Page 35 of Heirs of the Cursed (A Curse for Two Souls #1)

34

Pixies’ Forest

Naithea spent the sleepless night, freezing in Pixies’ Forest as she watched the Royal Army camp in the distance. Confronting Killian with the knowledge she now possessed had been stupid and risky, but she’d had to do it.

When she’d walked into that painting, she’d never thought she would end up in the forest of all places. She had almost wished it would lead her home.

To Ro’i Rājya.

She didn’t know what she expected to find there. Her life was in Bellmare, where she could visit her mother’s grave, and near her sisters so she could protect them. She couldn’t imagine a life where she wasn’t by their side. Now, everything she had was in jeopardy because of the past she’d gone looking for and discovered. Her curiosity had been her undoing after all.

The future she’d wanted with Killian was now gone. They were enemies, doomed to hate each other even before they were born. Still, that didn’t mean he had to know. For that reason, Naithea had remained in the forest, grateful to be wearing pants to protect her from the cold and convenient for climbing one of the trees and watching the camp from above.

Before she disappeared forever, she had to do one last thing, and that was to get rid of a loose end. After she had plunged Fawke Biceus into a torturous darkness to save herself, the seed of her power that now united their souls allowed him to walk through her memories. And if the Healer of Weapons managed to wake him up, she’d be in great danger.

So Naithea Utari had to finish him off for good.

She jumped from the lowest branch of the tree and landed gracefully in the mud. Shielded by the darkness that the grayish clouds offered, soon drenching the streets of Bellmare, she ran toward the camp.

Naithea evaded the soldiers milling around the fire, sticking her back to the tents so as not to be noticed, and advanced toward the small tent in which Fawke had laid for the past few weeks. Her heart raced as she stepped into it and saw him sprawled on one of the beds, sound asleep.

She had hoped Killian would have killed him for her, but he hadn’t.

Now, it was in her hands.

Naithea took a silent step forward, then another. When she was in front of the bloody bastard, she began to lower her hands onto his chest to absorb the last bit of his soul that kept him alive.

The sudden sound of voices warned her of someone approaching. She backed away, quickly exiting the tent through the back entrance. Her heartbeat pumped in her ears, but she held her breath to hear the conversation.

Hidden and alert, Naithea waited.

To hear that her plan had failed before putting it into action.

Prince Killian had tried to blame the pixie dust for what his eyes had seen the night before. But the goddesses had never heard his prayers, and they wouldn’t now.

At dawn, Killian departed in search of answers that would confirm his suppositions—ones he wished weren’t true. He confiscated the civil records once more, searching for Naithea Utari’s birth documents. It had to be somewhere, since she’d claimed to have lived in Bellmare her entire life.

After a long search, the prince came across some papers about her alleged mother, Iseabail, and her arrival to the city. Yet there was no sign of any pregnancy.

Killian clenched his fists as he took in what it meant. Iseabail had never been pregnant and Naithea wasn’t her daughter. Still, he didn’t give up. To do so meant that he’d been a weak and pathetic dryad, and that she’d deceived him.

The investigation led him to the harbor, where the stench of fish and salt water was unbearable. He talked to several people until he found a man, washing down the dock and draining the bloody water back into the ocean.

“Commander,” he said, without raising his head. “I was warned you’d be looking for me.”

“I have some questions.”

“You’ll have to ask them while I work. I have a big family to feed and my boss will refuse to pay me if the harbor isn’t clean by sundown.”

“What do you know about Iseabail Utari?”

That caught the man’s attention. “That bitch doesn’t deserve to call herself by that name anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Killian asked.

“Her maiden name was Forsàidh,” he revealed. “She took Vandrad’s after she married him.”

Vandrad.

Naithea’s father.

The man who had abandoned her.

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“You’ll need a wizard,” the man replied with a cold laugh. “He’s dead. Or so we think.”

“You think?”

“No one has seen him in years.”

“He may have moved to another city,” he suggested.

“Without his belongings?” The man clicked his tongue. “Hard to believe. They say he died from a siren’s song.”

Killian masked his emotions, feeling that familiar darkness extinguishing the flame of light that Naithea had ignited in his chest.

Not Naithea, but the Dark Twin.

One of the heirs of the cursed.

She’d lied to him, used him . . . It had all been a game to know his moves and plans so she could be one step ahead.

He returned to the camp with the speed of lightning, thirsting to see Bellmare reduced to ashes and rubble and corpses. But instead of that satisfaction he’d hoped to feel once he discovered the whereabouts of one of the cursed princesses, he found only emptiness.

“Commander!” Osmond called him.

“What?” he growled.

“Biceus is awake.”

Killian didn’t wait for the Healer of Weapons to lead him into the tent. He’d watched Fawke in that damned bed for weeks, controlling his urge to murder him for touching Naithea. At that moment, the prince was thankful he hadn’t.

He pushed back the loose ends of the tent and walked in with firm steps. His brow furrowed as he noticed that the soldier lay motionless, his eyes still closed.

“I thought you said he was awake.”

“He was, sir,” he stammered. “He drifts in and out of trance every few minutes.”

“Can he speak?” the prince asked, focusing his gaze on Fawke once more.

“Nothing he says seems to make sense. It’s as if there is still a small seed of her power embedded in his soul. It will be difficult to remove, perhaps it will remain for the rest of his life.”

Killian nodded and took another step toward the unconscious soldier. The wounds from Naithea’s nails on his face had healed and disappeared, as well as those on his hands. But there, in the center of his chest, something pulsed with hunger.

“Fawke,” Killian called out to him with a hand on his shoulder.

Soldier Biceus leapt forward, gasping for air. He coughed with his face red from exertion and struggled against the commander’s hands before the nightmares vanished before his eyes. When he recognized Killian, he lowered his hands.

“Commander,” he gasped.

“Welcome back.”

“I . . . She . . .” Fawke scanned the tent, breathing raggedly. “I can feel her.”

“Her power still lingers in your soul,” Osmond warned him.

His eyes darkened even more and descended to his chest, as if he could see that seed of magic in his soul. “The damned whore isn’t who she says she is,” he blurted out.

“I know.”

Killian had wanted to be wrong. But after the holly of death disappeared from the stone when Naithea had touched it, he knew the truth for what it was. She was a powerful and incredibly dangerous daimon.

“What?” Fawke raised his gaze. “How?”

“I’m the Commander of Death for a reason, am I not? And you just became our greatest asset.” Killian stated with a firm voice. “Tell me how it works.”

“It’s like being in a maze of darkness and demons. I could see everything, hear myself providing her with the answers she wanted with no control over my body.”

“She asked you questions?”

Fawke nodded. “She’s too interested in our mission. What I saw there . . . In her mind . . .”

“What did you see?” he insisted.

“Her past, her heritage. That bitch doesn’t belong to our kingdom. For all we know, she could have been using you to draw attention away from herself because if we’d probed further, we would have found out who she was.”

“Say it.”

The commander longed to know who she was, to know which princess had played with him all those months, because, once he did, he’d hunt her down himself . . . Even if it was the last thing he ever did.

He had fallen in love with his greatest enemy, and he’d make sure to finish her off once and for all.

“She is Amira Boreaalinen.”

Killian held his breath, feeling the hatred he’d been holding back forcefully rise to the surface, along with an unbearable pain. She’d deceived him. She’d manipulated him and used him like a toy. And that wasn’t going to go unpunished.

He had believed her.

He had protected her.

He had loved her . . .

And all she’d done was betray him.

With that final confirmation, Killian Allencort left the tent and called a meeting in the training area, where his soldiers awaited him expectantly.

“One of the princesses is in the city,” he began, pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back. The soldiers looked at him in complete silence. “The reason the compass hasn’t worked effectively as we thought is because a powerful, archaic magic protects her. As it must protect her sister in Dawnfall, if she isn’t already here.”

“Who is it, sir?” Vylan Edgerton asked.

“Some of you have made use of her services. And all of you have seen her here, in the camp. Naithea Utari is one of Ro’i Rājya’s heirs and, therefore, an enemy of the kingdom. You have an hour to get ready before we reduce Bellmare to its foundations,” he finished.

“Commander.” Eames stepped forward, bad news flashing in his brown eyes. “The Fiend’s men arrived in the city early this morning.”

Killian cursed under his breath.

That damned bastard’s dogs were known as monsters with amplified abilities. How many were there? Two? Seven? It didn’t matter. Not even all the men of the army who had accompanied him to Bellmare would be enough to fight them.

“We must hurry, then. I’ll deal with the princess myself. And then, we’ll put Amira Boreaalinen’s head on a spike for her sister to watch it burn in flames before we go after her as well.”