Page 24 of A Cursed Bite (Bound to the Enduar #1)

VANN

T he cold morning air outside of the Sisterhood’s Enclave bites at my skin and the mist curls between the ancient trees.

“Yrelajd vol’chtu,” I grumble in enduar— Damn this mess.

I feel like a godsdamned fool. I’d been so focused on my theory that Daniel had hurt her that I failed to realize who the true villain was.

King Arion.

You clueless bastard.

Then I think of Teo.

Gods, I should have thought of some way to send a message back to him. Brought speaking stones, a fucking magical voice projector. Something .

I fear he will never forgive me.

Sucking in another breath, I sort through the packs Mrath had also haphazardly transported out of her enclave.

We will both need to make sure that our belongings are still intact. I open my mouth to tell Arlet, but looking up causes me to pause.

She stands there. Deflated. Her arms are crossed over her midsection. Her breath billows out from her nose, which has turned beryl red from the chill.

I straighten. The conversation with Mrath had gone as well as I could’ve hoped. She didn’t maim either of us, and we had a genuine direction.

But still, Arlet had come here with hopes of returning home sooner. That is delayed, and it must hurt.

I suck in a breath. Especially not her.

A few more moments stretch on, and she gazes at the trees, breathing slowly.

It is time to leave this place and let everything go. Instead, I listen as the silence between us is punctuated by the steady rhythm of the forest.

“Firelocks,” I start. “Are you upset?”

She glances up at me, face expressionless, and I wish I could stop the way that my mind memorizes the movement, cataloging it with a dozen others that help me to interpret and read her.

“I am fine,” she replies, though I see how her lips turn down after each word.

“I am sorry they did not have useful answers for you. I know you seek to be free of the curse,” I try. “I know you want to go home.”

She looks up at me, and the world stills. I was a fool around her.

“Be happy,” Adra had said to me in a thousand dreams. But was that her, or was it simply my manifestation of what she would say if she could communicate from the afterlife?

I don’t know if it was a betrayal to turn away from Adra and our life together for a new one.

Sucking my lip between my teeth, I think of pulling out Adra’s name tonight to say a prayer before I go to sleep.

I would do it now, but Arlet looks like she is spiraling away under her calm exterior. Someone needs to hold her together—she seems like she needs an embrace.

We are friends.

This woman serves with me on the council. Attends every function by virtue of our chosen family. She deserves more than what I have given her .

I had embraced each of my friends. Many times.

Carefully, deliberately, I cross the space between us. There is no hesitation in the action. Surprisingly, I feel no inner battle.

From this moment, I would not look back. Firelocks would always be my friend.

When she looks up at me, her jaw tightens and her lip quivers.

“Would it be alright if I held you close?” I ask.

She must be very sad, for she nods instantly. Then she sucks in one last breath, face breaking, and I pull her into my arms.

She is warm, impossibly so. Her body melts against mine, the tension in her shoulders unraveling when I press her close.

I hold her firmly, my arms locking her against me as though I can shield her from disappointment.

She is small in my grasp, fragile in a way that unsettles me. Her hands, hesitant at first, curl into my tunic and grip the fabric as though afraid I might disappear if she lets go.

Her sweet scent fills my senses, grounding me. The weight of her against my chest is pleasant.

“For better or worse, I am here for you.”

She buries her face against my arm, and I feel the warmth of her breath through the cloth.

My fingers slide up her back, resting just beneath the curve of her neck. I don’t want to let go first—she can take as long as she needs.

“Thank you,” she says, though her voice is muffled. “I would like that.”

I pat her back once.

“It is not easy to come far only to learn the journey is not yet over. There were days during The Great War that I feared never seeing my home again. I imagine you feel similarly,” I murmur. “But fear not, our threads are woven together in this, and I will not unravel from our task.”

She laughs. It’s a watery sound. “That was quite good.”

Something close to a smile pulls up my cheeks.

“Textile wisdom is just one of my many talents.”

She laughs again, and then pulls back. “It’s time to go, isn’t it? ”

I nod, lips pressed together. “Don’t worry, we will go at the pace you need.”

“I like… reassurance,” she’d once told me.

“You really have impressed me with your strength during this journey. I’ve never seen someone fight against their fears so viciously.”

Her chest sinks as she lets out a surprised gasp. When she gazes at me, I see a hungry woman.

Starved for connection and touch.

Then she swallows and looks away.

“But what about Enduvida? I was hoping we would solve this quickly, but now this means more time away from everyone. Lorepath, my pupils,” she puts one gloved hand over her eyes. “ Hostia puta, I have blankets to make. People need blankets!”

It’s strange to think I would hear someone’s mind rioting and their heart galloping, but I do.

“ Arlet. The river does not carve the mountain in a day, but with enough streams, even stone yields,” I murmur. “All I’m saying is no burden is too great when carried by many, and make no mistake, many hands are ready and willing to shape the future of our home. What must be done, will be. You are allowed a rest.”

For a second, my throat tightens as if the words spoken to her were also meant for me. We’d both been working ourselves to the bone. We both needed to be careful.

Strange how that could happen.

She gives me a peculiar look. “Have you been reading De’Rahn?”

My brows shoot up. “How do you know about him?”

De’Rahn is another popular poet from the Golden Age. He’d been popular when I was in the military academy. I’d never met him but had enjoyed his work from time to time.

She purses her lips. “ Mi Cielo, I’ve been reading enduar literature since I arrived in Enduvida. And… you never seem to invent such an eloquent turn of phrase by yourself.”

I narrow my eyes. “I am an excellent speaker.”

She casts me an incredulous look, then snarks, “Yes, and all the crystals in the cavern sing at your every syllable. ”

I laugh. “Forgive me, I only thought you read scrolls full of pleasures best enjoyed behind locked doors.”

The words fall out before I can stop them. Arlet looks up at me, and a scene from one of the scrolls I found on her bedside plays in my head.

“How do you…” her eyes widen. “You went through the things on my bedside when you broke into my house?”

I smile.

“It was for a good cause.”

“Well, friend, let me know if you would like recommendations,” she says, though her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red in embarrassment.

It’s my turn to be speechless.

“You seem to be in better spirits. Would you like to lead?” I manage.

“I’d prefer if you did it. I’m… weary.” She dips her head toward me, then, taking another breath, begins to gather her pack. I do the same.

“Where are we going, exactly?” she asks.

“West.” I grin. “But in truth, I don’t know. It’s an adventure.”

She bites her lip, hoisting the pack onto her shoulders.

“You know, I’m not one to crave adventures.”

My brows draw together.

“Really? I would’ve expected you to seek them at every chance.”

She shakes her head. “You know I wish to have a family. I like being home and making a home.”

Then she begins walking.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a quick escape from time to time,” I retort.

She looks up at me, but something clouds her vision. “Perhaps.” Then her eyes fall back to my face and she says, “Why don’t you like the elves? Recent history aside, your discomfort around them seems... deeply embedded.”

“I don’t hate them. I just don’t trust many them,” I bite my lip. “Our peoples have not always gotten along. They killed a great many of my people. ”

She curses. “Fuck, sorry. I knew that. In the war before The Great War, I read they killed tens of thousands. I should’ve remembered.”

“Books can’t always help you,” I retort. “And, believe it or not, Arion’s father was worse. Even still, it is their way of being arrogant, like Mrath. Even the half-blood, Thorne, is insufferable.”

She frowns and looks at me. “I like him. I think he is interesting, and open. He helps Ulla from time to time. It is sweet.”

I grit my teeth, and grunt. There is something about him I don’t like.

We fall back into silence only broken by our boots crunching over damp leaves and gnarled roots.

It stays like that as the early morning shifts to afternoon and we watch the towering Elder Trees swallow the last visible remnants of the enclave behind us.

The further we go, the denser the forest becomes, the canopy overhead darkening as the sunlight filters weakly through the tangle of branches.

I wait for more conversation, but she doesn’t offer anything else.

“Do you feel any different?” I ask at last, remembering how she’d revealed hearing a voice. I think she’d tried to tell me that.

I needed to listen better.

She finally turns her head slightly, meeting my gaze. “What do you mean?”

“You said the voice wanted you to keep moving forward. Toward Shvathemar,” I remind her. “If we’re taking a different path, do you think it would still?—”

“I don’t hear it right now,” she cuts in quickly, but a tightness in her voice makes me uneasy. She looks away first, exhaling sharply.

I nod, though the discomfort settles deep in my gut. She stops walking suddenly, and I tense. But she doesn’t look afraid. Instead, she turns to me, jaw tight, shoulders squared as though preparing for something unpleasant.

“You should tie me up,” she says, blunt as a blade to the ribs. “Tonight, when we prepare for sleep.”

I study her, waiting for her to take it back, or, at the very least, look afraid. But she stands firm, waiting for me to agree.

I exhale, nodding. “That is wise.”

“I don’t like it,” she admits. “But until we know for sure… it’s the safest option.”

It was a respectful thing to do. A wise thing. A selfless thing. I didn’t expect anything less from Arlet.

So I honored her choice with silence, not asking any of the probing questions about ropes or scars running through my mind.

When we reach the beginning of the mountain, she gives it a long, appraising look, and grimaces.

“Well, here we go,” she mutters in the human tongue, and starts up the path.

My eyes follow her. I know how hard this must be. Her feet are probably sore and his joints must ache, yet she doesn’t hesitate—she forges ahead with a quiet, steadfast resolve. In this moment, I see her so clearly.

She faces every fear head on and tackles challenges even when they seem impossible.

I follow behind, regretting any negative thought I’ve ever had about her.

After a day of climbing, we are both sweaty, despite the biting wind tearing through the trees.

“I thought spring was supposed to be warm,” she gripes. “In Zlosa, we had four distinct seasons.”

I shrug my shoulders. “The mountains are always colder than valleys or hills. We’ll need to watch for ice patches.”

She exhales, long and slow, her breath forming little clouds in the crisp air. “Great. Another thing trying to kill us.”

The wind shifts, carrying the damp scent of earth and pine.

Night is creeping in, and the sky deepens into shades of violet and gray. We make camp, set up the tent, and cook a small feast of boiling dry meat and preserved mushrooms from Enduvida.

She finishes eating first.

I glance at her, watching the way she keeps adjusting her gloves. She’s anxious.

After I finish my food and clean my plate, I reach for the length of rope in my pack. My stomach twists as I hold it between my fingers. I grab her bedroll, spreading it against the tree, then place a blanket on top.

“It is time,” I murmur after readying the place.

Arlet obeys, and I begin tying the knots around her wrists. She winces. Her pain makes it impossible for me to remain silent.

Maybe now…

“Will you tell me why you don’t like being bound now?” I ask yet again.

She stills, readying to refuse me.

“Remember that we trust each other. I will repay your honesty with anything you’d like to know.”

“But why do you insist on knowing?” she asks.

“That first night, after we found you, you asked me not to bind you again, but it was the first time I’d done such a thing.”

When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter than before, as if she’s fighting to keep it steady.

“I—Gods it is humiliating. And sad,” she starts.

I leave the rope to dangle, then I touch her arm gently, and I move so we can see each other. Her warm brown eyes study my face.

“What?” I ask, thinking of all the situations involving being bound in ropes that would be humiliating.

“You are aware of the breeding pens, yes?” she asks.

I nod. The giants treated humans like chattel, subjecting women to horrendous conditions with other male slaves to ensure there were enough workers in each generation.

“Well. The man you saw outside my house, Daniel, had grown up with me. He was my first love. We were assigned together in the breeding pens,” she says, pausing to take a deep breath. “When we were successful, we were given a home to raise the child.”

I freeze. That meant… Arlet had been… pregnant.

She doesn’t look at me, her gaze fixed on the tree line ahead.

Clearly, she doesn’t have a son or daughter now. What happened?

“I’ll spare you the gory details, but the fear of ropes came in between all of that,” she says softly.

I close my fist. I should let her be and not force her to relive the pain. But she bites her lip, and glances at me as if she wants to keep speaking.

“If you want to tell me, I want to know,” I respond. “I am not afraid of gory things.”

Her glassy eyes look to the sky and she blinks. Gods, she was so good at expressing herself. I envied that.

“Everyone adored Daniel,” she says slowly. “He was the charming rogue of my youth—jovial, amiable, and fond of drink. One evening, after a grueling day in the fields, he wanted a night with his friends. I have never liked revelry—even less so when I was pregnant and feeling unwell. I asked him to stay and help tend to our dwelling instead.”

I know the look on her face—the hurt mixed with a quiet resignation. I feel protective, aching to shield her from the memory of that night.

She continues, “Daniel didn’t like being told no. I had noticed it first in small moments. Like, if I told him he couldn’t leave his shoes on our bed, he would. Silly things.”

She takes a deep breath.

“But that night was different, he was angrier than I’d ever seen him. Pregnancy was not easy on me, and he felt I kept him home more than I should have. When I insisted he remain, yet again, it was like a candle was blown out. He changed.”

I grit my teeth.

Then she swallows hard, her eyes distant. “In his anger, he tied me up. When I cried out in pain, he told me I was dramatic, claiming the ties would help me rest by keeping me in one place.”

A cold silence falls between us. I squeeze her hand gently, trying to offer comfort with a touch that says, “I’m here.”

“Sometimes,” she murmurs, “when I think of that awful night, I like to believe he was so utterly drunk that his judgment was lost to madness. Because otherwise, he willingly—” Her voice falters, and I feel a surge of protectiveness wash over me.

I lean in, pulling her into another hug. In the quiet, I vow that I will never let her suffer such pain again.

Endu must hear because he extends a light, godly touch to my shoulder.

“I was halfway through my carrying term,” she says. “I had a lovely little belly and a drawer full of clothes I’d hand knitted. And I—” She swallows hard, shifting her bound hands behind her back. “I couldn’t get loose. Something was wrong, and I couldn’t move. I was so scared. He came home, and I was lying in my own blood.”

She looks at me, face red, and eyes glossy.

“It was a girl. I had a daughter,” her voice breaks, and tears spill down her cheeks. “Vann, if I break loose before this is finished. If I am killed , then bury me in light layers. Comfortable clothes. If I wake up in the next life, then I want to be able to find her. To be a proper mother.”

“Arlet—” I say. The rage starts in my chest, and I feel as if I am borrowing a grain of her pain, and placing it where my heart belonged. It beats and pulses, as a heart should. It fuels my anger.

Firelocks, Arlet , had been betrayed and lost what she wanted most.

Gods, if I didn’t understand that.

When I first asked her to tell me, I’d made a deal. Honesty for no bindings.

So now, my hands find the rope around her wrists, and I start untying the knot.

“He was so angry, he cast me out. I didn’t see a healer soon enough, and when I did they said there was scarring and I couldn’t get pregnant again.”

More pieces of her lock into place before me, and I pull away the rope.

When she’d been preparing for the Mating Ceremony, she said she wanted a family.

Fuck. How much agony did she hide in those words ?

How did it feel to watch Estela have two children while she had none?

For dozens of pairs to be mated while she went home, cursed?

She leans into me, her hands gripping my shirt, and continues speaking. I don’t want to stop her. I want to collect more pieces of her soul.

She looks down at her hands, unbound.

I grab her face, swiping away the tears that had fallen.

“Arlet, that wasn’t humiliating. You were humiliated by someone you trusted,” I insist.

She stares at me. Her eyes pierce through my defenses.

“I think that Daniel was sad for doing it. But those with children were given their own little dwelling. He didn’t want to be shoved into a barracks with the other men, and he couldn’t stand the shame he felt because of me. After he’d thrown me out, he found someone else. I tried to ignore him. The first time we’d spoken in years was that day in Enduvida.”

My breath scorches my lungs.

“Firelocks. That spineless, self-indulgent wretch wouldn’t know the weight of a life if it was chained around his own worthless throat. He is not a man—he is a festering stain on the world, a leech masquerading as something worthy of breath.” More frozen emotions pump through me, too fast, too quickly, but I hold her tight and she holds me right back.

I would pay for the overuse of emotions tonight.If I wasn’t careful, I wouldn’t be able to move soon.

“If I had known this when I saw him outside your door, I would’ve killed him.”

Her jaw goes slack. She searches my face, watching me with unfeigned hope like I had spoken the moon into existence.

“Please, don’t pity me,” she says abruptly, expression shifting. “I like my life. I like who I am. I just… Arion wanting me to bear a child has reopened deep wounds.”

She looks away from me then, her expression tired but resolute. “I know you told me I wouldn’t have to be bound if I told you, but I… think it’s a good idea. It doesn’t bother me so much anymore. ”

My jaw tightens, and I force myself to nod. “I’ll be careful.”

She nods back, but I see the way her hands tremble.

I move to grab the rope, then wrap it around the nearest tree. This time, I leave her sitting.

A crushing weight is pressing onto my limbs and a searing cold blankets my skin. My regret returns.

And then my right foot goes numb.

Fuck, it won’t be long before I can’t feel my hands. My vision blurs, black frost creeping into the edges of my sight.

Not now.

The world tilts, and my body refuses to obey. I need to lie down before I collapse.

Arlet turns just in time to see me sway. Her eyes widen in alarm. “Vann?”

I can’t answer. My throat is ice. My breath is ice.

My fingers twitch and my vision flickers, narrowing to a pinpoint of light through the trees.

Arlet says something else, alarmed.

“I… need… sleep,” I manage through clenched teeth, every word scraping like a blade against my throat.

Her lips part like she wants to argue, but I hear myself wish her a good night.

I need to take care of her, make sure she is secure against the trunk, but instead, I stumble toward the tent and barely manage to lower myself before my body refuses me entirely.