Kingdom of the Cursed

by Kerri Maniscalco

  Maybe the wailing, miserable creature I’d heard was her missing daughter. And if the matron brought her daughter back and kept her locked away, I was even more curious to know why. Wrath knew everything that went on in his circle, and I doubted the matron would keep this secret from him for long. Which indicated she was hiding her daughter from another prince.

  A new suspicion entered my thoughts. This story was similar to another I’d heard. One that involved La Prima Strega and her daughter. The First Witch was rumored to have cursed the devil because her daughter fell in love with him and they refused to give each other up.

  Was the Matron of Curses and Poisons actually the First Witch?

  If she was and she’d cursed the devil, I wanted to know why she was currently in Wrath’s castle, claiming to be someone else. He must know her true identity. Which meant he also knew what she’d done to his brother, and would explain their hatred and history. So why, then, would he be willing to keep her secret, unless she knew one of his? And if that was the case, it had to be a secret so wicked he’d be willing to strike a bargain with a sworn enemy.

  Given what he’d done to save me, that didn’t seem so unbelievable.

  “Daughter of the Moon. Lady Fauna.” Celestia opened her door before I finished knocking. I hid my smile. Wrath would be furious she’d answered so quickly. “How may I be of service to you?”

  “I have a few questions. About curses.”

  Her delight appeared genuine. “By all means. You’ve come to the right place. Come in.”

  I walked into the tower chamber and was immediately hit with the pleasing aroma of herbs and oils. I swallowed the pang of homesickness, the sudden reminder of Nonna Maria making spell candles in our small family kitchen. My family was safe. And I would finish what I set out to do and get back to make more happy memories with them. Soon.

  I wrenched myself into the present. Celestia moved across the chamber and pulled books and pots off of stools, making room for us to sit around her prep table. While she did that, my attention shifted to items I’d missed during my first visit.

  The matron had even more strange and curious things in her collection. From corked jars filled with blinking eyes, to baskets of bird beaks, one overflowing with claws, and another bin stuffed with feathers. Pots of salves and ointments and lotions of all kinds.

  A bird skull with runes carved into it was placed on top of a pile of leather-bound books.

  She noticed what caught my attention and nodded to it. “Ravens symbolize many things. Death, healing, fertility. Wisdom.”

  “And the runes?” I drifted closer but did not touch the carvings or the remains. If she was the First Witch, she might have enchanted the skulls and sent them to me. I was unsure if she was trying to help, or if my theory was wildly wrong. She might be exactly who she claimed, and I was forcing together puzzle pieces that didn’t fit. “Do they animate the skull?”

  “No.” Celestia eyed me with what appeared to be suspicion. If she was the First Witch, she was directly birthed from a goddess. I wasn’t sure if she could sense emotions like Wrath could, but I did my best to keep calm. “They come to me when I meditate over the skull. I etch what the raven wishes me to see. Arcane symbols can be a powerful ally to those with magic in their blood.”

  Fauna shifted uncomfortably, her attention riveted to the jars tapping with unseen forces on the far side of the chamber. I glanced back to the matron and lowered my voice. “Can they be used to enhance Source?”

  “For witches, yes. For those who are Source, no. Arcane symbols originate from their essence.”

  “Those who… you mean the goddesses.”

  Celestia nodded, her gaze sharp as she studied my face.

  According to Nonna’s legends, the goddesses were the original source of our power, diluted over time through the First Witch’s descendants.

  I looked the silver-and-lavender-haired woman over carefully. Her face was lightly lined, but there was no clear indication of her age. Fauna had mentioned that her animosity with Wrath was centuries old, which meant she was likely immortal. The shade of purple in her hair also did not escape my notice. It was the same color of my tattoo with Wrath, and also when I saw luccicare, the faint aura surrounding humans.

  I couldn’t tell if it was excitement or fear pumping through my veins.

  “So if a witch uses arcane symbols with their spells, it increases the potency of that spell.”

  “Correct.”

  I slid my focus to Fauna, who was squinting into a cauldron now. “Is it possible for anyone to enchant a skull and send a message? Perhaps a prince of Hell, or a witch.”

  “All is possible; whether it’s probable is another story. Those with knowledge of arcane symbols might be able to do such a thing.” Celestia motioned for me to sit. “Were there any symbols carved onto the bone?” I shook my head. “Then I doubt a demon prince or witch was responsible. It was likely someone much closer to Source.”

  Someone like the First Witch. I kept my breathing even, unwilling to alert anyone to my heightened emotions. If Celestia was the First Witch and her daughter was cursed, that meant the devil’s first wife wasn’t dead after all. And if she truly lived, then I was definitely right about the witches on my island being murdered for a different reason.

  One that had nothing to do with the devil seeking a bride.

  And everything to do with revenge.

  “Lady Emilia?” Fauna broke into my spiraling thoughts. “Shall we go back to the main palace?”

  “Yes.” I stood, then spun around to face the matron. “One last question. The Curse Tree. I’ve been told it grants more than wishes, that it offers knowledge. How would one go about obtaining information instead of a wish or a hex?”

  Fauna’s attention shot to me like an arrow, but I ignored it. Celestia narrowed her eyes.

  “Carve the true name of the one you seek information about into the trunk. Then take one leaf from the tree. Careful when you do—the leaves are as fragile as glass. When you desire the truth, break the leaf in the presence of the one whose name you carved.”

  I thought about the First Witch, of legends and fables we’d been told. None had ever used her name. “What if I’m unsure of the person’s true name? Will their title work?”

  “Names have power. Titles are a show of power. One can be taken or given on a whim, the other cannot.” Celestia smiled in a way that set my nerves on edge. “Was there anything else, my lady?”

  The way she said “my lady” drove home her point. It was a courtesy title, something given that held little meaning outside of this realm. My name was different. Aside from my first name, I would only be a princess or lady here. On my island I would forever remain Emilia Maria di Carlo unless I married. And only my surname would change, never my first.

  “No, thank you. You’ve been most… informative.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  I gently placed another book on the floor. Haven, the heavenly counterpart to Wrath’s personal Hell below, appeared as if a storm had raged through its rainbow-colored shelves. I snagged another ancient tome and flipped through it, mindful of the delicate pages.

  The books in this library were all written in Latin, so I understood most of what was in them. Not that it helped my situation.

  “Blood and bones.”

  Another grimoire, another disappointment. There were no records of the First Witch, though that could have been due to the fact I didn’t know her true name. In Palermo, Wrath had said something along the lines of “the First Witch, as you call her,” which meant that was not the name the demon princes knew her by. If I couldn’t find something soon, I’d have to ask him. Which I’d prefer to avoid for several reasons. The first being if he knew La Prima was here and was harboring her, I wasn’t sure if he would thwart my efforts at uncovering that mystery.

  I’d searched for records of Celestia, but there was no mention of the Matron of Curses and Poisons, either. If she was a royal healer as well as a poisone
r, I would have thought there would be court records of her. Either mentions of her saving lives or taking them.

  There was nothing.

  It was as if she did not exist outside of that tower chamber. Further proof she might not be who she claimed.

  I dropped to the ground, my skirts pooling around me. I was in a lovely navy and gold gown today with flowers embroidered across my bodice, elegant enough for a lady of the Royal Demon Court, and comfortable enough to spend hours on my knees in a darkened corner of the library, searching for answers.

  I flipped through a rather thin journal filled with notes and sketches. It spoke of demons that had been made through unnatural sources. Not quite lesser demons, but close. These creatures ranged from human-passing in appearance to a mix between the natural world and mortals. I paused on one illustration. It was humanoid in shape, but its skin was tree bark, its beard moss, and its fingers and limbs were branches of varying lengths and widths.

  The next image was of a young man with an enormous set of elk antlers. Another showed a woman with pointed ears and ram horns that curled down to her shoulders.

  Notes spoke of spells and hexes that went wrong, turning mortals into nightmares. Shunned and cursed from their world, they ended up here, where they could roam the underworld without fear of persecution.

  According to the book, most had scattered across the realm, ending up in the Undying Lands to the northwest, and an eastern mountain range called Merciless Reach.

  One note caught my attention.

  Creatures made through primordial fear often crave blood. They seek life and there is no greater symbol of life than the heart.

  “Lovely.” They were this realm’s version of a vampire.

  I set that illustrated journal aside and scanned the next grimoire, one ear turned toward the entrance. There were just pages of notes on spells, charms, and hexes. I dropped the book onto the towering pile beside me. Then I pulled up my knees and leaned against the shelves.

  No matter how hard I tried to stop imagining creatures feasting on hearts, I couldn’t shove my sister’s mutilated body from my mind.

  One night in Palermo Wrath had said that Pride’s wife had had her heart torn from her, too. He’d also mentioned that the First Witch had used the darkest of magic to remove her daughter’s power and it had unforeseen consequences.

  What if her missing heart wasn’t part of the murder ritual? What if it was one of the consequences brought about by La Prima? It might have also been a way to set her free from any mortal constraints. I vaguely recalled Nonna saying something like that in passing.

  If La Prima’s daughter was cursed and not dead, she might be the monster who ran around ripping out witch hearts and devouring them.

  Perhaps she was motivated by revenge against her mother, at whatever humanity might have been stolen when her powers were wrenched from her. If the devil was her eternal love, maybe she was driven mad and killed any potential brides who would take her place.

  Or maybe it was as simple as the illustrated journal claimed—if she was no longer in possession of her humanity, maybe she craved hearts for everything she no longer had.

  “Perhaps there are too many maybes and not enough definitive answers.”

  I stood and pulled my shoulders back. Now that I was alone, I would go back to the matron and directly confront her about my suspicions. If she was the First Witch, I didn’t think she’d harm me. There was a reason she’d been sending the enchanted skulls, and it wasn’t to frighten. Maybe she could tell me more about the Triple Moon Mirror and offer any ideas on where I might find it, or the Temptation Key.

  I brushed my hand against the hidden sheath at my thigh. And if she did try to hurt me, I would not go without a fight.

  Anticipation had me standing outside the matron’s tower chamber in what felt like mere moments. Disappointment had my jaw clenching as I tore off the note tacked to the door and read the hastily scratched message.

  Gone for a spell.

  It was impossible to determine if she meant it literally or figuratively. The matron would either return in a few minutes, or she’d gone in search of a spell. There was no telling how long the latter might take, but, on the off chance she’d be back soon, I milled around outside her tower until snow began falling and chased me away.

  I’d taken all of two steps into the corridor of my bedroom suite when a prickle of awareness slid over my skin. Wrath leaned against the door to my chambers, his attention fixed on my face. I swallowed the surge of… whatever that feeling was and arched a brow the way he’d done countless times before. I still hadn’t seen or spoken to him after our last training session. And this visit was most unwelcome.

  I paused a decent distance away. “May I help you?”

  “I was here to ask the same.”

  He didn’t elaborate, and I was not in the mood to play the game of ask Wrath a thousand questions and receive frustrating answers. I moved toward my door, expecting him to step aside, and inhaled deeply when he didn’t budge. I crossed my arms and waited.

  Sensing my resolve, or attempting to re-strategize his battle plan, Wrath changed tactics. “The library is in shambles.”

  “That’s a bit dramatic. There are a few piles of books scattered in one section. I will clean everything up this evening.”

  “You’re looking for information on the First Witch.”

  “I’m interested in my history. She is part of that.”

  His expression darkened. It was not quite thunderous, but certainly stormy. “Lie.”

  “What I may be searching for is none of your concern.”

  “Everything in this castle is my concern. You, especially.”

  “I do not press or pry into your plans. I expect the same courtesy.”

  “Even if I’ve come to offer assistance?”

  “After our last ‘lesson,’ I was under the impression you wished for me to take matters into my own hands from now on. Quite literally.”

  Wrath’s attention drifted along my silhouette. He looked as if he were mentally replaying our weapons room tryst, dragging my gown up my thighs, touching and caressing me as if my pleasure was his own. When he brought his gaze back to mine, there was no heat or hint of the emotion that had just claimed him. He was remote, unfeeling. A wall was slowly being built between us. I couldn’t tell if it was relief gnawing at the pit of my stomach, or something else.

  “We leave for Gluttony’s royal House in three nights. Send word to me if you’d like to train before then.”

  He turned to leave and, devil curse me, I called out, “Fine. Meet me in the weapons room at midnight. We’ll have one final lesson before the real games begin.”

  I arrived in the weapons room nearly a half an hour ahead of schedule. I wanted to set the tone of our lesson and with each strike of the ticking clock, my pulse raced faster. I glanced at my reflection in a particularly shiny shield hung on the wall, relieved that I still looked impeccable on the outside, no matter the chaotic state of my insides.

  I shook my jitters out and moved to the center of the room.

  At precisely midnight, Wrath stepped into the chamber and halted near the door. It closed with a snick that reminded me of a blade sliding free of its sheath. A fitting sound, given the battle that was about to be launched between us.

  Wrath took in my gown—a black off-the-shoulder bodice covered in pale beaded flowers and vines with frothy dark champagne skirts that split on one side a little past my knee.

  His focus paused on my footwear. I’d had the shoes specially designed for this dress and was fairly confident the demon prince liked them almost as much as I did.

  They were heeled shoes that had a glittering black snake that wound from my ankle to my thigh. The serpent’s tongue flicked out but was semi-covered by my dress.

  If Wrath wanted a full visual, he would need to push my skirts out of the way. The shoes were inspired in part by the statue in the gardens.

  “Tonight we’ll—”
<
br />   “—we’ll work on pride.” I smiled, noting that my deep berry lip stain captured his attention. I slowly spun in place. “I had this designed for our lesson and I’m quite happy with the results. It’s the first time I’ve created something entirely from my imagination.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “I know.” I winked and Wrath actually chuckled. “It’s perfection.”

  “I see your pride is already primed and ready for the lesson.” His eyes flashed with something dark and dangerous. “So let’s begin.”

  “Do your worst, your highness. I’m ready.”

  This time the magic was like a tiny bead rolling between my shoulders, slipping down my spine, pleasant and enticing. I almost arched into it, remembering at the last moment to shove it away, to focus on creating a barrier between the demonic influence and me.

  I inhaled deeply, my chest swelling with elation. I was resisting Wrath’s influence, and I was hardly breaking a sweat. Battling away pride was by far the easiest thing I’d done yet.

  I gave him a cocky grin from where he stood half in the shadows. He hadn’t taken another step into the room; he remained by the door, looking ready to bolt. It was about time he felt unsteady. Whenever he was near lately I felt as if my world had tilted wildly off its axis.

  “You’ll have to try harder. I’ve gotten quite good at resisting you.”

  “Have you?” Amusement glinted in his eyes. “Sounds as if you’re a little prideful.”

  I lifted a shoulder and dropped it casually. “Not prideful. Only honest. You’ve been a decent enough teacher, but this student has surpassed the lessons. I accept my desires. I welcome any challenge. I have little fear of losing. I think your brothers ought to be worried.”

  “Oh?”

  “Of course. There is nothing more dangerous than a woman who owns who she is and apologizes to no one.” I gave him a slow once-over. “I believe I am powerful, therefore I am. Isn’t that the principle you live by? Well, I know I’m powerful. I know power comes from many sources and I now have many weapons in my arsenal, your highness. In fact, I can own you right now if I chose to. And you would be powerless for a change.”