Page 46 of The Cursed and the Broken
For the first time since we’d left home, I genuinely smiled, already sensing this one was trouble. Delight rang through me at Dante’s narrowed eyes. Was that jealousy? Wriggling in my saddle, I leaned in even closer. “If I’m to put up with him, I’ll need one.”
Dante scowled. “Don’t trust a word out of his mouth.”
I patted his arm. “Don’t pout, my lord. It’s unbecoming.”
With that I took András’s reins and slowed our horses, leaving Dante looking less than pleased on his stallion.
Since saying goodbye to the sun, I’d felt on edge, skin crawling and stomach curdling with nerves. Creatures had skittered in the undergrowth, tracking our progress, but not once were we approached. I’d been thankful for that, at least.
Dante had been alert all day, as had the guards flanking us. Both András and himself had drifted close by, their hands settled on the pommels of their swords, eyes always watching the foliage.
We’d seen no sign of the corruption; the skin of the trees were marked only with the scars of time and the weariness of a life lived without sunshine. The canopies high above would feel its kiss, of course, but down here where dangerous things stalked our steps, we were without a guiding light.
I’d never ventured so far into the sprawling undergrowth. Here, I’d lost all perception of time and place. The woods were so dark, the party had lit torches to light the way. Many times I thought we’d surely lose our way, and yet the faintest glimmer of magic ensnared my senses. The scent of it lingered like incense, climbing up my nose.
Witch magic. Old magic. I’d been wondering for some time how the táltosok picked their way through the woods without a path to follow, but I realised they did have a marker—a magical one. Closing my eyes, I reached out to the tender thread of magic, twitching my fingers gently to test its friendliness.
The spool unravelled cheerfully, perhaps sensing a fellow witch. When I opened my eyes, a faint dusting of gold twined through the foliage, its glitter beckoning as if to say, “You can trust me. Here I am.”
András’s green eyes sparkled as he fixed me with a cocky smile. “Took you long enough.”
I smirked and rolled my eyes. “Excuse me for thinking you lot hadn’t the skill to conjure a wayfinder spell.”
“You wound me,” he said with a hand over his heart. “But you’re not wrong. A táltos doesn’t have the ability for such tricks. Our shamanistic ways appeal to the spirits of the dead and to aid in healing practices. We can harness these spirits to do our bidding, not unlike necromancy, but we always send those souls back to the Under World. In return for our trespass, we serve with healing magic. There must always be a balance to nature. The World Tree demands it.”
Witches and táltosok were among the few who still believed in the World Tree. As the Roman Empire converged upon the Kingdom of Hungary and their churches began to sprout over our earth, our beliefs were quickly dying. Christianity was the new religion and our gods were scorned as our houses of worship were toppled, one by one.
But I still believed. Magic was too great a gift to be ignored, and such gifts were given by none other than the gods themselves.
Chewing on my lip, I whispered, “If the cultists continue to upset the balance, what do you suppose will happen?”
András ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. “Pray that does not happen.”
“And if it does?” I prodded.
“Then we’d best hope the gods are on our side, because the world as we know it will quickly fall to ruin, and the realms will collapse.”
I latched a hand onto his arm, my gloved fingers digging in. “Wait. Collapse? Are you suggesting the cultists have the power to bring down the gates?”
He shook his head, brown hair bouncing as he looked at me pointedly. “Not the cultists.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Sylvie.” The name tasted like ash on my tongue. Fitting, considering András was suggesting her resurrection may as well be a sign painted in bold red letters with “the end is nigh” written across it.
His lips curled in distaste at her name. “You know, our peoples despised each other once upon a time. The only good thing to come from that wretched creature was an alliance with the táltosok and witches.”
Startled, I jolted in my seat. “Our people were at war?”
András chuckled. “We hated one another. Vehemently. The boszorkányok and the táltosok were antagonistic, battling for power and territory. It was a bloody age?one we moved past when Sylvie came and shit all over our feud. It was then our ancestors decided to work together. Of course, the friendship was tentative at best, which is why we chose to live apart in separate colonies.”
“My gods. That’s why the council still clings to such archaic constructs?”
András shrugged. “Old habits, I guess. Dante is trying to change that. When he takes the mantle from his father, I expect many things will change.”
I looked at my husband-to-be with newfound interest, trying not to stare too long at his handsome face lest he catch me and gloat about it. “When we get out of this mess, András, I’ll hold you to it.”
“If we get out of this mess, my lady, I’ll write the damn reforms myself.”
I nodded, thinking of my people’s history—of Sylvie’s abuse of our magic. She’d led witches to ruin, twisted their beliefs until the roads ran red with the death of innocents and the lifeblood of their own kith.
