Page 38 of Heirs of the Cursed

Dawnfall

The sunlight kissed the crystal-clear waters of Drych Lake, and the autumn breeze caressed her face, urging her to remain in the present. But all Darcia could think of was that the man whohad attempted to steal from her girlfriend’s shop was one whose name was known throughout the kingdom.

The Midnight Thief.

Known for stealing priceless magical items, he was a legend both in taverns and in the capital. No one knew his name, nor had they seen his face. She’d caught a glimpse of his eyes, heard his voice and felt his body pressed against her back as he held her against her will.

Caeli had found her hours later on the store’s floor, still unconscious. Along with her mother, they’d urged her to drink herbal tea to calm Darcia’s headache that stabbed her temples mercilessly. Only once she’d calmed down did they urge her to tell them what had happened. It was a relief to both that Darcia hadn’t been harmed, just as the thief hadn’t taken anything.

Fearful of reprisals from her stepbrother, she’d hastened to assure them that she was feeling much better and that she should return home before her father became worried. They reluctantly let her go, but there were no black wolves to accompany her on the way back and no ghostly whispers to make her fall into unconsciousness.

“It’s all set!” Caeli announced, bringing her back to the present.

Darcia opened her eyes and settled down on the grass before saying, “I’m starving.”

It was their anniversary, the sixth of many more to come. They’d thought of all sorts of plans to celebrate, but the army’s presence had complicated things. For that reason, they’d walked to the river that cut Ferus Woods in half, where nature surrounded them and their problems vanished.

“We are celebrating! Both for the absence of your stepbrother and for the money raised in the circus.”

Darcia took a bite of the bun Caeli offered her without uttering a word.

During the last few days, she’d seen Harg with a considerable number of men interrogating people to solve their doubts about the cursed princesses. Yet she wondered if they would find anything, as they appeared to be in search of two ghosts.

“I see concern in your eyes,” Caeli said.

“I’m fine. I’m just . . .” She sighed. “I’m tired of having to go overboard just to entertain them.”

“I still don’t understand how you’re able to do it. You’ve never explained to me the extent of your magic. What is it, exactly? You get inside people’s heads and you can change things like their memories?”

Darcia laughed, shaking her head. “No, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Explain it to me,” Caeli asked before taking a sip of orange juice from her mug.

“The mind is a complex clockwork machine with thousands of threads. Each one is attached to a memory or a reality; a belief that person has lived with. Just as I can alter them to see what I want them to see, I can cut those threads. I can erase memories and create them. I can make them go mad and, if necessary . . . I can end them.”

“You meankillthem?”

She didn’t answer. Although she controlled her magic, Darcia had never tested its limits beyond one man who had tried to kidnap her when she was a child to sell her for a high price. She’d driven him to madness, and he’d killed himself with his own weapon to stop the horrific images with which Darcia tortured him. Witnessing it had made her fear what she was capable of if she set her mind to it.

Fear and rage were the emotions that stirred her magic, the ones that tried to drive Darcia away from control.

“How sinister,” Caeli murmured, eliciting a sincere smile from Darcia.

“Helpful.”

It was. That gift was what kept her alive and what had saved her so many times before. Maybe she was scared, but she was grateful to have something she could use to her advantage.

Managing her magic had been complicated. From the age of four, Conrad had forced Darcia to sit in the stable to create illusions behind Gion’s back. She’d had no difficulty with the simple ones, but those that were complicated . . . Each failure had granted Conrad the perfect excuse to beat her. With a belt, a rope, a whip, or his own hands. Day by day, her stepbrother had become more creative, and day by day, Darcia’s body endured more wounds, scars and bruises.

She’d learned that pain made everything easier; when she got angry, scared or suffered in some way, magic responded to her. Her power would rage with her, suffer with her, and manifest. To please Conrad, Darcia had even burned herself with candle flames to motivate her magic to come out just the way she wanted it to.

Maybe that was why she was able to endure every beating Conrad had given her since.

Wind and silence danced over their heads as Caeli leaned over to Darcia and began stroking her golden mane tenderly.

“How long do you think the king’s soldiers will stay?” her girlfriend asked.

“Until they find the princesses or they find their corpses,” Darcia replied, somberly.

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