Page 87 of Heirs of the Cursed

She wept because she understood that she wouldn’t survive if she didn’t give in and surrender to that monster, willing to fight for both of their survival. Her eyes fluttered shut completely, giving it control.

As she opened her eyes, the boreal hues were replaced by absolute white light. She curled her lips into a feline grin, her lips parting to intone the melody of doom that vowed to grant her every wish.

Naithea could feel the song of her power working its way through Fawke’s soul, tearing down the walls of his being step by step and weaving the web of its enchantment until it took away his free will. What she saw inside his essence, the overwhelming darkness and thick mist shielding his memories, made her gasp in frighten.

The soldier’s eyes widened as the monster delved inside him and swam like a dangerous siren of destruction.

His grip loosened, until he merely held her.

Naithea pushed him and Fawke fell to the ground, mesmerized. She pressed her hand against her sore throat and inspected her wounds, before fury consumed her.

After all that time, the monster had come out to play.

“I warned you, but you wouldn’t listen,” she said with an aggressive coldness in her voice. “Now, you will serve me until there is nothing left of you that I need. Let’s start with something simple, shall we? What did you find in Ro’i Rajya?”

“The holly of death,” he sang in reply.

Naithea’s grin widened at his obedience. “And a prince has died for it, but that’s not the whole story.”

“Princess Davinia . . .” Fawke paused, trying to fight against her magic. “She is gravely ill. The healers don’t believe she will survive.”

“So the curse is taking the lives of the heirs,” she thought aloud with satisfaction. “Good. I hope it’s enough to kill every one of them. But the king won’t let that happen.”

He shook his head, still mesmerized. “No. He must kill the princesses. Only then the order will be restored.”

Within herself, Naithea hit the invisible cage in which she was trapped, wanting to stop the monster that continued to take everything in its path. The monster ignored her and continued to weave its spell in the soldier’s mind to venture into the depths of his memories; there, where an inhuman danger lay.

“And to do so, you must find them. The king deployed his troops throughout the kingdom. What information can you give me about that?”

Fawke hesitated for a second, but his resistance collapsed as soon as Naithea’s darkness spread through him like a venomous snake coiling around his limbs.

“Hamleigh has proven to be a dead . . . end. The troops are heading back to the capital through Saevus Forest to check the gates in Evrethia,” he replied dutifully. “General Koller is leading a platoon through Dawnfall with the help of a fraudster and a faceless man.”

“How?”

“They have . . .” Fawke growled, his lips already purple. “Provided a compass that detects the presence of daimonas.”

“That does sound most interesting.” The monster absorbed such information with pleasure, tasting more and more of the soldier’s soul. “Why haven’t they used them yet?”

Fawke Biceus didn’t respond.

His defenses were strong, resilient. Far more so than Naithea had believed. Still, the darkness that unfolded over Fawke was beginning to consume him. Slowly and successfully, as she’d always wished.

The soldier’s eyes moved from side to side, as if her power had blinded him and he was searching for the way back to life.

She was taking too much.

She knew it.

And yet the monster inside her didn’t care.

“What is it that you’re hiding?” Naithea insisted.

A guttural cry left Fawke’s lips. His eyes were still white, like hers. Yet, they were invaded by waves of a blackness she’d never witnessed before. Lost in his rage and madness, Fawke leaped forward, ready to strike as he fought against her magic and freed himself from it completely.

The soldier was now approaching her with an ancestral fury. He stretched one of his arms in her direction with an open hand, and a mighty force tugged at her. She dug her boots into the earth, but even nature betrayed her.

She was pulled by an invisible magic, until Fawke’s hand closed around her fragile throat once again. The soldier’s fingers dug into her skin and blood began to run down her neck.

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