Page 3 of Heirs of the Cursed (A Curse for Two Souls #1)

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Bellmare

Bellmare’s highest-paid hetaira slipped into the tavern like smoke, every gaze irresistibly drawn to her. Naithea Utari wasn’t just any whore. Men of high rank and common blood alike traveled from the far reaches of the kingdom for a taste of her, a moment wrapped in the mystery she wore like a second skin.

Not even a dangerous storm could stop the sailors from docking their ships, pouring out with gold vramnias ready to spend an evening they would remember for a lifetime. They would stumble into the tavern near the brothel, caught in a feverish race to see who could pay more. With the highest bidder by her side, the other stumbling drunks would stagger down the promenade to the brothel.

Naithea hated it—the drunken pawing, the endless faces that blurred into one, the noise. Nights like these made her crave silence, a dark corner where she could disappear. She wanted to be able to lock herself in her house and sink into her bed to ignore the perversions taking place outside. But she couldn’t do that, for those perversions of which she was a partaker were the ones that assured her of a roof over her head.

She’d never wished to be part of that underworld; yet fate had forced her hand. The illness that had claimed her mother’s life had driven her to the streets when she was barely more than a child. After her real family had abandoned her, casting her away in a little basket to be swallowed by the merciless waves of Salismar Ocean, Iseabail Forsàidh had saved her.

And when it came time for Naithea to return that favor . . . she had failed.

Naithea bit her tongue to fight back the tears that burned her eyes. She couldn’t allow herself to cry; not in front of so many customers. Upon living on theft and minimal subsistence, the madam of Laivalon’s most famous brothel had taken her under her wing. She’d gotten her off the streets and hidden her from those who wished to harm her in order to collect Iseabail’s debts—debts that the madam had paid and that Naithea now had to settle.

At the age of thirteen, the madam trained her, shaping her beauty into something sharp, something dangerous, like a diamond waiting to be discovered. She’d turned her into her most prized possession: her most craved lady-in-waiting; her favorite hetaira, the one who could bend men to their knees with nothing more than a glance.

Hers, to do whatever she wanted with her.

Naithea stroked the goblet in her hand and stirred the sweet, dark wine that comforted her in the evenings before seeking her next customer.

The Grumpy Dwarf tavern was frequented by the wealthiest sailors and merchants of the city, who would return to the treacherous ocean before dawn with the intention of discovering new lands and riches. It was the perfect place to find a man willing to spend his money on a night of unrestrained passion.

She held her head high as she noticed how she was being watched. A mane of hair as dark as obsidian fell down her shoulders to her waist. She usually wore it tied back in a braid, as men seemed to prefer it when she had her neck exposed. Still, that night, Naithea let her hair down, decorated with the gold barrettes Madame Dimond had lent her.

Her body was covered by a sheer gauzy dress; a patchwork of fabric that had been thrown over her shoulders, that had been sifted over her waist to highlight her figure and that revealed her long, tanned legs.

But men who sailed for days—if not weeks—without seeing a woman, didn’t care what Naithea was wearing, as long as she stripped once they were alone and didn’t squeal when they did what they wanted with her.

Their gazes though weren’t only focused on her exposed body, but on her most distinctive feature: her eyes, composed of shades of blue and purple and illuminated by flashes of yellow and green.

Licking the drop of wine that fell from her index finger, Naithea caught the gaze of seven different men, who looked at her dumbfounded. She scanned the room, recognizing some of the usual patrons of the tavern and thus the brothel.

Her attention drifted to one of her companions, who made the secret signal agreed upon by the hetairas to determine the absence of the most feared man in Bellmare. The Fiend, a man who roamed the cities making all sorts of deals for his own gain. Besides the king, Naithea believed he might be the second most powerful man in the world.

“Do you want some?” Jehanne’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. Her best friend took another step closer to her and grabbed a dark bag from between her breasts.

Naithea grinned in amusement at the sight of the contents protruding from the small bag. The powder was bluish and shimmered under the candlelight. It was pixie dust, collected from tiny, celestial fairies that inhabited the forest near Bellmare. Once inhaled, the powder produced hallucinogenic effects that had made it a much sought-after drug throughout the kingdom.

She raised her gaze to her friend. “How did you get it?”

“One of the many benefits of sleeping with a ship’s captain,” Jehanne said before dipping her pale finger into the powder and bringing it up to her freckled nose. She then inhaled the magic dust sharply. “Thank you for suggesting him to me. I still don’t understand how you tell them apart.”

Naithea knew what she meant.

A long time ago, she’d realized that, if she had to expose her body and hate it for the phantom marks of unwanted touch, she’d at least make sure it was worth it. She didn’t waste her time on the first man that approached her; she’d search for the one who could pay the highest prices.

And every night, Naithea made sure that her best friend had a pleasant time as well.

“Do you see the man over there?” She pointed to one side of the tavern with her chin. Jehanne nodded upon seeing the man of medium height and nervous eyes. “He looks like he’s never been in female company before and is about to piss himself. That’s good, because for once you’ll do whatever you want with him. But I’m afraid that he doesn’t have so much as a copper vramnia to spend.”

Jehanne laughed, a wine red lock of her hair falling over her face to cover her amber eyes. “You’re wicked, Thea.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Naithea replied, and looked around for her next prey. “The one who’s separated from the others? Simply disgusting. Don’t be within six feet of him because he won’t leave you alone again for the rest of the week.” Naithea smiled as she found the perfect man. “But that one . . . Handsome, malleable, and a little fly soon to be swatted by the soles of my beautiful shoes.”

“They are beautiful indeed,” Jehanne remarked, eyeing the heeled sandals that climbed up Naithea’s legs like silver vines. “Why him ?”

“A sigil is pinned on his jacket. He’s not a simple sailor, but a soldier. And it’s easy money, since he won’t last more than five minutes. That’s exactly why you want him in your bed. Go get him.”

“It’s not me he’s looking at,” her friend said with an amused chuckle.

The usual mask that protected her emotions covered her face, invisible but heavy. Naithea watched as the man she’d just analyzed raised his mug of ale in her direction; an invitation for her to approach. Seeing that the hetaira didn’t move, the rest of the soldiers around him laughed and tapped his shoulder in pity.

She savored that moment. Naithea always shunned them at first, wanting to sink their ego into the Ocean of the Dreaded Depths.

The hetaira walked among the merchants, sailors and soldiers, intrigued by the latter’s presence in Bellmare. Lower ranked warriors had always inhabited the city to ensure the safe arrival of goods imported from neighboring cities to the capital. Yet the soldiers of higher ranks like him never frequented the taverns. The defenders of the kingdom were offered the most extravagant garments, the best inns and every luxury they could afford.

Their presence in The Grumpy Dwarf was a mystery; one that Naithea would solve.

As she glided gracefully through the tavern, she stopped behind the blond-haired man in impeccable uniform. Naithea swept her hands up his back, feeling the muscles shift beneath his attire.

“Good evening, soldier,” she murmured seductively next to his ear, before brushing her body against his arm and stopping in front of him. “What can I do for you tonight?”

The soldier’s light blue eyes widened as he scanned her, taking in every detail. He struggled to find the right words to say, giving one of his companions time to interrupt him. It was a man with imposing dark eyes, like a night doomed by the absence of starlight. He gazed at her with malice and halted his attention on the necklace that hung between her breasts.

A predatory grin tugged at his lips before he asked, “What’s your name, whore?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” the soldier with mid-length blond hair said immediately.

It was considered a disgrace to ask such an expensive hetaira her name. Naithea was sure the soldier was aware of that, but he didn’t seem to care in the least.

“Ausra.” The lie slipped from her lips with ease. Naithea would never reveal her true name, the one her mother had given her, for a man to tarnish it.

“ Ausra ,” the soldier savored her name. “My friend Leonel has secured the future of the kingdom. Be a good whore and satisfy the man of the hour, will you?”

Naithea had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting. She knew what they did to disobedient citizens who raised their voices at members of the army. The rebels were living proof of that, their bodies hanging over the walls of the mayor’s mansion for revolting against the king. If she looked at them in the wrong way, she’d join them soon enough.

Her friends had always warned her that her curiosity would one day bring her doom, and perhaps that day had arrived at last. Night after night, Naithea reveled in stories of other realms, of darkness and magic, as part of the payment for her services. And those stories sometimes offered greater comfort than gold vramnias.

The story of a soldier who had saved Lên Rājya was too interesting to miss.

“There’s no time to waste then,” she said, offering her hand.

The lump in Leonel’s throat rose and fell as he swallowed, but he let her drag him toward the doors of the tavern and to the dark city streets.

The weight of a glance on her bare back made Naithea turn around one last time. There, sitting at a secluded table under the gloom of the candlelights, two eyes as blue as the night sky glinted at her with malice.

Naithea felt that gaze all the way to the brothel and couldn’t shake it for the rest of the night.