Page 41 of Heirs of the Cursed

“You’re wrong, boy,” Odraval countered. “The White Tigers and the Wild Tigers have been fighting us long before you were born.”

“And what have they done, if I may ask? The only thing the king has done about it is the alliance he forged with the Fiend.”

“Dorren,” Galver called him in warning.

The Fiend.

Darcia hadn’t heard much about him, only that he was a wicked man with no real name and dangerous ambitions. A buyer of secrets and a seller of lies. A man who, Bassel had told her long ago, had gained the king’s favor for the exorbitant money he made in the pleasure inns and gambling houses in Bellmare and Camdenn.

A devil who enjoyed a good show.

“That arrogance of yours will make you lose your head, Derric,” Odraval warned him “You should stop underestimating the enemy. Both the rebels and the cursed princesses are a threat to the kingdom we guard and the king we serve. It’s our duty to give everything for them, even our lives.”

For a moment, Darcia thought Derric Rogen would be wise and keep his mouth shut, but she confirmed how wrong she was when the soldier rose to his feet.

“If what they say is true, Lên Rajya is weakening! Not only because of the rebels who steal the Crown’s supplies without punishment, but also because of the Dark Twins. The king is failing, and his first heir doesn’t even show up at the meetings. Does the Council really think that marrying him off to some whore will do any good to the kingdom?”

Darcia heard the tavern door close, plunging the room into a deep silence that soothed the storm outside and the wind rattling the windows. The wine glass in Odraval’s hand cracked loudly.

“Watch your mouth,boy.”

Rogen confronted him. “Even a marriage with the most powerful dryad of Laivalon wouldn’t strengthen the kingdom! The king is weak, and so are his heirs.”

That was Darcia’s queue to leave. As she was about to get up to exit the tavern, a roar broke the silence. She turned, startled, realizing that the Chaser had stepped back in to attack. His unsheathed sword had thrust with a clean cut into the wooden table, slicing two fingers off the soldier’s hand.

The sight of so much blood made her feel dizzy, barely able to stand on her feet.

“You insult your king and prince again and you will lose more than just two fingers!” Harg shouted at him; not the man Darcia had met at the hut and with whom she’d shared kind words, but the ruthless general who was feared even by death.

Rogen stood up, accidentally pushing Darcia against the bar. The ale spilled through the table and the iron tankard fell to the floor, making a rumbling noise that drew the attention of those present. A soft breeze caressed her cheek, and the hood that covered her slipped from its place until it revealed her face.

Harg looked up and squinted his eyes in confusion. “Darcia?” he asked.

She staggered, and Rogen fell to her feet as she collided against him. “My apologies. I was . . . just leaving,” she stammered, her eyes focused on the blood-stained sword.

“Darcia, wait!” Harg said, trying to reach her.

But she didn’t do so. With one hand on her churning stomach and her eyes fixed on the door, she pulled her hood back over her gold hair and stormed out of the tavern.

14

Bellmare

The history of the past lay in the palms of her hands.

For the following two weeks, Naithea had managed to slip out of the brothel to continue her research. With Jehanne’shelp, she’d been relieved of her morning tasks, such as washing clothes, tidying the chambers, and polishing every inch of the establishment to make it worthy of receiving clients.

After catching a glimpse of the treasures hidden in the library, Naithea knew its halls like the back of her hand. But she’d only found one gold-bound book with knowledge that people had forgotten: about the world of Laivalon, about the regents of greatest renown, and about the motivation that drove Kirus Allencort to sweep through the cities in search of the Dark Twins.

Fortunately for her, she hadn’t seen Commander Ward in days. She was relieved, for since their last encounter, something within her had become unsettled, as if the monster that lay deep within her soul had emerged to the surface and threatened to burst forth.

Ever since she was a child, she’d worried about the force that sought to take hold of her and her self-control. Over time she’d managed to suppress it, pushing it so deep into her that it had somehow taken root at the core of her essence. And ever since the commander had arrived at Bellmare, it had reemerged with a ravenous, destructive hunger.

‘Take him.’

‘Kill him.’

She could hear the monster chanting such words in the library, beseeching her to use her powers upon the citizens who roamed the dark aisles. To take what didn’t belong to her, to satiate that darkness that grew within her with every soul she tasted.

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