Page 148 of Heirs of the Cursed

Her heartbeat quickened as she watched her surroundings disappear, replaced with nature consumed by the holly of death and shadows of doom. When the screams of the soldiers reachedher ears and faded into nothing, she stepped back and breathed in the scent of decay that accompanied the images that built around her. Images of a fallen kingdom that had called to her for years, that had tried to pull her back to where she belonged in order to save those who had perished a long time ago.

In the distance, she noticed her sister with her arms wide, accepting that darkness.Creatingit. Her eyes had turned black as the abyss and her golden hair floated around her.

Naithea retrieved her sword, savoring the metallic taste of the blood that stained the inside of her mouth with a single promise in mind: to end them all

The shadows, the ruins around them, the bodies turning to stone with black veins framed in their skin . . .

Cursed, each and every one of them.

Darcia took advantage of their fear, weaving dark images with her fingers to bring upon the soldier’s deaths. Their emotions washed over her like a bath of freezing water, but it was their minds, glittering with bright threads of bloodthirst, that proved to her that none of them deserve to live for the thoughts they harbored.

Despite her twin’s own astonishment, her sword answered each attack for her. A fighter, a warrior . . . A young woman who had had everything taken from her and was willing to get blood on her hands to get it back.

While Darcia delved into her power, her sister and Alasdair knocked two soldiers unconscious. One of them fell backwards, tripping the one next to him. Another cut his own forearm and snarled angrily.

The wounded soldier lunged at Alasdair, but her screams of warning alerted him just in time to move out of the edge of his sword. He hurried to grab the weapon that lay on the cold ground and twirled it between his fingers until the hilt was firmly locked around his grip.

Darcia’s magic tugged at her. As her hands moved, drawing in the shadows and darkness that so terrified Laivalon, she discovered there was something else.

Hidden like a secret, a vibration resonated through her body.

A silent, imperceptible movement.

She looked at her sister, who was focused on the fight. Was it her power? Was it her magic calling to Darcia like an ominous beacon? No. It was something else, something different.

The voices, the screams . . . They all felt out of reach as one of the soldiers shook off her illusion and walked toward her with one goal in mind. His sword flashed in the light of the pendant that still glowed around her neck.

Darcia closed her eyes, bracing herself for the blow.

A white shadow flashed across the space, accompanied by a deafening roar. Darcia heard the man’s piercing scream before opening her eyes. With incredible voracity and fury, the beast devoured the soldier alive, staining its snout and fangs with thick blood.

The tiger turned her purple eyes on her—the symbol of Goddess Kazaris.

Darcia shared a silent word of gratitude before the tiger roared again and jumped into battle. But once she fell to her knees on the ground, Darcia Voreia couldn’t get back up.

Shrouded by shadows, Naithea fought against three soldiers and disposed of them with the help of the masked man. As two more advanced in their direction with threats leaving their lips, her eyes met his. In that brief connection, the same idea crossed their minds.

Together, they moved until they stood back-to-back, ready to one another and get out of the forest alive. The soldiers then surrounded them, shrinking their movement space and circling around them to assess their weaknesses and opportunities for attack.

“Do you really think you can beat us?” a soldier asked, and his companions laughed.

“Shut up, Magnar!” Naithea growled.

“You’re not even a third of the warrior you think you are.”

The masked man gave them a sidelong glance. “I think she’s doing just fine,” he laughed. “She’s beaten your commander in a fair fight and she’s kicking your asses too.”

A lie. Naithea wouldn’t have made it out of the brothel alive if he hadn’t shown up just in time to knock Killian unconscious. Still, his words were enough to make the smiles on the soldiers’ faces falter.

“Surrender, Amira.”

Naithea smirked. “Never.”

The soldiers advanced, cutting through the thick shadows with their weapons until mere inches separated them from each other. Naithea and Alasdair spun, their swords held high, pondering their next moves.

“This is the moment when you share your plan with me,” Naithea whispered to her battle partner.

“My plans ended the moment I used that bucket of urine to save you.”

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