Page 78 of Heirs of the Cursed

“I only wanted to thank you for your help last night,” she whispered, feeling the stares of the soldiers on them. “For the salve and for tipping off my sisters.”

Ward looked at her intently. “You really love them.”

“We protect each other.” She shrugged. “Almost like you do.”

“Is that why you’re really here, or to pick up where we left off last night?”

“There’s nothing to pick up.”

“Who’s the liar now?”

Naithea’s cheeks flushed red. No matter how much she insisted that nothing had happened between them, that nothing ever would, Ward saw through her like an open book, as if he held the key to her heart and could glimpse her secrets and feelings.

“You’re holding it wrong.” Ward cleared his throat. “If you keep wielding it like that, you’ll eventually lose a finger.”

The commander took her hand in his, guiding it to close over the hilt of his sword. A wave of warmth surged through her skin, his proximity stealing her breath. Naithea did her best to feign indifference, wiggling the sword in her fingers and looking up at him for approval.

“Like this?”

“Perfect,” he nodded before turning to Leonel. “Soldier Ramsdean.”

“Yes, Commander?”

“I’ll take it from here,” he informed him.

Leonel’s jaw hardened. “Of course.”

They resumed training. This time without weapons. According to Ward, the best weapon was the warrior’s own body, and a sword would be of no use if your opponent disarmed you in battle.

Naithea learned the positions he showed her, and as she did so, she vowed that one day she’d fight as fearlessly as them if she trained hard and didn’t give up in the process. It was hard not to when every time she tried to keep her balance she stumbled and fell on her ass. Again and again and again, until bruises began to form under the fabric of her trousers.

But each time, Ward was there to pick her up.

23

Dawnfall

Inside the mayor’s mansion, the music reverberated against the windows as people celebrated and danced.

Chandeliers cascaded from the ceiling like summer rain, while the flames of the candles flickered in the breeze from the open windows. A wave of colors, clothing, and people illuminated the room as the doors swung open to let Darcia and her father in.

They walked through the crowd with their hands clasped tightly together. When some of Gion’s old friends approached them, she promised her father she’d find him before the evening was over.

Darcia was used to being stared at during her spectacles, but still found it difficult when she was so exposed. She embraced herself, scanning the room in search of Caeli and her friends, who had promised her that they would meet her to spend a dreamy night.

Her heels rattled against the marble floor to the rhythm of the beautiful waltz that the musicians on stage played for the guests. Needing something to focus on, Darcia kept her gaze on them, searching for comfort. One of the violinists stared at her intently, his brown, tousled hair preventing a clear view of his face.

Dance,he seemed to tell her.Indulge yourself.

Yet, embarrassment washed over Darcia as she leaned against one of the colossal columns, with her arms folded. She continued to stare with bated breath at the musicians, the entertainment of the evening.

It wasn’t the first time she’d seen them play. If she wasn’t mistaken, they were the street performers that the people loved. They had been in the city for months, providing their services for all kinds of festivities in Dawnfall. The mayor must have been so delighted with them that he’d invited them to play in his private ball.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Darcia recognized that rough voice; she’d grown used to it since the soldiers’ arrival. She turned to face the Chaser, noticing the smirk etched across his scarred face. The sincerity of itunsettled her—part of her believed he wasn’t as bad as people said, while the other urged her to be cautious.

Dressed in a black suit, Darcia could make out chinks of tattoos on his lower neck and forearms, where the shirt was slightly rolled up. Harg Koller looked different from the general the world knew, yet the golden sword that hung from his waist was a reminder of what he truly was.

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