Page 15 of Heirs of the Cursed (A Curse for Two Souls #1)

14

Bellmare

The history of the past lay in the palms of her hands.

For the following two weeks, Naithea had managed to slip out of the brothel to continue her research. With Jehanne’s help, she’d been relieved of her morning tasks, such as washing clothes, tidying the chambers, and polishing every inch of the establishment to make it worthy of receiving clients.

After catching a glimpse of the treasures hidden in the library, Naithea knew its halls like the back of her hand. But she’d only found one gold-bound book with knowledge that people had forgotten: about the world of Laivalon, about the regents of greatest renown, and about the motivation that drove Kirus Allencort to sweep through the cities in search of the Dark Twins.

Fortunately for her, she hadn’t seen Commander Ward in days. She was relieved, for since their last encounter, something within her had become unsettled, as if the monster that lay deep within her soul had emerged to the surface and threatened to burst forth.

Ever since she was a child, she’d worried about the force that sought to take hold of her and her self-control. Over time she’d managed to suppress it, pushing it so deep into her that it had somehow taken root at the core of her essence. And ever since the commander had arrived at Bellmare, it had reemerged with a ravenous, destructive hunger.

‘Take him.’

‘Kill him.’

She could hear the monster chanting such words in the library, beseeching her to use her powers upon the citizens who roamed the dark aisles. To take what didn’t belong to her, to satiate that darkness that grew within her with every soul she tasted.

Naithea clenched her jaw and tried to concentrate on the ink decorating the yellowed pages of the book she held in her hands.

She scanned the map of the kingdom, her fingertips tracing the familiar lines that formed the city where she’d resided all her life. Scared that the pages would tear between her fingers, she flipped through the book with great care.

The next entry caught her attention, detailing the Allencort family of Lên Rājya, heirs to the throne for over four hundred years.

The text spoke of Kirus’ parents, King Ivarion and his consort, Saenella. A rather ordinary reign compared to that of their son, who had revolutionized commerce with the exploitation of metals from the mountains and expanded the Royal Army into the largest military ever seen.

According to the book, Kirus had inherited his father’s anger, as well as his iron heart, which had been softened by the arrival of a daimon with whom the king had betrothed him. For a dryad and a daimon, together, could be unstoppable .

Naithea’s breathing became ragged as she read about Ro’i Rājya, the kingdom that had fallen before her birth. Her fingers had already closed over the page, excited to learn more.

“It’s a dangerous thing what you’re doing,” said a familiar voice over her shoulder. “The soldiers of the Royal Army could take you to the gallows and wouldn’t stop to question your intentions.”

She turned cautiously to look at Dyron Selmi.

“Is that a threat?” Naithea asked.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he assured her.

“I learned better than to trust a man. Turning me in could guarantee you a chest of gold vramnias.”

“It isn’t wealth I seek. Much less from a man who crowned himself king.”

Naithea raised one of her eyebrows in confusion and intrigue. King Kirus might be a vile man, but never before had anyone dared to call him a tyrant out loud. It was a very serious accusation that could bring one closer to a fate far more fearsome than death.

“What do you mean?”

“To know about the present, you must learn more about the past,” Dyron Selmi whispered and took a step closer, until his one good eye rested on the book Naithea held closer to her chest. “This part of the story is my favorite.”

Dyron turned the page and the large words in ink, red as blood, caught Naithea’s attention: The King’s First Betrothed. She raised her eyes to the wizard, intrigued by his words before lowering them back on the pages.

King Kirus’ betrothed possessed magic never seen in the realm of Laivalon.

Naithea couldn’t help but wonder what kind of dark powers the First Betrothed had had in her veins enough to captivate the king’s attention.

The regents of Lên Rājya had granted them a week of courtship before planning a five-day celebration to which nobles from both kingdoms had been invited to. In the short time they spent together, the prince and the daimon discovered that the goddesses had approved of their engagement uniting them in body and spirit, making them Anam Cara.

Naithea patiently scanned the words before pausing over the daimon’s portrait. A portrait that seemed to have been disfigured and erased with water; too poor an attempt to eliminate her from history. Neither her face, nor her name . . . From the choice of words to describe her, it was clear that the world hated her.

But she confirmed it by reading that she had abandoned the heir of the kingdom at the altar, breaking all sense of happiness.

“She betrayed him,” she said breathlessly.

Dyron Selmi nodded. “Yes, she did.”

“But they were mates . . .” Naithea read the words once more, believing she’d been mistaken. “Who would betray a love that is almost impossible to find?”

Such things as mates were fairy tales that mothers whispered to their daughters before betrothing them for money to an old, repulsive man. Her mother hadn’t lied to her about such things, but Naithea still remembered all the nights her sisters had talked about the Anam Cara bond with nothing but illusion shining in their eyes. Hoping that they would come for them, that they would rescue them from their miserable lives.

Hoping for a miracle.

Naithea had dismissed the possibility of such an ancient bond existing, considering it as nothing more than a myth.

“A bond of mates doesn’t necessarily mean eternal love.”

“How so?”

A faint smirk tugged at Dyron’s wrinkled lips at Naithea’s confused expression. “Do you know the kinds of bonds that exist between dryadalis and daimonas?”

“I know enough. I know that goddesses sometimes unite two souls before they even possess a body.”

“Not all unions are bound by the Triad. There is a bond older than their birth,” he explained. “A bond of stardust and powerful magic. The Fatis Asteria aren’t merely mates, but opposing souls united by a greater destiny.”

“But as opposing souls . . .”

“They are destined for destruction,” Dyron finished for her.

Naithea hadn’t heard of the Fatis Asteria until now and, by the strong and rapid beating of her heart, she knew that her curiosity did nothing but grow.

There was so much for her to learn. She didn’t know at what point she’d doomed herself with the disease of ignorance. Naithea wanted to blame those months on the streets after her mother’s death and on her job for keeping her from knowledge.

Yet she knew it would be unfair, for the reason she hadn’t stopped to admire the foundations of the kingdom she lived in was the belief of a better world; a world that hadn’t betrayed her nor abandoned her to sell her body for money and lose pieces of herself.

“It’s different when it comes to the Anam Cara. If the bond is granted by Kuheia, then their relationship will tell a story of love and hope that may last for the rest of eternity. But if Kazaris bestows it, such a bond can be a curse.”

“What kind of curse?”

“Death.”

Her eyes scanned the dusty pages, a new thought already taking shape in her mind. “They are doomed to die for each other,” she deduced. “A bond destined for destruction, a bond destined for oblivion and—”

“A bond destined for eternity.” He nodded.

“The bond Kirus and his betrothed shared.”

“Yes. But don’t be so easily fooled, Ra.” Naithea’s mouth went dry, caught off guard by that nickname. “No one in this world is forced to love, even if there is a bond that assigns it so. Although Kirus and his betrothed were Anam Cara and meant to love each other forever, the claws of fate destroyed all that could have ever been. It isn’t always born out of hatred, but out of disappointment and fear.”

The hope her sisters had about a requited love would shatter into pieces if they heard those words.

As if Dyron had heard the thread of her thoughts, he said, “While the Fatis Asteria and the Anam Cara of Kazaris can destroy and die for hate and love, the Anam Cara of Kuheia represent a more explicit bond: one that tells that love isn’t always enough to save the world.”

“She didn’t love him,” Naithea blurted out.

“No. Her heart belonged to someone else.”

“I don’t know whether to believe her betrayal was a brave or a stupid thing to do.”

He laughed. “Why not both? Decisions one makes from the heart require incredible courage. And yet, it was stupid to believe she could run from the consequences rather than face them.”

“What were the consequences?” she asked without taking her eyes off the book.

“King Ivarion blamed his son for the betrothed’s withdrawal, and in a fit of rage, tried to kill him,” he replied.

“I don’t see how that would affect the daimon. Of all things, it would help her to get away from him once and for all.”

Dyron pointed a spot on the sheet with his elongated and crooked fingers for her to follow.

The Dance of the Dethroned King and the Murderous Queen.

Beneath the title, Naithea read the story of the former king of Lên Rājya and how his wife, Saenella, had poisoned him. She had been judged a traitor to the Crown and taken to the gallows, where she had been hanged by her own son.

“It says nothing here about the assassination attempt by Ivarion.”

“If you had the power to determine which parts of the story to tell, would you not erase those that made you look weak?” he asked. “Kirus may have survived his father’s fury, but he turned his mother in without batting an eye.”

“That’s how he became king. That’s why you said he crowned himself.”

“Precisely. His impatience led him to proceed without the Council’s approval and that was the beginning of his kingdom’s fall.”

“The only fallen kingdom I know of is the one that lies beneath our feet,” she said.

“The world of Laivalon was different then,” Dyron replied. “Ro’i Rājya was a kingdom of prosperity and development, while Kirus was sinking in the uprisings of a disgruntled and suspicious people, earning his title as the Heir of Misfortune.”

“I have a feeling that this is another moment that the king erased from history.”

“Not everything that’s written in books is true. You are familiar with a kingdom that more than two decades ago didn’t know if it would survive and that has fed its citizens with lies to maintain itself.” The wizard turned the page once more. “A kingdom that out of envy and vengeance kidnapped daimonas from their homes.”

Naithea’s eyes fell on the book again and her stomach sank as she read of the dark creatures that were the daimonas. How they’d terrorized Lên Rājya, murdering its citizens before the empire Erlina and Tavarious Boreaalinen sought to build was known as the Fallen Kingdom. Since then, the daimonas became a tale of terror told during the Night of the Holy Dead to ward off the curiosity of children and keep them from the gates in Evrethia.

“They aren’t the monsters they told you about,” Dyron said. “The sole reason you fear them is because you know no other reality but the one they have provided for you.”

“No one is innocent.”

“And the Betrothed knew that, but her people shouldn’t have paid the price of her freedom. When King Kirus began hunting the daimonas, there was no one to turn to and everyone to blame.”

“Why would the king hunt daimonas? Why would he spend so many resources on . . . ?”

And so Naithea understood. Because it did make sense, after all. The daimonas weren’t just the king’s enemies, they were much more . . . And Kirus had discovered their potential before anyone else had.

Dyron Selmi nodded once again, confirming her suspicions.

“The life of a daimon can exceed that of three dryadalis combined,” she replied to herself, after taking out calculations, “since their magic is more powerful. The king was investigating where their power came from, wasn’t he?”

“There is no origin to seek, for the core of such magic resides in the soul of each daimon. When that core is removed from its vessel, they suffer a slow and painful death.”

“You say it as if you’ve seen it with your own eyes.”

“I haven’t, but the stories are dark enough to haunt you for the rest of your life. It’s said that the bones of the daimonas still lie skinned in the castle dungeons at Camdenn and some others beyond the sea.”

A shiver slithered down Naithea’s spine, the icy touch of death.

The creaking hinges of the library door made her turn in her seat, her hand closing around the hilt of the knife in her lap.

Her heart raced like a wild horse, frightened that it might be the Royal Army. If she was seen with Dyron Selmi, inquiring about the past, the soldiers would soon discover her intentions and act on their suspicions.

It was not soldiers who entered, but a high-born woman pulling an eight-year-old girl behind her. Naithea calmed down and sighed, relieved, and turned in her seat to speak to Dyron Selmi and uncover more secrets hidden in the story.

Yet the old wizard had already left.