Kingdom of the Cursed

by Kerri Maniscalco

  He hadn’t phrased it as a question, so the spell didn’t compel me to answer. “I would do anything to have my sister back. You ought to forgive whatever sins have come between you and Wrath. Happiness should be the only thing that matters.”

  “I don’t give a devil’s damn about his happiness.” He glared at his wine, but left it untouched. “It’s obvious you do care, though. More than you’re probably comfortable sharing. Are you in love with him?”

  I clamped my teeth together, and gripped my glass. It was no use. The words bubbled up. I clutched on to the phrasing Envy used and allowed the truth to pour from my lips. “No. I am not in love with him. But I do not deny there’s an attraction. He brought me to this realm, sold my soul to his brother, and lied about being my potential husband.”

  “The lady doth protest too much.”

  “Shakespeare.” I all but rolled my eyes. “How pompous and unsurprising that you’d quote him. Should I be envious over your education now?”

  He watched me over the rim of his glass, his gaze sharp. “Odd, isn’t it, that a peasant from Sicily would have such refined taste in books. Or reading anything at all, for that matter.”

  I prickled at his insinuation. “We may not have had money and servants, your highness, but we know how to read and write.”

  “I assume you’ll tell me your proficiency is because of the spells your grandmother taught you. Or the recipes from your little food shack, or some other such drivel.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “It’s simply curious, is all. And you do know how much I enjoy curiosities.”

  I grinned. It was the perfect segue into my next line of questioning. “Why are you so interested in collecting objects?”

  “I’m mostly interested in divine objects. Well, that’s not entirely true.” He laughed, as if he couldn’t believe the truth was still pouring so freely from him. “I’m only interested in one fully divine object now: the Triple Moon Mirror.”

  “What is that?”

  He snapped his fingers and a servant appeared. He whispered something too low for me to hear and the attendant dashed away. A moment later, he returned, holding an etched glass case. It was plain, unassuming. I immediately leaned across the table, hoping for a better view.

  “It’s a mirror of the gods. Goddesses, I should say.” He ran his pointer finger along the glass case, then rubbed it against his thumb as if checking for dust. “It is said it has been embedded with the Maiden, Mother, and Crone’s magic, and can show you the past, present, and future upon request. It used to reside in this case, or so I’ve been told.”

  Past, present, future, find. Chills raced along my spine. It was almost exactly what the enchanted skull had said, even down to the Maiden, Mother, Crone aspect.

  Envy flipped the lid back, showing a deep lavender crushed velvet bed, indented where a hand mirror once sat. I did my best to not react. But my heart was thrashing wildly in my chest. If there was a divine object that could show me the past, it would solve my sister’s murder.

  Excitement coursed through me. This had to be what the skull wanted me to find. I was certain of it. If I had the mirror, I no longer needed to worry about marrying Pride or Wrath and choosing my place in their House of Sins.

  “It sounds like a children’s legend.”

  “All legends contain fragments of truth.” For a second, his gaze was far off again. “Anyway, it is said one needs the Crone’s book of spells, the Temptation Key, and the mirror in order to activate the goddess magic.”

  “Let me guess,” I dropped my voice into a conspiratorial whisper, “you’ve collected all but the mirror.”

  “My dear, I believe it’s time you viewed my curiosities yourself.” Envy stood. “Shall we?”

  SIXTEEN

  Envy pushed open the ornate doors with exaggerated showmanship and stepped back, suddenly the gentleman, and allowed me to cross the threshold into his curiosities chamber first.

  Dubious about his true intentions, I hesitated for a moment. I doubted he’d led me into a vampire nest, though anything was possible when it came to him.

  Remembering the dagger at my thigh, I walked in and halted at the sight.

  It wasn’t vampires waiting, but tall, shadowy giants, standing in place. The chamber was eerily close to a mental image I’d had when I’d first met Envy in the mortal world. Back then, I’d pictured humans posed and frozen on a macabre checkerboard. The floor we stood on now was not part of a game; it was simply made of black and white marble tiles. And the frozen beings were works of art, not mortals trapped by a sadistic prince of Hell.

  Sculptures stood in silent welcome, some cast in bronze, others carved from marble. They were haunting, beautiful, so lifelike I had to reach out to be sure they were not made of flesh. I’d never been to a museum, but I’d seen illustrations in books and could not believe the size of his curiosities collection.

  “Are you stunned into silence, or is the wine sloshing around your insides?”

  I blinked, realizing I still stood rooted in place. “I had a strange sense of déjà vu.”

  Envy’s attention flicked over my features, but he only lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “Many mortal museums and collections are fashioned after it. It’s unsurprising that it’s familiar.”

  “I’ve never been to a museum.”

  Which was enough of the truth to satisfy the truth spell. But I couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling of how I’d seen the flash of it all those months ago. I’d never been to this realm, or this royal demon House. Perhaps I had a latent seer talent that was starting to emerge.

  According to Nonna, it wasn’t uncommon for magic to continue developing throughout a witch’s lifetime. It would also make sense that my newfound use of Source unlocked other magic. Latent talent or not, it wasn’t important. I shook myself back into the now.

  The room was cavernous, enough for our steps to echo as we quietly moved to the foot of the first sculpture. A man wearing a winged helmet, bandolier, and not a stitch of clothing stood with one hand extended, holding the severed head of Medusa. A sword was gripped tightly in his other hand. Something about it made me sad.

  Envy strolled over to the scene, his expression softening. “Perseus and Medusa. There are similar pieces in the mortal land, but nothing as exquisite as this. The sculptor captured his downcast eyes, his refusal to be turned to stone and cursed.”

  “It’s stunning craftsmanship, but horrid.”

  “Not all stories end happily, Emilia.”

  I knew that. My life had taken unexpected twists, most of which weren’t ideal or for the better. We all had bones, if not full skeletons of heartache, in our closets. It hit me suddenly. I subtly looked at the demon prince. Envy was deeply hurt. I wondered who or what had broken his heart so thoroughly. He caught my eye and gave me a hard look. Questions about his heartbreak would not be welcome. For some reason, I allowed the opportunity to interrogate him while he was compelled to answer truthfully slide. Not all secrets were meant to be shared.

  We moved in silence to the next statue. This one was magnificent. My favorite by far. An angel—with a powerful body sculpted from war—arched back, his wings extended, arms tossed behind his head, as if he’d been shoved from a great height and was cursing the one who’d taken him down. The feathers were so detailed, I couldn’t stop myself from reaching over and stroking one finger along them.

  “The Fallen.” Envy’s tone was quiet, reverent. “Another fine piece.”

  I studied the great warrior angel. His body was similar to Wrath’s. I wouldn’t be surprised if the artist had been inspired by him. “Is it meant to symbolize Wrath or Lucifer?”

  “It’s my interpretation of my cursed brother.” Envy’s lips twisted into a grin. “Right before the devil lost his precious wings. And we all followed suit shortly after.”

  “Why would you have such a moment memorialized?”

  “To always remember.” His voice was suddenly as hard as t
he marble statue. He shook his head, his expression once again indifferent, as if he’d replaced a mask that had accidentally slipped. “Come. There’s another room filled with objects you might find more interesting.”

  We were halfway through the next chamber, decorated with paintings and sketches and mirrors in various ornate frames, when I noticed the bookstands.

  I drifted over, drawn to one in particular. A strange, familiar humming started in my center. I knew that feeling. Recognized it. Though it was not quite as I recalled. There were no whispers or fevered voices rising and falling in a cacophony of sounds. Only that subtle hum. I’d experienced it in the monastery the night I’d found my twin. And then again when I’d confronted Antonio. Back then I hadn’t known what it was or what it wanted.

  I paused at the open grimoire. A glass case enclosed it, but I knew, without seeing its cover, what it was. It was the first book of spells. La Prima’s personal spell book.

  “How did you get this?” My voice was too loud in the smaller room. “It was with me the night I—”

  “The night you nearly killed the human sycophant?”

  I spun on my heel, glaring. “It disappeared that night. I thought… an Umbra demon.” I inhaled deeply. “You sent one to spy on me, didn’t you?”

  “Spy is a nasty word. Not to mention, it was watching the monastery. You happened along. Wrong place, wrong time.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled over to the next stand. Another open book. “What you call the first book of spells is not a complete manuscript. It’s one third of a grander, more elaborate text.” He nodded at the book. “The Mother and the Crone are in my possession; the Maiden has gone missing. Goddesses are tricky beings with even trickier magic. And to cross one…” He whistled. “That’s inadvisable.”

  “The first book of spells belonged to the First Witch, not the goddesses.”

  “My dear, I don’t know what the witches who raised you claimed, or why, but these books were written by the goddesses. Your so-called First Witch stole the book of the dead, the Crone’s book of underworld magic. I can tell you the Crone was not amused.”

  He spoke as if he knew the goddesses. “Where is the Crone now? Perhaps I should speak with her myself.”

  “By all means, if you find her, please send my regards.”

  I blew out a frustrated breath. Something wasn’t quite right with this story. Envy not only had a book of spells that could enchant skulls, he’d practically used the phrase one had uttered verbatim. He had to be the mysterious sender, but for whatever reason, he wasn’t admitting to it.

  “Are there spells on necromancy?”

  “The Crone is the goddess of the underworld. Her spells reflect the moon, the night, and the dead. Amongst other things, like darker, more violent emotions.” He watched me closely. “Bloodwood Forest is a spectacular sight. It lies between my land and Greed’s. No demon house may claim it; therefore, you don’t need an invitation to travel there. The trick, however, is gaining passage through the territories that border it.”

  I pulled my attention away from the book of spells. “Why are you telling me about it?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  If we were being friendly, I might as well push that to my advantage. “You mentioned something called the Temptation Key earlier. Is it part of your collection?”

  “I’m afraid not. Though not from a lack of trying to acquire it on my part.” He started walking away but called over his shoulder, “Before you retire for the evening, you may want to read the plaque of this painting. I find it to be quite informative.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Envy did not answer.

  Apparently our time together was over for tonight. I stared in the direction of the demon prince long after he’d left the room, mulling over all I’d learned. Envy was after the Triple Moon Mirror and the Temptation Key. Two objects I was now very interested in obtaining myself.

  When I was sure he wasn’t returning, I strode over to the painting he’d pointed out. It was an unusual tree. Large with gnarled wood and ebony-and-silver-veined leaves. There was something about the painting that reminded me of the artist who’d captured the seasonal garden in my bedroom suite in House Wrath.

  The shadows and care with which the artist had shown each piece of bark or falling leaf was remarkable; it looked as if I could reach into the painting and pull a leaf from the tree.

  I ran my fingers over the silver plaque and read the inscription.

  CURSE TREE FABLE

  Deep in the heart of the Bloodwood Forest lies a tree planted by the Crone herself. It is said, among other favors, the tree will consider hexing a sworn enemy if the desire to curse them is true. To request the Crone’s Curse: Carve their true name in the tree, write your wish on a leaf plucked from its branches, then offer the tree a drop of blood. Take the leaf home and place it beneath your pillow. If it is gone when you arise, the Crone accepted your offer and has granted your wish. She is the mother of the underworld—beware of her blessing.

  I reread the fable, unsure why Envy had pointed it out among the fifty or so other paintings lining the walls in this room. Nothing a prince of Hell did was by accident. I had a feeling I’d been unwittingly brought into one of his schemes, but I’d twist his deceit to my favor.

  I tucked the knowledge away and slowly made my way through the rest of the gallery, pausing at a map of the Seven Circles. Each demon House sat upon a mountain peak, towering above their territory. I spied the gates of Hell, the Sin Corridor.

  A place between House Lust and House Gluttony was marked VIOLENT WINDS. I wondered if that was the howling sound we’d heard in the Sin Corridor.

  I continued to study the sketch, committing as much of it as I could to memory. To the southeast, Bloodwood Forest sat between House Greed and House Envy. The Black River carved through the western Houses of Sin, dividing Wrath’s castle from both Greed and Pride’s territories. It forked off into a smaller tributary that ran behind Greed’s castle, winded through the lower portion of House Pride, and up along Envy’s northern border. I followed the main portion of the river until it ended in the Lake of Fire. Across from the largest section of the lake was the devil’s castle; House Pride sat slightly northwest of House Envy.

  Once I felt confident in my ability to recall most landmarks and the general lay of this realm, I left the map and wandered back through the gallery. A liveried member of Envy’s staff was waiting for me in the room with the sculptures.

  “His highness sends his apologies, but he’s left the premises. He said you are welcome to stay as long as you desire, but he will be gone for quite some time.” The servant hesitated, cleared his throat, as if uncomfortable with delivering the rest of the message.

  “Was there more?”

  “His highness also said if you wish to make Prince Wrath jealous, you may sleep in his highness’s bed tonight. He suggests doing so in the nude. And… I quote, ‘think filthy thoughts regarding the most well-endowed prince in this realm,’ while tending to yourself. There is a life-sized painting of Prince Envy on the ceiling, should you require a stimulating visual.”

  I mentally counted until the urge to hunt Envy passed. “I’d like to send word to House Wrath. Tell them I’ll be home tomorrow at first light.”

  “Straight away, my lady.” He bowed. “Would you like an escort back to your chambers?”

  “I believe I can find my way. I’d like to admire the statues once more.”

  “Very well. I’ll send the missive to House Wrath now.”

  I waited until he left before turning back to the gallery room. Annoyance at Envy quickly gave way to elation. I knew I’d have use of the mending kit.

  And it had absolutely nothing to do with sewing tears in pretty dresses.

  My heart thudded in time with the horses’ hoofs as the carriage rolled away from House Envy. Wrath didn’t show up to escort me home himself after all; he sent an emissary and a royal carriage. The emissary was only too p
leased to point out it wasn’t the prince’s personal carriage or steeds. Just whatever he’d had in the stables.

  As if that information was of great importance. I wasn’t sure how I felt about her sneer or the fact that the prince sent someone in his stead. The emissary sat primly on her side of the coach, pointedly avoiding eye contact and therefore any conversation with me.

  I was at a loss regarding her obvious contempt.

  I studied the demon from under lowered lashes, feigning sleep. Her deep red hair was coiled into intricate knots around the crown of her head, while the lower portion was a set of long, perfectly styled curls. A muscle in her jaw feathered, as if she was entirely aware of my scrutiny and was biting back a string of admonishments. Maybe her simmering anger was simply a marker of the House of Sin she belonged to and I was reading too much into it.

  I shifted my attention to the window. For some reason, she’d pulled the drapery shut before we set off. I moved it back and she glared. “Keep it closed.”

  I drew in a deep breath through my nose, centering my growing annoyance at her curt attitude. Arguing with her would serve no purpose. And I did not need one more enemy to watch out for. “What’s your name?”

  “You need only address me by my title.”

  Though I noticed she refused to call me by the title Wrath had demanded his court use. It didn’t bother me one bit. I was no noblewoman. “Very well, Emissary. Where is Wrath?”

  Her cool gaze slid to mine. “His highness is occupied.”

  There was no mistaking the edge in her tone, or the warning that more questions would not be tolerated. I laid my head against the plush carriage wall. We steadily moved down a mountain and I tensed to keep myself pressed against my seat and not slide forward. In what felt like eons, we finally began climbing again before eventually clamoring to a stop. Heedless of her ire, I drew the drapery aside and swallowed a gasp.