Page 48 of Heirs of the Cursed

Darcia wanted to scream, frustration and anger flooding her senses all the way home. She should have used her magic to force him to return the dagger and drive him out of Dawnfall.

She fought against the dangerous urge to go after him, quickening her pace as distant thunder roared in the sky. But as her hut came into view, a shadow flitting through the open door forced her to stop.

Her father bid farewell to his guest with a subtle nod, and as the door closed behind him, Darcia squinted to recognize Harg’s intimidating stance. He scanned his surroundings cautiously before holding up a dark cloth bag that concealed something inside—something that eluded Darcia’s discernment. He then whistled three times into the night sky, and a bird swooped down to rest on his arm.

After stroking the hawk’s feathers and tying the small bag to its leg, Harg sent it soaring into the eye of the storm. Darcia caught a glimpse of a grin on the Chaser’s face before he vanished into the clutches of the night.

16

Bellmare

An eerie silence reigned in the brothel as Naithea walked through its hallways, cursing the soft clacking of her heelsagainst the floor. The flames of the oil lamps flickered and casted shadows that made her shiver.

As soon as she opened the tall doors of the parlor, ten pairs of eyes turned to her. They all stood side by side, with their heads down and their hands clasped behind their backs in submission.

Naithea saw Jehanne shake her head in warning before receiving the blow that knocked her to the ground.

Her hands braced for the impact before her head hit the ground, but the sharp sting that rippled down her spine was worse. She didn’t need another warning to prepare herself for the next blow. It wasn’t the first time she’d tasted the caress of her madam’s anger, but she raised her arms to cover her head all the same, just as the leather belt descended over her.

Stifling a sob, Naithea bit her cheek to endure the pain. Her muscles tightened at the impact, and her veins burned within her. She anchored herself to the floor with her shaky hands, refusing to show weakness before the other hetairas.

Madame Dimond’s nephew, Senan, wiped the blood splattered on the belt with the gloves that covered the multiple burns on his hands. He strode around her, like a lion eyeing its prey.

A third blow pierced her and, this time, Naithea whimpered.

Weak.

Weak.

Weak.

“Enough,” Madame Dimond stopped him, striding over Naithea. “Get on your knees, now!”

Naithea twisted her face into a grimace, but she knew she had no choice. If she didn’t want the punishment to worsen, she had to obey her. She remembered every blow and every instrument Madame Dimond had used to hurt and violate her body. It didn’t hurt like it used to. The madam knew it, and so she’d sought new ways to make her suffer.

Like punishing her sisters.

Faithe took a step forward, so short that no one but the rest of the hetairas noticed. Naithea quickly shook her head. Enduring the pain and stinging of the days afterward when she could barely move was easy, yet hearing the screams of her sisters was the worst torture she’d ever been subjected to. She’d endure every blow, every wound, every humiliation forthem. A sigh of relief left her lips as Kaenna pulled her girlfriend back into the line.

She could take it.

For them, she would embrace the pain.

Her legs somehow cooperated and Naithea knelt in front of Madame Dimond, her boreal eyes fixed on the floor and her arms resting on her thighs with the palms of her hands exposed.

“May I ask where you were?”

“I’m sorry, Madame Dimond,” she answered submissively.

“That’s not the answer I’m seeking.”

Another blow.

This time, on her right shoulder.

“Where were you?”

Baelisa let out a choked sob and Sundi covered her friend’s mouth with her hand.

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