Page 4 of Heirs of the Cursed (A Curse for Two Souls #1)

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Dawnfall

The crowing of a rooster woke Darcia from a restless sleep.

A stabbing pain shot through every bone in her body, her head clouded with fog. She turned her head to see Bassel’s empty flask resting on one of the wooden planks that kept the straw from toppling. She’d drunk more than she should have, and now regretted it.

Darcia squinted her eyes as she thought of last night’s events. When she’d walked back to her family’s hut, she’d been determined to knock on the door for her father to let her in. But the sound of voices inside had warned her of her stepbrother’s presence.

Every part of her body had trembled with fear, aware that, were she to enter the cabin, Conrad would punish her for disobeying his orders. Although she didn’t remember when the beatings had started, her stepbrother had made it clear to her time and time again that she wasn’t welcome. Darcia had lived in fear ever since—a price she’d paid to leave behind the icy forests that could have killed her long ago.

Some feared the monsters under the bed, others the ones the world created with its cruelty . . .

Darcia feared the monster she lived with and couldn’t get rid of. It was that fear that prompted her to sleep in the stables next to the cabin and get up early so Conrad wouldn’t notice her absence.

With her muscles half asleep, she grabbed her cloak and shook out her clothes and hair to remove the remnants of straw. She hid the flask and descended the wooden stairs of the stables, clutching the vramnias Bassel had given her the night before. Once her legs steadied beneath her, Darcia broke into a run toward the city.

Dawnfall awoke to a quiet sunrise. The empty streets still bore the echoes of the previous night’s revelry, as well as some gnawed food on the ground. Darcia wandered among the wooden houses, her eyes flicking between the closed shops. Vendors made the most of the mornings after the festivities to rest, for once the capital sent new orders their way, the Dawnfallians had to return to work and pay tribute to the Crown if they wanted to stay alive.

A group of children playing marbles in the square greeted her energetically. Darcia smiled at them and walked down the main street until she reached the market area, where Sadira’s bakery, her best friend and Bassel’s twin, was located.

The smell of powdered sugar and freshly baked bread hit Darcia as she opened the door, the sound of tiny bells hanging overhead announcing her arrival. A beautiful dark-skinned girl with light brown eyes emerged from the kitchen, shaking her flour-stained hands on her apron.

“Darcie, my dear!” Sadira greeted, excited. Her smile turned into a grimace as she studied her. “You look awful.”

“It’s always a pleasure to come and receive compliments as a greeting, Sadie.”

Her friend gave her a gentle, comforting hug. “I’m very happy to see you, it’s been a while since we last met. I’ll prepare some coffee!”

“Actually, I was just coming for bread,” Darcia said. “My stepbrother is back.”

“That damned bastard . . .” Sadira let out an angry sigh. “Let me prepare you something to eat. I can tell you’re hungover from afar, and I doubt your father will be happy about it.”

Darcia wanted to object, but Sadira didn’t give her time to do so.

“I’ll bring today’s baked goods along with fresh bread!” Sadira exclaimed as she led the way to one of the tables. “Besides, everyone is sleeping and I need my daily dose of gossip to stay alive.”

“So that’s what this was all about.”

“Don’t blame me.” She raised her hands innocently. “I’ll be right back!”

Darcia stirred in her seat and sighed. Having Sadira by her side was like a breath of fresh air. She’d always treated her kindly and comforted her in the worst of times; she’d even helped her win Caeli’s heart. Yet solitude was a faithful companion, and when Conrad was in Dawnfall, it was the only company she wanted.

The chirping of birds and the gentle blowing of the wind was suddenly drowned out by the unusual sound of horses’ hooves. Darcia turned her head in confusion and leaned with her forearms on the table so she could see beyond the window.

The empty streets had been replaced by a troop of thirty soldiers.

“By the Triad . . .”

Both the coffee mug and the plate of sweets Sadira was holding hit the floor, and Darcia gasped at the sound of the porcelain shattering into pieces.

“What’s the Royal Army doing so far from the capital?” Darcia asked.

The king only sent a group of his large army when there was a trail of rebels to follow, insurgent enemies of the Crown who wanted to overthrow the Allencort family.

“I wouldn’t worry about the soldiers, but him.” Sadira looked at her, uneasy. “You don’t know who that is?”

Darcia accepted her friend’s outstretched hand and they both moved closer to the glass, where they could get a better view of the soldier riding a blonde horse with dark mane. The man’s face was menacing; not only because of the scars on his face, his shaved hair and his intimidating hazel eyes, but because of his aggressive expression and his fearless stance.

Danger , her mind warned her.

“Someone who looks like he’s got a stick up his ass?” Darcia joked.

“It’s the Chaser,” Sadira whispered.

“The . . . What?” Darcia blinked. “Who?”

“Do you live in a cave or something?”

“Well, considering that my stepbrother won’t let me so much as step on the street without his consent, it’s a pretty accurate description of my life, yes.”

“He’s a great warrior in Prince Killian’s army,” Sadie explained. “His name is Harg Koller and everyone says he is the most dangerous general in the kingdom. He is known as the Chaser because, when there’s a threat, the king releases him to find it and finish it off. So far, he has never failed.”

“And what is he doing here in Dawnfall?” Darcia questioned, even more confused.

“No idea. But whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

The illusionist was well aware of that. The five great cities that made up Laivalon were known for different reasons: Bellmare for its harbors, its vice and its brothels; Hamleigh for its misty forests and crystal lakes; Evrethia for its abandoned houses and the ghosts of the dead; and Camdenn, of course, for power and gold . . .

But Dawnfall was home to humble and poor citizens. Some people passed through to experience the circus shows, and soldiers spent a night from time to time as they headed south, toward the Prison of the Forgotten—an unmapped prison where the most dangerous thieves and traitors were confined.

But the king had never sent anyone as important as the Chaser.

“I think I should close the bakery for the day,” Sadira muttered, “and spend the rest of the weekend doing nothing.”

“Your mother will probably be upset,” Darcia said.

“As soon as she sees the soldiers, she will padlock all the doors of the establishment.”

Darcia turned her attention back to the street, where the soldiers had regrouped. The windows of shops and huts were soon filled with confused and sleepy faces at the armed soldiers, who darted their eyes around warily.

“I’ll inform my father of this.”

“You should.” Sadira nodded. “I’ll pack you everything to go, and you can have breakfast on the way. Take the back door, just in case they intend to ask questions.”

“What would they want to ask a circus girl?”

“I don’t know, Darcie. I just know that it must be serious to send him here.”

Sadira stroked her arm affectionately and hurried behind the counter to get everything ready.

The uncertainty grew more violent when the mayor of Dawnfall came out to greet the troop as if they’d been invited. But something inside Darcia whispered to her that none of them were welcome.

As Darcia left the bakery, she assessed which was the shortest way to get to her father’s cabin. The sun pressing on the back of her neck worsened her headache, making her steps unstable, but it was her nervousness that made her trip over her own feet several times.

On her way back to the hut, she encountered a small group of Dawnfallians looking weathered and in tattered clothes. She didn’t need to use her powers to discern the fear that spread around them like a suffocating mist.

“You can’t stay here,” Darcia informed them. “The king’s soldiers are in the city.”

“We have seen them,” one of the men said in a broken voice, his green eyes dulled by the lack of hope. “We can still leave. If we march into the eastern woods . . .”

“It’s a bad idea.” The older woman shook her head. “The wolves are hunting!”

Darcia wanted to say something, but held her tongue, knowing that she’d be considered crazy for her thoughts regarding the wolves. Although they kept their distance, Darcia had seen how some of them lurked around the cabin since she was a child. She’d always felt a certain sympathy for those misunderstood creatures.

“Please, find somewhere to hide,” she implored them. “It’s the safest thing to do for the moment.”

“Have you not heard the stories about him?” the first man asked, referring to the Chaser.

Darcia shook her head. Until Sadira had told her about Harg Koller, she hadn’t even known of his existence.

“There’s not a single place that’s safe if he’s around,” the old woman whispered. “He was always a skilled soldier in the Royal Army, but it was a few years ago, after the War of the Four Nobles, that he earned his famous title.”

Gion had told her the story once. Four nobles, each belonging to a great city, revolted against Kirus Allencort by publicly announcing that he wasn’t the rightful heir, since in the shadows of Lên Rājya there was another, prepared to take his title and throne.

“When the king trapped the nobles, he left the Chaser in charge of the final massacre,” the woman continued. “They say he burned them, singeing their skin, and after days of torture, he nailed their bodies to the castle walls for the vultures to feed on. For weeks, they were a reminder that no traitor can survive the Royal Army, let alone King Kirus. Right, Boris?”

The elder of the group nodded. “And all because of a woman.”

Darcia looked again at the soldiers; the dangerous men waiting with their sharp weapons, ready to dutifully carry out the mission that had brought them to Dawnfall. She knew well what the soldiers could do to beggars, unprotected women and children, and she wasn’t about to leave them to their fate if she could do something about it.

Darcia took the silver vramnias she hadn’t spent the night before and handed them out to the group that stared at her in confusion.

“Go to an inn and get to safety. We don’t know why they are here and I don’t think we want to find out either. I don’t wish to see unjust bloodshed.”

When the citizens stood up and obeyed her request, Darcia resumed her walk, following the cold wind toward her father’s hut.

She’d done the only thing that was in her power to protect them, yet she couldn’t stop thinking about what the presence of the soldiers in Dawnfall meant for all of them. Like Sadira had said, it had to be important. The king wouldn’t send one of his best assets on a three-week journey to patrol streets or take care of lesser evils like thieves and rapists.

If Harg Koller chased threats, what kind of threat did he seek in Dawnfall?

When she arrived, it wasn’t Darcia’s father who opened the door, but her stepbrother.

“Conrad,” she stammered, startled. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Where were you?” he asked in a sullen voice. Her stepbrother’s bluish gaze scanned her with hatred, immediately noticing her disheveled hair and dirty clothes.

She held up the bakery bag and her smile slipped. “I went for breakfast.”

Darcia tried to walk into the cabin and away from him, but Conrad stopped her, grabbing her arm so hard that she was pinned in place.

“I hope you’re not trying to trick me, Darcia. This isn’t a game you can win.”

“I’m not . . . I just went to get breakfast.” Darcia’s jaw clenched and tears welled up in her eyes. “But I’m back now.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry , she repeated to herself.

Under his grasp, Darcia’s arm went numb. Conrad’s eyes darkened with rage, and she prepared herself for what was to come: a slap, a punch, a beating . . . And he wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop until Darcia was bleeding or begging for mercy.

She braced for the impact, yet all she felt was the cold caress of his breath against her cheek.

“Never forget your place and who, of all people, is keeping you alive.”

When her stepbrother released her, her arm tingled with pain. It took a few seconds for the blood to return to normal circulation. Darcia blinked several times to keep the tears from her eyes.

Conrad grabbed her chin with his fingers and forced her to look at him. “I’ll be back tonight for the show. Don’t miss me too much.”

It wasn’t necessary for her to respond with words. Darcia stepped aside to let him go and hugged the bag of pastries tightly to her chest. She clenched her fists and counted every second until air returned to her lungs.

He didn’t hit you, you were lucky , she muttered to herself, forcing a half-grin and suppressing the urge to cry. It could have been a lot worse. Today is a good day.

Darcia walked inside the cabin, appeasing her emotions for her father not to worry, and closed the door to prepare a hearty breakfast to share with him. For a moment, she paused to admire her home, reminding herself once more that it had all been worth it. She had a roof to shelter under and a father’s love that knew no boundaries.

“Father, it’s time for breakfast!” Darcia called to him. “Come quickly or I’ll drink your coffee and . . .”

A knock at the door interrupted her. She leaned slightly toward the window as Gion came out of his office, accompanied by a few sharp taps of his cane. The old man looked at his daughter with an affable smile before they knocked again.

“Are you expecting someone?” Gion asked.

Darcia’s confused expression provided him the answer to his question. No, she wasn’t expecting anyone; she never expected anyone.

Gion brushed aside the white hair that fell over his gray eyes and approached the door steadily with the help of his cane, but Darcia was quicker and caught him halfway.

“Sit down, father. I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay, but hurry up. I don’t like to eat breakfast alone.”

Darcia approached the door, afraid that Conrad had forgotten something. Maybe he’d changed his mind and was coming back to drag her into the stables and beat her unconscious.

But when she opened the door and saw who was on the other side, her heart stopped and the world tilted slightly on its axis. She recognized the shaved hair, the scarred face, and the menacing grin that was plastered on the visitor’s face when he and Darcia made eye contact . . .

It was the Chaser.