Page 124 of Heirs of the Cursed

A circus illusionist.

A girl.

Alasdair spun her in his arms, drawing her away from her intrusive thoughts, and guided her with each of his steps until a soft warmth touched her lips. Every time she staggered on her own feet, the thief steadied her.

Darcia danced until her legs began to ache as violently as her heart did.

“You may go now, if you wish,” she murmured, leaning back against his chest. “I appreciate what you’ve done, but you need to rest.”

He pulled her even tighter against him. “I’m staying.”

And just as he promised, Alasdair Hale stayed by her side.

34

Pixies’ Forest

Naithea spent the sleepless night, freezing in Pixies’ Forest as she watched the Royal Army camp in the distance. ConfrontingKillian with the knowledge she now possessed had been stupid and risky, but she’d had to do it.

When she’d walked into that painting, she’d never thought she would end up in the forest of all places. She had almost wished it would lead her home.

To Ro’i Rajya.

She didn’t know what she expected to find there. Her life was in Bellmare, where she could visit her mother’s grave, and near her sisters so she could protect them. She couldn’t imagine a life where she wasn’t by their side. Now, everything she had was in jeopardy because of the past she’d gone looking for and discovered. Her curiosity had been her undoing after all.

The future she’d wanted with Killian was now gone. They were enemies, doomed to hate each other even before they were born. Still, that didn’t mean he had to know. For that reason, Naithea had remained in the forest, grateful to be wearing pants to protect her from the cold and convenient for climbing one of the trees and watching the camp from above.

Before she disappeared forever, she had to do one last thing, and that was to get rid of a loose end. After she had plunged Fawke Biceus into a torturous darkness to save herself, the seed of her power that now united their souls allowed him to walk through her memories. And if the Healer of Weapons managed to wake him up, she’d be in great danger.

So Naithea Utari had to finish him off for good.

She jumped from the lowest branch of the tree and landed gracefully in the mud. Shielded by the darkness that the grayish clouds offered, soon drenching the streets of Bellmare, she ran toward the camp.

Naithea evaded the soldiers milling around the fire, sticking her back to the tents so as not to be noticed, and advanced toward the small tent in which Fawke had laid for the pastfew weeks. Her heart raced as she stepped into it and saw him sprawled on one of the beds, sound asleep.

She had hoped Killian would have killed him for her, but he hadn’t.

Now, it was in her hands.

Naithea took a silent step forward, then another. When she was in front of the bloody bastard, she began to lower her hands onto his chest to absorb the last bit of his soul that kept him alive.

The sudden sound of voices warned her of someone approaching. She backed away, quickly exiting the tent through the back entrance. Her heartbeat pumped in her ears, but she held her breath to hear the conversation.

Hidden and alert, Naithea waited.

To hear that her plan had failed before putting it into action.

Prince Killian had tried to blame the pixie dust for what his eyes had seen the night before. But the goddesses had never heard his prayers, and they wouldn’t now.

At dawn, Killian departed in search of answers that would confirm his suppositions—ones he wished weren’t true. He confiscated the civil records once more, searching for Naithea Utari’s birth documents. It had to be somewhere, since she’d claimed to have lived in Bellmare her entire life.

After a long search, the prince came across some papers about her alleged mother, Iseabail, and her arrival to the city. Yet there was no sign of any pregnancy.

Killian clenched his fists as he took in what it meant. Iseabail had never been pregnant and Naithea wasn’t her daughter. Still,he didn’t give up. To do so meant that he’d been a weak and pathetic dryad, and that she’d deceived him.

The investigation led him to the harbor, where the stench of fish and salt water was unbearable. He talked to several people until he found a man, washing down the dock and draining the bloody water back into the ocean.

“Commander,” he said, without raising his head. “I was warned you’d be looking for me.”

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