Page 23 of Heirs of the Cursed (A Curse for Two Souls #1)

22

Bellmare

Naithea awoke to the warm, sweet rays of sunlight streaming through the window.

Memories of the night before rushed back to her as she lifted her face from the pillow, where the wrinkles of the sheets had etched themselves into her cheek. Despite the unfolding events, she hadn’t slept so peacefully and securely in years.

Jehanne slept beside her. Over the wound on her brow, like the one on her stomach and collarbones, was a thick and orange mixture that Naithea didn’t remember putting on. But where it was beginning to dry, it revealed a thin crust and greenish bruises that were slowly fading.

She rolled over on her back in search of the Commander of Death and was relieved to find the chair empty. Naithea had wanted Ward to kiss her, to push away all the insecurities she had about him and satisfy that dark need that left her breathless.

Because once he did, everything could go back to normal.

On the bedside table was a glass vial of ointment for Jehanne’s wounds, a heavy bag containing over sixty gold vramnias, and an unusual object: a curved-bladed dagger. Naithea picked it up and twirled it in her fingers. The blade was part of a beautiful hilt, carved in the shape of a tiger and inlaid with gold and silver.

She noticed the long phrase in saagrati, ancient runes that told the story of a shadow warrior and a powerful seer of lightning.

“Mhm . . .” her best friend protested, and Naithea sat up again.

“Je?” she asked. Her friend gasped softly in response. “Let me help you.”

She slipped her arms under her arms and pulled her up before settling the pillows behind her back.

“Better?”

“Much,” Jehanne whispered with a nod.

“I’ll get you some water.”

Naithea dashed to the bathroom, picking up one of the cups that remained on the table next to a bottle of cheap wine, and filled it with tap water instead. As soon as she offered it to her, Jehanne drank the contents in haste, spilling water from the corners of her lips that Naithea wiped away with the fabric of her dress.

When she settled back in the back, Naithea dared to ask, “What happened last night?”

“I met the Fiend. What he did . . .” She paused for a long moment. “He took pleasure in it.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was drunk, but he kept repeating a name. Somehow, he thought I was her.”

Naithea remembered those blue eyes that had watched her with analytical care. As if they could see who she was and the monster she hid beneath the facade that she showed the world.

“It’s no excuse for what he’s done,” she stopped her.

“Does it matter, Thea? We’re hetairas!” Jehanne snapped in frustration. “Whores. Sex slaves. And they have enough money to do whatever they want with us, even kill us.”

“We deserve much more than that. No matter our work, our past, or our mistakes.” Naithea locked her boreal eyes on her friend’s, her heart roaring against her ears. “We are people, Jehanne. Above all, we’re people. We have to tell someone.”

Naithea rose from the bed, the mattress beneath her creaking at her loss. She would gather the rest of their sisters and convince them to do this together. To confront Madame Dimond about what had happened and make it clear to her that none of them would suffer at the hands of another damned predatory dryad.

Still, Jehanne swallowed the pain and reached forward, catching her wrist before she could take another step.

“No.”

“Let go of me, Je,” she urged affectionately.

“You can’t do this.” She shook her head. “Do you think Madame Dimond will do anything about it? Tell her business partner to keep his hands off his women? If we do, we’ll make things worse.”

“It’s not fair.”

“And yet, it’s better than death.”

Naithea held back the tears that burned her eyes. She hated to cry, even in Jehanne’s presence. If there was one thing she’d learned, it was that appearing fragile made you weak in the eyes of others. Something Naithea Utari no longer wished to be.

A knock at the door made her look away from Jehanne and toward the familiar face of Regnera peering through the small space.

“Is this a good time to interrupt?”

“Of course,” Jehanne replied before Naithea could.

The door opened completely, revealing the hetairas huddled side by side who stood on the tips of their toes to peer into the room. Jehanne smiled at them between winces, because her sisters’ company meant more than anything to her.

“We thought you might want some company,” Larka remarked with a weak expression that masked her fear for her friend.

“How did you know?” Jehanne asked.

“Commander Ward left a note in our chambers before departing,” Kaenna replied.

Naithea’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the commander. “When was that?”

“Just before dawn,” Sundi said, stepping inside. “We bring food and medication.”

The hetairas walked in, one behind the other, and settled in at Jehanne’s sides as they inspected her wounds and applied a fresh layer of ointment on them. Regnera apologized to her multiple times, for if she hadn’t been ill, the Fiend wouldn’t have hurt her. Yet Jehanne dismissed the apology and allowed her sisters to comfort her.

As a thousand thoughts crossed her mind, Naithea stepped aside. That monster that whispered in her mind awoke again, but this time, she couldn’t help but embrace her deepest and darkest desires: to kill the man who had hurt her best friend.

“Thea.” Tanea’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. Her dark blonde hair was disheveled, dark bags under her sad eyes.

“Yes?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Naithea comforted her sister, stroking her arm.

Tanea had also been apologizing to her for weeks for what had happened in the hall. She felt guilty for exposing Naithea, for revealing the secret she’d entrusted to her, only to lose all the money she’d saved to buy her freedom.

Still, Naithea didn’t blame her. Their owner had manipulated, beaten, and tortured them for years. And she was grateful it wasn’t Tanea who had paid for her mistakes.

But she was tired.

Tired of fighting to survive, of nothing being enough to protect the people she loved . . .

The dagger she held warmed up in her hand in response to her anger. For the first time, Naithea knew what she had to do, and exactly who to turn to in order to accomplish it. She gave Tanea’s arm a squeeze, taking one last look at her sisters, who deserved better than to be abused by a dryad without being able to ask for justice.

“Where are you going?” Larka asked as she watched her walk toward the door.

She didn’t stop; she had to make the most of the daylight.

“It’s better if you don’t know.”

Naithea Utari left the room with a single mission in mind: to find the soldiers of the most feared and deadly army in the kingdom and make them train her as ruthlessly as they had been.

Even if it meant selling herself all over again.

Naithea’s blood boiled in her veins as she walked through the streets of Bellmare with her head held high.

Years ago, she’d have resented the way women gazed at her or the whispers that reached her ears with horrible words denigrating her for the way she made her living. But that morning, Naithea ignored them all, because her mission was more important than any other.

Suddenly, something tugged at her trousers. Looking down, she found the young boy from whom she’d bought the tonic for Tanea. His eyes urged her to follow the spot he was slyly pointing at with one of his thin, bony fingers.

There, hidden in the shadows of an alleyway, was the wizard. Dyron Selmi fixed his one good eye on her before walking on with the aid of his cane.

Naithea placed a copper vramnia in the boy’s hand and headed toward the harbor. She moved past the exotic fish and squid the fishermen cut with sharp knives and ignored their leering glances, too focused on the shadow of the old man.

After checking in every direction to ensure no one had noticed where she was headed, she trailed Dyron into a dark alley. She frowned in confusion upon finding it empty and turned around to look for him, but a wrinkled hand grabbed her forearm and pulled her back.

Naithea stifled the scream that rose in her throat as she stepped through the stone wall, leaving behind all hints of the alley until she found herself in the familiar shop.

She sighed, raising a hand to her chest, where her heart was beating erratically. “Dyron.”

“What you intend to do is dangerous, Soul Devourer. A tiger would never walk in the enemy’s lair.”

“That’s precisely why I’m doing it,” she replied, shivering slightly at the title. “Magic is more dangerous than ever.”

“You’re wrong. Magic is always in control. From the birth of the goddesses and the creation of the twin gemstones, the universe made sure that order and chaos were guarded,” Dyron coughed. “That light and darkness were protected.”

“I’m not an enthusiast about riddles.”

Dyron Selmi limped through the store, and Naithea followed him closely behind. She held her breath upon noticing the glass under which a thick, yellowed book was sheltered—a poem written in ink as dark as night.

Not long ago, a deal of power and blood was made.

By none other than a rightful heir.

The selfishness of her heart made her lose her way,

But not even ancient bonds would determine her fate.

Rotten is the kingdom that’s now forgotten;

The holly of death claimed what was praised often.

And so a broken promise has doomed the world,

Until the chosen ones come to save us all.

Light and Darkness will rise.

Despite two souls being cursed by its bearer.

Among shadows and stones, the northern star will shine in the darkest times.

And the southern shadow will guide us home at last.

The star-shaped pendant beat against her chest like a tell-tale heart, but Naithea only had ideas for the words whose message she didn’t understand. There could be hundreds of hidden secrets that even the scholars of the ancient academies hadn’t yet discovered. Still, Dyron Selmi wasn’t a stupid man and neither was she; if he’d shown her the poem, it had to be important.

“What is it?”

“A fragment of an ancient and forgotten song,” the wizard replied.

“It speaks of the holly of death,” she said, caressing the glass that protected the papyrus. “It’s a prediction of Laivalon’s future, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

“The soldiers could imprison you if they discover you possess it. Or worse, they could kill you. You take a great risk in showing this to me.”

“There’s no mind safer than yours, Naithea Utari.” Dyron Selmi assured her. “I have entrusted you with the darkest knowledge of all to unlock, for you may be one of the only souls capable of it.”

Naithea furrowed her dark brows. “If you haven’t done it, what’s to say I will?”

“My dear, the stars often deliver the answers to all questions. Who better than another to safeguard this knowledge?”

The poem still echoed in Naithea’s ears like a ballad of oblivion. It posed a new mystery, one that suggested that the holly of death had been the start of the broken bargain at Ro’i Rājya, and would soon take over the entire kingdom if the princesses didn’t rise to defend it.

If it was true that danger was coming, she had to look out for her sisters. She would allow no soldier, no cursed princess, and no rotten-hearted dryad to harm those she loved.

Ignoring Dyron’s advice to stay away from the Royal Army, Naithea headed toward Pixies’ Forest, in which she hadn’t set foot since her mother’s death. Vast and ancient, the forest protected the tiny creatures that had given it its name, probably frightened by the presence of the kingdom’s most feared warriors.

Naithea embraced the nature around her and the company offered by the small rodents as she walked toward the camp. She’d lost her way, but as soon as the smell of smoke filled her lungs, she let it guide her.

In the distance, a tide of sixteen moss-green tents stretched out beneath the tops of yew, hazel and ash trees; the perfect hiding place for the thirty men who had arrived at Bellmare months ago. Next to them, there was a campfire over which a wild boar had been hung for lunch and some men milled around to make sure the meat didn’t burn while drinking ale.

Twigs broke under the weight of her boots, drawing the soldiers’ attention. They lowered their free hands to their weapons, fearing that the young hetaira posed a threat. But Naithea ignored them and moved toward the sound of clashing blades until reaching the training ring.

A smile tugged at her lips as she noticed Leonel swinging his sword against his opponent. In a matter of seconds, he disarmed him and the man fell to the ground on his back.

“You’ve got talent, boy,” a middle-aged man gasped with pride.

Leonel offered him a hand to help him back on his feet. “I have you to thank for that.”

“Let’s hope you have a way with women as well,” the older man said upon seeing Naithea.

At that, Leonel frowned and turned to look at her, brushing back the damp blond locks of hair that had fallen from its ponytail. She winked at him, happy to see him again. Differently from the rest of his comrades, Leonel was kind.

Last night, he’d walked toward her with nothing but jokes to make her laugh, mocking her serious face. No, he hadn’t been there to pay for her services, but for something else entirely: friendship.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, taking a step toward her. “This isn’t a proper place for a lady.”

He was joking, and Naithea knew it.

She smiled at him. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not a lady.”

“Miss.” Leonel’s trainer offered her a short bow. “Caedric Holliern at your service.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to help me, sir.”

Leonel stepped forward and stroked Naithea’s forearm with concern flashing in his eyes. “Did something happen?” he asked quietly so that the curious soldiers wouldn’t overhear their conversation.

“I’m fine.”

A lie.

Nothing was fine and never would be, not until she found a way to save her sisters.

“You’re attracting a lot of attention right now.” Leonel looked around at his companions. “We aren’t used to the presence of a woman who actually desires our company.”

“It isn’t company I’m seeking, but help, Leo,” she admitted with urgency in her voice.

Leonel tensed at her words.

“How can I help you?”

“I want you to train me,” she replied.

Bitter laughter echoed behind her. Laughter from men who believed that a woman, and a whore , was incapable of learning the art of war. But Naithea, to the soldiers’ disappointment, wasn’t there to prove them right.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m not joking, Leo. I need this,” Naithea remarked before facing the soldiers who were still taunting her. “And laugh all you like. You won’t be when I’m better than all of you!”

Eames Cranner grinned at the confidence in her voice and the feline pride that coursed through Naithea’s veins. She might not leave the camp that afternoon as the best warrior in Lên Rājya, but she’d soon show them how much an angry woman could achieve.

“All right. Come,” Leonel said and invited her into the ring where they’d been training a few minutes before. “Eames, I’m going to need your sword.”

“It will be my pleasure,” Eames purred as he walked toward them. “Your presence is a delightful surprise. What happened to your low-cut dresses?”

“Your commander tore them from my body last night,” Naithea replied in kind and took the sword from his hand. Her free hand flew to the hilt when she noticed how heavy it was, earning an amused laugh from him. “How can you fight with this?”

“It’s called practice, princess.”

Naithea rolled her eyes. She had to repeatedly move the sword in her hand to balance the weight.

“It’s always tricky the first time,” Leonel reassured her as he approached her to show her how to hold it. “You have to keep a firm grip. Spread your fingers a little apart so that the weight is balanced. Now, try to lift it.”

She obeyed, or at least tried to. Naithea spent a few minutes handling the weapon, trying to get her arms used to its weight and her fingers to the gaps in the black leather hilt. When she did, Leonel smiled at her.

“Good, now you have to do the same with your body. To kill your opponent, your body and weapon must be one.” Leonel raised his sword and swung it gracefully in his hand. “Come on, try to hit me.”

Naithea’s eyes widened in surprise. “What? Now?”

“We don’t have all day, do we?”

She glanced one last time in the direction of the soldiers who had abandoned their duties to witness her failure. The cool autumn breeze blew her hair out of her face, sliding over her shoulders until the dark mane fell down her back. Naithea gathered strength in the whistling of the birds that flew overhead and then lunged forward, doing exactly what Leonel had ordered her to do.

The sword sliced through the air and collided with the other metal blade, parrying the impact of her own against his stomach. She hadn’t come close to hitting Leonel, but he’d moved to stop her from rushing forward and shortening the distance. Their eyes met and the soldier chuckled, amused at Naithea’s angry expression.

She struck and missed again.

Again and again until she got used to the weight of the weapon and something inside her urged her to keep moving.

With each attack, Leonel held back her movements with precision, as if he could finish her off with a simple maneuver. Not once did he mock her for failing, but encouraged her to keep up her efforts.

Her friend swung his sword and the edge of his weapon cut the ends of Naithea’s hair, causing her to recoil in amazement at his accuracy. If he’d come even an inch closer, she could have lost much more than hair.

“Mistake number one.” Leonel twirled the blade in his fingers effortlessly. “Anything that is a weakness must be eliminated.”

“I won’t cut my hair if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“There are more weaknesses than just your hair. Your necklace, for example.” He nodded toward the chain dangling between her collarbones. “If it’s of the strong material I believe it is, I could simply take it in my hands and use it to deprive you of air.”

Naithea hid it under her white shirt. She gasped for air and cursed herself for her deplorable physical condition . . . She should have agreed to morning walks with Kaenna and Anera before breakfast, if not to keep her figure, to at least not feel like throwing up after only a few exercises.

“You’ll have to teach me how to fight with those weaknesses.”

“If you wish,” Leonel said respectfully.

They moved again. It was a dance of attack and defense that Naithea performed awkwardly. The soldier disarmed her five more times, but she didn’t plan to give up so easily.

She lunged forward with her sword raised high and the monster inside her growled with the ferocity of a wild animal.

‘End his life.’

Naithea didn’t want to hurt Leonel. She wished the monster would wake up when she found the Fiend and help her end his life for what he’d done to Jehanne.

An arm wrapped around her chest, and the sword flew from her hand, sliding across the grass and out of the fighting ring. Her back collided against a firm chest, the pressure of a blade kissing her throat. Naithea gasped in surprise, but as her body molded to the man who had disarmed her, her breath steadied. His left hand caressed her side, sending shivers down her spine, as a low growl brushed against her ear.

“Mistake number two, love,” Ward whispered. “Not watching for further threats.”

He loosened his grip and his sword fell to his side, before Naithea turned slowly. Their gazes met with a thousand thoughts and forbidden desires. About the night before, about the intimate moment they had shared, their lips brushing in promise . . . And about everything that happened afterwards. He had torn down the wall Naithea had built around her soul.

Around her heart.

“Ward,” she muttered.

The commander raised an eyebrow. “I see you found our camp.”

“Her tracking skills seem to be better than Leonel’s, Commander,” Soldier Cranner joked, gaining a punch from his friend. But Ward only had eyes for her. “She could be a good asset to the army.”

“She certainly is,” he answered, the corners of his lips tugging upward.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she declared.

“I’ve been trained to lie, torture, and kill, remember?” Ward said, and earned another of her smiles. “If I’d known you hadn’t had enough of me last night, I’d have stayed a little longer.”

“You would have had to pay double.”

“Money isn’t an issue, love.”

She could feel her stomach tighten under his words. Naithea held his stare despite the forbidden emotions thrumming in her chest.

“I only wanted to thank you for your help last night,” she whispered, feeling the stares of the soldiers on them. “For the salve and for tipping off my sisters.”

Ward looked at her intently. “You really love them.”

“We protect each other.” She shrugged. “Almost like you do.”

“Is that why you’re really here, or to pick up where we left off last night?”

“There’s nothing to pick up.”

“Who’s the liar now?”

Naithea’s cheeks flushed red. No matter how much she insisted that nothing had happened between them, that nothing ever would, Ward saw through her like an open book, as if he held the key to her heart and could glimpse her secrets and feelings.

“You’re holding it wrong.” Ward cleared his throat. “If you keep wielding it like that, you’ll eventually lose a finger.”

The commander took her hand in his, guiding it to close over the hilt of his sword. A wave of warmth surged through her skin, his proximity stealing her breath. Naithea did her best to feign indifference, wiggling the sword in her fingers and looking up at him for approval.

“Like this?”

“Perfect,” he nodded before turning to Leonel. “Soldier Ramsdean.”

“Yes, Commander?”

“I’ll take it from here,” he informed him.

Leonel’s jaw hardened. “Of course.”

They resumed training. This time without weapons. According to Ward, the best weapon was the warrior’s own body, and a sword would be of no use if your opponent disarmed you in battle.

Naithea learned the positions he showed her, and as she did so, she vowed that one day she’d fight as fearlessly as them if she trained hard and didn’t give up in the process. It was hard not to when every time she tried to keep her balance she stumbled and fell on her ass. Again and again and again, until bruises began to form under the fabric of her trousers.

But each time, Ward was there to pick her up.