Page 68 of Heirs of the Cursed

“Let me take a look, Je,” she asked, worried. There was blood everywhere. “I need to know how deep the wounds are.”

“I-I upset him . . .” Jehanne stammered without moving from the floor. “I thought if I touched him, he would finally undress . . . But he tied me up and threatened to kill me if I didn’t keep my mouth shut.”

“Shh, you’re safe now.” Naithea pulled her to her arms to stroke the length of her back and appease the spasms that took over her body as she sobbed. “We must get out of here. Can you stand up?”

“He struck me,” her friend continued. “He . . .”

“Please, we have to go.”

Nothing Naithea said seemed to calm her friend, so she held her tighter and whispered soothing words in her ear, trying to pull her onto her trembling legs to carry her out of the bedroom.

Ward returned in a matter of minutes, and the anger that had hardened his face was now replaced by an unfamiliar sense of grief.

“I can carry her,” he offered.

She was scared of how Jehanne might react, but trying to carry her on her own had been fruitless so far. Naithea nodded in approval, her gaze steady as she watched Ward carefully lift Jehanne into his arms, covering her with the torn fabric of her dress. Once they were in the other room, he laid her on the mattress to examine her wounds.

It was hours before Jehanne calmed down and fell into a deep sleep.

The commander remained motionless in the single chair he’d pushed next to the bed. Naithea held her best friend’s hand tightly, not taking her eyes off her for fear that something bad would happen if she did.

“You can leave now,” she said to him in a trembling whisper.

But Ward didn’t move from his seat. “I’m not going anywhere, love.”

Their gazes met one last time, challenging each other. And when sleep overcame Naithea, she allowed herself to sink into it with the certainty that Ward would protect her, even from her darkest nightmares.

21

Dawnfall

Dreams were a precious gift, one Darcia rarely experienced. When she did, she wrote them down in the old pages of hernearest book, to remind herself that even doomed souls could cherish beauty amidst their struggles.

But she was now back in the reality she was forced to live in. She’d returned to the cabin, to her father, to her work, to her girlfriend . . .

To her stepbrother.

The cold embraced her as Darcia leaned her back against the wall. Her reality was cruel, yet she feared the world’s light would flicker out forever if the Dark Twins weren’t stopped once and for all. Laivalon would only be safe when Ro’i Rajya fell for good.

The birds chirped in the trees beside her tiny window, announcing the awakening of the day, but there was no thief resting on the wooden frame. Alasdair was gone. Before she could process her feelings about it, someone knocked subtly on the door.

“Come in,” Darcia said, her voice slightly hoarse and sleepy.

Her father walked in with a tray in his hands and an affable expression plastered on his face. A familiar warmth spread through Darcia’s body as she smiled back.

“Good morning, Father.”

Gion sat on the edge of the mattress and rested the tray on his daughter’s legs. Her stomach roared at the sight of the bowl of berries, the two slices of bread with jam, and the orange juice sloshing back and forth.

“How’s your head, little one?”

She let out a snort. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you I’d be late.”

He waved a hand in the air, dismissing it as unimportant, but she could see the worry in the lines that furrowed his eyes. The sunlight illuminated the silver in his gray hair and the wrinkles that had begun to mark his face with the passage of time.

Darcia hadn’t realized until now how much older Gion looked. She’d become so accustomed to her father’s presence that shehadn’t stopped to think what would happen when he was gone—what would happen to her. Oblivious to her life before the age of four, she had no real family besides Gion Voreia, the man who loved her as his own child and who wasn’t afraid of her for the magic that ran through her veins.

“If you had a pleasant time, I’m happy.” He snatched some fruit from the bowl. “I must say, I’ve excelled myself with your breakfast.”

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