Page 29 of The Cursed and the Broken
A young man a little older than me bowed before he approached and I nodded with approval. His eyes were the amber of smooth honey, gentle and kind. Full lips complemented a straight nose and his royal blue jacket, leggings and hose clad his dark skin like a glove. His countenance was most pleasing to look at and he seemed … honest. A person’s eyes reveal much, and his were truthful?daring, even.
They sparkled as he looked upon us both, dipping his cap before replacing it in a rakish tilt upon his dark locks. “Milady. May I have the honour of this dance?” he asked Eszter, and I had every notion she used all her willpower to avoid squealing.
“Go,” I whispered, nudging her gently. “Have fun.”
They disappeared into the crowd, arms looped around each other, swept away on the silken wings of butterflies and soft promises. My heart swelled with happiness for her. She was young, beautiful, overflowing with innocence.
These past weeks had been confusing for the Bárány house. I hadn’t wanted Eszter to feel the sharp sting of sorrow, nor to feel the cold clutch of fear. But the cultists were only beginning their dark work. And I knew their rot would spread, corrupting our serene waters with misery and death.
This festival was a boon for her, to enjoy life’s simple pleasures, to simply forget for a while. Táltosok flocked to her all day, bowing and scraping like beggars at a feast. As though she might bear them to her bosom like Istenanya herself.
Erika slunk through the crowd, sitting beside me with a world-weary sigh. She wore simple brown leggings and a vest over a white shirt, blades bound by leather to hips and legs. Her braided hair was coiled like a crown atop her head, eyes lined with kohl and sprinkled with dusted gold.
“Trouble?” I asked upon seeing her crinkled face.
“No sign of the cultists. But I think I’d rather take them on than deal with … this.” She gestured at the revellers partying, a frown marring her features.
I chuckled, patting her leg in understanding. “Trust me, the feeling is mutual. But they deserve this. Only the gods know how far the fall shall be. Their bubble is about to burst, their world about to be pulled at the seams.”
“I’m still pissed Caitlin is keeping it all a secret,” Erika growled. “The cultists might be licking their wounds today, but last night was a polite knock on the door. When they cross the threshold, they’ll burn the house down.”
My lips curled with distaste. “Keeping secrets will only add oil to their torches. Caitlin is a fool if she thinks they will not return in large numbers. What chance do we have when we’re short an army?”
“Are we?” Her gaze slipped to a man who could be none other than Lord Farkas Sándor, leader of the Wolfblood Clan and, one day, my father-in-law.
He commanded attention. He had silvered hair, imposing dark brown eyes, and a jagged scar slicing from cheek to brow. The strong jaw and eyes were striking and strangely familiar, and he was tall and broad. Grizzly in appearance, though handsome still. A wolf, just like his namesake.
A stone lodged in my throat. “So an alliance will be forged.”
She nodded once. “Our ties are ages old, and it all began with Sylvie. That treacherous bitch unknowingly brought coven and clan together during the dark age. We were fledgelings then, our witches, the coven still in its teething stages as the elders sought to free witches before they burnt upon the pyres of men. But in joining with the táltosok, we were able to hunt down the cultists and capture Sylvie before she was put down. It was our alliance that allowed us to push the fanatics into hiding and found this haven.”
Sipping my wine, I let that information slide down my throat, tasting the rich earthy tones of a smooth red. My mind wandered to what Sir Fucking Mysterious had said earlier today.“Our soldiers will fight for you,”he’d vowed.
“What makes you think the táltosok will join us once again?” I asked. “Why risk their men if the cultists are only targeting witches?”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Erika replied with a shrug. “My guess is Lord Sándor seeks vengeance for the death of his wife. He never confirmed if the cultists were behind the attack on Mistvellen, but I’d bet every coin in our coffers that they were. Even so, I have every confidence they’ll fight for us. Because we have you.”
I burst out laughing. “I didn’t take you for a fool, Erika. I might be worth a pretty penny to my family—to secure them a comfortable life—but I’m worth less than the shit the king spits out every morning.”
Erika studied me then, her gaze long and hard. And finally, she shook her head, pity filling the depths of her brown eyes.
“My dear girl, you really don’t know, do you?”
Frowning, I returned her fervent stare. “Know what?”
She sighed again, longwinded and tired. “You are special. You swim against a storm of ignorance, but you’ll know the truth of it soon enough.”
I blinked. “Wh—what are you talking about?”
But she was already gone, stalking into the throng of dancers. The music pounded my skull like a drum, her message repeating in my mind.
Just another question left unanswered.
Another puzzle to be pieced.
TWELVE
Mama had arranged formal introductionswith Farkas and his brood to take place in the impressive gothic temple. We would meet beneath the gods in their house of worship, each of them looking down from stained glass windows. Isten, the Golden Father, ruler of the Middle World, and Istenanya, Blessed One, goddess of the moon, fertility and childbirth.
