Page 13 of Heirs of the Cursed

Leonel shook his head, still crying. He looked so vulnerable, so exposed, and Naithea wished she could stop and free him from his torment, but the soldier had to relive every second of that nightmare for her to have the information her soul craved.

“That’s why you’re here,” Naithea surmised, then. “You’re looking for them.”

“Prince Killian must find them if he is to keep his claim to the throne,” Leonel sighed, choking on his words. “He has to find them and . . . finish them off before . . . it’s too late.”

She wanted time to study the information, to keep pushing her power within him, on his memories. But if she didn’t rid her power from his body, she’d never get answers.

Naithea leaned forward, sealing Leonel’s lips with her own to absorb the magic. She could feel it struggling, nestled in the deepest places of his heart, but she fought harder.

When Naithea pushed away the rot and death that had begun to eat away at Leonel, she dropped onto her back, savoring the traces of the soul she’d stolen and claimed as her own.

Savoring the sweet guilt that came with power.

5

Dawnfall

Alarms thundered in Darcia’s mind as she scanned the Chaser’s imposing armor. Faint lines marked the silver metal, worn but resilient. Yet, it was the royal crest—a golden crown inlaid withgemstones—that caught her eye, gleaming under the sun’s rays, a stark reminder of his rank in the capital.

“Is this Conrad Voreia’s house?”

“Yes,” Darcia hesitated. “He’s my . . . brother.”

The Chaser arched an eyebrow. “Conrad never mentioned having a sister.”

Darcia held her breath, pushing down all her worries to the back of her mind to focus on her next words. Somehow, she found the courage to offer him a sweet, hesitant smile.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” she managed to say.

“Who is it, child?” Gion asked from inside the hut.

“Forgive my boldness, I didn’t mean to intrude,” the general apologized to Darcia before looking at Gion. “My name is Harg Koller, General of the Royal Army. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

“It will be a pleasure to receive you in our abode, sir,” Darcia answered politely.

The general looked at her again, and said, “Please, call me Harg.”

“Sir Koller,” Gion intervened when he reached the door, resting a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Allow me to invite you and your comrades for a mug of coffee.”

“Thank you, Mr. Voreia,” Harg replied kindly, “but my soldiers will wait outside. I’m not here to take up much of your time.”

Darcia stepped back, careful not to turn her back on Harg Koller. She wasn’t going to fall for his charming act, not when she knew what he truly was: a man with bloodstained hands, who had waged and won a thousand battles against death.

What was the king’s favorite soldier looking for in her home?

Despite the terror shaking her body, she forced herself to remain calm. She set three clean mugs on a silver tray along with freshly baked bread, listening as Gion offered Harg a seat inthe lounge, casually asking about their journey to Dawnfall. The general’s terse answers stirred her curiosity.

The common room was small, but cozy. It had two armchairs near the fireplace atop a burgundy rug, a rickety sofa, a small coffee table, and a few shelves lined with books. It used to be Gion’s study, but over the years, it had become a quiet reading nook—one she only dared to sit in when Conrad was away on his travels.

Darcia set the tray with Sadira’s pastries on the circular table between them and plopped down on the couch next to her father. Her magic stirred within her, warning her of what she already knew: if someone as deadly as Harg Koller had been sent to her city, no one was safe. She lifted her gaze to meet his hard hazel eyes, covered by a mask of false innocence.

Gion smiled at his daughter and proceeded to ask, “Go ahead, General. What brings you to Dawnfall?”

Before answering, Harg poured coffee on the three mugs with an odd familiarity, almost as if he was the host and not a mysterious guest.

“Thank you,” she murmured as he offered her one of the warm mugs.

“I’m afraid that, as an official trip, it requires a certain level of discretion,” he remarked. “The only thing I’m allowed to say is that we’re looking for someone, and your son can be of great help in our investigation.”

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