Page 102 of Dance of Kings and Thieves

“Curses must take time to build their story.” Calista tilted her head. “Lumpy was clever, so he lost his bleeding mind. Seems pointless for you to go mad. The princess was a warrior with a voice for battle. She went silent, forced to fight for her life.” Calista glanced at Herja. “I’ve been taught a great deal about how these curses were made. It is the reason the cursed king became vicious. His ability on the battlefield became a lust for blood. But the first storyteller took weeks to build her tales.”

“Ari,” Valen said, gripping his friend’s shoulder. “Thank you, but you are needed here. I need you to help me look after Etta should it . . . should it go wrong.”

Ari placed his hands on his hips. His mouth tightened as if he wanted to argue but thought better of it. In one stiff step, he moved back to the rail. As far from Calista as he could.

“I need blood,” Calista went on. “To change fate requires blood. But you likely remember how it was done.”

Valen used the edge of a knife he had tethered to the inside of his arm and pricked his finger. Calista guided his fingertip toward the parchment.

“Uncle.” Gunnar tapped Valen’s forearm. “We . . . we should find another way.”

“You say that? The one who has such faith in your woman’s trances. Did she not suggest this?”

Gunnar looked toward the sea, jaw tight. “It’s not fair.”

“Life never is.” Valen smiled with a bit of sadness and turned to Elise.

She lifted her chin high, then fought to keep her voice steady. “You promised to return to me always. Today is not the day you begin breaking promises to me, Valen Ferus.”

“I would not dream of it.”

Valen swallowed with effort and pressed the dark bloody spot on his finger to the parchment.

Calista sliced her own finger and added a drop of blood over Valen’s. The air tightened in hot, clammy pressure, much like a storm built over the water but never revealed itself. Calista pressed her palm over the torn shred of words, and straightaway the parchment sparked in fiery embers, burning into a strange oblivion.

Only bits of ash remained on the bench.

Calista’s shoulders slouched, her voice small. “It is done.”

Valen clenched and unclenched his fists. Elise wrapped her arms around his waist.

I didn’t know what to expect, but he seemed utterly unchanged. Then again, the words had said ‘by light of moon’. The sky was lightening as the moon faded over the Fate’s Ocean and the sun peeked over the horizon.

But the coming night could look vastly different.

Herja and Sol looked despondent. I knew the feeling. What was there to say? Valen had cursed himself, willingly, for our war. There weren’t words to give that seemed adequate. To attempt to comfort him would be a waste. What we could do, what wewoulddo, was find a way to ensure this curse claimed him but once.

Calista returned her quill. She began scratching new words on the parchment. I held my breath until she tore two lines into ragged strips. “To Lumpy and his consort.”

“Wait, this was for the land king,” Thorvald snapped. His irritation deepened the red of his eyes.

Calista, a new smooth velvet to her voice, smiled. “As I told you, once my connection is opened, the Norns deliver the missives they wish to deliver. Now hush. I’ve still not forgiven you for snatching my ink.”

Sol and Tor shared a look, then stepped forward and took the strips of parchment.

“Are these curses?”

“No. Think of them as hints as the star fae said.”

A wrinkle furrowed Sol’s brow as he read. “A new journey rises from the flames?”

“Cries in the ashes,” Tor read. “Mind the hedges.” He looked at Sol. “What the hells?”

“Never said it was simple to decipher, my loves,” Calista said and picked up her quill once again. “Shadow King.”

No one moved for a breath until I realized she was looking at Kase. I nudged his ribs with my elbow.

Kase lifted one brow. “Me?”

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