Page 39 of The Cursed and the Broken
I sighed, searching for a way out of this. “I will be en route to Mistvellen tomorrow, accompanied by a contingent of guards from the Wolfblood clan. How am I to escape their watch?”
“You needn’t worry about arranging a distraction or a petty excuse. Your men will be pre-occupied. Understood?”
Anger coursed through me at being treated as such, but I didn’t dare let a spark of red come to my fingers. I had toed the line—no, stepped well over it with my foolishness—so it was just as well Death was in a good mood today. Sighing, I steepled my fingers to my chin.
I was a small piece to play in a bigger game.
Fine then. I would obey for now and, hopefully, I would have answers soon enough. Gritting my teeth, I forced the word from my lips. “Yes.”
Death nodded, his robes fanning behind him as he turned to walk away. “Always a pleasure, Miss Bárány.”
“Wait,” I croaked. He halted, his form preternaturally still. Yet another reminder he was not of this earth, notmortal. Sifting through the onslaught of questions, my useless brain could manage only one stupid word. “Why?”
He sighed, long and world-weary and, if it wasn’t for nearly dying seconds ago, I might have almost mistaken him for a human. Almost. “You witches,” he mocked, his voice laced with wonder. “It is always the same. Why me? Why now? Why, why, why. I suppose I’m not surprised. Gods, in all their arrogance, created you, so it’s no wonder their wicked ways rubbed off on the children of their making.”
“Please.” I hated myself for begging, for grovelling at his feet, but I needed reason now—something to make sense of this nightmare. If I didn’t get that, I’d crumble. Piece by piece, until there was nothing left.
His next words were soft, but they were anything but gentle. “Let me make this clear, witch. You were not chosen or pre-ordained to change the course of the future. You are the unhappy accident of an addict consumed by bloodlust, blinded by her drug. She was a plague upon the earth. A weak, sick woman whose greatest achievement was baring a babe with the power of a witch long lost to this kingdom. Whose veins sang with the gifts known only to those of her bloodline.”
My eyes narrowed. “Sylvie.”
Death nodded. “Your mother recognised the signs. The wisest decision she ever made was fleeing their clutches, whisking you away to someone who might protect you from their greedy gaze. Someone who would shield you until the time came for you to embrace your power.”
Swallowing, I clutched at my skirts with white knuckles. “Is she … is she alive still?”
A pause. “She died fleeing the cultists. The forest claimed her shortly after.”
Silence filled the temple as I let everything sink in. Surprisingly, a part of me hurt to know she really was gone. Mama and Farkas were right. If my birth mother had been the only living descendant of Sylvie, I was the last of my line. That made my life even more dangerous. I was the last living witch with Sylvie’s power and it was then I knew—gods dammit, I knew—I was the cultists’ one hope for salvation.
My mind drifted to the fanatic cultist in the woods.“She will rise.”The girl had seemed so sure of it. Their purpose was suddenly all too clear. Why they had been taking girls from our village, bleeding them dry over ritualistic sacrifices. They were experimenting, searching for the girl with blessed blood.Herblood.
They weren’t just draining girls for the fun of it. They were hunting.
I was the missing piece of their puzzle. The last ingredient to ensure their ritual was successful in resurrecting the Dark Queen. We couldn’t let that happen. If the cultists captured me, Sylvie would rise again, and gods only know what chaos she would wreak upon our lands. Upon the world.
“You see now, child, what awaits you should the cultists claim you. You are a symbol of hope for the occult. A gateway to ruin.”
“I will not let that monster return,” I swore.
Death laughed. “A sentiment shared, my dear. Unfortunately, I cannot intervene in Middle World affairs. A shame. I should have liked to torture that wretched witch. Remind her what it means to cross a greater power. I might have forged armour from her ribcage, made a throne from her bones.”
“You sound genuinely depressed,” I said drily.
“Verily. Alas, ‘tis the gods who have all the fun and then there’s me. Just a noble horseman, come to collect the dead. I rather like your spirit, girl. For your sake, I hope you keep it some years longer.”
He dipped in a mock bow before gliding from the room, leaving me alone. Somehow, I preferred the company of Death to the hum of my thoughts. The temple felt cavernous now, looming.
Death told me the gods were no longer watching, no longer listening to prayers. At least, not from me. The mother, the father, they didn’t care about my troubles.
And if there was one thing I knew for sure now, it was that my magic wasn’t a gift.
It was a curse.
Since the festival, Eszter had been called on several times by interested táltosok. I grinned as she bounced around our living room, glowing with happiness and pride. She danced with Laszlo, who allowed her to whisk him around the room on two unsteady paws.
Snorting, I shook my head at the amusing sight, trying to commit this moment to memory. I was leaving tomorrow and everything familiar, comforting, safe, would stay while duty swept me from these doors.
A part of me was excited about the adventure, but the other half trembled at the thought of the unknown. Mama and Eszter would be protected, but could the táltosok protect them from themselves? The women in our family were stubborn creatures and I wouldn’t put it past my mother to do something bravely stupid should the cultists attack while I’m gone.
