Page 34 of Heirs of the Cursed (A Curse for Two Souls #1)

33

Saevus Forest

Darcia didn’t know for how long they’d been running.

With Alasdair’s help, she trudged forward, her body, soul, and heart unraveling with each step. The thief guided her through the forest amidst caresses of comfort, leading her away from her stepbrother, from the circus, from her home . . . Away from Dawnfall.

Haunted by dreams of a darkness filled with dust, stone and nightmares, the first thing she saw upon opening her eyes was Alasdair. Not the usual masked face, but the one that truly belonged to him.

His slightly disheveled hair fell over his emerald eyes. His skin was pale, even paler under the moonlight, yet his features were firm. He must be about her age, perhaps a couple of years older. Her eyes lingered on the small mole under his left eye and the long scar near his throat.

“You’re awake.”

Darcia stood up sore against the ash trunk. The scent of the night and the icy winter wind shook her for an instant. She watched as Alasdair mashed a strange ointment against the palm of his hand. When he crouched down in front of her, she couldn’t help but pull away in slight fear.

“I won’t harm you, gorgeous.”

“You’ve always been there,” she said. “You are the street violinist . . . And at the mayor’s ball, you—”

“Being always in the shadows can get boring,” he said,. “Don’t move, though. You might open your stitches.”

Stitches ?

Darcia pulled the cloth away from her shoulder to see the wound caused by Conrad and his stupid dagger.

“May I?” Alasdair asked, and only moved closer when she nodded. He smeared a couple of fingers with the ointment and placed it on the wound. Darcia snorted as the sting seared her skin. “It’s a remedy from the old academies.”

“What’s in it?”

“Poison,” he said, and Darcia’s eyes widened. Alasdair traced his fingers over the wound again with. “Natural clay, calendula and a little mugwort. If I wanted to hurt you, I’ve had plenty of time to do it, haven’t I?”

Darcia sighed and lowered her gaze. She let him continue to smear her skin with the herbs and mud before cleaning his hand with a worn piece of rag that hung from his belt.

“Would you like some water or food?” he offered.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to starve,” he said, grabbing a bag hidden among some bushes. Among the shadows of the night, Darcia caught a glimpse of the black wolf licking his paw with heaviness. “He arrived ten minutes ago. It seems he knew when you were going to wake up.”

“Is he yours?” she asked curiously.

“Wolves belong to no one. Lykeios is no exception. He just likes me enough not to bite my head off.”

Darcia tensed involuntarily when she saw the wolf approach her. He wasn’t like the ones she’d seen before, the ones she’d supposedly lived with. As imposing as he was, Lykeios didn’t pounce on her. He merely reached over to sniff the ointment on her wound, as if he wanted to make sure it was good for Darcia, and sat down close to her.

“He likes you,” Alasdair stated, leaning his weight on another log with his arms crossed.

“More than you, you mean?”

“You say that as if it were hard.”

In another life, she’d have laughed. But the pain in her body and soul prevented her from doing so, as reality hit her.

Darcia was a cursed princess, one of the rightful heirs to Ro’i Rājya’s throne.

And she had a sister.

Her memories rushed back to Caeli. Her dead girlfriend on the floor of the circus, where they had both worked so hard to get the money to leave and have an eternity together. Still, she’d died to protect her, and Darcia couldn’t help but wonder if she’d have done it anyway if she’d known who she really was.

She brought a hand to the pocket where she still kept the braided bracelet, and the pit of her stomach tightened.

“I’m sorry about your girlfriend,” Alasdair said in a mournful whisper. “I truly am.”

Darcia closed her eyes. She no longer wanted to live in a world without Caeli. She’d promised her that they would leave without looking back, together, to seek a better life. Now that the pieces of her true life came together, Darcia had to move forward without her by her side.

A strange new taste settled in her mouth—bitter, cold but satisfying at the same time . . .

The taste of revenge.

She had nothing left to lose; everything was gone. Her family, her friends, her home, her love . . . And Darcia wouldn’t let that go unpunished. Especially not knowing that Conrad, or the Fiend as he preferred to call himself, was on the loose. She’d hunt him down herself, but first she had something important to do.

With difficulty, Darcia rose to her feet.

“Where are you going?”

“To find my sister.”

“What?” Alasdair moved quickly toward her. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“If Conrad was being honest, her life is in as much danger as mine. I can’t let that happen.”

“Don’t you realize that’s just what they expect you to do?”

Darcia faced him, her tear-filled eyes a reflection of how broken she was.

How broken she felt.

“I’m not going to let Conrad get away with it. After what he’s done to me, after taking away my . . .” Her voice broke. “I’m going to find my sister, and then I’m going to kill him, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

Alasdair hesitated. He set the ointment down among his few belongings and stared at the wolf, who was curiously and patiently waiting for his next move.

“All right, then, let’s pack up,” he said in a soft, cautious voice. “We’ll leave in fifteen minutes.”

“ We are leaving?” Darcia asked in confusion. “Together?”

He walked over to the satchel and shook off the fragments of leaves that clung to it. “Since they’re looking for both of us to kill us, it’s a little wiser to have some company to drown our sorrows with.”

“Even if the company is insufferable?”

Alasdair smiled again. “I heard those are the best kind.”

As rain washed over Lên Rājya hours later, Darcia and Alasdair found an inn hidden among the trees to spend the night. The innkeeper asked no questions, merely accepting the gold vramnias Alasdair handed him before providing them a key along with a candlestick to guide them up the stairs.

She’d never slept anywhere other than her bed, the stables, or the circus. Being so far away from everything that was familiar to her was unsettling. It wasn’t freedom, but some of those chains had broken somehow.

And that had cost her everything.

Alasdair filled the brass tub with hot water for Darcia, in which she stayed for what felt like hours, inspecting the number of bruises in her skin. A vague and ghostly reminder of all she’d suffered, and a promise that they would be the last she’d ever receive.

In the comfort of the small chamber, she held her girlfriend’s bracelet between her fingers and allowed herself to cry. She didn’t want to say goodbye to Caeli and to that part of her that had tended her soul. It had all happened so fast, and she was now forced to come to terms with it. But not everyone had the ability to understand loneliness.

Darcia looked at her dress hanging on a chair. The light green color had become a scarlet garment that exuded pain, loss and guilt. It had been her fault. Everything that had happened to Dawnfall, what had happened to Caeli . . .

Her fault.

As she emerged from the bathroom, Darcia’s eyes were still puffy. Alasdair was waiting for her, laying in the only bed in the room. He’d gotten her some black slacks and a baggy, frayed shirt. Darcia was grateful that he had. She wouldn’t have been able to put that dress back on no matter how many times she washed it to erase the remnants of blood.

She walked over to the bed and, before she sat down, Alasdair pushed the covers aside for her to climb in.

“Would you like something to eat?”

Darcia shook her head. She tucked herself in and rested her head on the pillow, staring at the rain pattering against the thin glass. A repetitive, endless sound. Alasdair lay down as well.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She closed her eyes tightly. If she spoke, she’d cry, and she didn’t want to break down again.

Minutes passed, but Darcia still couldn’t fall asleep. The darkness in her mind attracted all the traumatic events of that night. The fire, the blood, the loss . . .

But she had to face it.

She had to be brave.

“Get inside my mind.”

Darcia turned to look at him. “What?”

“Get inside my mind,” Alasdair repeated. “Yours isn’t going to give you peace right now, and that’s what you need in order to rest.”

“What makes you think your mind won’t torture me any more than mine?”

“If I wanted to torture you, I would do it myself,” he replied.

Darcia pondered for a few seconds before sighing and shifting her position. She ignored the pain in her body and faced the thief. The two shared a silent gaze before she closed her eyes.

The painful images returned; yet this time, they were short-lived. For when she opened her eyes again, she saw Alasdair surrounded by luminous threads, as neat and beautiful in color as the moon itself.

She admired him from the ground, watching them glow each time she blinked.

“Not that bad of a mind for such a wicked being, is it?”

A faint smile, that was all Darcia could offer him.

There was silence, so much silence.

The pounding in her chest soothed, and Darcia felt as her thoughts intertwined with Alasdair’s. She caged her power the best she could, not wishing to invade his privacy.

“Nothing bad will happen if you let go,” he told her, as if he understood her fears. “You won’t succeed in finding anything I don’t want you to find.”

“Is that your gift as a dryad?”

“I have many gifts,” Alasdair replied.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Without offering her an explanation, his eyes rested on her, sympathetic and curious.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Darcia ordered him.

“Like what?”

“As if you pity me.”

Alasdair’s steps echoed around them. When the distance between them shortened, he held out a hand, which she stared in confusion.

“Dance with me, gorgeous,” he told her.

“What?”

“You need to appease your mind enough for sleep to overcome you. You won’t be plagued by nightmares here.”

Nightmares or her own reality, for horrible things would soon unfold. The beginning of something greater. Something Darcia would have to face when she awoke the next day. He stretched out his arm further and, uncertain how she gathered her strength, she accepted it.

At the first contact of their skin, Alasdair’s hand was warm against hers before his fingers locked on hers. She let him hold her waist carefully, as if she were a porcelain doll easy to break. He nodded, giving her permission. Her body trembled, but Darcia rested her head on his shoulder anyway.

As soon as they began to move in a paced dance, the threads of Alasdair’s mind changed color: a mixture between a granule of moonlight and a brilliant boreal light.

A strange warmth spread through her body. A feeling that made Darcia believe she was protected and safe. In his mind, she wasn’t a cursed princess, she wasn’t an heiress to a kingdom of stone and shadows, she wasn’t a fugitive whose head was to be cut off by the king.

She was Darcia Voreia.

A circus illusionist.

A girl.

Alasdair spun her in his arms, drawing her away from her intrusive thoughts, and guided her with each of his steps until a soft warmth touched her lips. Every time she staggered on her own feet, the thief steadied her.

Darcia danced until her legs began to ache as violently as her heart did.

“You may go now, if you wish,” she murmured, leaning back against his chest. “I appreciate what you’ve done, but you need to rest.”

He pulled her even tighter against him. “I’m staying.”

And just as he promised, Alasdair Hale stayed by her side.