Page 74 of Heirs of the Cursed

“Just before dawn,” Sundi said, stepping inside. “We bring food and medication.”

The hetairas walked in, one behind the other, and settled in at Jehanne’s sides as they inspected her wounds and applied a fresh layer of ointment on them. Regnera apologized to her multiple times, for if she hadn’t been ill, the Fiend wouldn’t have hurt her. Yet Jehanne dismissed the apology and allowed her sisters to comfort her.

As a thousand thoughts crossed her mind, Naithea stepped aside. That monster that whispered in her mind awoke again, but this time, she couldn’t help but embrace her deepest and darkest desires: to kill the man who had hurt her best friend.

“Thea.” Tanea’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. Her dark blonde hair was disheveled, dark bags under her sad eyes.

“Yes?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Naithea comforted her sister, stroking her arm.

Tanea had also been apologizing to her for weeks for what had happened in the hall. She felt guilty for exposing Naithea, for revealing the secret she’d entrusted to her, only to lose all the money she’d saved to buy her freedom.

Still, Naithea didn’t blame her. Their owner had manipulated, beaten, and tortured them for years. And she was grateful it wasn’t Tanea who had paid for her mistakes.

But she was tired.

Tired of fighting to survive, of nothing being enough to protect the people she loved . . .

The dagger she held warmed up in her hand in response to her anger. For the first time, Naithea knew what she had to do, and exactly who to turn to in order to accomplish it. She gave Tanea’s arm a squeeze, taking one last look at her sisters, who deserved better than to be abused by a dryad without being able to ask for justice.

“Where are you going?” Larka asked as she watched her walk toward the door.

She didn’t stop; she had to make the most of the daylight.

“It’s better if you don’t know.”

Naithea Utari left the room with a single mission in mind: to find the soldiers of the most feared and deadly army in thekingdom and make them train her as ruthlessly as they had been.

Even if it meant selling herself all over again.

Naithea’s blood boiled in her veins as she walked through the streets of Bellmare with her head held high.

Years ago, she’d have resented the way women gazed at her or the whispers that reached her ears with horrible words denigrating her for the way she made her living. But that morning, Naithea ignored them all, because her mission was more important than any other.

Suddenly, something tugged at her trousers. Looking down, she found the young boy from whom she’d bought the tonic for Tanea. His eyes urged her to follow the spot he was slyly pointing at with one of his thin, bony fingers.

There, hidden in the shadows of an alleyway, was the wizard. Dyron Selmi fixed his one good eye on her before walking on with the aid of his cane.

Naithea placed a copper vramnia in the boy’s hand and headed toward the harbor. She moved past the exotic fish and squid the fishermen cut with sharp knives and ignored their leering glances, too focused on the shadow of the old man.

After checking in every direction to ensure no one had noticed where she was headed, she trailed Dyron into a dark alley. She frowned in confusion upon finding it empty and turned around to look for him, but a wrinkled hand grabbed her forearm and pulled her back.

Naithea stifled the scream that rose in her throat as she stepped through the stone wall, leaving behind all hints of the alley until she found herself in the familiar shop.

She sighed, raising a hand to her chest, where her heart was beating erratically. “Dyron.”

“What you intend to do is dangerous, Soul Devourer. A tiger would never walk in the enemy’s lair.”

“That’s precisely why I’m doing it,” she replied, shivering slightly at the title. “Magic is more dangerous than ever.”

“You’re wrong. Magic is always in control. From the birth of the goddesses and the creation of the twin gemstones, the universe made sure that order and chaos were guarded,” Dyron coughed. “That light and darkness were protected.”

“I’m not an enthusiast about riddles.”

Dyron Selmi limped through the store, and Naithea followed him closely behind. She held her breath upon noticing the glass under which a thick, yellowed book was sheltered—a poem written in ink as dark as night.

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