Page 72 of A Cursed Son

What if I had never had that dream?

Marlak would be dead now.

The thought chills me. I don’t even know where all this terror is coming from.

Well, if the disgraced prince dies, I’ll no longer have a purpose, so I suppose I’m afraid of the uncertainty that would come with that. That’s a logical fear.

Yet I’m still wondering who poisoned him, if they’ll try to kill him again, if he’ll ever make it back home. Is this what my life is going to be like? Agonizing for a prince with more enemies than I can imagine?

I decide to trust the nymph and end up not telling my knights about the dream or my suspicion of poisoning. I spend the morning training with Ferer. While he’s quieter, he has better tips about hand and foot position than Nelsin. It’s like he observes me better, something that can still be somewhat disconcerting.

Later I climb some trees. In truth, it was something I always dreamed of doing. Dreams can be so silly and simple. From the top of a rosewood tree I look at the river, dotted with islands. No signs that there’s any life down there, that they could be watching us. The idea should bother me, but it doesn’t. Being surrounded by nymphs gives me an odd sense of safety, protection. I then stare at the mountains surrounding us.

Would I be able to see Marlak returning? Where is he? What is he doing? I still hope he isn’t visiting some lover, putting into action all those things he’ll do to me only in dreams.

My thoughts are weird today. I obviously don’t want those dreams to become reality—but I don’t want him to be with someone else either. It would complicate my life, I think, and maybe my mission here would be ruined. I think that’s why the thought bothers me so much. And then there’s that small fear that he is indeed dying, that no dream could prevent it, that the nymph lied…

At night I get to the Song of Despair. The Tiurian History book still sits on a corner, and I get the sense that it’s staring at me in disapproval. A normal person would be curious to learn more about their past, learn if the history of their people is being told differently.

There’s nothing normal about me or my situation, though. I was raised to be Krastelian through and through, loyal and honorable. All I learned about Tiurians—or darksouls—were their awful crimes and barbarities, and I don’t know if I can handle any more of that.

Looking away won’t save me, won’t change me, but at least it won’t hurt me.

And I need to read the epic poem that Marlak was so excited about. I open the Song of Despair, and soon the rhymes and meters disappear, and I find myself caring for Sefel, the main character, whose beloved was kidnapped, and now he’s willing to go down to the depths of the world to get her back.

That kind of love is the love I wanted. I used to still have hope that I would find it, but now… Is it possible that I’ll find it after seven years? Or maybe that I’ll find a way to be free before that? I certainly won’t find love while tied to Marlak.

At least I can leave these questions for another day. For now I want to see if Sefel finds his beloved or not. It’s agonizing, in a way, because when I think he’s getting close to victory, he encounters more and more tribulations.

At least he now has a traveling companion, the witch Herafes, who wants to avenge her family. It’s funny how she’s at ease with her magic even though she’s not fae and doesn’t have an opus stone. Only a darksoul would have magic like that in real life. Well, this is a completely fabricated story, and here, magic like that is not something to be feared. I wish… I don’t know what I wish, but I keep reading.

The poem is getting more and more complicated, and every time I want to sleep, Sefel and Herafes get into deeper trouble, so I keep reading a little more, until I force myself to put the book away. I don’t dare glance at the Tiurian History tome, lying at the bottom of the pile, buried under books that cannot harm me.

In truth, I try to sleep because I hope my dreams will tell me if Marlak survived, if everything is fine with him.

All I remember is his hand, his hand with that dreadful gash, now a craggy line, no longer bleeding. I can still feel it cupping my breast, caressing my thighs. The hand is healing—and he’s alive. Quite alive, taking me with the urgency and fervor of someone who’s seen death crossing his path, as if it was our first and last time, as if there was no tomorrow.

Of course, none of it was real.

I put on a pair of leather trousers and a silk top and leave my room. The kitchen is empty, I guess because it’s still early. I grab a piece of bread and sit at a table, when I see Nelsin coming from the hallway.

He eyes my plate, then frowns. “You should have called me.”

“This is fine. Tell me something—if you can. Are you able to contact Marlak, or check if he’s all right?” I know, I know, I’m asking this one day too late, but I trusted the nymph.

Nelsin pulls a chair, the chair where Marlak usually sits, which makes it look even emptier. He rests his elbows on the table. “I’m not allowed to answer that.”

These words shouldn’t surprise me. “What if I sensed he was in danger or something?” This is uncomfortably close to the truth, but I need to know.

The fae shakes his head, his cat ears flapping slightly with the movement. “Our task here is to protect you, not him.”

“I’m not the one out there facing dangers.”

Nelsin eyes me. “It makes no sense, right?”

“Does your prince ever make any sense?”

His eyes sparkle with mischief. “You know what? We’re going out today. Would you like that? Off of this island.”

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