Page 103 of Heirs of the Cursed

“Come on, Sundi,” Faithe’s insistence brought her back to reality. “Tell us more about him!”

It was the day of the month when Madame Dimond allowed them to take their measurements in Bellmare’s most prestigious dressmaking store. It was not out of love, but to buy new seductive and revealing designs for the dressmaker to bring to life and her hetairas to attract new customers.

“There’s nothing more to tell.”

“Liar,” Larka crooned.

Sundi crossed her arms and the seamstress spread them apart once more to take her bust measurements. “Why would I lie?”

“Because you like him,” Kaena and Anera answered simultaneously.

“You’re like pirates over a chest,” Naithea said, shaking her head. “She’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

The hetairas shifted their gazes from Sundi to Naithea, fulminating her completely.

“You are the least appropriate one to defend her,” Regnera pointed out with a stern tone. “Do you think we don’t notice what’s happening with the commander?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Naithea whispered as she stroked a silky honey-colored fabric.

“Oh, hush,” Baelisa mocked. “You’re a worse liar than Sun.”

“Besides,” Caisen moved toward her, “Jehanne can attest otherwise.”

“Don’t you dare,” Naithea warned her.

“I’m sorry, Thea, but they’re right.” Jehanne shrugged. “The Commander of Death’s reputation precedes him. And yet, when he’s with you, he’s different somehow. Protective, almost primal.”

Sundi stepped down from the small altar and Tanea took her place, combing her ash blonde hair behind her shoulder and raising her arms to her sides so the seamstress wouldn’t poke her with the sharp needles she held in her hands.

“The soldier I spent the night with even asked for you to join us,” Caisen remarked.

Sundi wrinkled her nose. “Disgusting.”

“Thank you,” she replied ironically before focusing her attention back on Naithea. “He also said he’d never seen the commander act that way over a female before.”

By the time the dressmaker had each of their measurements, they covered themselves from the cold and exited the store. Theconversation about Ward hadn’t yet ended and Naithea scolded herself for defending Sundi. She knew them as well as the back of her hand. They wouldn’t let the matter go, much less now that the Royal Army’s soldiers had begun to interrogate young women more impatiently.

Some of her sisters had been exempt from such interrogations because of their ages, but others like Caisen, Anera and Tanea were still suspects until proven otherwise. Naithea remembered how terrified her sisters had been, how they’d held hands with each other as they waited for the soldiers to interrogate them.

“Do you love him?” Baelisa asked.

“It’s too soon to know.”

Tanea’s bright eyes searched hers. “More importantly, can you love him knowing what he has done?”

“Commander Ward is a pawn of the throne, just as we are pieces for Madame Dimond to move as she pleases,” she said. “I cannot judge him by what he has done under the orders of his king.”

Her sisters watched her silently, scanning Naithea’s face and every emotion she tried to hide from them when she spoke of Ward. Although her feelings for him were new, she had yet to decipher those of the commander for her.

After all, Fawke Biceus had been right about one thing: once they found the princesses, the Royal Army would return to the capital. Naithea’s insecure side would mock her for believing that someone as prestigious and honorable as Ward would ask her to join him in Camdenn. She’d scold her and accuse her of naiveté; a part of her still did at night, when she’d watch him sleep beside her, replacing that deathly countenance with a peaceful expression.

Naithea would ask him later that day, when they met for their training session.

In the meantime, she had other, more important and urgent things that required her attention. Things like the poem Dyron Selmi had entrusted to her and which she was to investigate to unveil its hidden secrets.

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the black-inked words that had glowed in the darkness of the store as if they had been etched with fire. Naithea had to unravel the meaning of each verse if she wished to discover the message it hid, beyond the danger she already knew about the holly of death and the broken promise that would bring chaos to Laivalon. Still, it was the first verse of the last stanza that resonated in her mind like a promise.

Light and Darkness will rise.

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