Page 12 of Cursed Heirs

I smiled out at Elliot. He was really sweet with his son. I could feel the love coming off him. Deep, unconditional love.

Xavier sat up and kissed my hand back.

Then he reached his free one out to his dad. “Let me try to heal you with my magic. It might make a difference with our familial blood connection.”

“You may. A little. When I tell you to stop, you must, though. Are we clear? Otherwise you could exhaust yourself and drain yourself, and you’re already sick.”

“Sick?” He frowned in thought for a few moments. “Yes, the burning around my throat where Constantine touched me that then spread.”

“Burning?” Elliot asked, and I saw some realization there in his eyes. “What sort of burning?”

“I don’t know, like if I’d swallowed holy water, I guess.”

Elliot’s eyes widened.

Something occurred to me and I eased down the blankets to reveal Xavier’s chest.

“It’s not there,” I realized aloud.

The tree of life tattoo with the deep indigo sun behind it that had been imbued with Elliot Sabre’s magic.

Elliot and I exchanged a look.

Before we could voice what we’d realized, Xavier was already flipping his palm down to call his magic to heal his dad.

And nothing happened.

He stared down at his hand. “Wait… I… I…” He looked at his dad, fear and pain all over him. “Dad, I can’t feel my magic. Anywhere.”

Emotion welled in Elliot’s good eye. “I know.”

“I can’t… he’s… he’s taken it from me… now I’m just… I’m just a monster.”

He broke down then, pulling his hand from mine and burying his face in his palms as he sobbed in utter anguish.

I looked out at Elliot and I saw it was breaking a piece of him, just like it was to me.

4

~Saryan Hart~

The agony had ceased.

They’d flushed the poison out of my system again.

Unfortunately, the lingering effects were utter physical weakness and immense thirst.

It was his way of taunting me, ensuring I was unable to break the Dark Fae metal he’d had his acolytes bind me with.Duariam,a metal from my own kingdom, a place in which I was a god among lesser men, wherein nothing was beyond my strength and power.

It had been deathly quiet and uneventful here for the last few hours, aside from the four acolytes stationed around the room watching me. I’d managed to discern that Constantine and his fools had returned from their assault as failures, Constantine even unconscious and injured, and the rest of his army having suffered the same fate too.

Aside from one being.

The one I was termingFacelessin my mind.

They had on a loose-fitting hooded black robe and their voice was distorted by magic and thereby not discernible, and their face was also blurred by magic.

Doing that made it clear to me that the individual was familiar, that I knew them, or knew of them at the very least. Why go to so much trouble otherwise? The acolytes didn’t hide their faces. They did wear crimson robes, but they weren’t hooded and they didn’t conceal their identities in any way. On the contrary, they were proud to be known as that maniacal psychopath’s accomplices. They believed they were catering to a god.

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