Page 56 of Heirs of the Cursed

“Jacke, is there anything else I should know about this compass?” Ward asked.

“Actually, yes, sir. Although it’s a fairly accurate object, it may pose a problem since it will also stop in the presence of Two Bloods.”

That complicated things a great deal, since Two Bloods were far more common than one wished. Apparently, torrid romances between dryadalis and daimonas could give rise to half-breeds with strange magic. By that reckoning, many of the Bellmarians could feel devoted to the cursed princesses.

“We’ll manage. We need to end this nightmare at once.”

“What about the rest of us?”

“Stay alert,” Ward said. “The daimonas don’t have control over their powers like we do. They are strident and unpredictable, so it’s very likely that the Dark Twins don’t know how to wield them at will. I want to be the first to know about any suspicious activity.”

Because it would be the commander who would rip the heart out of their chests and put a stop to this madness.

“We’ll pay special attention to the young women, sir,” Leonel assured him, who had been quieter since he’d heard about what had happened in Madame Dimond’s brothel.

The Commander of Death nodded. “Don’t let me down.”

The new wounds adorning Naithea’s back had begun to heal two nights after Madame Dimond had given her a lesson for believing she could deceive her. Yet her punishment wasn’t over.

The first part of it had been to break the vial she’d bought Tanea to soothe her nightmares, thus resuming her cries of anguish and for them to echo throughout the brothel. The madam also forced Naithea to do all the chores by herself: from waxing the brothel floors and tending the beds in which hercompanions had slept next to their customers, to cleaning their undergarments.

Naithea stifled a grimace as she pulled down the silky fabric of her gown to expose her shoulder blade, where the cut from the belt throbbed beneath the unsightly scab. Her owner hadn’t allowed her to use any kind of ointment or resort to the healers to prevent the wound from scarring horribly.

Her boreal gaze focused on the oval mirror resting on the dressing table to take a better look at it. Soon, Naithea would have to join her sisters in the city streets, adorned with torches and flags in various shades of blue, to celebrate the Night of the Tides—a commemorative feast honoring the fourth heir to the throne, Gideon Allencort, and his water powers. Considering that Bellmare had been built next to the ocean, it was one of the most anticipated nights for its citizens.

Yet it wasn’t her scar the reason she sat in front of the mirror, but the overgrown golden roots of her hair. Naithea had started coloring her hair upon selling her body at the brothel, wishing to hide her past and preserve the innocence of the child she once was.

Because she feltdirty.

Naithea took the broad brush and dipped it into the black mixture Jehanne and Larka had prepared for her before leaving for work. She took a deep breath and began to drench the scalp as she reminisced about the nights her mother had braided her golden mane before embracing her until she fell into a deep sleep.

She kept her eyes on her reflection, making sure the dye covered every inch of her hair, even those she couldn’t quite see at the back of her head. Usually, one of her sisters would offer to color it for her and the rest of them would join in to whisper about the men they’d slept with the night before, the profitsthey’d made, and their dreams for an uncertain future. But that night, Naithea had wanted to be left alone with her thoughts.

She waited twenty minutes as she watched the bustling, brightly lit city. Near the harbor, people were dancing in cerulean garments to the sound of fiddles and drums, tasting all kinds of seafood and wine.

The borealis stone on her necklace warmed against her skin; a warning that unveiled a dark and evil presence. She let out a low grunt of pain, grabbing the chain between her fingers to separate the pendant from her now burnt skin. It was then that she noticed the hues of light that rose from the pendant, cutting the air toward the window and beyond . . .

Naithea took a step forward, setting her gaze on the darkest streets of the city. Among the shadows, two abyss-black eyes grinned at her with the patient longing of the hunt, enjoying the uneasy feeling of unsafety he’d provoked in her.

She focused her eyes on the male figure, trying to discern him.

And Fawke Biceus looked back at her.

The commander remained in his tent for the rest of the afternoon, devising different plans to lure the princesses in and hung their heads on his horse’s saddle before returning to Camdenn.

When the dark colors of night tinted the sky, the soldiers—like every loyal Bellmarian—changed their armor for blue attires in honor of Prince Gideon. As they made their way to the main streets and divided into smaller groups, it was Ward’s turn to join the hunt, the compass firmly in the palm of his hand.

Yet that wasn’t his only weapon, for he was armed with knowledge. He’d uncovered valuable information in the library that could prove to be of great significance.

Centuries ago, magical artifacts had been created. Some of them by the goddesses, others by powerful people. hough those chosen to guard them had perished during the wars, the books that spoke of their existence still remained. In them, Ward had discovered that those artifacts had been bestowed with protective wards.

Wards that could make the visible invisible.

Wards that could hide two sought-after souls.

Whoever had taken the heiresses of Ro’i Rajya before they were turned to stone had been clever enough to use the artifacts to hide them from even the best scouts in the Royal Army. But now that Commander Ward had discovered it, all that remained was to determine who had been a part of such treachery.

Fortunately for him, there were only two wizards in Bellmare, and if dark magic coursed through their veins, the compass would lead him to them.

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