Page 10 of Heirs of the Cursed

Gion had told her the story once. Four nobles, each belonging to a great city, revolted against Kirus Allencort by publicly announcing that he wasn’t the rightful heir, since in the shadows of Lên Rajya there was another, prepared to take his title and throne.

“When the king trapped the nobles, he left the Chaser in charge of the final massacre,” the woman continued. “They say he burned them, singeing their skin, and after days of torture, he nailed their bodies to the castle walls for the vultures to feed on. For weeks, they were a reminder that no traitor can survive the Royal Army, let alone King Kirus. Right, Boris?”

The elder of the group nodded. “And all because of a woman.”

Darcia looked again at the soldiers; the dangerous men waiting with their sharp weapons, ready to dutifully carry out the mission that had brought them to Dawnfall. She knew wellwhat the soldiers could do to beggars, unprotected women and children, and she wasn’t about to leave them to their fate if she could do something about it.

Darcia took the silver vramnias she hadn’t spent the night before and handed them out to the group that stared at her in confusion.

“Go to an inn and get to safety. We don’t know why they are here and I don’t think we want to find out either. I don’t wish to see unjust bloodshed.”

When the citizens stood up and obeyed her request, Darcia resumed her walk, following the cold wind toward her father’s hut.

She’d done the only thing that was in her power to protect them, yet she couldn’t stop thinking about what the presence of the soldiers in Dawnfall meant for all of them. Like Sadira had said, it had to be important. The king wouldn’t send one of his best assets on a three-week journey to patrol streets or take care of lesser evils like thieves and rapists.

If Harg Koller chased threats, what kind of threat did he seek in Dawnfall?

When she arrived, it wasn’t Darcia’s father who opened the door, but her stepbrother.

“Conrad,” she stammered, startled. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Where were you?” he asked in a sullen voice. Her stepbrother’s bluish gaze scanned her with hatred, immediately noticing her disheveled hair and dirty clothes.

She held up the bakery bag and her smile slipped. “I went for breakfast.”

Darcia tried to walk into the cabin and away from him, but Conrad stopped her, grabbing her arm so hard that she was pinned in place.

“I hope you’re not trying to trick me, Darcia. This isn’t a game you can win.”

“I’m not . . . I just went to get breakfast.” Darcia’s jaw clenched and tears welled up in her eyes. “But I’m back now.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, she repeated to herself.

Under his grasp, Darcia’s arm went numb. Conrad’s eyes darkened with rage, and she prepared herself for what was to come: a slap, a punch, a beating . . . And he wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop until Darcia was bleeding or begging for mercy.

She braced for the impact, yet all she felt was the cold caress of his breath against her cheek.

“Never forget your place and who, of all people, is keeping you alive.”

When her stepbrother released her, her arm tingled with pain. It took a few seconds for the blood to return to normal circulation. Darcia blinked several times to keep the tears from her eyes.

Conrad grabbed her chin with his fingers and forced her to look at him. “I’ll be back tonight for the show. Don’t miss me too much.”

It wasn’t necessary for her to respond with words. Darcia stepped aside to let him go and hugged the bag of pastries tightly to her chest. She clenched her fists and counted every second until air returned to her lungs.

He didn’t hit you, you were lucky, she muttered to herself, forcing a half-grin and suppressing the urge to cry.It could have been a lot worse. Today is a good day.

Darcia walked inside the cabin, appeasing her emotions for her father not to worry, and closed the door to prepare a hearty breakfast to share with him. For a moment, she paused to admire her home, reminding herself once more that it had all been worth it. She had a roof to shelter under and a father’s love that knew no boundaries.

“Father, it’s time for breakfast!” Darcia called to him. “Come quickly or I’ll drink your coffee and . . .”

A knock at the door interrupted her. She leaned slightly toward the window as Gion came out of his office, accompanied by a few sharp taps of his cane. The old man looked at his daughter with an affable smile before they knocked again.

“Are you expecting someone?” Gion asked.

Darcia’s confused expression provided him the answer to his question. No, she wasn’t expecting anyone; sheneverexpected anyone.

Gion brushed aside the white hair that fell over his gray eyes and approached the door steadily with the help of his cane, but Darcia was quicker and caught him halfway.

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