Page 20 of Between These Broken Hearts (Cursed Stars #2)

When I saw the boarded-up blacksmith’s hut in Mordeus’s mind, I knew exactly where I needed to look for the sword. It’s close

to the Midnight Palace and not far from the tavern where I tracked down one of Mordeus’s guards and made one of my first kills

as the Enchanting Lady.

As I leave the palace, the fog is so thick I can barely see my own hand in front of my face, but I trek forward nevertheless,

determined to make the most of the energy my forest sacrifice provided me. “Your death won’t be in vain, little guy,” I murmur,

and then instantly shove away those thoughts when my stomach heaves. Better not to think about it.

Twigs snap under my boots and an owl calls in the distance, but the area is otherwise eerily silent. This kind of silence

in this part of the capital at night isn’t natural, and I have to wonder if protective wards have been erected around the

sword to scare even the insects away.

After I’ve been hiking long enough that I’m questioning my memory, I finally spot the roofline of the shack. As I creep closer,

I hear it—the low wheeze and whoosh of an animal’s breathing.

So the wards haven’t scared away all the creatures.

I still can’t see more than a few inches in front of my face, so I can only use my ears to navigate around the creature. I’m

close. I can’t explain it, but I can feel the sword calling to me, can feel the lure of the snapping flames and the waves

of heat. I don’t want to detour too far. Then again, I don’t want to bother a sleeping animal I can’t see either. I turn to

my left, but my foot snags on a branch and before I can get my balance I’m stumbling to my hands and knees on the forest floor.

A heavy harrumph comes from my right, and then a cry so loud the forest seems to split in two around me. The creature’s close enough now that

I can hear it breathing—a snorting inhale and wet exhale that reminds me of a sleeping dog. But I already know this is no

dog. It’s big enough to be—

A line of fire barrels toward me, and I roll onto my side to dodge it, then lie on the ground staring at the scorched earth

beside me. I can’t stop shaking. Why did I think this would be so simple? Wasn’t the disaster at Feegus Keep enough to remind

me that my ring can’t do anything to help me against monsters? I’m foolish enough to deserve the painful end I’m sure is coming

for me.

Stand up, Jasalyn. Take a breath and stand up.

I grab the fallen limb behind me and hoist myself over to the opposite side, ducking behind it as I draw my sword from my

back.

A sword against a fire-breathing monster. I’m as good as dead.

I remove my dagger from my thigh and spin it in the air above my head before blindly hurling it toward the dark form hulking toward me. The sharp cry that pierces the air tells me I’ve hit my target. I just don’t know how well.

It roars again, and this time when fire bursts from its lungs, it’s directed at the sky. That’s when I see it. Them? So much

like the death dogs in the basement of Feegus Keep—except this one has three heads. Right, and breathes fire .

I drop behind the limb again, but I’m too late. The head on the right spotted me.

The creature lunges, swiping at me with claws the size of my head. I retreat but not fast enough, and one of those claws finds

purchase in my thigh, digging in and tearing into leather and flesh as it cuts through me. Pain radiates from my thigh and

out to every inch of my being. With a scream, I scramble away before it can land another blow.

I wish I were like my sister. I wish I weren’t so utterly human and had even a little magic at my disposal. But all I have

on my side is my size, my ability to move through a forest with such dense trees and undergrowth.

When the monster opens its mouth again, I know this time he will strike home with its flames. I don’t let myself think or

hesitate.

I run.

I pump my legs as hard as I can, ignoring the searing pain in my wounded thigh as I weave through the narrowest openings in

the trees to force the three-headed beast to find another path to get to me. Its angry roars follow me and then slip farther

away.

When I sense I’ve put enough distance between us, I strip off my vest and press it against my bloody thigh before hanging it on a branch above me.

I cut away the bloodiest part of my pants, then do the same with that fabric, leaving it on a tree just a little deeper in the woods.

I can’t block my scent, but I can scatter it—confuse the monster before I take a different path.

Only when I see it turning toward my lures do I circle back, following that inexplicable pull toward the closed-up hut—toward

the sword—through the dense underbrush.

By the time I reach the dilapidated building, the pain in my leg is so intense I can’t make out the sound of the three-headed

creature in the woods anymore. All I can hear is my weakening heartbeat and the labored whoosh of my breathing.

I want to collapse. Oblivion offers me her hand and it’s so tempting. I could curl up on the ground right here. I could stop

fighting and give in to my exhaustion.

But I’m too close to give up now. I tear off the rotten boards and throw them behind me, then shove at the stone door with

all my might until it slides clear, revealing the prize inside.

Orange and red flames lick the cavern ceiling and heat the air. At first, I think that’s all it is. Nothing but a fire waiting

on a ledge in this crumbling hut. But then I look closer.

The sword is right there in the hottest, bluest part of the fire. In the flame. Made of flame. The Sword of Fire is fire.

I’m too close to give up now. I put one foot in front of the other as I approach the sword, but it’s like willing myself into an oven. The closer I get,

the more desperate I am to retreat.

I’m shaking. Whatever rush of energy I had while fleeing the monster has all but left me and my leg throbs with every step,

but still I need to try. Reaching the sword is the only thing that matters now.

I’ve never felt fire so hot, and as I surge forward, the heat burns, threatening to sear my lungs and blister my skin.

If I give up now, he wins. If I give up now, he could get to my sister. If I give up now, all the horrors he’ll bring upon

this realm will be my fault.

With eyes that fight to close against the scalding heat, I search for the hilt—or some other part of the sword meant for holding—and

see nothing but white-hot flame. Flame that repels me even as it calls to me.

Mordeus . Grab the sword and have it take you to Mordeus .

Maybe it’s an illusion. Maybe this is all a trick of magic to protect the sword from theft.

In the forest behind me, I hear the cacophony of breaking limbs and underbrush. It’s coming back.

With a final searing breath, I reach for the hilt, yanking my hand away when the flame threatens to engulf my hand.

The three-headed beast roars just outside the hut, and when I turn, it’s in the doorway, blocking my exit, exposed teeth and

angry red eyes promising death.

Trapped between the beast and the lethal fire at my back, I see death in both directions. Death by three hungry, snapping

jaws, or death by the sword’s endless flame.