Page 11 of Heirs of the Cursed (A Curse for Two Souls #1)

10

Bellmare

For the past two days, Naithea had been careful upon her discoveries. Every time the Royal Army walked in the tavern or the brothel, she couldn’t help thinking that the soldiers had come for her, to take her to the gallows and sentence her to death.

But Naithea wasn’t afraid of death. Yet, what the soldiers did to the Crown’s enemies was a much more horrible fate. Their torture knew no bounds, no mercy . . . If they found out that a whore was looking for answers, her body would soon be rotting in a moldy dungeon with thieves and rapists and the rebel groups who hid under the names of the White Tigers and Wild Tigers.

She couldn’t afford to be interrogated and tortured. Not when she could endanger her sisters.

Still, uncertainty wandered in the air. If the king’s seventh heir had died after birth, what would happen then? Would the death and rot that lurked in the Fallen Kingdom spread to the rest of Laivalon? How many more would perish by the curse of shadow and stone?

Despite the sacrifices Naithea had had to make to survive, she was grateful that she’d found her way to the brothel. The hetairas had become her family, and she’d do everything in her power to make sure nothing happened to them. She’d fight for the ten women as her mother had fought for her. And to do so, Naithea had to know more .

About the king.

About the holly of death.

And about the lost princesses, the cause of it all.

Her heartbeat quickened at the thought of the two heiresses of Ro’i Rājya. Kirus Allencort was known for his determination and he wouldn’t give up until he got what he wanted. If his lineage was in danger because of the Dark Twins, he would see to it that they both stopped breathing.

Her thoughts began to fade to the whispers that surrounded her and brought her back to reality.

“We must do something,” Regnera Ziapharis, her oldest friend in the brothel, pointed out, pulling her braided dark hair into a high ponytail. Her two-colored eyes, one hazel brown and one olive green, noting her sisters’ concerned expressions. “The Royal Army’s presence is costing us everything.”

Her sisters nodded.

The arrival of the soldiers at the brothel had meant a change of plans in the agreement between Madame Dimond and the Fiend. Before, the faceless man had kept seventy-five percent of the profits; now it had risen to ninety. That had posed a problem for the hetairas, since most of the money they made each night no longer passed to the madam, but to her business partner, which meant more time being enslaved to pay their debts and be free at last.

After her last encounter with the Fiend, it was Regnera who had heard about the deal. As soon as the man no longer needed her services, she went in search of Naithea to tell her what had happened and what the future held for them. Together, they’d called a meeting with the rest of their sisters to organize a plan of resistance.

“But what are we going to do? It’s not like we can force them to leave,” Faithe asked, brushing a jittery hand over her hair, cut close to her scalp. Her girlfriend, Kaenna, grabbed her hand between hers to calm her down.

Silence settled back into the room.

“I’m scared . . .” Tanea admitted with her brown eyes glistening from tears. “What will become of us if that horrible man wants more money? We will never be free.”

Naithea had hoped that the Fiend’s sudden visit weeks ago would be enough to keep him away for a long time, but that faceless man seemed to be several steps ahead. And it was clear that he would seize the slightest opportunity to exploit them.

“Nothing,” Jehanne assured her, stroking Tanea’s back. “We’ll be fine.”

“Je is right,” Anera asserted with conviction. Hope was the only thing that would save them if they were to avoid the machiavellian scenarios that Madame Dimond could orchestrate. She raised her green gaze to her sister before saying, “She needs us, doesn’t she, Kaenna?”

Kaenna’s gaze remained lost in the fabric of her dress. “We need to find a way to make up for the losses,” she offered in a quiet voice. “If we can’t make them leave, then we must help them.”

“ What ?” Sundi asked in confusion. The two white locks that accentuated her ash-blonde hair fell over her eyes as she raised her head.

Caisen shook her head in disagreement. “We don’t even know why they are here.”

Naithea lowered her gaze. Hearing their conversation, the despair in their voices, made her want to tell them the truth. She trusted the hetairas with her life, and there was nothing about her past that they didn’t know. But telling them something that could endanger them was a very different thing.

Faithe swept her gaze over each of her friends, the women she’d lived with for the past eight years . . . Her sisters. They were all desperate to find a solution that would keep them from being sold as slaves to unsavory men for less pleasurable trades. The ink marks on her shoulders twisted and shrank as she searched for Naithea’s gaze.

“What are you thinking, Thea?”

The eyes of the ten women suddenly fell on her, seeking her approval.

“If Madame Dimond doesn’t have enough money to pay the Fiend, her anger will be the least of our problems.”

Jehanne swallowed loudly.

“So, what do you suggest?” Caisen asked.

Naithea pondered silently.

They needed a way to get the rest of the money before their situation got worse. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if the Fiend arrived at Bellmare, only to discover that he would leave empty-handed. The repercussions would then fall on them, and Naithea wasn’t about to let that happen.

“The streets leading to the harbor are usually crowded with people. Who says we can’t work outside of The Grumpy Dwarf?”

Kaenna looked at her with an incredulous expression. “Are you proposing that we sell our bodies outside the safety of the tavern?”

“There is much more an hetaira can do with her gifts,” Naithea assured and waited for her sisters to follow her train of thought.

Some of them gasped, understanding what she meant. The thought of selling her services had never crossed Naithea’s mind; she knew how dangerous it was, especially when night fell.

“Tell me it’s not what I’m thinking,” Regnera said.

“We can do this.”

“Thea, stealing is a crime!” her best friend scolded her. “A very serious one, in case you don’t remember.”

Tanea’s eyes widened and the young woman shivered in Jehanne’s arms. She’d lost her family in one of the fires that the soldiers had set under King Kirus’ orders in search of his privileged mistress years ago. And since then, fear had squeezed her heart until it held back every beat.

“Stealing? Have you lost your mind?” Baelisa then spoke.

“Do you have a better idea?”

“If we get caught, forget about Madame Dimond’s wrath.” Regnera shook her head. “The damned Royal Army will be after us. They’ll cut off our heads and display them all over the kingdom to prove we’re worthless.”

Anera folded her arms. “I like my head where it is.”

“Still, Naithea is right,” Larka spoke for the first time, surprising the rest. “We’re caught between the sword and the precipice. No path is safe, but we must choose the lesser evil if we wish to protect each other.” Her dark brown eyes rested on Naithea with determination. “I’m in.”

“So am I.” Faithe nodded. “What do you propose?”

“We’ve had years of training on how to seduce a man, and we’re the best in the kingdom. But we’ve been working individually all our lives, competing to please Madame Dimond,” Naithea said.

“We have to work as a team this time,” Jehanne finished for her.

“Precisely. Once the soldiers walk in the tavern, we’ll lock the doors. We’ll be sure to get their attention, distract them, and only when each of them has a woman on their arm will they go to the brothel. That way, the rest of us can do our job without fear of being caught.”

“Stealing . . .” Baelisa remarked again.

“As much as possible. I won’t allow them to enslave us any longer. It’s our freedom and we’re going to fight for it, whatever it takes.”

Some of the hetairas began to nod, looking at each other for a collective decision. Their hearts beat in unison, like a harmonious melody that had united them from the beginning and would sing for the rest of their lives, even after death. Naithea placed her hand palm up, prompting her sisters to join her.

“Together?” Larka dared to ask.

One by one, they held each other’s hands. A mixture of colors, pasts and hope. Eleven hands clasped each other, with the strength of the sisterhood that had kept them alive.

“ Together .”

The rays of the sun that streamed from Naithea’s bedroom window warmed her head, highlighting the golden roots of her hair that were beginning to reveal their true color.

She’d only awoken a few moments ago, grateful that her day wouldn’t be overshadowed by endless duties besides those she had to fulfill during the night. Yet the sound of a trumpet, followed by screams, alerted her enough to pace to the window with a heavy heart beating inside her chest. In the streets, the citizens of Bellmare were being pushed out of their homes and stores with unrelenting brutality and toward the square, holding their children in panic.

Naithea didn’t hesitate. Barely covered with a silk emerald robe, she dashed toward the hall to witness the hinges of the main door splintering apart. The soldiers burst inside the brothel, arresting the hearts of the hetairas. She wrapped the necklace in the palm of her hand, taking a step forward, to stop them from harming her sisters.

A brown-haired man pushed his way through his companions, his black eyes set on her. It was Fawke, the soldier who had called her ‘whore’ as if it were an insult rather than her job. Naithea tried to back away, but he was faster. The soldier grabbed her by the wrist forcefully, before dragging her along with him.

“Do you think you’ll get rid of me that easily, darling?” Soldier Biceus asked her with a devilish grin.

“Sometimes you just have to ask nicely,” she growled back, fighting against his grip.

“I thought whores liked it rough.”

Naithea resisted. “We have done nothing wrong.”

“Thea!” yelled Caisen in despair, as one of the soldiers lifted her off the ground. Her green eyes brimmed with tears that reflected nothing but fear for the fate that awaited her.

Naithea was overcome with panic as she watched each of her sisters being dragged out of the brothel in a whirlwind of screams and cries.

She needed to reach them.

Save them.

“Let them go!” She stirred in Fawke’s muscular arms. Naithea gazed into those abyss-black eyes. “Our mistress won’t be happy when she learns what you have done. I want to speak to Leonel Ramsdean at once.”

“Oh, you will hear from him soon. Now, be obedient and move!”

Fawke Biceus dragged her all the way out, his strides so long that Naithea was barely able to keep up with him. Her boreal eyes burned with imprisoned fury when his free hand set on her ass, urging her to move faster. She could be an hetaira, a whore as he’d called her, and yet she’d never been so repulsed by a man’s touch.

By the time she found herself in the chaos of the streets, Naithea wriggled out the soldier’s grip to search for the other ten hetairas, replaying their names in her head. Grunts, screams and sobs reached her ears as she made her way through the scared citizens.

The soldiers had darkened the beautiful city of Bellmare. And despite that fire that burned inside her chest, wanting to punish them all for doing so, the citizens were right to be frightened. The army’s reputation followed them everywhere, regardless of the duration or purpose of their stay.

Naithea made her way through the people, linking arms with each of the hetairas she found disoriented and sobbing to make sure they stayed united.

Because they would face this together.

As they always had.

“Everything will be all right.” She heard Kaenna assuring her sister.

Naithea wanted to believe her.

A sigh left her lips as she found Jehanne holding Tanea, who was shaking uncontrollably. In her best friend’s amber eyes, she could see the answer to her unspoken question . . . Tanea was in bad shape, devoured by the demons that had taken her life before it had even begun.

“Do you think they will finally leave?” Jehanne asked in a whisper so that the hetaira she embraced wouldn’t hear.

Naithea shook her head. “Something tells me this is only the beginning.”

The trumpet echoed through the streets again, followed by the clattering of twenty horses kicking up dust particles behind them. The royal crest of Camdenn was carved on the black leather saddles and fluttered on the golden flags held aloft by the riders.

Three of them descended from the horses. The blades of their swords clashed against their armor, a constant clicking that reminded the citizens of their silent threat: any false move and they would lose their heads.

The bonds of Naithea’s power implored within her to be wielded.

“We bring important news from the capital!” a soldier shouted.

A wave of whispers rose, with doubts, questions and worries in every word that quieted the sound of the waves lapping the harbor. Like the hetairas, the rest of the Bellmarians were frightened by the presence of the soldiers and worried about what it might mean for them.

“A great danger lurks in our kingdom,” he proceeded in a hard, sharp voice. “A dark, ancient magic that will bring destruction to the world as we know it.”

The soldiers at their sides moved forward, all the way to the new wooden structure that hadn’t been there the day before. Jehanne held her breath, one of her hands flying to her lips, and Naithea’s boreal eyes grew wide.

There were stairs leading up to a small platform with a hollow square in the middle. Two wooden logs stood up and were held together by a third log that had been nailed over them. From it, four ropes hung, their ends forming an adjustable circle.

They had built a gallows .

A collective gasp rose in the air. Some citizens recoiled, meeting the hard chests of the soldiers who shoved them back into place. Others, trembled nervously, their eyes steady on the ground. But all Naithea could do was watch the machinery.

“In the name of the king, those who harbor the Dark Twins will be sentenced to death for treason against the Crown!”

Naithea barely heard the soldier reporting that several platoons of the Royal Army would investigate the main cities until the princesses were found. She only had eyes for the gallows, and the man that stood beside it.

Dyron Selmi raised a wrinkled hand and brought his index finger to his lips, but there was no fear on his face. Only amusement, as if the presence of the soldiers was the most entertaining thing he’d witnessed in years.

When the announcement was over, the citizens scattered, taking their children in their arms before running to the protection their homes offered. Still, no wall or gate would stop the soldiers from breaking in and hunting down anyone who posed a threat to the Allencort empire.

“Ausra!”

Naithea wiped away the icy sweat that trickled down her neck, convincing herself that it was due to the temperature of the late summer and not her fear. Jehanne, who was walking away from the square alongside their sisters to put distance between them and the instrument of death, gave her a sidelong glance for her to follow them back to the brothel. But Naithea couldn’t ignore the summons of a soldier.

She pressed her hand against her chest to keep the robe in place, feeling vulnerable and exposed with every step she took toward the soldier. The weapons hanging from Leonel’s waist, like those of his companions, reminded her that she cherished her life despite her best attempts to be fearless.

“Soldier Ramsdean.” She made a small bow and forced a tight-lipped smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“I was hoping to see you again,” he said kindly, offering his hand.

Naithea extended hers, and the soldier kissed the back of it.

Behind him, someone laughed dryly at his response. Of all the soldiers she’d had the displeasure of dealing with, Leonel was the kindest, so different from the rest of the king’s legion of assassins. Naithea swept her gaze over the four men waiting at a short distance.

“So you’re the hetaira Leo has been occupying his time with,” one of them pointed out. His brown eyes admired her. “She’s pretty, I must admit.”

“Thank you,” she said with hidden sarcasm.

“My pleasure.” He winked. “My name is Eames Cranner. In case you ever get bored of Leonel and want to be with a real man.”

Leonel’s cheeks flushed, but she did nothing to contradict the soldier. It could be a ploy to test her and see if she’d react to his comments. She wouldn’t. She’d learned to deal with men whose egos were bigger than their heads and with dark intentions in their hearts.

“Since we’ll be staying for a longer time than I expected, I thought . . .” Leonel began, after pushing his comrade away.

No .

Rejection formed on her lips almost instantly. Naithea had no intentions to spend another night with any of the soldiers after witnessing the way they treated innocent people.

Before Leonel could continue the proposal, the sound of a throat clearing interrupted him.

“Am I interrupting something?”

The soldiers shifted into formation, moving with the practiced precision expected when facing superiors.

It was him. The man who had smirked at her before seeing her off with Leonel. He wore no armor, as if the goddesses knew he didn’t need it to protect himself. Yet the emblem of Camdenn was carved into the center of his black leather suit to honor his king.

Naithea swept her gaze over the soldier’s body, just as Eames had done with hers a few moments ago. A lump rose in her throat at how tall he was, much more so than any of the other members of the Royal Army. Thick, muscular legs pressed against leather pants, accentuating his masculine frame. His arms, equally strong, looked capable of overpowering anyone who crossed him. His entire build was both solid and streamlined.

But it was his face, with angular features and a strong jaw, which bestowed an expression of power and dominance that Naithea had never seen before. She tilted her head back to stare at him, finding white hair, as neat as snow, perfectly combed back.

“No, Commander Ward,” Leonel stammered at his unexpected presence. “Miss Ausra and I were talking.”

Naithea swung her gaze around both men, intrigued. At Leonel’s words, her curiosity for the stranger was soon replaced with anger and loathing. He was the leader of the army, the one who made the rules and decisions. It was under his command that the soldiers had taken her sisters out of the brothel with no remorse or care.

“Commander.” Naithea bowed her head in a curtsy, pretending to be pleased with his presence. “You look well rested despite leading such an important mission.”

Ward must have sensed the disgust hidden in her words, as he set his gaze on her with nothing but amusement. “Unlike my soldiers, I take my beauty sleep very seriously.”

“Some men prefer another kind of diversion,” she said, stroking the edge of her robe with her index finger. “You can’t blame them for that.”

The commander kept his hand on the hilt of his sword and his fingers clenched tightly around it as he watched Naithea’s smooth movements on the cloth, as if he were . . . slightly intimidated.

Good, that was her intention.

Maybe if she found a way to keep him interested in her, she could find more information regarding their mission.

“That’s a beautiful gallows you set up over there,” Naithea went on.

“Useful, if you ask me,” Ward replied.

Naithea froze as she noticed the commander raise his hand and draw it toward her throat. When his calloused and scarred fingers from years of training rested on the smooth skin of her collarbones, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from pulling back. Ward took the star hanging from the silver chain and stroked the borealis stone in the center gently.

“The king must be really worried if he has sent the Royal Army to investigate a city of whores and drunks,” Naithea said innocently, before stepping away. “What’s the matter, Commander? Any dead on your hands?”

She knew she’d gone too far, that she’d revealed more than she should have, but she couldn’t help it. Because the commander before her was so dominant, so confident, that she wanted to break that facade until he became a vulnerable child for her to play with.

For years, the Royal Army and highborn families had mocked Bellmare and the trades of its citizens—those the soldiers themselves consumed. They’d mistreated them, using and discarding them like trash. Naithea was tired of it.

Ward’s white eyebrows furrowed, shooting a murderous glare at his soldier as if testing his loyalty.

“I . . .” Leonel tried to defend himself.

“Don’t go all murdery on him,” Naithea interrupted. “As much as I tried, your little bird didn’t sing. You must be proud to have such tough men as Soldier Ramsdean in your army.”

“Are you admitting that you tried to persuade him to tell you about our mission, Miss Ausra?”

“Of course. I wanted to find out how long the Royal Army will delight us with its presence,” she excused herself seductively. “We never have such . . . warm visitors.”

Ward arched an eyebrow. “I thought hetairas never had their beds cold.”

“Should I take that as an insult, Commander?” Naithea asked, tilting her head back to look him in the eye. He was so tall that he covered the sun’s rays from her face. “Maybe you should join us next time.”

One corner of his lips lifted, relishing the challenge, before saying, “You wouldn’t be able to take me.”

Naithea moved her face closer to the commander’s.

“Try me.”

“I see you like to play with fire.” Ward flashed a devilish grin and leaned in closer to whisper in her ear, making Naithea tremble slightly at his words. “Be careful, love. I wouldn’t want you to get burned.”