Page 4 of The Fated and the Damned
“Trust me, I know how insane this is.” Elisabeth met my gaze with her sky-blue eyes. “We need you, Kitarni. We need you now more than ever.”
The witches surrounding Elisabeth nodded, their expressions fierce as they looked at me. For direction, I realised. For leadership.
My witch kith, who had once delighted in bullying me and belittling me, needed my guidance. Because they sensed my devotion to the cause? Or because of the power running through my veins?
An ugly, spiteful piece of me deep down wanted to let them suffer for their crimes, but … no. I could never—would neverturn my back on my own kind. My village.
I took a deep breath, letting the air sigh from my lips. “Okay. Okay, I’ll deal with Caitlin. I’ll come home.”
Except it wasn’t my home anymore. Never really had been, if not for my family and Erika. Elisabeth studied me as if she knew that too, and I didn’t have the words or energy to broach that subject. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.
I turned, but three words halted my step.
“I’m sorry, Kitarni.”
Elisabeth’s voice was quiet, but to me it was loud as a bell tolling.
“What we did to you was wrong,” she continued. “I’ll always wish I could take it back.”
My heart panged, but I didn’t turn, didn’t look at her as I said softly, “I’m sorry too.” A sad smile curved my lips. “I just wish it didn’t take the end of the world for you to realise that.”
TWO
Dante
Itwastorturetobe around her. Breathing the same air, inhabiting the same space, yet feeling like she was oceans away from my reach. I watched as Kitarni laughed, her smile lighting up the room, those hazel eyes gleaming with joy as she plotted with András and Margit at the edge of the training arena in the castle grounds.
After hunting down the cultists in the woods and freeing the witches, we’d ventured back to Mistvellen, but I knew Kitarni was itching to return to her village. So many stolen witches, so much death—it was wearing on her soul. We’d only been back one night, but it seemed my little hellcat hadn’t had enough violence to sate her anger. Unfortunately for András, he was usually her sparring partner and, consequently, her training dummy.
András and Margit were the two people who could make her forget all the horror in our lives and bring some light back. It made my heart swell to see her so happy with them … until I remembered she would never smile like that for me again.
I would never feel her hand upon my own, the press of her tender lips, the fiery embrace of passion—even the focus of that smart mouth and cutting tongue. Who’d have thought I’d miss being on the receiving end of her rage? A dagger to the heart would be better than the eternal ache, like an invisible hand crushing me beneath cruel fingers.
Now, I may as well cease to exist. She didn’t acknowledge my existence if she could help it. Seeming too tired to make the effort, too defeated to try. I was beneath a heated glare or icy indifference, like I was no longer worth the effort of her feelings, good or bad. And that was the harshest pain I’d ever felt.
All because of my stupidity. I’d never meant to fall for her, but she’d branded herself on my heart like a scar that would forever mark my flesh. I should have been candid, should have told her that I was working for my mother. But, in my foolishness, I’d kept my secrets, too afraid to tell the truth in fear of the monster she’d make of me.
There are things I’d done to save my brother that would follow me to the grave. Witches had died because of me—because of the things Yaga had bid me do in the name of her queen.
But notmyqueen. There is nothing I would like more than to carve my blades into Sylvie’s flesh, to watch her burn upon a pyre. It was the least that Kitarni deserved. As for my mother … something hardened in my heart as I thought of that woman. She was the light of my family once, but she’d chosen dark magic and even darker deeds over us.
She’d hurt my betrothed, blackmailed me with my brother. In my mind, my mother died long ago. I would see it destroyed, this thing that had replaced her, and I would happily be the one to do it.
My brother was beyond Yaga’s reach now and, even if I’d gone about saving him the entirely wrong way, even if I had given up more than I could have ever imagined, I would have done it all again to protect him. Even if it cost me Kitarni.
It made me sick, that she was hurt because of me. Worse, it made me a coward. So many times had passed where I could have bridged the gap and tried to make amends, but I hadn’t. It was easier to let her hate me.
I deserved it.
As if she could sense me looking at her, Kitarni’s eyes locked with my own as she stepped back into the ring with András, spinning the pommel of her sword in her hand in warning.
My gut dropped from that gaze. A blank stare, empty of all emotion and impossible to decipher. For a moment it seemed like the world held its breath as we stared at each other. Then, like a thunderclap had broken the spell, someone walked in front of her, and she was gone.
Mine for but a moment … and never again.
Or she would be, if I didn’t stop drowning my sorrows in my cups and made a damn difference with my life. For Mistvellen, my people, and for her.
What was it she was always calling me?
