The Never List

“Contrary to my daily complaints, I like my life. Dying in the name of being the queen of Lumathyst is the last thing on my mind.”

Rylee here clarifies her stakes in entering the Choosing and offers insight into her life in the Ashlands—which readers never see on the page of the text. Though she regularly laments the inequality that Ashlanders face, she finds her life worth living. This tacitly argues that even the most impoverished people in Lumathyst are having fulfilling lives, something that fights back against the dehumanizing or dismissive language that many of the nobles use in the novel when discussing Ashlanders.

“Funny how a set of invisible lines between cities can change so much. My friends have never gone hungry or almost been arrested for wearing lipstick. Neither of them knows what it’s like not to eat, not to know where your next meal is coming from. And it’s not their fault, either, just a privilege of being born in the right spot on the map with the right familial titles, too. Just like it’s not my fault Erin and I were born on the wrong one. It’s the kings’ fault.”

Rylee here argues for the arbitrariness of Lumathyst’s strict class divisions, something she uses to highlight the injustice of such social stratification. Her comment that it isn’t her friends’ fault for being born into privilege sets the stage for the delicate line that the novel treads in terms of its anti-monarchic views; though Rylee disdains the kings and the cruelties they have enacted, noting that this “fault” is not heritable lets Presley enjoy the trappings of the “royal romance,” as Rylee is courted by her princes, without sacrificing its critique of the kings. Any anti-monarchic stance in the novel thus becomes individual and circumstantial rather than systematic. This moment underscores the theme of Using Privilege to Benefit the Less Fortunate, as Rylee clearly identifies the systemic origins of inequality while refusing to blame her more privileged friends—an ethical stance she maintains throughout the novel.

“Why would the goddesses go to sleep when they could’ve likely created wards on their own? That part of the story always rubbed me the wrong way.”

At several points in the novel, Presley offers hints that there is more to the goddesses’ slumber than what had been made common knowledge. This foreshadowing is ultimately unfulfilled; instead, different characters’ musings and the goddess’ cryptic comments at the end of the novel add to the uncertainty. This builds suspense for the reader, one that offers them a narrative thread to follow into a potential sequel long before the novel’s cliffhanger ending.

“‘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.”

Jax (then known to Rylee only as the purple-eyed man) and Rylee here allude to the Cinderella narrative, a common literary archetype across cultures. Evoking this narrative in fictional Lumathyst highlights the cultural overlap between Lumathyst and the real world, something that allows readers to greater orient themselves in a fantastical setting. Readers here understand that Rylee, who is elevated from poverty after being chosen by princes, is likely to follow a Cinderella-style plot arc, and that this novel is likely to end in a “darker” manner than many other fairy tales they have experienced. The extent to which this latter point comes true remains unclear, as the cliffhanger ending indicates that the story has not yet come to its final point.

“Men like that don’t need a silent princess; they need a sharp warrior, someone who will fight by their side and not cower in fear when their darkness comes out to play.

I can be that. I can be different. I can be whatever they need me to be, in order to keep myself alive.”

Presley here plays with her previous setup that alludes to Rylee’s “dark fairy tale” circumstances. By contrasting the “silent princess” with the “sharp warrior,” Presley offers a critique of the often-passive heroines of many older fairy tale versions. Insofar as fairy tales reflect dominant cultural norms, however, Presley’s focus on a “strong female character” (a modern archetype that has received both praise and criticism as feminist ideology entered the zeitgeist) follows the fairy tale pattern, as she presents a heroine who upholds a certain dominant cultural narrative about “good” femininity. This quote also gestures toward the theme of Love as Risk and Redemption, as Rylee’s willingness to adapt herself out of fear evolves over the course of the novel into a more mutual, empowered form of love.

“I can definitely understand Kal’s shock at my ease around him. It’s clear that the previous potentials were nothing but proper around them in public. And I can see why they would be, not only because of their desperate wish to be royalty, but because of the intensity of being around all of the Legends at once. Falling back on etiquette would be a tempting way to cope.”

Though the novel often uses the unnamed previous potentials as a point of contrast for Rylee and her suitability as the Legends’ potential mate, it occasionally offers points of understanding for these women. This both serves to minimize blame on the Legends for selecting incorrectly and avoids the “not like other girls” narrative. This trope, sometimes used to highlight the value of a protagonist in a “chosen one” arc, has been heavily criticized for its sexist dismissal of traditional femininity as valuable.

“The structure sits on an expansive piece of land, and to the west, I can just see the top of the massive ruby statute of one of our sleeping goddesses—his mother, Neph. I wonder if he had the home built here so he could always see her in the distance.”

Though the slumbering goddesses primarily serve as a plot device that impels the magical stakes of the novel, Rylee here notes that the loss of the goddesses in their awake forms likely also inspires grief in the Legends. This quality—as someone who has lost a loving parent but must fight on, despite this grief—offers another element that bonds Rylee and the Legends, allowing them to understand one another despite their many differences.

“Something pricks my chest at the ease with which this room was prepared for me, at the waltz one must have in order to snap their fingers and stock it in a matter of hours. What else can that wealth do if directed toward those who need it most?”

This moment connects to the theme of Using Privilege to Benefit the Less Fortunate, as Rylee begins to envision how the power and resources hoarded by the elite could serve the vulnerable instead of reinforcing the hierarchy. Presley questions the opulence that is a common convention in a royal romance by highlighting that excess and grandeur comes at the expense of others. This criticism becomes somewhat less robust as the novel progresses, though the text does not necessarily suggest that Rylee wavers in her desire for greater economic equality as the focus shifts to her changing feelings for the Legends.

“It’s no secret that the four of us are incredibly powerful, and the kings more so, but they aren’t as involved in territorial disputes because they’re ancient and uninterested in anything that happens outside of the royal city.”

Kal highlights The Corruption of Power Through Immortality. He sees that the kings’ age has led them to politically ossify, to become stuck in their ways in a manner that leaves them unable to understand the benefit of change. This suggests that even the kinder, more benevolent King Jullian is ultimately a hindrance to progress, as the problem comes from age, not temperament. Kal suggests that even rulers with good intentions become detached and ineffective when their reigns stretch on indefinitely.

“It’s funny that you think an oppressed people who barely scrape by for food, let alone money, could amass any sort of magic and create the weapons they attacked you with a few weeks ago.”

Rylee criticizes the idea that the wealthy should view the disenfranchised as a threat, as the cruelties that the nobility have cast upon the Ashlanders leaves the impoverished unable to gather sufficient resources to survive, let alone rebel. The novel is unclear in the extent to which it upholds this position, however, as Rylee learns, in the novel’s climax, that her Ashland-born sister is the leader of the Faders, a rebel group striking back against the Legends.

“‘Execution or live in the dungeons?’ Baydel asks.

Kal’s fingers twitch in mine.

‘What is his crime?’ I manage to ask.

‘Does it matter?’ […]

‘Laws vary,’ I say, forcing myself to concentrate. ‘So should the punishment. What is his crime?’”

Rylee’s efforts to defend the arrested demi man when Baydel orders her to determine his fate ultimately prove ineffective. Though she chooses to send the man to the dungeons, Baydel executes the man anyway. This suggests that, despite Rylee’s argument that punishment should befit the crime, Baydel’s assertion that the crime doesn’t matter is ultimately true, given the total authoritative power that the kings hold over Lumathyst. The scene offers a clear view on the corruption and cruelty of the four kings’ regime. This scene is a harrowing example of The Corruption of Power Through Immortality, as Baydel’s unchecked dominance illustrates how immortality, when combined with political control, obliterates the rule of law.

“‘You know who isn’t afraid of nightmares?’ she asks, boldly placing her hands on his thighs to brace herself […]

‘People who don’t dream,’ she finally says.”

Rylee here highlights her pragmatism, which makes her focus on concrete actions rather than wide-scale dreams, as a reason why she does not fear Jax’s nightmare powers. The novel both supports and undermines this self-assessment; though Rylee is practical, she also regularly forces herself to resist dreaming, indicating that she doesn’t lack dreams, just that she fears experiencing them, lest they result in disappointment.

“Happily ever afters aren’t destined for people like me.”

Rylee here invokes the novel’s recurring fairy tale motif to discuss the likelihood that she will get a “happily ever after.” Her understanding of “people like her” evidently alludes to both her hidden magical status and her impoverished origins. As she grows closer to the Legends, she becomes determined not to let a happy ending happen to her, but rather for her to build the future she wants through her own actions.

“Sadness stings my chest at his words.

‘I hate that you have to wonder such things,’ I admit, sighing, ‘The Choosing has corrupted the authenticity right out of finding a proper mate for you four,’ I continued. ‘First with the promise of an increase in nobility status and wealth, and second with the title of queen at the end of it, should they survive. Unfair.’”

The novel repeatedly turns to the idea of authenticity as the most important element in building a lasting romantic relationship. Though the Choosing is the thing that brings Rylee to the Legends, she nevertheless notes that the contrived structure of the novel’s setup promotes drama over natural connection. Even so, this setup proves successful, indicating that the power of the “fated mates” trope is strong enough to overcome this hurdle.

“‘I’ve worried about that since the beginning,’ I admit. ‘Worried they’re playing a part just as much as me to come out winners at the end of this…’ I sigh. ‘But I don’t know how to explain it,’ I say, returning to my normal vocal level. ‘The more time I spend with them, the more I feel like they’re being genuine. They aren’t perfect—goddess knowns I’ve seen their flaws just as much as they’ve seen mine—but it feels authentic.’”

The novel’s discussion of interpersonal authenticity notes that being authentic is not synonymous with revealing everything of oneself. Rylee’s secrets, in particular, are kept out of self-protection—and yet she shows her true self to her love interests whenever possible, something that contrasts her with the prim and proper former potentials. True honesty, the novel thus contends, is not the same as not keeping secrets; it is, instead, about presenting one’s real self whenever reasonably possible.

“When I first got chosen and I thought she’d been put on the Never List, I secretly hoped she’d found someone to run away with and was simply off living a happy life. But when faced with that actual reality? A life where she’s free enough to paint in the Ruby Aire? I can’t help but wonder—why haven’t I heard a word from her? Why hasn’t she at least sent a letter explaining where she went?”

Rylee’s hopes for her sister are complex, as she both wants Erin to be happy and safe and is hurt that her sister did not inform her of her choices. Though Erin’s decision to keep Rylee uninformed becomes clearer when Erin proves the leader of the Faders, her overall motivations are made more mysterious and are left as part of the novel’s cliffhanger.

“‘Axl’s people, Kal’s people, and now Pierce’s,’ I say as I glance around the teashop before returning my focus to him. ‘After spending as much time with the Legends as I have, growing to know them and love their cities and their people, they feel like my people, too.’”

Rylee here explains how her understanding of royalty increasingly represents her sense of duty to the people who live in a kingdom, not the benefits that she gains from wealth and social prestige. Brooks’ comment later in the conversation that Rylee is “lacking” in the necessary qualities to be queen, despite her desire to serve the kingdom, indicates that he, no matter his many years on the throne, still myopically sees queenliness as a simple matter of manners and social graces. This perspective speaks to the theme of Using Privilege to Benefit the Less Fortunate, as Rylee’s growing identification with the people of each city reinforces her desire to lead to enact lasting change across Lumathyst.

“And Nightmares don’t fall in love and live happily ever after.”

Rylee here draws a parallel between herself, whom she previously referenced as not meriting a “happily ever after” and Jax, known as “the Nightmare.” While she framed herself as ineligible for a happy ending due to her class status, Jax is put in this category due to his sense of self as an unlovable villain, a feeling he developed after years of experience others’ fear of him. This parallel between Rylee and Jax elevates Jax as more central to the narrative than the other love interests, something the novel affirms by giving Jax more time as a narrator.

“My skin crawls as I remember every single time Turner caught me past curfew or outside my boundaries and used that crime to his advantage. Hands too rough on my skin. His tongue forcing its way into my mouth. A single, traitorous tear sliding down my cheek as I take it, know it’s this or the dungeons […] Those are real nightmares, not whatever Jax thinks he is.”

Related to the novel’s emphasis on the importance of consent is the text’s repeated reference that true evil comes from using someone else’s body against their wishes, particularly when this coercion comes from a differential in political power. Turner, as a corrupt enforcer, and Baydel, whose powers let him literally control others’ bodies, thus emerge as the primary antagonists even when many forces conspire against Rylee and her partners.

“‘If you’re mine and something happens to you, someone threatens you…’ I drop my head. Can’t believe I’m admitting this to her as I meet her gaze again. ‘I’ll burn the whole fucking world down and laugh the ash out of my lungs.’

I don’t relish killing, not like everyone says I do. Just because I’m good at something doesn’t mean I love it, but that? That’s inevitable.”

Though Jax fears his potential for violence if someone hurts Rylee shows another element of how he underestimates himself, as, when she does die during the Athanry, he leaps into action rather than erupting in rage. As Rylee apparently dies at the end of the novel, too, however, this line suggests that Jax may turn to darkness in an apparent sequel.

“I swallow hard, doing my best to keep the sadness from becoming overwhelming. The last thing I want is Jax or Pierce’s powers sweeping them up into my own personal trauma.”

Here, Rylee shows that she sees the burden of her partners’ powers as something she can share, another feature that distinguishes her from past potentials. This experience managing those powers also helps her after she receives all four powers as a way to resurrect her after the Athanry. Her understanding that the powers are not all good, that they come with a burden, suggests that she will never try to hoard the powers from the Legends, though she will have the ability to do so.

“In the beginning, I was certain you’d all flay me alive for the truth or at the very least imprison me. So many of my kind have walked that path before.”

When Rylee ultimately reveals that she is a demi from the Ashlands, the Legends do not hesitate before offering her their acceptance. While this resolution to the long-kept secret coming out may seem anticlimactic to readers, Rylee points out that this anticlimax does not mean that her fears were unwarranted; she, instead, highlights that she is not arrested or harmed because of her privilege in being connected to the Legends alone.

“The majority of Lumathyst doesn’t understand their princes and it’s a real fucking shame. A shame they don’t know how much they care, how much they’re trying to help make Lumathyst a better place. But they can’t know. No one can. If the kings knew how against tradition the princes are, how badly they want to reshape our country…I can’t even think of what the kings would do them.”

Rylee here presents the cruel images that the princes allow to proliferate about themselves not only as incorrect, but as a necessary diversion in order for the Legends to promote social change. This highlights Rylee’s knowledge of the Legends as special—thus emphasizing her “chosen one” status—and offers a reason for the princes to let their reputations suffer. Rylee here frames the story of “the Legends of Chaos” as one that doesn’t indicate that the princes do not care about their people, but rather that they care very much—enough to sacrifice their pride.