his brother with the donkey and went on ahead to secure a market stall.

  What neither brother knew was that the Great Oracle had arrived in Lagonia’s capital that day. She had seen in a vision that the king would die before midnight. He had no heirs, which meant a scramble for power and subsequent bloodshed unless the country could unite behind one leader, one she prophesized would have a prosperous rule. She said that the kingdom of Lagonia would find such a future king in the market that very day. He would be leading a limping donkey.

  Thus, when the little girl’s father led his lame donkey into town, the people had scattered away in shock before cheering. He was crowned the next day, and for a time, Lagonia prospered. The king married a beautiful princess from the north and had the little girl.

  But despite having come from a simple background, the king quickly developed a taste for the finer things in life. In a matter of years, he’d spent most of the treasury on feasts and expensive adornments for his castle. The treasuries grew depleted. Pirates roamed the seas. And his people were going hungry.

  The little girl’s father and uncle talked endlessly of how they could resolve the issues, but neither time nor money was on their side. Years passed. War came and went. And Lagonia grew ever weaker, ever poorer.

  But everything changed when an old beggar arrived at the castle selling cabbages. The king remembered his own humble beginnings and took pity on the man. He welcomed him in and bought several cabbages, even though he had few coins to spare.

  As soon as the money touched the beggar’s palm, he revealed himself as Dionysus, the trickiest of the gods, the one known for amusing himself by purposefully leaving chaos in his wake. Dionysus admitted he had disguised himself with the intention of entrapping the little girl’s father and punishing him when he did not offer kindness to a god. But s
ince the king had shown him mercy, Dionysus instead would reward the king with anything he wanted.

  Without thinking, without remembering how Dionysus was known to twist words, without pondering why no one had outsmarted Dionysus before, the little girl’s father asked for the power to turn things to gold.

  Dionysus had laughed, granted the wish, and disappeared.

  And so, the little girl’s father had thrown a feast celebrating The Touch that would save the kingdom, the same feast the little girl had snuck out of to go hide in the rose garden. For she knew her father would come looking for her. He would sit on the fountain ledge with her and hold up the tail ends of his embroidered cloak like a mask as he reenacted in a shaky, mysterious voice the Great Oracle’s prophecy that had made him king. Then, the little girl would beg him to continue the story all the way to the part where he met her mother. That was her favorite story.

  But the little girl didn’t hear that story in the garden that day. In fact, after turning his daughter into a golden statue, the king never told the story again.

  The little girl stayed in her icy, metallic prison while her father searched for a way to save her. For days, he prayed for an answer, surviving only on water, as the food he touched turned to gold before it reached his mouth. He searched every book. He consulted every healer he could find. He even sent men to search for the Great Oracle, but none could find the way to her cave. Only Dionysus could undo the curse. And so, night after night, the little girl’s father cried out from the towers of the castle for Dionysus to return, to remember the kindness he had shown him.

  Finally, Dionysus returned.

  The little girl’s father was so relieved that he didn’t stop to consider why Dionysus would return. The trickster god was not known for his mercy or his kindness. Still, the little girl’s father listened eagerly as Dionysus told him to wash everything he’d turned to gold in the river that ran into the nearby ocean. He’d said water was too pure to be corrupted by magic, and the river would wash away the gold and his power if he submerged in it before the sun set that very day. With his lips curled in a wicked grin, Dionysus cautioned that if everything did not get washed as he instructed, there would be unhappy consequences.

  The king ran to the river as quickly as he could, with four men carrying the statue of his daughter. The moment she was submerged in the water, the little girl sputtered back to life again, her hair once more shades of brown rather than gold. Her father leapt in beside her, and when he emerged, no trace of his power remained. He wrapped the little girl in his arms, and didn’t let go for a long, long time.

  The king was so happy to be able to hold his daughter once more that he forgot about the other items he had turned to gold—the pheasant he’d tried to eat, the platter it rested on, the knife meant to cut his food, the large table he’d tried to dine at, the two chalices he drank from, the three coins he’d weighed in his palm, a rose he’d plucked to give his daughter, a rolled-up tapestry, and the necklace that had belonged to his wife. By the time he remembered the other objects, the sun had set completely.

  When the moon appeared, the table and knife and rose and all the rest gleamed brighter than the stars. Amazed, the king turned toward his daughter, only to see a gold sheen creep back over her skin. He raced to her side, but instead of turning back into a statue, the princess remained a living, breathing girl. A girl whose skin sparkled in the moonlight and whose eyes flashed metallic and hard when her father cried out in shock.

  As the days passed and it became clear the little girl’s skin would not return to normal, they kept her locked away inside the palace for fear of what others would think of her, of what greedy or superstitious people might do, though the girl was just seven years old. And they counted themselves quite lucky that her skin was the only reminder of the curse others could see. For what they discovered soon after about the little girl was not to be spoken of. This they kept secret.

  And since the little girl’s father could no longer turn things to gold, everyone believed him when he said the curse was gone. So the kingdom went back to normal, and the little girl and her father, King Midas, lived happily ever after . . . or so everyone thought.

  CHAPTER 1

  I’ve only ever turned one person to gold, and that was an accident. It was before I knew what I could do, before I knew that people were right to fear me.

  Although the nobles don’t know about my powers, money still changes hands at the tables before me as they bet on how long my newest suitor, Duke Wystlinos, will last. Some brokers even take bets on whether he’ll scream when he sees me.

  I roll my eyes—not that anyone can see it beneath my thick veil. Only one of my former suitors, Lord Primtim, had screamed. Thankfully, we’d been out in the rose garden, where most people couldn’t hear.

  The light coming in from the stained glass windows reflects off the sliver of golden skin visible in the gap between my gloves and sleeves. I quickly yank the material down before folding my hands back in my lap like I always do to keep from touching things.

  You can never be too careful. Not when it comes to gold. Or to curses.

  I pray that a trip out to the garden is all it will take to dissuade Duke Wystlinos. Once he sees my skin, he’ll flee like all the rest, and I can retreat to the library to read about the mythical island of Jipper that I’ll never get to visit.

  I stifle a yawn. I was up too late reading last night, trying to put Duke Wystlinos’s visit from my mind.

  “Don’t let the duke see you yawning like that, Kora,” my cousin Hettie says. She towers over me as she leans on the chair beside mine. She inherited the same height as her father and mine, while I share my mother’s more petite frame.

  Her auburn curls bounce and her curvy lips pout forward as she plops down and pulls a platter of grapes closer. A servant brings her a tray full of cheeses, dark brown barley bread dripping with honey, and several olives that threaten to roll off as the servant’s hands become shakier the closer he gets to me.

  “Good morning, Hettiana,” I mutter, putting extra emphasis on her full name. I’m the only one who uses it—and only to annoy her.

  She ignores me. “We don’t want you scaring Duke Wystlinos away until he’s had a chance to see what other maidens the kingdom has to offer.” She sighs dramatically. “Then again, I suppose that’s what you want, isn’t it? Me, an old maid like you.” She examines the remaining grapes in the cluster before selecting a particularly plump one.

  What I want is to put an end to the suitors—Hettie can have whichever one she wants. I’d let Hettie marry Duke Wystlinos in a heartbeat, but with the palace coffers what they are, Uncle Pheus made it quite clear that I’ll need to marry into wealth to give my family any hope of holding on to the throne. He’d pushed me to accept an offer from the duke, should one be made, because in addition to deep coffers, Wystlinos will bring stability to the kingdom as it continues its recovery from the Orfland Wars.

  Hettie knows the state of the kingdom as well as I do, which is why she’s hoping some dashing lord will come along and take her far, far away from Lagonia. And I can’t blame her. How many times have I dreamt of leaving since my father turned me to gold ten years ago?

  I just wish Hettie wouldn’t bring up all my suitors so often. But since she’s one of the few people in the world who isn’t afraid of me, I tolerate her and her single-mindedness.

  She squishes her barley bread into the pools of honey that have slid off the top.

  I look away. I already ate this morning in my room. It’s too hard to eat in front of others when you’re wearing a veil, and my stomach is in knots anyway.

  “I wouldn’t mind being the hostess of all those parties Duke Wystlinos throws,” Hettie continues. “I’ve heard he brings in performers from as far away as Kalakhosia.”

  I suppress the urge to roll my eyes again. I’ve received invitations to his parties because I’m the princess, and it’d be a grave insult to be left off the guest list entirely. Though, as a
cursed girl with golden skin, it’s understood that I’ll never attend.

  A voice at the back of the main hall cries out, “His Majesty, King Midas,” and I wish I’d tried a little harder to avoid this meeting. To avoid exposing myself to one more duke or lord who will spread tales about me and look at me in disgust. Maybe if I asked my father—really asked—he would stop the parade of suitors. That is, if he could stand to be in the same room as me for more than ten seconds.

  After my skin reverted to gold, our relationship effectively ended. He couldn’t stand the sight of me—still can’t—and it broke my heart. The times we talk now are mumbled greetings necessitated by the presence of others in the room. Otherwise, we avoid one another entirely.

  It’s not like I expected my father to apologize for turning me to gold. It was an accident, one he wishes didn’t happen as much as I do. But he didn’t even come to comfort me when the nightmares began. He didn’t take my hand and tell me that it would be all right, that we’d get through this together. He left me to deal with the curse alone. I’ve never figured out if it’s due to guilt or disgust, and I’ve never had the courage to ask because I’m not sure I want to know.

  All around the hall, benches and chairs scrape across the stone floor as the nobles rise to their feet.

  Right in front of the dais where I sit is Archduke Ralton, with his polished bald head on full display. As expected, he’s positioned near the king’s table. He wants to see me fail, to make sure the monarchy stays weak. I’ve even heard rumors he’s gathering funds to raise an army against my father. Ralton keeps saying we need to focus more on fighting the pirates pillaging our coasts and less on finding me a husband, which my uncle always points out is due mostly to the fact Ralton doesn’t want a strong line of succession in place. As both my father and the kingdom grow weaker, it becomes more likely the archduke will make a bid for the throne one day—and we may not be strong enough to stop him.

  That’s the other reason Duke Wystlinos is here.

  He’s Archduke Ralton’s nephew. They supposedly had a falling out a few years back, but Uncle Pheus seems to think having a blood relation in line for the throne will appease Ralton. Or at least make him think twice about attacking.