Page 74 of The Cursed and the Broken
Only the silence of tombs answered, thick and heavy. The deeper we went, the more my bones chilled and my stomach roiled with panic. Anxiety slithered into my heart, causing beads of perspiration to film over my palms and forehead. An old magic seeped from this place, curling around my shoulders, tugging me closer.
At last, when the walls began closing in and my breaths turned ragged, a chamber emerged into view at the end of the tunnel. A bookcase stood covered in cobwebs on the far side and a table laden with a cauldron stood in the centre, surrounded by rickety old chairs. Potion ingredients lined the walls—everything from animal skulls to dried herbs, soils, chalks and candles.Black candles.
The subtle smell of copper tinged my nostrils and an otherworldly feeling washed over me, tugging at that power curled deep inside my gut.
I whirled on Margit, narrowing my eyes. “You practice dark magic,” I hissed. “I could feel something strange about you. I smelt it on you the moment we met. Working with the cultists, are you?”
She scoffed. “Please, those fanatics? Nothing but addicts and religious zealots, the lot of them. So drunk on bloodmorphia cups, their own magic abandons them. Pitiful creatures.”
“So what is all this?” I gestured at the chamber.
She sighed?a long, world-weary sound of a woman far older than her years. “I am no ordinary witch. The elements forsook me and I am cursed with the vision instead.”
I blinked. “You’re a seer?”
Margit pursed her lips, taking a seat at the wooden table. “As you say.” She pulled a vial with ruby liquid from her skirts and took a long draught, body shivering as her eyes rolled back in her head.
I looked on in disgust, realising at once what the liquid was. “For someone swearing they aren’t in league with the cultists, you seem pretty comfortable sipping on bloodmorphia like it’s fucking wine.”
Her blue eyes pierced my own when they opened, her cheeks flushed with warmth. “Do not judge me, girl. We all have our vices. Mine keeps me sane, and I only use a small amount to take the edge off. When the visions come, they drown me in waves. After a while you learn how to swim.”
“So, the drug helps to, what, calm the storm?”
“In a word.” She smoothed back a lock of raven hair. “My parents were killed in the siege led by the cultists. Mama told me to hide down here until someone collected me … Nobody came. When I finally emerged, I found their bodies growing cold in the castle corridors. The very same night, the first vision occurred. I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t be free of it. And that’s not all. I … see them. The dead. The souls who wallow in their grief or their vengeance instead of passing on.”
“My gods.” I sank into a chair, horrified by her story. For a child to have suffered so much—to see the unseen with no explanation why—I couldn’t begin to imagine the trauma of such a gift. No wonder she returned to this chamber. It was a safe house, a place she could hide away from the world. Or perhaps just be herself without the sideways glances and quiet titters of people who didn’t understand her magic or might judge her for it.
I could understand that, knew the consequences of indifference all too well. My mother had died before I ever knew her. I’d never known her love, or the lack of it, but Margit and I weren’t so different. She’d been through hell and came out stronger. I was still caught in the middle.
The thought of her waiting down here while the cultists butchered those in the castle made bile climb my throat. That was something no child should ever see. I placed a hand gently over her own.
She flinched under my touch but did not pull away. Instead, she hefted her chin, looking into my eyes. “Do not pity the child. She died long ago. A witch was born in her place, one who knows the path you walk.”
I stared at the woman before me. She wore her wounds like armour, wielded words like swords. She was a warrior in her own right, a woman worthy of admiration. Her tale was a test. One I planned to pass.
She did not want my sorrow, so I would show her my strength. Grinning slyly, I sat back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest. “It’s as Mama always said. ‘In dark times, deny not the hand of friendship. Fill it with the flame of fury.’”
A wintry smile settled over Margit’s face. “Then let me be your ally, Kitarni, for the gods know you’ll need one.”
“Aye. I’d settle for a friend. I’m a little short on those.”
She shrugged, tossing her hair back. “I’m a black-hearted bitch, but I’m the best one you’ve got.”
I smirked. “I think you and I are going to get along famously.”
She gulped the remaining bloodmorphia from the vial, wiped a hand over her lips. “Right … I think it’s time you and I had a little talk about our dear friend, Fate.”
THIRTY-ONE
“I can’t believe we’re doingthis,” I muttered, placing black candles at the seven points of the pentagram Margit had drawn. “Death is going to be very unhappy with us.”
She shrugged a delicate shoulder. “He’ll get over it. He has eternity, after all.”
Despite my trepidation, I barked a laugh. “These beings will hold a grudge for an age. Isn’t that why we’re in this mess in the first place?”
“Correction.” She lifted a finger. “You’rein this mess. I’m merely an aid for when shit goes sideways.”
I glowered at her as I ignited the candles with a click of my fingers. “I’ll be sure to remind Death when he’s nice and snug in our little trap here. Right. What do we do now?”
