A Curse So Dark and Lonely

by Brigid Kemmerer

  I have to make myself nod. “Certainly.”

  She turns to my guard commander and gives him a smile. “Thanks for the lesson, Scary Grey.”

  He says nothing. Grey’s no fool.

  Then, without a backward glance, she turns and walks to the inn, her left foot shuffling through the slush.

  Every word I want to say feels petty.

  The silence fills with expectant tension. I remember this tension from before, when my guardsmen anticipated a rebuke—or worse.

  I consider the way my nurse once spoke about my father, and I wonder what my guards once said about me.

  It would not have been good. I know that much.

  “Commander,” I say.

  “My lord.” His voice gives away nothing, but he expects an order to do something grueling or torturous. I can tell.

  “Considering what we’ve seen, if you had to assemble a contingent of guards, how many would you need?” I hold out the throwing knives Harper handed to me.

  He frowns as he slides them into the sheaths on his bracers, as if trying to map the direction of this question. “For what purpose?”

  “For me to be able to walk among the people. To make my presence known.” I pause. “Harper’s presence as well.”

  He says nothing. He expects a trap.

  “Do you have a number or not?” I say.

  “I do. Forty-eight.”

  “Forty-eight!”

  “Your personal guard was once half that, not including castle guards.” His tone borders between frustrated and curious. “One must allow time for training, and drills, as well as alternating schedules to ensure vigilance—”

  “Fine.” I raise a hand. “Could you find and train forty-eight new guards before the change overtakes me?”

  “Presuming … what? Six weeks? Seven? If we had an army and I could choose from among skilled warriors—maybe. As things stand now? Unlikely.” He pauses. “Why?”

  “How many do you think you could find and train?”

  “If you wish to order me to stay away from the Lady Harper, you need not create diversions—”

  “That’s not what I’m doing. How many?”

  “I have no idea.” His expression turns incredulous. “I have been confined to the castle with you. I have no sense of the state of the people aside from the few we’ve encountered.” He raises a hand to point at the inn. “Do you wish me to enlist children? Perhaps the infant will display a talent for swordplay.”

  I level him with a look. “Watch your tone, Commander. I seek your counsel, not your contempt.”

  “If you seek my counsel, then I need to understand what you hope to accomplish.”

  “Those men assumed I was dead. The people think the royal family has abandoned them. I want to be able to walk among my people and show them I still live, that this is still my kingdom.”

  “But—for what purpose? Your obligation is to Harper—”

  “No. My obligation is to the people of Emberfall.” I take a step forward. “And your obligation is to me.”

  He does not back down. “As always.”

  The wind whistles between us, and I bite back a shiver. “Could you do it or not?”

  “Even if I could find individuals willing to serve—which is doubtful, given what we’ve learned—and even if we cut that number by half, there is no way they could be effective at providing any kind of unified defense in a matter of weeks.”

  He’s right. Of course he’s right. “What if we do not concern ourselves with defense?”

  He frowns. “Forgive me, but—”

  “What if we fake it?”

  Grey looks as though I’ve completely lost my mind. He might not be too far off the mark. “So—to be clear—you wish for me to recruit individuals to the Royal Guard, outfit them with weapons and uniforms, and … what? Allow them to accompany you into the masses with a bare modicum of training?”

  “Yes! Exactly that.”

  His eyes narrow. “And this is not a diversion?”

  “Do I have need to create a diversion, Commander?”

  Grey does not look away. “No.” He pauses. “You have a plan, then?”

  I have the shadow of a plan. The barest glimmer of a plan. “Yes. Could you do it? Could you create the impression of a functioning guard?”

  “I suppose.” His words are cautious. “What happens if you are truly at risk?”

  I imagine it, riding into the more populated cities, people crowding near. I haven’t done such a thing in ages. The people of Emberfall are hungry and desperate. The very idea is akin to insanity. To suicide.

  But what difference does it make? I have nothing left to lose.

  “That’s why I have you.”

  He looks taken aback.

  I clap him on the shoulder before turning for the inn. “You did say you prefer to be useful, did you not?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  HARPER

  Coale and Evalyn are bickering.

  My hands and face are frozen after being out in the cold for most of the afternoon, but overhearing an argument about what to serve the royal guests convinces me to slip up the steps.

  The room is freezing despite the snapping flames in the fireplace. When I move to check the window, it’s closed, but down in the courtyard, Rhen and Grey are locked in tense conversation.

  I think His Highness will not like it.

  Well, that was patently obvious.

  I sigh and draw the curtains closed, then move to drop on the side of the bed. I rub my hands against my thighs, trying to warm them. The bulky hand-stitching of the doeskin riding pants catches on my knuckles. I wonder how it’s possible I’ve only been here a day and a half.

  That moment in the stables, when here felt real and home felt like a dream, has grown stronger, like a bizarre kind of vertigo. Or maybe it’s the reverse. Maybe all this still feels like a dream and I’m not panicking because I’m just waiting to wake up.

  I pinch myself.

  This isn’t a dream.

  I close my eyes and hug my arms to my body, thinking of my mother. When I was little, she would tell me that we all have a spark inside of us, and our sparks can find each other no matter where we are. It gave me a lot of comfort when I was young.

  It’s giving me a lot of comfort now. I never asked her what would happen to her spark if she dies.

  When she dies.

  I have to press a hand to my chest and hold my breath.

  No, I need to breathe. I gulp for oxygen and try to sob without making any noise.

  But then it passes. I can breathe. I can survive.

  I don’t know how long Mom can. A season is three months.

  I pull the phone out of my pocket. The battery tells me there’s six percent left. I go to the photo album again. Mom. Jake. Noah. Me. Repeat.

  The phone flashes a warning: 5% power remaining. It’s meaningless, really. What does that mean? Five minutes? Ten? One?

  My face itches and I swipe at my cheeks, surprised when my fingertips come away wet. I remember once reading an article about the psychology of crosswalks, how adding a countdown makes it less stressful for drivers because they know how long they have to wait at a light. There was something about knowing how long you have to suffer that was better than just waiting.

  The article was right.

  It makes me think of Rhen, too, the indeterminate length of this curse. It’s some kind of miracle it hasn’t broken him.

  I keep swiping through pictures.

  Four percent.

  I swap over to Jake’s text messages. Nothing has changed. They’re all there. I read as far as the chat history will load for his messages with Noah and with Mom—but it’s not far. The screen scrolls back about twelve hours, and then I get the spinning wheel. With Mom, I can imagine her voice. With Noah, I’m just curious, but the messages don’t give much context. He mentions working a night shift, but that could be anything.

  For the first time, I click on the messages
from Lawrence.

  LN: If he doesn’t have it, take care of it

  JAKE: I will

  LN: No excuses

  JAKE: I know

  LN: You will, or we’ll take it up with your sister

  JAKE: I’ll do it

  My heart turns to ice. I’ll do it.

  I don’t want to guess. I don’t need to guess. I know what they’ve tried to get him to do.

  “No, Jake,” I whisper. My gentle brother.

  The timer counted down. He wasn’t out.

  We’ll take it up with your sister.

  If he made it out, I wouldn’t have been there. He would have been frantic trying to find me.

  If he didn’t make it out …

  I press an arm against my abdomen, using my other hand to cover my face. I can’t stop the tears now. My shoulders shake fiercely. I’m sobbing openly.

  The phone vibrates. Powering down.

  “No!” I scream. I jam my finger on the button. The screen dies anyway.

  The bedroom door swings open. Grey stands in the doorway, his eyes seeking a threat. “My lady?”

  I gasp and press the phone to my chest. My heart is beating so fast I almost can’t breathe. My hands are shaking to where I can barely keep a grip on the phone.

  I don’t even know why. It’s nothing now. A brick of glass and plastic and circuitry.

  “My lady.” Grey’s voice is very quiet and right in front of me. He’s dropped to one knee. “What has happened?”

  “It died.”

  “Your device?” I can hear the confusion in his voice. “But they do not work—”

  “I know.” I sniff hard. “I know. But there were pictures. My mother—my brother—it’s all I had.”

  I don’t know if he understands. But he says, “Should I call for—”

  “No.” I almost choke on my tears. I can’t stand the thought of facing Rhen’s arrogant composure when I’m dissolving into despair. “Please.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, during which my tears sound very loud. “You have a way to see your world?” he finally says.

  “No. Maybe. Sort of.” I drag a sleeve across my eyes. “Not anymore. Just—just pictures. But it died. I don’t know if they’re okay. They don’t know if I’m okay.”

  “Your brother. Your mother.”

  “My brother was in trouble. Before—before you took me. I was his lookout. And my mom is sick—she could be dead—”

  Rhen appears in the doorway. I watch as he registers our relative positions.

  Great. Like I need this right now. I glare up at him. “Go away. You’re the cause of all of this.”

  Grey stands. Turns. “My lord. A word?”

  “I would hope more than one.”

  Grey steps through the doorway, closing the door behind him.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and listen to myself breathe. I set down the useless phone.

  I count to ten. To twenty. By fifty, my brain starts working again.

  By one hundred, I’m angry.

  I glance at the strip of window visible between the curtains. The sky has gone from piercing blue to red-streaked clouds. Sunset.

  I stand and walk to the door. I throw it wide.

  Rhen and Grey stand in the hallway.

  This time, Rhen’s eyes are full of empathy. Manufactured, I’m sure. He straightens and comes to stand in front of me. “My lady—I did not—”

  I draw back my hand and slap him as hard as I can.

  He doesn’t see it coming. It throws his head to the side.

  I don’t wait for a reaction. I duck back into the room and slam the door in his face.

  And then I turn the lock.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  RHEN

  No woman has ever dared slap me across the face. My jaw stings like a burn that needs a salve.

  I want to break down this door and challenge her, but I keep seeing her tear-streaked cheeks, the ragged emotion in her eyes.

  Even now, if I listen closely, I can hear her crying on the other side of the door.

  Her mother is dying. Her brother is in trouble.

  I feel like such a fool.

  The innkeeper appears at the base of the staircase. “Your Highness?” he says hesitantly. “Is all well?”

  “Yes,” I say, my words clipped. “Leave us.” I do not look away from the door. They will gossip about whatever they heard, but I will not feed that mill with a reddened cheek.

  The man offers a bow and moves away.

  To my right, Grey stands motionless. I cannot look at him either. I have never felt so powerless.

  I reach out and try the door handle, but she has locked it.

  She must hear me try, because she shouts, “Go away!”

  I have no idea how to solve this.

  Grey unbuckles a pouch on his belt and withdraws his deck of cards. Without a word, he holds them out.

  His intention is clear. “I’m more likely to get this door to play with me, Grey.”

  “You could ask.”

  I sigh, then reach out and take the deck. “Go.” I nod toward the staircase. “Join them for dinner. See if you can learn anything new about Karis Luran.”

  He obeys, leaving me with the pressing quiet of the hallway.

  Silence will solve nothing. I raise a hand and knock softly.

  She does not respond.

  I flatten my hand against the wood and move closer. Grey’s presence downstairs will prevent eavesdroppers, but I keep my voice low anyway. “My lady.”

  Nothing.

  “There is no trellis outside your window,” I say. “Please tell me you are not climbing the chimney.”

  “Go away, Rhen.”

  She speaks from right on the other side of the door. My heart kicks to find her so close.

  “I wish to speak with you,” I say.

  “You don’t get something just because you want it. Most people learn that by the time they’re six.”

  “Not most princes, clearly.” I keep my voice light, hoping she will open the door.

  She does not.

  I sigh. Turn the cards over in my fingers. “I don’t suppose you would like to play a game of King’s Ransom?”

  She’s quiet for quite some time. When she finally speaks, her voice is low and sorrowful against the door. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?” She sniffs, which makes me think she is crying again. “To my family?”

  “No,” I say. “I don’t.”

  Silence again, but this has a weighted quality.

  “My mother has cancer,” she finally says. “She’s dying. The doctors gave her six months to live, nine months ago. Her lungs are full of tumors. She says every day is a gift—but really, every day is torture. She can barely breathe. My brother and I are the only ones to take care of her.”

  Harper feels this torture. I can hear it in every syllable.

  She sniffs again. “When we were younger, we did all right, but then she got sick, and we ran out of money. My dad got involved with some bad people who loaned him money, and I don’t know how he ever thought we’d pay it back, but then he ran off, and my brother is—he’s doing terrible things to try to repay—” Her voice breaks. “If I were there, I could help them. I could be with my mother. I could be with my brother. They need me. Can you understand that? That they need me? Can you?”

  I press my forehead against the door. Her pain reaches me through the wood, tightening my own chest and dredging memories of my family. “Yes. I can.”

  “No!” Her voice is fierce, her rage pure. “You can’t!”

  “I can,” I say softly.

  “How?”

  “Because I need you.”

  Silence again. It seems to stretch on forever. Until I think she has given up on me and moved away from the door.

  I speak anyway. “When the curse began,” I say, “I thought undoing it would be simple.” I hesitate. A familiar shame has curled around my throat and gripped tight. “But then … the
creature destroyed my family.” I swallow. It’s so much easier to think of my monster as something separate. Something I have a chance at stopping. “I’d been so cavalier—and it ripped them apart without thought. I had no chance—I can’t—I can’t bring them back. I can’t undo any of it.”

  My breathing has gone shallow. I have no memory of their deaths—only the memory of their bodies, dismembered and scattered about the Great Hall. The way I found them when I returned to myself, an hour before the season reset. The way I found myself, covered in their blood.

  And then the season began again, and it was gone. All of it. The castle returns to that first day, but aside from me and Grey, the dead stay dead.

  I have long since locked away any emotion over my own destruction, but warmth collects in my throat, thickening my words. “By the end of the second season, the creature turned on my people. By the third … My lady, please—please know I meant you no harm. I meant your family no harm. I have tried everything I can think of to break this curse. I have tried to destroy myself. I would undo it if I could. I promise you.”

  Silence. Again.

  I have nothing left to offer her. Nothing more than this truth.

  The lock turns. The door swings open. We’re face-to-face. Her cheeks are reddened and her eyes damp.

  My own tears don’t feel far off.

  She studies me. “I never know when to trust you. Everything always sounds so calculated.”

  I jerk back, stung.

  “Until you said all that.”

  And then, because fate seems content to surprise me this season, she steps forward, presses her face against my chest, and wraps her arms around my waist.

  I’m so startled that I can’t move. She could draw my weapons and stab me and I would be less shocked.

  “I’m so sorry about your family,” she says.

  “I am sorry about yours, my lady.” My voice sounds hollow, even to me. I stand frozen, unsure what to do with my arms.

  She looks up at me. I’m not sure what she finds in my face, but she takes a step back.