Page 18 of Heirs of the Cursed (A Curse for Two Souls #1)

17

Dawnfall

‘Dead men tell no lies and faceless men will never be remembered.’

The Midnight Thief kept repeating that to himself every time he wandered through the shadows of the kingdom like a doomed ghost. To the world, Alasdair Hale had ceased to exist, and he was grateful for it. People tended to fear the unknown.

He walked over the rooftops of Dawnfall with gracefulness. His boots made no sound against the shingles, and his shadow was nearly indistinguishable. That was the fun part of the job: to look without being seen, to see beyond everyone else.

He had seen more than most. From poor children stealing in the streets to women selling their bodies . . . And he’d witnessed death at the hands of innocents who only sought freedom. Alasdair didn’t blame them, but there were many things that set him apart from those people. For one, he didn’t regret his actions and never asked for forgiveness.

Long ago, when he was a boy and his parents were still alive, he’d prayed to the goddesses. His devotion had been so unwavering that he’d told his mother he would work in one of the monasteries of Evrethia, the city that had once been known for its blind faith. Still, the world had changed, and so had he; and for that, Alasdair had repented for his prayers.

If the Triad existed, no one would have to sell themselves into slavery to survive, no one would have to endure beatings under the hands of cruel men, and he wouldn’t be a puppet for someone else to control.

The music raised its harmony among the bonfires in the square, and Alasdair turned his gaze to the moon glittering in the depths of the night. For someone whose nights went on forever, it was quite comforting to have its guide—even when he desired solitude.

Maybe I can afford one night of normalcy , the unusual thought crossed his mind.

No one knew his face and he could be gentle and pleasant if he put his mind to it. He could seize the moment. The only person who could possibly figure out who he was hated him enough to not seek him.

Alasdair sat on one of the rooftops and watched the Night of Flames from above, a festivity held in honor of Princess Ginebra, fifth in the line of succession to the throne. Like her twin brother, Gideon, both heirs were commemorated in feasts at two different cities in Laivalon.

Dawnfall set up huge bonfires in the square to venerate the princess’s flames, offering gifts in her name and setting them ablaze so that magic would reach the sky. People dressed in warm colored attires and red flags were raised, showing respect to the heiress of fire.

The corners of his mouth tugged upward as he recognized Darcia’s distinctive golden hair between the citizens. She was dancing with two other young women, their dresses resembling the colors of the flames. Her eyes were slightly closed, her movements attracting the attention of all the attendants.

He usually encountered people who were afraid, who fled or gawked at his presence. No one had confronted him directly. Still, she had. Her wild and dangerous boreal eyes had pierced him shamelessly and her sharp tongue had tried to put him in his place.

Alasdair had searched for her ever since.

“Gorgeous,” he whispered to himself.

Darcia Voreia was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The kind of woman for whom men and women would kill and die, and for whom the world would get down on its knees and let it all burn.

By the goddesses, Alasdair had to stop looking at her if he didn’t want to lose his mind.

As if sensing his gaze upon her, Darcia darted her eyes to the roof of the wooden structure he was sitting on. Alasdair concealed himself among the shadows and the chimney, cursing under his breath for still being a coward after all.

He pulled out a small watch from his leather suit and slipped between the rooftops to discreetly join the feast.

Darcia made the most of her last night of short-lived freedom before her stepbrother returned. She’d taken a walk with Caeli and her friends through the market streets, and the four of them had indulged themselves in ale and card games in the Poisoned Apple until the sun set.

The square was crowded with Dawnfallians who laughed, drank, and celebrated the princess’s magic. Darcia danced until her feet hurt and her chest warmed with happiness. A smile tugged at her lips as she waved at Bassel, signaling him to find his way back to them.

“There you are!” he greeted them, holding out four tankards of wine. “For a moment, I lost you in the commotion.”

“Did you, or are you too drunk to find us?” Caeli scoffed.

She looked beautiful in her dark orange, strapless dress, with her hair down to one side to expose her tanned back. Darcia leaned closer, tracing with her fingers the saagrati symbols etched in black ink on her skin.

“I’m insulted, just so you know,” Bassel protested, adjusting the lapels of his yellow jacket.

“I’ll start to worry when you see two of me then,” Sadira said with an amused smirk. She wore a dress similar to Caeli’s, but in a slightly lighter shade of red than Darcia’s.

“I think the goddesses brought you together to make my life miserable,” he protested.

“What would be of you without us?” Darcia questioned.

“I’d have a more peaceful life, that’s for sure.”

His sister slapped his arm.

“Well.” Caeli raised her mug of ale. “I think it’s time we make a toast.”

“To congratulate me for putting up with you three?” Bassel asked. “I need a reward for that.”

This time, it was Darcia who hit him playfully.

“I hope you don’t say ‘for the princess’, Cally,” Sadira interrupted. “I don’t feel like praising heirs who don’t care about us.”

Whenever the queen gave birth to an heir, Laivalon held an honorary feast for their powers and title. Most of the king’s heirs were known for their elemental magic, and thus were worshiped. Yet the Crown Prince remained a mystery to everyone. Rumors had spread after his birth, and not long ago some of them suggested that he’d been born without magic.

“Don’t let the soldiers hear you, sister,” Bassel muttered. “We can’t put ourselves at risk, not while they’re in control.”

Sadira snorted in disgust. “They shouldn’t be in control of anything. They don’t give a damn about the people, they just want power to feed their rotten hearts.”

“That’s precisely why we have to be careful about what we talk about, Sadie.” Caeli tried to soothe her with kindness and caressed her hand affectionately. “Our life depends on it, more so as women unfortunately.”

“I agree with Sadira,” Darcia mediated. “They should learn how things work on the streets, but they never will because they possess so much power that their privilege is beyond repair. With the king’s favor, they have secured an easy life, leaving the rest of us to suffer.”

“I’d love to see them beg for their lives at the hands of a woman,” Sadira said. “We’re nothing more than objects for them to use. I’ve heard stories of the hetairas in Bellmare and it makes me sick to my stomach! The world should kneel before all of us. If it weren’t for a woman, those bastards wouldn’t even exist.”

The kingdom feared women’s power, intelligence, and cunning . . . because when a woman held even a little control, she could bring an entire system to its knees.

A woman with ambition was far more dangerous than any powerful man.

“Sometimes I wonder why the goddesses haven’t interfered yet,” Caeli said to no one in particular. “I wonder if they truly are our protectors or simply created us to lead ourselves to extinction.”

Bassel put his arms around Caeli and Sadira’s shoulders. “No one has asked my opinion, but I believe that the world is cowardly. I grew up surrounded by women and without you, we’d be screwed.”

But Darcia knew better.

Laivalon was rotten, just like the Crown and its rulers, and just like all the soldiers watching them closely at that very moment. The system wasn’t good nor fair. If it were, people wouldn’t live in fear, nor would they kill each other. The chasm that pushed the poorest into the abyss and empowered those with dark desires wouldn’t exist at all.

Darcia wished she could do something to change her world, but her destiny was another.

“By the Triad! Did you just tell us something nice, brother?” Sadira asked.

“Yes, yes . . . Now, I need a toast to forget that all this happened.” Bassel admired his empty mug. “Crap!”

“I’ll get us some drinks,” Darcia offered. “Stay here.”

Caeli took her face between her hands and kissed her lips softly. “Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t.”

Darcia slipped through the crowd, a red tide dancing and singing slurred words, worshiping Ginebra and the power that coursed through the veins of many dryadalis.

She was amazed by the magic that surrounded her. Caeli’s earth and flower powers, the gentle wind that Bassel and Sadira shared, along with many others, brought Dawnfall to life. Her power, on the other hand, wasn’t something to admire, despite what those who paid to see it believed. She had the ability to drive people mad, deceive them . . . and, if necessary, kill them.

Shaking her head, Darcia approached one of the tables where a young boy was serving drinks.

“Four red wines from Camdenn, please.”

The boy nodded and shyly walked away toward the tavern.

“Darcia.”

Upon hearing the Chaser’s deep voice calling her name, Darcia placed her hands on the edge of the table to steady herself. Only when the young boy returned with her drinks did she spin around and face the general, her heart racing.

“Sir Koller,” she muttered. “I wasn’t expecting you here.”

“Since it’s a celebration dedicated to one of the kingdom’s heirs, I have an obligation to be here.”

Darcia nodded and looked around in search of her friends. The images of the tavern came to her mind: the soldier’s fingers, Harg’s threats, the bloody sword . . . She had to make a great effort not to let her nerves give her away.

The Chaser cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you could grant me a minute of your time.”

Panic washed over her again. Would he ask her questions? Would he accuse her of spying on him?

She glanced toward her friends in the distance, who appeared to be having fun. Bassel had joined some children at one of the tables to play cards, while Caeli laughed, dancing energetically with Sadira. They were away from trouble, away from the king’s assassin.

She let out a trembling sigh. “It’s always a pleasure to help the king’s army, sir.”

“Don’t do that. Please.”

“Do what?” she asked, feigning incomprehension.

“Treat me as an abomination.”

“I don’t think I have said anything to imply that.”

“No, but you’re looking at me like I’m a monster,” the general assured with a bitter tone of familiarity.

Darcia could have told him she was able to recognize monsters because she lived with one. She could have accused him of being one for cutting off his soldier’s fingers and faced the consequences. Instead, she offered him no answer but silence, clasping her hands in front of her stomach.

“Let’s go somewhere less crowded.”

With few choices left, she allowed Harg to lead her away from the celebration and into the quietest, most remote streets of the city, where the night awaited the day’s end. Though she was intrigued by his intentions and what he wanted from her, she didn’t dare use her powers to get into his mind.

They turned a few times in the shadows of the houses, watching two bats fly overhead. Darcia wondered if the Chaser could see the decay in which Dawnfall had fallen. How its citizens survived day in and day out with what little they had . . . She wondered if anyone in the capital would ever ride to her city to improve the lives of those who served them, but Darcia already knew the ugly truth. Wealth made people selfish enough not to care about the rest of the world, as long as they maintained their position.

Harg stopped in front of one of the chipped wooden benches next to a window display of silks and looms before saying, “Here we can talk without being disturbed.” His voice was much warmer than Darcia would have expected.

“Well,” she replied, her nails digging into her palms. “What did you want to talk about, sir?”

“There’s no need to address me as ‘sir’, Darcia. Or at least, not for what you had to witness.”

She shook her head. “He’s not the first man I’ve seen bleed, and he certainly won’t be the last.”

“I still want to apologize.”

“For what, exactly?”

“For not controlling my temper in your presence.” Harg lowered his gaze. He hid his hands behind his back and the weapon belt shifted, causing a clash between his golden sword and silver daggers. “Even if it was a necessary measure.”

“I can’t say if it’s proper for a man to lose his fingers in such a brutal manner, regardless of whether he is an imbecile.”

“Derric Rogen is an asshole who was admitted to the Royal Army because of his family’s wealth. Both the king and his advisors thought it was a brilliant idea to accept him into their ranks due to their significant contribution to the royal coffers.”

“It seems to me that this story has one big ‘but.’”

Harg’s grin was so subtle that Darcia thought she’d imagined it. “But it’s no mystery that Rogen has always wanted more. Being a soldier under my command is an understatement to him. He thinks that if he talks too much or shows arrogance, it will make others follow him and believe he might be a better leader.”

“Do you think he can propose a mutiny?”

“I doubt it. He values his head too much to lose it. What you saw at the tavern was nothing more than a lesson for him to learn to shut his mouth.”

Darcia didn’t dare to say anything. While it was true that the soldier was a redoubtable jerk, she couldn’t help but believe that those atrocities were vile and unnecessary. Perhaps her heart had softened after Conrad’s beatings, or she was naive enough to believe in second chances.

“Will he be able to regain full mobility of his hand?”

“It will take him a long time to try, but the lesson has helped,” Harg explained. “I don’t regret anything I’ve done that night, except knowing that you had to see it.”

Darcia shook her head. “I’ve witnessed many brutalities and heard of many others. The world can be cruel if it sets its mind to it.”

“It sounds like you know more than you’re talking about,” Harg replied.

“To survive, you must cross every boundary and endure many cruelties,” Darcia said as Conrad’s face came to her mind.

Harg raised an eyebrow. “You mean being exploited in the circus?”

“How did you . . .”

“You’re not invisible, Darcia, no matter how much you wish you were.”

Against her will, tears burned in her eyes, but she cleared her throat before saying, “It’s a job like any other.”

“It’s not. It’s a job in your brother’s circus.”

“And what’s the difference, if I may ask?” Darcia asked incredulously.

“Conrad can be . . . a very complicated person.”

“If you know that and seek an ally in him all the same, you must have less heart than I thought.”

An unexpected pain flickered in the Chaser’s eyes. “Is that what you think of me?”

“Shouldn’t I? You say you know what Conrad does and yet you don’t do anything about it. Instead, you’re his friend. Because who cares about the crippled, the abandoned children or the outcasts? If you really know what happens beyond a circus tent or the door of a home, that not only makes you a bad person, but a damn coward.”

Harg stood upright as Darcia cursed her imprudent comment. She held back, retreating a couple of steps, aware of her monumental mistake. Before she could think of a hasty apology, the general seized the initiative.

“I want you to answer me honestly, Darcia. Has your brother ever laid a hand on you?”

Darcia faced him, her eyes slightly reddened with unshed tears. The very idea of revealing the truth felt like an impossible mountain to climb. Conrad had made it clear what would happen if she said anything, if she even dared to ask for help . . .

Her life belonged to him, everything she was.

And there was no escaping it.

“Darcia, answer me, please,” the general asked. “Did he hurt you?”

Yet, the pain in her chest felt like a thousand daggers piercing her heart. Her magic stirred fiercely in her body; a fervent desire to escape out of rage and grief, which made her plunge into the abyss. She just closed her mouth and shook her head, hiding the truth behind a smile.

“I accept your apology, General. Enjoy the party.”