Page 39 of Heirs of the Cursed (A Curse for Two Souls #1)

38

Bellmare

The flames of the candles still glowed in her sisters’ room. Naithea had escaped through a window with Leonel’s help by holding on to the pebbles protruding from the exterior wall, before reentering the brothel with the stealth of a ghost.

She opened the door to her former bedroom and pushed the soldier inside to not draw attention to themselves. She then ran to Larka’s bed and descended on her knees as she shook her sister.

“Larka, wake up,” she said in a whisper, looking back at the door to make sure the Fiend’s men weren’t approaching. They were powerful enough to hear her voice through the wooden floors. “Please.”

Larka rubbed her eyes with one hand and asked with a husky voice, “Thea?”

“Yes.”

The rest of her sisters woke up at the sound of her name and Naithea’s heart warmed when noticing the concern in their voices, how they jumped out of their beds and hurried toward her. Her family.

“By the Triad, it’s you.” Jehanne dropped to the ground beside her, hugging her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Naithea assured her.

“We went looking for you, but Madame Dimond said you fell ill,” Caisen said as she brushed a lock of her ginger hair back. “That you were in confinement to prevent the disease from spreading through the brothel.”

“She lied.”

“Of course she did. But, what happened? And why are those men at your door?” Jehanne asked.

Naithea didn’t answer; she didn’t know how to do so without putting them in more danger. She lowered her gaze toward her hands, those hands that didn’t feel quite like her own anymore. Nothing did.

“Did you do it again?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

“Because if you did, we can protect you.” Larka rested her hand on Naithea’s. “We always will.”

Her eyes filled with tears at the reassurance in her sister’s voice.

It had only been two years ago, when she was paid by two men. For one night, her body was theirs to do whatever they wanted, and she had to comply. But after they’d beaten her, tying her up to the bed, the monster inside her came out to play.

Regnera and Faithe had heard the screams and entered the room without hesitation. They’d found Naithea covered in blood and the bodies of the Camdennians drained beside her feet. To protect themselves, they should have turned her over to Madame Dimond, to the soldiers even. Yet her sisters had disposed of the bodies, throwing them into the ocean after filling their stomachs with pebbles.

“They know who I am. There’s nothing you can do to protect me.”

Jehanne frowned. “What do you mean?”

Still, it was Caisen’s eyes that widened in understanding.

“It’s you.”

Naithea nodded.

“What the hell are you talking about, Caisen?” Jehanne asked, drifting her amber eyes between her sisters. At the lack of response, she insisted, “Well?”

“I’m one of them,” Naithea admitted aloud. Doing so lifted an enormous weight from her shoulders, from her chest. “One of the Dark Twins.”

“But how . . .?”

Larka’s words were lost before she could finish the question as she noticed the burly figure of a man leaning against her bedroom wall. She took the razor she kept under her pillow and pointed it at the soldier. Leonel raised his arms to show her that he posed no threat, a smirk breaking across his face.

Naithea stopped her. “Don’t.”

“What is he doing here?”

“We can trust him.”

“How can you be so sure?” Larka spat. “He could betray you and hand you to the Crown to win the king’s favor.”

“I’ll explain everything, but we must go. Now!”

The hetairas glared at Leonel, Larka more than any of them. She’d lived long enough to know that she shouldn’t trust a man, least of all a soldier of the king.

They exchanged their nightgowns for warm garments and light bags. They didn’t know how long they would be gone or to where. But they had a blind faith in Naithea, who would protect them from any evil in Laivalon.

She’d protect them, even from herself

Leonel Ramsdean was a traitor to the Crown. If his comrades discovered that he’d helped the cursed princess, they wouldn’t grant him such a lenient end as the gallows. They would burn him alive until his skin fell off and his flesh crackled in the flames, his screams etching in the wind for the rest of eternity.

Yet, he didn’t have any regrets.

He had helped each of the hetairas to descend through one of the windows of Naithea’s old room. They were much closer to the ground than before, so Leonel waited in the desolate, dark street for each of them to plop down for him to catch them.

Some of them hesitated, cursing under their breath, but obeyed when he counted to three. It was Larka, beautiful and proud, the only one who didn’t close her eyes as the air enveloped her, as if she were at ease with the sensation of falling that might bring about her death. Her body molded into Leonel’s arms and, despite the cold, her body against his provided a sudden rush of warmth. But Larka shot him a glare before jumping to the ground with nothing more than silent gratitude.

Then, they started running.

They strove to make as little noise as possible, for the presence of eleven women might attract more stares than they wished. If anyone reported seeing them, they wouldn’t make it in time. Or worse, the soldiers would come for Naithea.

Leonel knew that insisting was pointless. Naithea would never leave without knowing her sisters were safe. Only then would she run away, and he wanted to make sure his friend disappeared before someone found her.

The loud clacking of shoes pushed Leonel back to his hiding place, bringing one of his fingers to his lips to signal the hetairas to remain silent. His arm flew across Naithea’s stomach until he pinned her against the sidewall of a store, and her eyes widened in surprise at the coarse voices that followed.

“Bloody whores,” one of the Fiend’s dogs snarled.

“They couldn’t have gone far. They are eleven worthless women!”

“We must find them before the soldiers do. It’s important that it’s our master who brings her before the king.”

“Let’s split up,” a third man ordered, too close. “You, go into the forest. Zadimus, scour the marketplace. I don’t care if we have to burn down the whole damned city. Find her!”

When the echo of their boots was lost among the streets of Bellmare, they all breathed again.

“That was damn close,” Faithe whimpered.

“We don’t have much time,” Leonel informed them. “The Fiend’s dogs are known for their tracking skills.”

Naithea inhaled sharply. “I can distract them.”

“What?” Kaenna and Anera asked at the same time.

“Thea, don’t,” Regnera immediately refused.

Leonel stared at her with determination. “That’s not an option.”

“What other choice do we have?” Naithea asked. “If what you say is true, those monsters have been trained to memorize my scent. I’ve been with them for the past seven days. That they haven’t found us yet is nothing but dumb luck. I have to do this.”

“Naithea . . .”

“I’ll divert the trail and meet you at the harbor,” she assured them and then focused her gaze on Leonel. “You get that ship.”

“I will.”

Naithea unsheathed her sword before separating from the wall.

“See you on the other side.”

As Naithea took a different path to the harbor, she rubbed her garments against various structures in the city so that her scent would permeate in them and confuse the Fiend’s dogs.

The sound of voices, distant laughter and heavy steps made her heartbeat echo in her ears. But Naithea didn’t let that stop her; instead, she fed on her fear to move forward, to keep fighting for her own survival.

Hidden behind a wall, she stretched her head ahead to scan the harbor. The ocean roared loudly and dark waves crashed against the wall until salt water splashed against the stone path. Naithea returned to her hiding place as she noticed the shadow of a male figure monitoring the harbor.

One of the Fiend’s dogs.

Killian’s lessons rushed through her mind, trying to come up with a plan that would guarantee her safe escape. She could dodge them, keep misleading them until they grew tired and she had an opportunity to flee the city. But those men wouldn’t rest until they found her. The sword in her hand shone under the oil lamps, the only option she had. She could secure the path to the ship from which an oil lamp secretly signaled to her that that would be where her sisters would embark.

Her surroundings fell into an eerie silence. A strong, heavy hand rested on her shoulder, pulling her down. Naithea growled and closed her slender fingers tighter around the hilt of her sword.

“There you are, little cockroach,” the man laughed. “You like to cause trouble, don’t you?”

Naithea slipped out of his grip with a nimble twist and raised her sword, the edge of the blade cutting into the skin of her fingers until she saw blood spurting out.

“Yes, I do.”

She attacked quickly. She raised the sword high in the air, at face level, and swung it gracefully; the benefits of training with a lethal warrior. Naithea focused on her target and her surroundings, as Leonel’s words echoed in her mind.

Bend your knees, keeping your body upright and the sword between you and your opponent , he had told her during their first lesson.

She did so before settling into the proper position. Parallel feet, both pointing forward, right foot in front of the left.

Her boreal eyes glared at the man and he glared back at her, little threatened by the sword. Naithea slashed the air, aiming for his arm, but he moved before she could hurt him. And then the dance of attack and defense began.

The man lunged forward, ready to catch her.

Yet Naithea was quicker and cut his flesh with a simple twist of the wrist.

The man growled with rage. She dodged the first blow from his fists, the second as well, but it was on the third that the Fiend’s dog disarmed her and grabbed her by the throat, slamming her against the wall.

“You’re not laughing anymore, are you?” he asked with a cold laugh.

Naithea showed her teeth. “Bite me.”

“I’d be glad to, but I have more important orders to carry out.”

“What do you want in exchange for my release? Gold?” Naithea gasped. “I can get it for you.”

“The satisfaction I’ll feel when your body hangs lifeless on the walls of Camdenn is greater than any sum of money you can offer me.”

“Your loss, big guy,” a voice replied.

Then Leonel drove his sword through the dog’s chest.

Naithea’s eyes widened as she noticed the sharp point protruding from the man, threatening to cut her chin. Dark blood trickled down in thick streams and stained his attire, but there was no pain on his face.

He abruptly let go of Naithea, slamming her against a nearby wall until she felt her bones creak within her. She tried to get up, to attack again, to help her friend. . . Together, they should be able to beat him.

Her hands, stained the color of blood from scrapes and wounds, betrayed her. Naithea fell back to the ground in pain. She crawled across the gravel in search of her sword as she witnessed the fight between two different kinds of warriors: one created by a fraud, and the other, by the Crown.

The Fiend’s dog was bigger than any dryad she’d ever known. Not even Prince Killian was that tall. He rose above Leonel, fighting against him with his own hands, much more lethal than any weapon.

She couldn’t see her friend fall, not when he’d betrayed the kingdom to help her save the one she’d lost.

Inside her soul, that familiar warmth she’d worked so hard to repress tingled with warning. Her magic, one her sisters lacked, twirled inside her to fight her commands. The monster that had killed people to protect her, even innocent ones.

‘ Release me .’

“Leo, cover your ears!” was all she said.

“What?” Leonel shouted, dodging the man’s attacks.

“Now!”

The soldier did as he was ordered, trusting his friend. Trusting the daimon who had managed to escape the curse of shadows and stone, the princess who was to reclaim her right to the throne.

Then Naithea closed her eyes and sang.

Each note broke through like a ribbon of blue, green, and purple smoke in search of its prey. It felt different from the other times she’d summoned her power. Perhaps it was because she now knew where it came from, or because the monster inside her was no longer feared.

‘ Get inside his head. ’

‘ Kill him .’

A song of doom and death embraced the man, trapping him under its spell as his eyes turned white like hers.

At first, Naithea’s magic manifested so that people couldn’t flee while she stole the vramnias from their pockets. Before that, she’d killed three men without even lifting a finger, to protect her mother. Naithea didn’t know which one it would be: defense or attack. Let him live or kill him.

She pushed herself up from the floor, hands braced against the wall, and fixed her white gaze on Leonel. He rose from the ground, careful not to leave his ears exposed to the song of the Siren of Doom as he walked toward her.

“Thea, let’s go!” she heard Baelisa shout.

Yet the monster continued to navigate the man’s body, wanting to command his blood to stop pumping to his heart so that he’d suffer a slow and painful death. Naithea should have ordered it to stop, or at least she should have tried to. But she didn’t want to. So much had been taken from her throughout her short life: her mother, her freedom . . .

The last thing Naithea had to lose was her life.

Her song delved deeply into the man’s soul, and the screams that rose in his throat echoed through the dark streets of the city. Her victim clutched his hands around his head, digging his nails into his flesh to stop the pain that coursed through his body.

Naithea watched him scream and sob, enjoying the scene unfolding in front of her. It was when blood spilled in the form of tears that Naithea pushed her magic harder. Until she saw the bastard’s eyes explode with starlight and only two holes of darkness were left in their place.

She strode up to the man to finish him off and satiate herself with his blood. So as to let the Fiend know that he could never have her.

To let Prince Killian know she’d come for him.

Regnera’s voice stopped her before taking another step forward. “THEA!”

Glancing at him one last time, Naithea pushed her magic deep inside her, clenching her hands into fists until her nails dug into her skin. The monster she harbored had protected her and saved her friends, but she didn’t wish for harm to befall them. For the first time, her gift stirred only once against her firm grip, before soothing and letting her regain full control.

Naithea sighed in relief and ran toward the ship. She reached the ladder, each step faster than the last, and accepted Leonel’s hand as he helped her jump inside. She squeezed it in gratitude before focusing on her sisters. When she’d asked him to find a way to get her sisters to safety, Leonel had complied without hesitation. A captain would sail them off Bellmare, to a place she was unaware of.

And she might never see them again.

“Here,” Naithea said with shaky breath, taking the heavy bag she’d stolen from the brothel and offering it to Jehanne. “There’s enough vramnias for you to start a new life away from here.”

“What are you talking about?”

It was Larka who spoke the undeniable truth she offered, “She’s not coming with us.”

The hetairas’ voices rose in the air, refusing such an idea and arguing with Naithea about her decision. As if she knew that no words would accomplish its purpose, Regnera kept her two-colored eyes on her with a stern and worried expression that reflected a hidden prayer.

Tanea shook her head. “ No .”

“You cannot leave us,” Anera pleaded.

“There’s no other way . . . If I go with you, I’ll be putting you in danger. The Royal Army already knows who I am, and wherever I go, death will follow. I won’t do this to you!”

Caisen stepped forward and pulled Naithea toward her, to embrace her one last time. “Be careful. And as soon as you end those bastards, come back to us.”

Naithea nodded, tears burning in her eyes. They were her sisters, all that mattered to her. She’d sacrificed so much of her to keep them safe. And she would again, if that meant they would now enjoy their freedom.

The rest of her sisters joined them, until eleven brave and strong survivors were holding each other.

“Don’t forget us,” Faithe said.

“I can’t.” Naithea shook her head. “You’re my family.”

“And you’re ours. So don’t do anything stupid, all right?” Sundi requested.

“I’ll try.”

Leonel cleared his throat. “It’s time to go.”

“We’ll meet again,” she promised her sisters, scanning their faces to engrave them in her memory forever. “To start a new life. Together.”

They squeezed her hand one last time before Naithea turned to follow Leonel back to the city, where the hunt of the cursed princess threatened the fragile peace and stability. The city where she’d end up dead. But she’d needed to do this before setting out on a dangerous mission to find her biological sister.

If they joined forces, they might stand a chance.

“I’ll go with you!” Jehanne declared.

Naithea turned around, shaking her head. “Je . . .”

“You can’t make this decision for me.”

“It’s not safe,” she remarked in an attempt to convince her to stay on the ship.

“You’re not doing this alone, Thea. I refuse to let you!”

Naithea looked at her sisters, who clung to each other as they watched one of their own make her first decision as a free woman. There was both pride and fear in their eyes.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Blood or not, you are my best friend. My sister . You won’t be left on your own.”

They cast one last glance at their sisters before departing, mingling among the lights and shadows of a city that would soon drown in the stench of death.

With dawn nipping at their heels, Naithea and her friends slipped through the streets of Bellmare to evade her enemies, until they reached the store of black magic artifacts. Dyron Selmi’s store was the safest place in the city for them to gather supplies and later on depart for Hamleigh. And, from there . . . they would head to Dawnfall.

Naithea’s chest rose and fell in agitation by the time they stopped in front of the tall doors. Beside her, Jehanne gripped her bag tightly as she scanned the surrounding streets in search of voices from those who were after them.

“We split up here,” she said.

“No, you need me!” Leonel argued.

“I need you exactly where you are. If you come with me, you would be deserting the position the Crown has bestowed upon you and only the goddesses know what atrocities they would do to you.”

Leonel took a step toward her and held her face in his hands. “Promise me that you will find a way to communicate with me. No matter the danger, no matter the cost, come to me and I’ll protect you.”

“You’re a good friend, Leonel,” Naithea whispered as she embraced him, unable to promise him such things.

She broke away from him and nodded towards Jehanne, who pushed the door open before disappearing inside. She followed her shortly after without looking back. If she did, the weight of all those she was trying to save by keeping them away from her would bring her to her knees.

When Naithea closed the door, her throat tickled with the smell of smoke that had choked the cool air, followed by a sour taste of burnt flesh and blood. She walked around the store, alert and silent, scanning through the unusual blackness. Dyron always lit candles to illuminate the rooms, but yet as she paced, she feared treading upon something of great value.

“Je?”

Silence responded to her, but it was soon shattered by Jehanne’s screams.

Naithea ran toward her sister, shards of broken glass crunching beneath her boots. The pungent stench of decay halted her at the archway, where Jehanne stood with her hands clasped over her lips. She stifled her own scream, swallowing the bile that rose in her throat at the sight of the source of the stench.

There, among the artifacts, hung Dyron Selmi’s body.

His hands were tied to the wooden beam supporting the ceiling, blood dripping from his wrists and throat until every inch of his clothes were stained with it. There were cuts on every part of his body—even in his one healthy eye.

His skin was burned, scorched . . . The soldiers had burned him alive.

Because of her .

She took a trembling step forward to cut the rope that held him. The hiss of her dagger echoed in her ears as Dyron collapsed lifelessly to the ground. It wasn’t pain or tears that burned in her eyes, but a searing fury coursing through her veins at the unspoken warning that his death conveyed.

The Commander of Death was after her and would stop at nothing until he found her, even if it meant burning the world to ashes.