Page 14 of Heirs of the Cursed (A Curse for Two Souls #1)

13

Dawnfall

The sunlight kissed the crystal-clear waters of Drych Lake, and the autumn breeze caressed her face, urging her to remain in the present. But all Darcia could think of was that the man who had attempted to steal from her girlfriend’s shop was one whose name was known throughout the kingdom.

The Midnight Thief.

Known for stealing priceless magical items, he was a legend both in taverns and in the capital. No one knew his name, nor had they seen his face. She’d caught a glimpse of his eyes, heard his voice and felt his body pressed against her back as he held her against her will.

Caeli had found her hours later on the store’s floor, still unconscious. Along with her mother, they’d urged her to drink herbal tea to calm Darcia’s headache that stabbed her temples mercilessly. Only once she’d calmed down did they urge her to tell them what had happened. It was a relief to both that Darcia hadn’t been harmed, just as the thief hadn’t taken anything.

Fearful of reprisals from her stepbrother, she’d hastened to assure them that she was feeling much better and that she should return home before her father became worried. They reluctantly let her go, but there were no black wolves to accompany her on the way back and no ghostly whispers to make her fall into unconsciousness.

“It’s all set!” Caeli announced, bringing her back to the present.

Darcia opened her eyes and settled down on the grass before saying, “I’m starving.”

It was their anniversary, the sixth of many more to come. They’d thought of all sorts of plans to celebrate, but the army’s presence had complicated things. For that reason, they’d walked to the river that cut Ferus Woods in half, where nature surrounded them and their problems vanished.

“We are celebrating! Both for the absence of your stepbrother and for the money raised in the circus.”

Darcia took a bite of the bun Caeli offered her without uttering a word.

During the last few days, she’d seen Harg with a considerable number of men interrogating people to solve their doubts about the cursed princesses. Yet she wondered if they would find anything, as they appeared to be in search of two ghosts.

“I see concern in your eyes,” Caeli said.

“I’m fine. I’m just . . .” She sighed. “I’m tired of having to go overboard just to entertain them.”

“I still don’t understand how you’re able to do it. You’ve never explained to me the extent of your magic. What is it, exactly? You get inside people’s heads and you can change things like their memories?”

Darcia laughed, shaking her head. “No, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Explain it to me,” Caeli asked before taking a sip of orange juice from her mug.

“The mind is a complex clockwork machine with thousands of threads. Each one is attached to a memory or a reality; a belief that person has lived with. Just as I can alter them to see what I want them to see, I can cut those threads. I can erase memories and create them. I can make them go mad and, if necessary . . . I can end them.”

“You mean kill them?”

She didn’t answer. Although she controlled her magic, Darcia had never tested its limits beyond one man who had tried to kidnap her when she was a child to sell her for a high price. She’d driven him to madness, and he’d killed himself with his own weapon to stop the horrific images with which Darcia tortured him. Witnessing it had made her fear what she was capable of if she set her mind to it.

Fear and rage were the emotions that stirred her magic, the ones that tried to drive Darcia away from control.

“How sinister,” Caeli murmured, eliciting a sincere smile from Darcia.

“Helpful.”

It was. That gift was what kept her alive and what had saved her so many times before. Maybe she was scared, but she was grateful to have something she could use to her advantage.

Managing her magic had been complicated. From the age of four, Conrad had forced Darcia to sit in the stable to create illusions behind Gion’s back. She’d had no difficulty with the simple ones, but those that were complicated . . . Each failure had granted Conrad the perfect excuse to beat her. With a belt, a rope, a whip, or his own hands. Day by day, her stepbrother had become more creative, and day by day, Darcia’s body endured more wounds, scars and bruises.

She’d learned that pain made everything easier; when she got angry, scared or suffered in some way, magic responded to her. Her power would rage with her, suffer with her, and manifest. To please Conrad, Darcia had even burned herself with candle flames to motivate her magic to come out just the way she wanted it to.

Maybe that was why she was able to endure every beating Conrad had given her since.

Wind and silence danced over their heads as Caeli leaned over to Darcia and began stroking her golden mane tenderly.

“How long do you think the king’s soldiers will stay?” her girlfriend asked.

“Until they find the princesses or they find their corpses,” Darcia replied, somberly.

“It scares me to have them around. We live with the torment of not knowing if the monsters will decide to attack or not.”

Darcia sought her gaze with her boreal eyes. “Everything will be okay,” she promised her. “After all, there are no better assassins than those who serve the king.”

Caeli squeezed her hand. “How are you so calm?”

“Because I think the world harbors monsters worse than men in armor.”

Monsters like Conrad.

“It’s going to be all right,” Darcia assured her. “Soon we will be back to normal.”

“A normalcy where I hardly see you, Darcia. A normalcy in which I have to endure how your stepbrother mistreats you without being able to do anything about it. I’m not happy with this reality that surrounds us.”

“It’s better than nothing, Cally. You know that.”

Her girlfriend angrily dropped her fork, unable to believe what she was saying. It wasn’t the first time they had this argument, nor would it be the last. Caeli wouldn’t fail to remind her that there were better lives than the ones they had, that she deserved more . . .

Darcia looked down and bit her lip, before saying, “I fight every day. I’m still fighting to earn enough money to be able to run together, as I promised you. I’m sure we’ll have a chance to get away from Conrad, maybe with your mother, with my . . .” No, she wasn’t sure she could get Gion away from Conrad, but she couldn’t leave him behind either. “We can be happy.”

Caeli’s eyes teared up. “The world sucks.”

“It does.”

“And it’s hopeless,” she added.

“I disagree with that. I have a little hope.”

“Why?”

“Because I believe the world can be a better place, if people learn to love and protect it.”

They remained silent for a few moments, admiring the birds flying over the clouds chiseled in the sky. They ate, talked, and kissed to keep their worries away until it was time to return to the circus.

Darcia would never give up hope. For Caeli, to live a free life by her side. And for herself. Because she was convinced that the world beyond Dawnfall was still waiting to show her all the wonders that would make her feel safe at last.

In the city, the afternoon greeted Darcia without any warmth. The rain emptied the streets, leaving only a few soldiers lingering at their posts.

Since Conrad hadn’t yet returned, she made the most of his absence and her freedom to her heart’s content. Despite the insistent questions she’d asked her father about the cursed princesses, she hadn’t gotten a clear answer. Most of the time, it was an evasion; others, a vague warning making it clear that she should stay out of it. But Darcia wished to protect those she loved and the Dawnfallians from danger, and since she couldn’t find any answers at home, she decided to go out and investigate on her own.

Dawnfall looked like a ghost town under the black clouds that shrouded the sky. As if she was nothing more than a specter, she crept stealthily through the streets. A lightning bolt flashed violently across the sky, making some of the windows shake at the vibration of the coming storm.

Darcia arrived at a rickety wooden structure, where a sign read ‘The Poisoned Apple’. It was the biggest tavern in the city, the one where the soldiers had taken shelter until the storm passed. She could hear them through the wooden walls and the half-open windows, taking over the atmosphere and thus driving away the frightened citizens.

After a couple of heavy breaths, she pushed open the door.

The bitter smell of sweat and ale wafted into her nostrils. The brick walls held small hanging chandeliers that barely illuminated the faces around them but, surrounded by Royal Army’ soldiers, Darcia soon spotted Harg Koller.

Perfect , she thought.

She shook out her long cloak without undoing her hood and slipped over to the bar. Darcia set down two copper vramnias which the tavern keeper took before placing a huge tankard of ale in front of her.

Slyly, she moved the chair out of the way to get closer to the king’s soldiers so she could listen to their conversation.

“Any news from the capital, General?” she heard one of the soldiers ask. Feigning disinterest, Darcia took a sip before lowering the heavy tankard back on the wooden table.

“None that interests you, Galver,” the Chaser replied in a deeper voice.

“Oh, come on, boss,” another soldier said in a haughty tone. His brown half-haired hair was tousled, and his leg rattled against the ground restlessly. “We need to know. This mission appeared overnight.”

Harg’s imposing eyes rested on the man. “Are you questioning the king’s authority, Rogen?”

The question hung in the air, cold, ruthless.

“No, sir.”

“Then your questions are exceedingly foolish.” The group of soldiers burst out laughing, and Rogen’s cheeks reddened. “But you may ask your questions until I finish my second tankard of ale. After that, anyone who dares to question me in the slightest will suffer the consequences.”

A shudder made Darcia shiver. She took another sip of the bitter ale, asking the goddesses to give her enough strength not to run away in terror. Yet the liquid settled heavily in her stomach as her body assimilated the general’s not at all innocent threats.

One of the soldiers at the far end of the tavern cleared his throat.

“Tell me, Thomwell.”

The soldier looked at his companions, who seemed to be thinking the same thing, before asking, “How is Princess Davinia?”

An uneasy silence prompted the few Dawnfallians present to slip out of the tavern, leaving Darcia alone with the soldiers. Soon, the only sounds that accompanied them were the persistent squeak of a rag against the glasses being polished by the tavern keeper and the crackling of flames in the chandeliers.

“The princess is being cared for by Laivalon’s best healers.”

“Does that mean she’s going to heal soon?” the same soldier asked.

Heal .

Darcia blinked in confusion. Was there another sick royal heir? And Princess Davinia, of them all. She was the youngest of the king’s children—no more than thirteen years old—and the most loved by the people. Darcia couldn’t imagine how painful the sickness caused by the curse must be as it slowly turned her body to stone.

Still, that would explain the sudden aggressive attitude of the soldiers.

The king was desperate.

“Soon,” Harg said.

But Darcia knew the truth: he was lying.

She’d been extremely careful, subtle and elegant in getting into the Chaser’s head. She wouldn’t stay long enough for him to feel something was odd.

Darcia wasn’t stupid, but she craved answers. And she’d gone there to get them.

“There are rumors spreading through the slums of the cities that the Council has come to a decision in their last meeting,” spoke a very old man. Time had lightened his bristly beard and sparse hair. He swirled his wine jug several times before continuing, “They say that Prince Killian must find a wife.”

In Harg’s mind, alarm bells went off. His mental threads, glowing in blue hues that conveyed a strange calmness, now flickered with a violent red. Still in her seat, Darcia jerked in pain as she noticed his hands clenching on the wooden table.

There were warnings that she shouldn’t overlook. She should have left his head immediately, but she remained cornered among his memories, calming her erratic breathing. Darcia wasn’t sure how long she could hold on; her magic wasn’t only aware of Harg’s mind, but also of the lingering thoughts of the rest of the soldiers.

The soldier savored his wine calmly, showing no signs of perturbation. His face radiated serenity, and his eyes held a deep, patient gaze that revealed the wisdom gained over the years. Still, Harg appeared to struggle to maintain his composure, visibly agitated by the situation.

Why did it affect him so much?

“I’m going to see if the storm has subsided. We need to start interrogating around the east of Dawnfall at once.”

Darcia shuddered at his terse reply. Her eyes snapped open, and the ground seemed to shift beneath her feet. To keep up the pretense, she stepped back with her head down to let the Chaser pass, and continued to drink absentmindedly, while her heart beat erratically in her chest, threatening to give her away.

“Well?” John Galver asked. “Who told you that, Odraval?”

The old soldier cocked his head slightly. “The important thing isn’t who said it, but rather what they said, John. It’s not the first time such disturbing rumors have spread. But it’s the first time they have begun to shake the kingdom.”

“Are you talking about the rebels? About the raid on Mubarak Forest?” Galver muttered.

“Rebels!” Rogen burst out laughing. “Those are nothing but absurd myths.”

“You’re wrong, boy,” Odraval countered. “The White Tigers and the Wild Tigers have been fighting us long before you were born.”

“And what have they done, if I may ask? The only thing the king has done about it is the alliance he forged with the Fiend.”

“Dorren,” Galver called him in warning.

The Fiend.

Darcia hadn’t heard much about him, only that he was a wicked man with no real name and dangerous ambitions. A buyer of secrets and a seller of lies. A man who, Bassel had told her long ago, had gained the king’s favor for the exorbitant money he made in the pleasure inns and gambling houses in Bellmare and Camdenn.

A devil who enjoyed a good show.

“That arrogance of yours will make you lose your head, Derric,” Odraval warned him “You should stop underestimating the enemy. Both the rebels and the cursed princesses are a threat to the kingdom we guard and the king we serve. It’s our duty to give everything for them, even our lives.”

For a moment, Darcia thought Derric Rogen would be wise and keep his mouth shut, but she confirmed how wrong she was when the soldier rose to his feet.

“If what they say is true, Lên Rājya is weakening! Not only because of the rebels who steal the Crown’s supplies without punishment, but also because of the Dark Twins. The king is failing, and his first heir doesn’t even show up at the meetings. Does the Council really think that marrying him off to some whore will do any good to the kingdom?”

Darcia heard the tavern door close, plunging the room into a deep silence that soothed the storm outside and the wind rattling the windows. The wine glass in Odraval’s hand cracked loudly.

“Watch your mouth, boy .”

Rogen confronted him. “Even a marriage with the most powerful dryad of Laivalon wouldn’t strengthen the kingdom! The king is weak, and so are his heirs.”

That was Darcia’s queue to leave. As she was about to get up to exit the tavern, a roar broke the silence. She turned, startled, realizing that the Chaser had stepped back in to attack. His unsheathed sword had thrust with a clean cut into the wooden table, slicing two fingers off the soldier’s hand.

The sight of so much blood made her feel dizzy, barely able to stand on her feet.

“You insult your king and prince again and you will lose more than just two fingers!” Harg shouted at him; not the man Darcia had met at the hut and with whom she’d shared kind words, but the ruthless general who was feared even by death.

Rogen stood up, accidentally pushing Darcia against the bar. The ale spilled through the table and the iron tankard fell to the floor, making a rumbling noise that drew the attention of those present. A soft breeze caressed her cheek, and the hood that covered her slipped from its place until it revealed her face.

Harg looked up and squinted his eyes in confusion. “Darcia?” he asked.

She staggered, and Rogen fell to her feet as she collided against him. “My apologies. I was . . . just leaving,” she stammered, her eyes focused on the blood-stained sword.

“Darcia, wait!” Harg said, trying to reach her.

But she didn’t do so. With one hand on her churning stomach and her eyes fixed on the door, she pulled her hood back over her gold hair and stormed out of the tavern.