Page 25 of Heirs of the Cursed (A Curse for Two Souls #1)

24

Pixies’ Forest

Naithea panted as she rose to her feet, her body aching. Even days after the commander of the Royal Army had agreed to train her, she was still getting used to the arduous effort it took to raise her weapons, attack her opponent, and take the blows.

In the evenings, Ward paid with a bag of gold vramnias to enjoy her mere company. They locked themselves in the most luxurious room of the brothel to do nothing but talk, until Naithea finally fell asleep and Ward watched her in a similar chair in which he’d spent that first night. And with each minute, hour and day they spent together, she felt that the Commander of Death was being honest with her about his feelings.

She knew it was wrong, but she trusted him.

Despite his reputation.

Despite his image.

Despite everything he stood for.

Naithea raised an eyebrow in the commander’s direction at the exact moment she disarmed Leonel. Her confident expression hid her own surprise, since it was the first time she’d managed to disarm the soldier in a maneuver that hadn’t nearly cut her hand. And even so, she couldn’t help but feel at ease, as if she’d been born for it: to be a warrior, to wipe out her enemies and bring them down to her feet, so that, repentant, they would kneel in surrender.

The only reason Naithea was allowed to stay was because of a deceptive agreement. The commander had assured Madame Dimond that he needed her connections with the young women from Bellmare to help them find the lost princesses. Her mistress had agreed at the sight of the three bags filled with gold vramnias.

Ward looked with pride at her accomplishment. His eyes lingered on Naithea, even though Soldier Pyre was trying to get his attention, probably telling him about the developments in their investigation.

The soldiers had been paying special attention to the most bustling areas of the city, scouring every street. From what he’d told her, the only thing they’d found were Two Bloods—men and women too old to be Amira and Meissa Boreaalinen, who had been locked in the dungeons to be extensively interrogated day and night.

When he accompanied Naithea back to the brothel, Ward often stopped in the library to inquire about the protective wards behind which the princesses might be hiding. But once again, his search had been unsuccessful.

Naithea could feel the frustration in her own chest. She could see it now as Ward nodded silently, a serious expression on his face, and walked away from the ring to attend what appeared to be an urgent matter.

“You’re getting better, princess,” Eames Cranner acknowledged, leaning against a tree trunk. “Gaining strength.”

Naithea grinned. “I feel stronger.”

“There’s still a lot of work to do. Those arms won’t build muscle if you don’t lift weight,” he reminded her.

“My arms are fine as they are, thank you.”

Eames lifted an eyebrow. “It’s still heavy, isn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

“Well done.” Leonel raised his arms to clap hands with her. “Next time aim lower.”

“At your manhood?” she asked teasingly.

“Only when it’s Eames’.”

“I know where to aim if I want to kill someone, Leo,” she reminded him. “Throat, heart . . . It doesn’t seem to be difficult.”

A dry chuckle reached Naithea’s ears. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Fawke Biceus, Ward’s second in command, had been present during each of her training sessions. Not to guide her nor to correct her, but to make sure she wasn’t a bloody traitor.

Ever since the Night of the Tides, when their gazes had met through her window, a strange sense of danger had washed over her.

Run, her magic warned her.

All the same, Naithea wouldn’t be intimidated by him. Nothing would keep her from achieving her own mission. If she wished to keep her sisters safe then she must do her utmost to become the fiercest warrior in Laivalon.

“We’re done with combat training for the day,” Leonel said. “But Eames is right. You need to build up your strength and endurance.”

She nodded, turning her attention away from the soldier’s abysmal eyes and replacing her insecurity with a surge of confidence.

“Let’s get to it.”

They raced for half an hour, dodging the trees whose leaves had begun to fall with the arrival of winter. Naithea’s lungs burned from the lack of fresh air, but she didn’t give up. She accelerated her run until she kept pace with Leonel, gasping for air.

By the time they stopped, her chest was rising and falling rapidly.

“It’s almost gone,” Leonel nodded toward her face.

Naithea brought her hand to her cheek. “As if it never happened.”

“I’m sorry, Thea,” he apologized immediately. “I should have been there. I wouldn’t have left your side if I’d known what they would do.”

Days ago, Soldier Magnar had been rather rough with her during one of her training sessions. When he had disarmed Naithea and pinned her against a log with the tip of his sword, hot blood had trickled down her cheek. A lesson the hetaira had learned, but that had angered Ward more than ever.

He had come out of the tent where Osmond Desford, the Healer of Weapons, was treating Naithea and had threatened to punish the soldier with the same sword that had wounded her.

Ward kept his word. Yet, it wasn’t he who led the punishment. No, the commander allowed Naithea to have her vengeance. When he offered her the sword, she knew what had to be done if she wished them to stop seeing her only as the most expensive cunt in the City of the Sea.

Without blinking, she repaid him in kind.

“It’s not your fault,” Naithea told him, holding his hand.

“But I—”

“You are a good man, Leo,” she interrupted him.

“You’re only saying that because you’re afraid I’ll stop training you,” Leonel joked.

Naithea rolled her eyes. She’d been so frightened by the arrival of the Royal Army, by the stories that had crossed the cities of the kingdom about evil and heartless soldiers, that she hadn’t stopped to think that, among them, noble people did exist.

Leonel was one of them. And while Naithea had used him that first night to get the information she wanted and nearly took his life in the act, she loved him. Not in the same way she loved her sisters, but perhaps someday she would. They had become friends, and she didn’t want to know a world where that wasn’t the case.

“No. I just think you’re better than the king you serve and his even more vile son.”

Leonel tensed and his light blue gaze wandered among the thick trunks that surrounded them. “I had no choice,” he admitted. “I was recruited by the Crown.”

“You must miss your home.”

“Camdenn isn’t my home.”

“It’s not?” she asked, perplexed.

“I’m a Bellmarian by birth.” A smile devoid of happiness lifted his chapped lips. “It feels strange to be back after so many years.”

“Have you visited your family?”

“No, I don’t know how I would. The man my mother raised no longer exists. I’m too much of a coward to see the disappointment on her face.”

There was pain in Leonel’s eyes; a pain that he repressed and hid deep inside. Naithea noticed it and lifted the soldier’s chin so that he looked her in the eyes.

“I’m sure it’s not like that. She must miss you, you’re still her son.”

Leonel shrugged, wanting to change the subject. “You chose to join us. Why?”

Any normal person would wonder why a whore wished to train in the art of war without any prior training. In Kirus Allencort’s kingdom, women only served to breed, nurture and satisfy their husbands. And poor and penniless women like her, to sell their bodies in search of survival.

“Because when the time comes I want to be ready to fight for those I love.”

“Does it still hurt?” he asked curiously. “Not physically, but . . .”

Madame Dimond’s whippings came to her mind, as did the image of Ward defending her. She didn’t want to feel that desperate for someone to save her ever again.

“I’m glad you weren’t there to witness it,” she whispered.

Leonel rested his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I would have defended you, Thea. Even if my commander hadn’t.”

Naithea hugged him without hesitation. It was in moments like these that she needed to show Leonel she’d defend him with tooth and nail as well, no matter the consequences.

“Let’s go. We’re done for the day.”

“I think I need a moment alone.”

“I’ll wait for you at the camp, then,” Leonel agreed.

Naithea watched him disappear among the hazel and ash trees, leaving her alone among the peaceful nature where the pixies that still remained hidden resided.

The reason she’d needed time by herself wasn’t due to mere selfishness. Since she’d joined the soldiers’ camp, something inside her had changed. The magic coursing through her veins had grown like a dark shadow that was beginning to eclipse the light in her soul. She could hear the monster in her mind growling hungrily, wanting to take control.

Soon, Naithea wouldn’t be strong enough to keep it at bay, and that frightened her.

She didn’t want to hurt innocent people, people she loved. If she lost control, she’d lose herself utterly in that lust for power and blood.

‘Surrender to me.’

‘Give me what I desire.’

Naithea growled under her breath at that malevolent voice rumbling through her body and covered her ears with her hands as if by doing so she could silence it. She wouldn’t. The monster belonged to her; it was an undeniable part of her.

“These woods are dangerous for a woman to wander into on her own.”

The blood froze in her veins when she heard Fawke Biceus’ voice behind her.

“Unless you fear some small magical creatures, there is no danger at all,” she informed him as she spun on her heels to face him.

“There are far more deadly monsters than mere insect fairies.”

‘Enchant him. Sink him into utter blackness.’

She clenched her hands into fists and dug her nails into her palms to fight back the desire to devour the soldier’s soul.

“What do you want?”

Fawke laughed with murderous coldness. “What I want is beyond your knowledge of this world,” he revealed as he approached her with his hands clasped behind his back. “But to answer your question, I want you gone. For good.”

His revelation didn’t take her by surprise. Fawke’s distrust had been in evidence from the moment they met. The soldier hadn’t hesitated to take every possible opportunity to show her that he hated her.

“I have an agreement with Commander Ward and I plan to honor it until the day you leave Bellmare,” Naithea assured, without wavering.

“You think I don’t notice what’s going on between you and the commander?” He took a step toward her. “What do you think will happen when his mission is over and returns to Camdenn? That he will take you with him?”

Naithea tensed her jaw. “That’s none of your business.”

“I’m quite an observant man. I know secrets that would keep you awake at night, including those of the commander. Here, away from the eyes of the capital, he has forgotten his duties, forgotten his darkness . . . Because of you. And that light must be extinguished once and for all.”

Naithea’s magic contracted in her veins like a caged animal, tugging at her for release. Still, she didn’t let the soldier see how weak she felt inside for fighting against herself.

‘Make him repent.’

‘Make him pay.’

“Stop,” she pleaded softly to the monster inside her.

But Fawke Biceus heard her. “I’ll stop when you’re gone.”

“Don’t.” Naithea took a step back.

Not in fear.

In warning.

“Oh, but I want to,” he purred.

Fawke lunged at Naithea with his dagger held high. He swung it skillfully, and she was quick to dodge the first few lunges. Yet at the fifth, the tip of the dagger cut into her arm. A low hiss left her parted lips as she lowered her hand to the wound, where her fingers became stained with her own blood.

Despite the pain, Naithea didn’t let herself be defeated. She struck Fawke’s stomach with her fist to stop him from coming any closer, just like Leonel had taught her.

His eyes darkened with fury, and attacked again and again, with the precision and grace of an ancient warrior. It was as if he’d spent a lifetime training to be ruthless and lethal, beyond the wars he’d trained for.

Winning didn’t seem possible. Her left arm beat with pain, and soon her thigh did as well when the blade cut through the fabric of her pants. The soldier smiled—a smile that reminded her that she was weak, useless, and always would be.

Still, Naithea swallowed the grunt of exertion as she rested her weight on her injured leg and lifted the other into the air, just in time to kick the dagger from Fawke Biceus’ hand. She spun on her axis, and kicked him once again in the stomach to send him crashing to the ground. But with a roar that could shake oceans, he caught her ankle to drag her down with him.

Her head hit the ground, but Naithea was too stunned to even scream. She tried remembering Ward’s instructions, analyzing her opponent’s weaknesses and any other thing that could buy her some more time before her inevitable death.

Fawke was faster, moving atop of her to pin down her arms and legs with his own until she was completely exposed.

“You put up a good fight,” he mocked. “But you will never be able to beat me.”

She stirred. “Screw you.”

As she was about to do the last thing in her power, to scream for help, for Ward, Fawke’s thick hands closed around her throat.

“I’ll enjoy watching as you struggle for air. As you die in my hands and disappear in utter oblivion.”

“He will know,” Naithea growled, trying to convince herself. “He’ll know you killed me.”

“You don’t give me enough credit, darling. I’ve lived a lot longer than you realize,” he said with a devilish grin. “He’ll think it was one of the unstable Bellmarians you’re so eager to protect. And then, we’ll reduce this damned city to ashes once and for all and the danger will vanish for good.”

Fawke’s grip tightened on her throat and squeezed hard, turning Naithea’s breathing into an inaudible gasp. The air was slowly running out of her grasp and the burning in her lungs spread throughout her body.

She tried to scream. Yet all she managed to muster were faint gasps escaping from her throat.

Naithea clawed at his hands, at his face, to get him away from her, but to no avail.

‘Do it.’

And so Naithea cried.

She wept because she understood that she wouldn’t survive if she didn’t give in and surrender to that monster, willing to fight for both of their survival. Her eyes fluttered shut completely, giving it control.

As she opened her eyes, the boreal hues were replaced by absolute white light. She curled her lips into a feline grin, her lips parting to intone the melody of doom that vowed to grant her every wish.

Naithea could feel the song of her power working its way through Fawke’s soul, tearing down the walls of his being step by step and weaving the web of its enchantment until it took away his free will. What she saw inside his essence, the overwhelming darkness and thick mist shielding his memories, made her gasp in frighten.

The soldier’s eyes widened as the monster delved inside him and swam like a dangerous siren of destruction.

His grip loosened, until he merely held her.

Naithea pushed him and Fawke fell to the ground, mesmerized. She pressed her hand against her sore throat and inspected her wounds, before fury consumed her.

After all that time, the monster had come out to play.

“I warned you, but you wouldn’t listen,” she said with an aggressive coldness in her voice. “Now, you will serve me until there is nothing left of you that I need. Let’s start with something simple, shall we? What did you find in Ro’i Rājya?”

“The holly of death,” he sang in reply.

Naithea’s grin widened at his obedience. “And a prince has died for it, but that’s not the whole story.”

“Princess Davinia . . .” Fawke paused, trying to fight against her magic. “She is gravely ill. The healers don’t believe she will survive.”

“So the curse is taking the lives of the heirs,” she thought aloud with satisfaction. “Good. I hope it’s enough to kill every one of them. But the king won’t let that happen.”

He shook his head, still mesmerized. “No. He must kill the princesses. Only then the order will be restored.”

Within herself, Naithea hit the invisible cage in which she was trapped, wanting to stop the monster that continued to take everything in its path. The monster ignored her and continued to weave its spell in the soldier’s mind to venture into the depths of his memories; there, where an inhuman danger lay.

“And to do so, you must find them. The king deployed his troops throughout the kingdom. What information can you give me about that?”

Fawke hesitated for a second, but his resistance collapsed as soon as Naithea’s darkness spread through him like a venomous snake coiling around his limbs.

“Hamleigh has proven to be a dead . . . end. The troops are heading back to the capital through Saevus Forest to check the gates in Evrethia,” he replied dutifully. “General Koller is leading a platoon through Dawnfall with the help of a fraudster and a faceless man.”

“How?”

“They have . . .” Fawke growled, his lips already purple. “Provided a compass that detects the presence of daimonas.”

“That does sound most interesting.” The monster absorbed such information with pleasure, tasting more and more of the soldier’s soul. “Why haven’t they used them yet?”

Fawke Biceus didn’t respond.

His defenses were strong, resilient. Far more so than Naithea had believed. Still, the darkness that unfolded over Fawke was beginning to consume him. Slowly and successfully, as she’d always wished.

The soldier’s eyes moved from side to side, as if her power had blinded him and he was searching for the way back to life.

She was taking too much.

She knew it.

And yet the monster inside her didn’t care.

“What is it that you’re hiding?” Naithea insisted.

A guttural cry left Fawke’s lips. His eyes were still white, like hers. Yet, they were invaded by waves of a blackness she’d never witnessed before. Lost in his rage and madness, Fawke leaped forward, ready to strike as he fought against her magic and freed himself from it completely.

The soldier was now approaching her with an ancestral fury. He stretched one of his arms in her direction with an open hand, and a mighty force tugged at her. She dug her boots into the earth, but even nature betrayed her.

She was pulled by an invisible magic, until Fawke’s hand closed around her fragile throat once again. The soldier’s fingers dug into her skin and blood began to run down her neck.

Naithea’s body shrieked, cracked and broke. She felt fragments of her essence escaping from her chest and threatening to be swallowed into the deepest darkness.

He was absorbing her magic.

Naithea screamed at the top of her lungs, rumbling through every part of her body with the voracity of a storm. And as if her cries and suffering invoked the goddesses themselves, the borealis gemstone that hung between her breasts unleashed a celestial burst that separated Naithea from Fawke until they both lay on the ground, locking the soldier in a disturbing blackness of nightmares.

Her eyelashes batted heavily. Her head throbbing from the effort.

The roar of enraged stars was the last thing Naithea Utari heard before she fell into the same darkness.