Page 53 of Heirs of the Cursed

“I won’t.”

Darcia slipped through the crowd, a red tide dancing and singing slurred words, worshiping Ginebra and the power that coursed through the veins of many dryadalis.

She was amazed by the magic that surrounded her. Caeli’s earth and flower powers, the gentle wind that Bassel and Sadira shared, along with many others, brought Dawnfall to life. Her power, on the other hand, wasn’t something to admire, despite what those who paid to see it believed. She had the ability to drive people mad, deceive them . . . and, if necessary, kill them.

Shaking her head, Darcia approached one of the tables where a young boy was serving drinks.

“Four red wines from Camdenn, please.”

The boy nodded and shyly walked away toward the tavern.

“Darcia.”

Upon hearing the Chaser’s deep voice calling her name, Darcia placed her hands on the edge of the table to steady herself. Only when the young boy returned with her drinks did she spin around and face the general, her heart racing.

“Sir Koller,” she muttered. “I wasn’t expecting you here.”

“Since it’s a celebration dedicated to one of the kingdom’s heirs, I have an obligation to be here.”

Darcia nodded and looked around in search of her friends. The images of the tavern came to her mind: the soldier’s fingers, Harg’s threats, the bloody sword . . . She had to make a great effort not to let her nerves give her away.

The Chaser cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you could grant me a minute of your time.”

Panic washed over her again. Would he ask her questions? Would he accuse her of spying on him?

She glanced toward her friends in the distance, who appeared to be having fun. Bassel had joined some children at one of the tables to play cards, while Caeli laughed, dancing energeticallywith Sadira. They were away from trouble, away from the king’s assassin.

She let out a trembling sigh. “It’s always a pleasure to help the king’s army, sir.”

“Don’t do that. Please.”

“Do what?” she asked, feigning incomprehension.

“Treat me as an abomination.”

“I don’t think I have said anything to imply that.”

“No, but you’re looking at me like I’m a monster,” the general assured with a bitter tone of familiarity.

Darcia could have told him she was able to recognize monsters because she lived with one. She could have accused him of being one for cutting off his soldier’s fingers and faced the consequences. Instead, she offered him no answer but silence, clasping her hands in front of her stomach.

“Let’s go somewhere less crowded.”

With few choices left, she allowed Harg to lead her away from the celebration and into the quietest, most remote streets of the city, where the night awaited the day’s end. Though she was intrigued by his intentions and what he wanted from her, she didn’t dare use her powers to get into his mind.

They turned a few times in the shadows of the houses, watching two bats fly overhead. Darcia wondered if the Chaser could see the decay in which Dawnfall had fallen. How its citizens survived day in and day out with what little they had . . . She wondered if anyone in the capital would ever ride to her city to improve the lives of those who served them, but Darcia already knew the ugly truth. Wealth made people selfish enough not to care about the rest of the world, as long as they maintained their position.

Harg stopped in front of one of the chipped wooden benches next to a window display of silks and looms before saying,“Here we can talk without being disturbed.” His voice was much warmer than Darcia would have expected.

“Well,” she replied, her nails digging into her palms. “What did you want to talk about, sir?”

“There’s no need to address me as ‘sir’, Darcia. Or at least, not for what you had to witness.”

She shook her head. “He’s not the first man I’ve seen bleed, and he certainly won’t be the last.”

“I still want to apologize.”

“For what, exactly?”

---