Page 20 of Heirs of the Cursed (A Curse for Two Souls #1)

19

Dawnfall

As the bonfire flames died out, the ground beneath Darcia’s feet grew steeper and more unstable. Though too drunk to stand, she’d wandered off after stealthily stealing a bottle of wine. The first sip seared her throat, but with each subsequent swallow, the weight of her worries dissolved, and her troubles faded into the fog of intoxication.

She drank to numb her mind from her own thoughts, to find solace in the comforting embrace of the wine . . .

To forget the pain of her existence.

Yet it had done the opposite. Darcia couldn’t quell the feelings that darkened her heart with hatred: for her stepbrother, for the fears that paralyzed her in a life she didn’t desire, and for her magic. There were days when Darcia despised the gift the goddesses had bestowed upon her. Invading people’s privacy and endangering them every time she performed wasn’t something she was proud of.

Darcia could blame Conrad and tell herself it was the price to pay for her own survival, but that would be a lie. If she were to kill someone or drive them to madness, the responsibility would be hers alone.

The thoughts of those near her grew louder and louder in her mind, making her head ache and her guilt swell. Darcia fell to her knees and covered her ears with her hands.

“Leave me alone,” she pleaded in a broken voice, closing her eyes tightly. “Leave me . . . alone.”

But they weren’t going to.

Not until she lost control.

Not until her magic broke free.

Darcia wanted to scream for help and beg for silence. Raising to her feet, she broke into a run to escape the voices that tortured her. She stumbled on the uneven ground and began to fall, but someone caught her in his arms before she touched the ground.

When her boreal eyes flew open, they found that deep, ambitious green.

“Alasdair?” she sobbed.

“It seems someone needs help.”

She wanted to object, to pretend she was strong enough not to need him. Still, the words were trapped in her throat as she realized her head no longer ached. There were no voices, no noise, no grief or pity . . . Only Alasdair.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take you home safely.”

“No. You can’t,” she stammered. “My stepbrother . . .”

“He’s not going to touch you, Darcia. Not if I can help it.”

She remained silent as realization set in. He’d called her by her name, even though she hadn’t told him. Darcia could only stare at him, at the one feature the mask revealed from his face. There was something familiar in those eyes and the way they glowed through the darkness, searching for her.

“Do you think you can stand up?” Alasdair asked, his hands still firm around her arms, offering a gentle caress. A blast of cold air made Darcia shiver and recoil, but as her legs gave way again, his grip on her tightened. “That wasn’t a wise choice, gorgeous.”

“I’m fine,” Darcia muttered. “I just . . . I just need some air.”

“I don’t think you can even stay upright on your own.”

“I can .”

“Still, don’t try. We wouldn’t want some rock to break through that pretty head of yours.”

Darcia grunted in disagreement, but accepted his help all the same.

Silently, they moved through the shadows and darkness, accompanied by the icy night breeze. Darcia didn’t protest; the pain in her joints was nothing compared to the agony of Conrad’s beatings.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked.

Alasdair looked into her eyes. “What kind of man would I be if I left you stranded in the forest with a storm approaching?”

“You’re a thief.”

“Are you calling me a bad person?”

“You said that you didn’t care about anything,” Darcia reminded him with uncertain firmness. Every word that came out of her mouth was heavy and difficult to utter.

“Well, let’s just say I have nothing better to do.”

Their gazes met for long seconds, hers reflecting her annoyance at his heartlessness and his pride in it. Darcia took a step away from his touch, but the pain that shot through her sore ankle made her curse under her breath. She must have twisted it during her run because of her uncomfortable shoes, and the wine had dulled her pain.

The sound of breaking branches reached her ears, distant enough that she thought little of it. Wolves prowled in the forest, creatures she didn’t fear like the rest of the Dawnfallians did. Yet when the thief pushed her against a tree, her body trembled.

“What the hell are you—”

“ Sh ,” Alasdair silenced her with a nod, urging her to follow his gaze. “We’ve got company.”

Darcia focused her blurred gaze on the hooded figure standing in the middle of a clearing, just a few feet away from them. His cape was a dark red, and the golden edges displayed an elegance unbecoming of Dawnfall. His fingers rattled on the handle of a sword that glinted in the light of the flaming torch in his other hand, illuminating the path ahead. Through the dim glow, she noticed a face marked by scars.

“What in the Akhirat is the Chaser doing here?” she whispered.

“I bet we’re about to find out,” Alasdair replied.

She didn’t need him to say anything else, for the moonlight revealed another equally hooded figure. From his clothes and gait, she deduced that he was a man—one who had grown up on the streets or in the modesty of a city home, nothing like Camdenn and its luxuries.

When Harg uncovered his head, neither Alasdair nor Darcia shuddered at the sight of his scarred face. But when the second man removed the hood of his black cloak, a soft gasp escaped her lips.

It was Conrad Voreia.

“Good evening, Koller,” he greeted him, a sibylline grin tugging at his lips.

The flames vibrated at his words.

“How was your trip to the capital?”

“As long as the previous ones, I’m afraid, though I come bearing gifts,” Conrad informed the general. “But first, tell me. Did the commander like the compass I gave you?”

“Ward hasn’t written back. You know how he is; he likes to take his sweet time before sharing his thoughts. However, I have heard news from the other platoons, and they are working tirelessly to find the princesses. Soon, Lên Rājya will once again be the great kingdom it has always been, and anyone who stands in our way will be hanged.”

Panic gripped Darcia’s veins, and in that moment of unease, Alasdair wrapped his arms around her, drawing her to him with comforting strength. His grip around her tightened as Conrad took a step forward.

Her stepbrother cleared his throat. “Any significant progress?”

“None, for the moment,” Harg revealed. “Both Camdenn and Hamleigh are protected and well defended, even from Two Bloods and rebels.”

“Then we are left with Bellmare and Dawnfall.”

“Unless they had been raised by savages in the Desertic Lands, they can’t be far.”

“In that case, we’re in luck.”

Conrad pulled two small objects from the pocket of his pants. Still too far away, Darcia leaned forward and squinted to make out what he held in the palm of his hand.

Bound by a thin and fragile rope, she saw two keys—one white as snow and the other black as oblivion.

Light and darkness.

Harg looked cautiously at the keys and twirled them between his fingers. “What are these?”

“I have powerful connections, or have you forgotten, General? When I heard about your request, a friend of mine helped me find a witch who was once known for sharing a bed with King Ivarion.”

“Lady de Greene.”

The witch who had wanted to be queen and never was. Darcia had heard the story when she was only nine years old, after an old, dusty book fell off the shelf from her father’s study. It told the story of powerful sorcerers and feared witches, those whom the world now knew little about. Among the many faded and crumpled pages, Darcia had come across the most intriguing of them all: The Fable of the Heartless Witch.

According to the legends, Lady de Greene was a woman banished by the goddesses. One night, as she wept in front of the Ocean of the Dreaded Depths, she wished to be powerful and envied, beautiful and desired. The ocean heard her plea, and darkness answered her prayers for she met Prince Ivarion Allencort, the heir to the throne.

Lady de Greene’s ambition knew no bounds; she’d proven that when she murdered the king to become queen after the Council had arranged her marriage to Ivarion. But the witch had been careless, unaware that her beloved slept in the adjoining room and had watched her murdering his father in cold blood.

By the time the prince had given the order for her capture, Lady de Greene was long gone. Since his coronation, Ivarion had ceased to be the sweet, devoted and benevolent man, and had become a sadist with a heart of ice.

But the witch was now just a story for the youngest souls, a memory nearly as forgotten as the tales of the Fallen Kingdom. Darcia knew that all myths held some hidden truth. Still, it wasn’t the old witch that worried her the most, but that her stepbrother had proven adept at getting what he wanted by selling himself to the highest bidder.

“She had those keys safely tucked away. It’s said they open the ancient temples of the twin goddesses: the white key unlocks Kuheia’s sacred home, while the black one opens Kazaris’.”

“Just like the princesses,” Harg thought aloud.

“Precisely,” Conrad agreed, pointing to the keys with his chin. “Each of the keys has a special power. Kazaris’ key can alter the nature of daimonas, and Kuheia’s will retain their magic long enough for you to neutralize them. Still, you must be quick as, unlike the commander’s compass, these will force them out of control . . . If they aren’t protected by a powerful spell, of course.”

Harg looked up and nodded. “You’ve been of great help, Voreia.”

“Helping the kingdom is our duty. You must know that better than anyone.”

Our.

Darcia frowned. He hadn’t spoken just about himself, which meant someone else was involved. For whom was her stepbrother working this time?

As the Chaser tightened his grip on the key, Alasdair pulled her close. “It’s time to leave, gorgeous.”

“What? No!” Darcia whispered and stirred in his arms. “We have to find out what they are talking about! My people are in danger!”

“And so are our lives if we stay here. We’re leaving.”

Alasdair was too strong for Darcia to resist. She kicked and punched his arm, but only succeeded in hurting her knuckles. She surrendered after a few minutes, when she was able to make out her cabin in the distance. Darcia’s eyes began to close from exhaustion and the need for water became more pressing.

“I can walk by myself from here,” she stammered.

“I’m sure you can,” Alasdair scoffed, walking toward the entrance. He grabbed the knob and pushed, yet the door didn’t move. “It’s locked.”

“I left my bedroom window open.”

Alasdair tensed. “How on the Akhirat did you think you could climb through the window when you’re so drunk?” Darcia shrugged her shoulders as a way of response and Alasdair snorted. “Hold on tight, gorgeous.”

“You’re not thinking about . . .”

Before she could finish her sentence, Darcia was thrown onto Alasdair’s back. His hands gently but firmly secured her legs until they locked around his waist. With that, Alasdair began his ascent through the window’s railing.

“Are you out of your mind?” Darcia asked as she stifled a scream.

“When are you going to treat me like a normal person?”

He propelled himself upward and Darcia clung to him tighter.

“Have you considered that if I insult you, maybe it’s because you deserve it?” she sputtered, closing her eyes to stop the world from spinning.

“Maybe you can try with ‘Hello, Alasdair. How are you? You look damn well’. ”

“You’re an idiot.”

“See what I mean?” he asked, amused.

At last, the thief reached the window. He helped Darcia squeeze through and then set her down on the bed. As she played with the stained hem of her dress, she allowed herself to meet Alasdair’s gaze. There was a glimmer of contained amusement in his eyes, as if he wanted to tease her about her drunken state but held back.

“I’m going to get you a glass of water. I’ll be right back.”

“You’re not going to wander around my house!” she protested and hiccuped.

“I don’t see you in a position to stop me.”

“You’re complete . . .”

“Remember, Darcia: ‘hello, how are you?’”

Darcia threw a cushion at him before he disappeared down the hall, stiffing a laugh.

The room spun in circles around her. Grunting under her breath, she plopped down on the bed. Her body felt like lead, and no matter how hard she tried to focus on something— anything —she couldn’t. She was so drunk she wasn’t even aware of her surroundings.

Alasdair returned minutes later. With quiet agility, he approached her and placed a candle on the bedside table, offering her the glass of water. Darcia tried to grab it in her own hand, but missed horribly.

They stared at each other for a long minute; he was on the verge of laughter and she was about to threaten to cut out his tongue if he dared say anything about her state. Alasdair raised the glass to her lips in a silent offer, and Darcia drank the cold water, holding his gaze.

“I also went to get something to eat, but I couldn’t find anything.”

“I’m sure you ate it on the way,” Darcia spluttered after taking a couple of sips.

Alasdair clicked his tongue. “You caught me. How did you know?”

“Because you’re a thief,” Darcia reminded him.

“And a liar.”

“And an idiot,” she emphasized.

“Has anyone ever told you how rude you are?”

She let out a foolish laugh and settled back on the mattress. The pain in her head disappeared as soon as she rested it against the fluffy pillow. For a while, Darcia remained quiet, slowly moving her legs and arms to soothe the pain in her stiff muscles. She turned her boreal gaze to Alasdair, who had set the glass on the bedside table and was now pacing the room with indecipherable curiosity.

“You don’t need to stay.”

“I know,” Alasdair admitted.

“And you didn’t have to bring me all the way home, either.”

“I know that, too.”

Silence fell over them for a few moments. But it wasn’t the dull silence Darcia was accustomed to, but a more patient, comforting one. She allowed herself to close her eyes.

“Are you going to leave now?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound so nervous.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“No.”

A lie.

Alasdair let out an almost imperceptible chuckle. “I’ll amend my question. Do you want to be alone?”

“No,” she admitted then.

“Well, then I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

Darcia opened her eyes to look at him. He was leaning against the half-open window, his arms crossed over his chest and his face covered by the usual black cloth. She let herself wonder about the face that hid under it, invisible for her eyes and yet so intriguing. Questions swelled in her chest, like a ravenous hunger and a curiosity that was entrenched deep in her mind.

Who is Alasdair really? she asked herself.

“Can I see your face?”

“Go to sleep, gorgeous.”

“It was only a question,” Darcia protested.

“Tomorrow will be another day.”

She tossed and turned in the sheets, before mumbling, “Another day I won’t like to live.”

A single truth.

Darcia closed her eyes again, feeling the warmth of her bed tuck her in. As sleep embraced her, she’d never know that, when she fell asleep and the storm came, Alasdair stayed with her to make sure she rested peacefully. Nor would she know that the thief she didn’t trust yet had invited into her home, would stroke her hair with extreme caution before jumping out the window and disappearing under the pouring rain.