Page 35 of Heirs of the Cursed

“As much as I like to be in this position with you, I must leave. I’m not going to risk my neck for jewelry of questionable value.” He stroked her hair seductively. “I hope we meet again.”

“If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.”

“That impulsiveness will destroy you someday, you know that?”

His last words reached Darcia’s ears like a drowned out whisper, fading in the gloaming shadows of the jewelry store before he vanished completely.

Darcia’s heart raced with dread, placing a hand around her neck where there wasn’t even a single wound from the dagger the thief had held to her neck moments before. Her uneven breathing made her dizzy, and she soon realized she had to get out of there.

She needed to get some air.

She needed to run.

But she couldn’t, not when the Royal Army was only a few feet away.

A stabbing pain pierced her head, and Darcia stifled a scream. A myriad of thoughts and emotions hit her like arrows. She covered her ears with her hands, trying to maintain control, to make her power respond to her . . . But the threads of her own mind were slipping through her fingers.

She didn’t scream, nor did she call for help.

Darcia just lay there, on the floor, begging the goddesses to soothe the pain before fainting.

12

Bellmare

The women of Bellmare laid their suspicious eyes on Naithea at every step she took. Like the rest of the hetairas, she’d been spatupon, vilified and harassed by those women, who looked down at her for her choice of work.

During her first month of work, Naithea had returned to the brothel with tears in her eyes. She’d managed to hold them back from being seen by her harassers and had reached the safety of her room before collapsing. Yet she’d learned to ignore the venomous stares and to turn a deaf ear to the citizens’ comments. Her body and how she decided to use it didn’t have to be a reason for criticism, but a power that she could exploit to her advantage in order tosurvive.

Naithea walked through the almost desolate streets with her head held high. Following the announcement of the Royal Army, most Bellmarians remained in their homes in fear of the soldiers’ inevitable visit.

The small pouch that hung from her hips brushed softly against her thigh, where the weighty glass vial containing lavender, cinnamon, and elliosil—a spice used to induce sleep—pulled on her shoulders after she’d paid five silver vramnias for it.

The magnificent and old structure of the library shortly rose before her.

As a child, her mother used to read stories she borrowed from the library about faraway kingdoms. Every night, Iseabail would bring a new book to read until Naithea fell asleep. Since then, she’d fallen in love with reading, with the worlds it offered, so different from the one she inhabited. But after her mother’s death, she’d vowed never to read again.

Stories are nothing but reminders that happy endings are a lie, she told herself, ascending the stone stairs.

A soft gasp escaped her parted lips at the sight of the tall marble doors, where the faces of the Triad were carved to protect the entrance. Naithea’s hands gripped the skirt of her dress tightly as she took another step forward. She was about topush open the door and walk inside when a smack on her hand stopped her from doing so.

She recoiled in surprise and frowned at the two men that had rapidly moved to block the library’s doors. They were taller than she was, their long brown beards tinged with white gray hairs.

“Excuse me, I need to get in,” Naithea said before trying again.

The man smacked her hand again, harder than before. She staggered, clutching her hand to her chest, nearly slipping down the steep steps in her surprise.

“You haven’t been given permission to do so,” the younger man spat.

“Pardon me?”

“You heard us,” growled the second, taking a step toward her. “Leave.”

“That will be a problem, because I must go in,” she insisted with the last shred of calm and kindness left within her. Naithea reached for the small bag, where one last silver vramnia lay, and offered it to them. “I’ll pay you. Here.”

The guards looked at her with disgust.

“Do you think you can buy us?” the old man asked and spat at her feet, so close to her boots that Naithea could have vomited at the sight of the whitish and greenish tones of his saliva. “We won’t spread our legs for a few coins like you, whore! Get out of my sight before I do something you’ll regret!”

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