Page 75 of Heirs of the Cursed

Not long ago, a deal of power and blood was made.

By none other than a rightful heir.

The selfishness of her heart made her lose her way,

But not even ancient bonds would determine her fate.

Rotten is the kingdom that’s now forgotten;

The holly of death claimed what was praised often.

And so a broken promise has doomed the world,

Until the chosen ones come to save us all.

Light and Darkness will rise.

Despite two souls being cursed by its bearer.

Among shadows and stones, the northern star will shine in the darkest times.

And the southern shadow will guide us home at last.

The star-shaped pendant beat against her chest like a tell-tale heart, but Naithea only had ideas for the words whose message she didn’t understand. There could be hundreds of hidden secrets that even the scholars of the ancient academies hadn’t yet discovered. Still, Dyron Selmi wasn’t a stupid man and neither was she; if he’d shown her the poem, it had to be important.

“What is it?”

“A fragment of an ancient and forgotten song,” the wizard replied.

“It speaks of the holly of death,” she said, caressing the glass that protected the papyrus. “It’s a prediction of Laivalon’s future, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

“The soldiers could imprison you if they discover you possess it. Or worse, they could kill you. You take a great risk in showing this to me.”

“There’s no mind safer than yours, Naithea Utari.” Dyron Selmi assured her. “I have entrusted you with the darkest knowledge of all to unlock, for you may be one of the only souls capable of it.”

Naithea furrowed her dark brows. “If you haven’t done it, what’s to say I will?”

“My dear, the stars often deliver the answers to all questions. Who better than another to safeguard this knowledge?”

The poem still echoed in Naithea’s ears like a ballad of oblivion. It posed a new mystery, one that suggested that the holly of death had been the start of the broken bargain at Ro’iRajya, and would soon take over the entire kingdom if the princesses didn’t rise to defend it.

If it was true that danger was coming, she had to look out for her sisters. She would allow no soldier, no cursed princess, and no rotten-hearted dryad to harm those she loved.

Ignoring Dyron’s advice to stay away from the Royal Army, Naithea headed toward Pixies’ Forest, in which she hadn’t set foot since her mother’s death. Vast and ancient, the forest protected the tiny creatures that had given it its name, probably frightened by the presence of the kingdom’s most feared warriors.

Naithea embraced the nature around her and the company offered by the small rodents as she walked toward the camp. She’d lost her way, but as soon as the smell of smoke filled her lungs, she let it guide her.

In the distance, a tide of sixteen moss-green tents stretched out beneath the tops of yew, hazel and ash trees; the perfect hiding place for the thirty men who had arrived at Bellmare months ago. Next to them, there was a campfire over which a wild boar had been hung for lunch and some men milled around to make sure the meat didn’t burn while drinking ale.

Twigs broke under the weight of her boots, drawing the soldiers’ attention. They lowered their free hands to their weapons, fearing that the young hetaira posed a threat. But Naithea ignored them and moved toward the sound of clashing blades until reaching the training ring.

A smile tugged at her lips as she noticed Leonel swinging his sword against his opponent. In a matter of seconds, he disarmed him and the man fell to the ground on his back.

“You’ve got talent, boy,” a middle-aged man gasped with pride.

Leonel offered him a hand to help him back on his feet. “I have you to thank for that.”

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