A Curse So Dark and Lonely

by Brigid Kemmerer

  In the back of my head, a twinge of guilt pricks at me. I’m leaving these people. I’m leaving Emberfall to its fate—and I’ll never know what happened. Princess Harper of Disi would vanish. The people here would be left to the curse and the monster.

  But this curse is not my fault. I have nothing to do with this place. I have no obligation to any of them.

  The guilt doesn’t go away. In fact, it seems to cling harder.

  “Grey.” I catch his arm, my fingers digging into the leather buckled around his forearm. He’s replaced the knife he lost to the man in the inn. The steel of the hilt is cold under my palm. “Did Rhen tell her what I want?”

  He stops and looks down at me. The hallway is so quiet around us, shadowed with flickering candlelight. “She knows what you have asked. She has agreed to hear your request.”

  “Do you think she’ll send me home?”

  “I think she will do whatever causes the greatest harm.”

  An arrow of fear pierces right through any hope I had. “To me? Or to Rhen?”

  “To him.” He pauses, and his voice is resigned. “Which may work in your favor.”

  The warning in his tone is chilling, and nothing about those words is a relief.

  An ornate steel door sits at the end of the hallway, flanked by large oil lamps. Grey reaches for the handle and swings it wide.

  The floor turns to dirt, and we’re in a huge open space. The walls to my left are lined with weapons, from swords and axes to lances and spears. The ceiling stretches two stories overhead, crossed with wooden beams and painted white. Late-afternoon sunlight streams across the space from above.

  In the center of the arena stands the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s almost too stunning to look at, from the shine of her black hair to the jeweled satin of her skirts.

  At her feet, on his knees, one hand braced in the dirt, is Rhen.

  He’s spitting blood at the ground.

  The room full of gore flashes in front of my eyes. Every time he tried to warn me about Lilith, and I didn’t understand.

  “Stop!” I scream. “What are you doing to him? Stop it!”

  I don’t realize I’m running until Grey catches me. His arms wrap around my waist, pinning me against him. His voice is low and quiet against my ear. “She can kill you without thought, my lady.”

  I struggle against him. My voice breaks out with a sob. “She’s killing him.”

  “Killing him?” The woman laughs, and even that is beautiful, in a grating, shimmering way, like discordant wind chimes. “I would never kill him.” She glances down at Rhen. I don’t see her move, but he jerks and makes a low keening sound, then coughs more blood into the dirt.

  I had no idea she would be like this.

  Rhen grips his abdomen now. His labored breathing echoes through the arena.

  “Stop,” I gasp. “Please stop.”

  “Remember this, girl. Remember how easily he falls.”

  There is no danger of me forgetting. I strain against Grey’s hold.

  Lilith watches me. Her face is so young, her eyes clear and vibrant. She takes a step toward Rhen and he tries to recoil. “No matter how much power the crown prince would have you believe he holds, it is truly meaningless.”

  I redouble my struggles. I have no idea what I can do, but I know I can’t just watch. “Grey,” I cry. “We have to help him.”

  He’s too big. Too strong. His arms encircle my rib cage, and my feet barely touch the ground.

  “We cannot,” he says.

  “You believe our prince cannot take the pain?” says Lilith. “Do you hear that, Rhen? She thinks you’re weak.”

  I shake my head fiercely. I think of whatever Jake has had to do to keep us safe. I think of the men who used to deliver “reminders” to my father. I didn’t think I would ever see anything more terrible. I was wrong. “Please,” I say. “He’s not weak. Please stop.”

  “I assure you, I’ve had time to find his limits. This is nothing.”

  I don’t want to see his limits.

  Rhen coughs again, wetly, and presses his forehead to the ground. He’s coughed up enough blood that a dark pool sits beneath his jaw.

  Lilith reaches down and grabs a fistful of his hair, wrenching him somewhat upright. I expect him to look furious. Desperate. Terrified, maybe.

  Instead, he looks resigned. His eyes center on nothing. Not on Grey. And certainly not on me.

  “Am I to understand you have a request for me?” says Lilith.

  I can barely process her words. I can’t look away from Rhen. “Please stop.” My voice breaks. “Please stop hurting him.”

  “That is your request?”

  I freeze. That’s not my request, but right now, I’ll do anything to stop this.

  Lilith jerks his head higher and he winces. “She begs for you, Rhen. And you asked me to send her home. You’re such a fool.”

  No. I was the fool.

  “Make your request,” says Lilith. “I grow bored, girl. Rhen knows what happens when I grow bored.” She jerks his head back and he makes a sound I never want to hear again.

  I don’t know what’s happening to my mother or my brother, but the unknown can’t compete with what she’s doing right in front of me. I pry at Grey’s arm, trying to use the buckles for leverage. He holds fast.

  Rhen coughs again. Lilith reaches down with her free hand. A spot of blood appears where her fingers touch his neck. He jerks away but she holds him in place.

  My hand slides across the hilt of one of Grey’s throwing knives. I jerk the blade free. I hold it just like Grey showed me.

  Softer.

  I throw it straight at Lilith.

  The blade flies true, but only skims her skirts before driving into the dirt beyond.

  Lilith snaps her head around to look at me. I expect fury in her eyes, but there is only surprise.

  She lets Rhen go and he all but collapses into the dirt, his breathing rapid. His forehead isn’t pressed to the ground now.

  He’s turned his head to look at me.

  Lilith steps away from him and picks up the knife I threw. It hangs between her fingers, the steel swinging gently, catching the light.

  “You tore my dress,” she says.

  “I was aiming higher,” I say. “But I’m still learning.”

  “Perhaps you need a demonstration.”

  “Lilith.” Rhen speaks, his voice harsh and broken. “You cannot harm her. You swore to never interfere with the girls.”

  Lilith keeps moving toward me. She’s so graceful that she could be floating over the dirt floor of the arena. “She threw a knife at me, Your Highness. I did not interfere. She did.”

  Rhen is lying in the dirt, crouching over a pool of his own blood. It makes Lilith’s approach all the more terrifying. I think of my mother facing my father’s harassers—and later, cancer treatments. I know pain. So does my mother. I’ve lived it. I’ve watched my mother live it. I can get through this.

  I grit my teeth. “Grey. Release me.”

  He lets go but does not leave my side.

  Lilith’s eyebrows go up. “Impressive. Commander Grey will not even listen to me. I see you have brought him to heel.”

  Her voice makes me want to flinch. I refuse to give her the satisfaction. “He’s not a dog.”

  “If one is not the dog, one is the master, and Grey is certainly not that.” She pauses. “Which role do you play, girl?”

  “Beats me, but I know which one you are.” I glare at her. “I have another word for it, though.”

  Lilith goes still. Any amusement melts off her face.

  Rhen has made it to his feet. “You cannot harm her,” he says. “You swore.”

  “I swore not to kill them,” Lilith says. “I swore not to interfere with your attempts at courtship.” She steps closer to me. “That,” she says, “is all I swore.”

  Beside me, Grey draws his sword.

  She does not glance at him, and she makes no move towa
rd me. Her eyes are fixed on mine. “You wished to ask me for passage home? That is all?”

  I swallow. “Yes.” But now I don’t want to ask her for anything.

  “And that is all you want?”

  “Yes.” My voice is soft.

  “Do you not see my power?” She takes a step closer. “What if I could end the torment of your broken body?”

  “No,” says Rhen. He staggers forward. “Harper, what she offers will come at a cost.”

  “My body is not broken,” I say.

  “You amuse me, girl. What about your mother’s body? Would you consider hers broken?”

  I go very still. My eyes fill against my will. “You know about my mother?”

  “I’ve been to see her.” A heavy, vicious pause. “She thinks I am an angel. She believes I can ease her pain. Perhaps I can.”

  “No,” says Rhen. “Harper, the cost will be greater than her loss—”

  “What about my brother?” A tear spills down my cheek. “Is my brother okay?”

  “Ah, your brother. The great enforcer. He is a man of violence. I find I admire his talents.”

  “He’s alive.” My voice breaks.

  “Oh, he is alive,” she says. “But he is far from well.”

  “Please,” I whisper. “Please let me help them.”

  She steps closer to me. Her free hand reaches out to touch my cheek. I flinch and expect to feel a flare of pain, but her palm is cool. Almost motherly. “You poor girl. You know nothing of this side. It is unfair that Prince Rhen has trapped you in this curse.”

  My breathing hitches. “So you’ll help me?”

  “No.” Her expression tightens. “If you wish to ask me for favors, you would do well to learn respect.”

  Then she brings up the knife and swipes it across the opposite side of my face.

  The motion is so sudden and unexpected that I don’t realize she’s done anything until she’s already gone. Vanished.

  Then I feel the sting. The burn as my tears find their way into broken skin. I slap my hand to my cheek.

  There’s dampness. Stickiness. I can feel the edges of my skin where she cut me.

  I whimper. I can’t breathe. A wet trickle snakes down my neck.

  Rhen has made his way to me. “We need to get you into the palace.” His voice is hoarse and worn.

  “She cut me,” I say. The pain is setting in now, a fire that lights up the entire side of my cheek.

  Rhen catches my arm. There’s blood streaked on his face, on his jacket. Dirt clings to some of it. He looks as pale as I feel. “Please, my lady. There is a lot of blood.”

  I’m shaking. Trembling so hard I can barely stand. My entire palm is slick and crimson.

  “There are supplies in the armory,” says Grey.

  “Supplies?” My own voice seems to be coming from a distance.

  “It needs stitching.” Rhen’s voice sounds like it’s underwater. Slow and lethargic. “My lady, please allow me to—”

  I can’t give permission. I can’t do anything.

  My vision goes black.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  RHEN

  I have never kept a bedside vigil.

  When I was young, I would have considered such a thing tedious and boring—if I ever considered it at all. I never needed to—and I likely do not need to now. Harper’s wound could have been far worse: The knife could have caught her neck, or sliced into the muscle of her arm. She could have lost her eye.

  Harper will wake. She will survive. She has a lady-in-waiting who could sit at her bedside. I do not need to be here.

  But I find I cannot leave.

  Ironrose has never felt so quiet, the silence pressing in around us, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire, and Harper’s slow, even breaths. The music from the Great Hall is silent tonight, and I am grateful. I study the slightly arced line that bisects her cheek, the twenty stitches holding the skin closed. An angry wound that seems out of place on the soft curve of her face.

  Her words from the arena keep repeating in my head, complete with the broken emotion in her voice.

  Please stop. Please stop hurting him.

  And Lilith’s response.

  She begs for you, Rhen.

  Instead of running from what she saw, Harper drew Grey’s weapon.

  This feels like the cruelest season of all, to present me with a girl with the fierceness to stand at my side—yet with a home and family she needs to return to so badly.

  A log on the fire snaps, collapsing in a short burst of ash. Harper stirs, then takes a long breath, and her eyes flutter open. She blinks a few times before focusing on me.

  “Rhen.” Her voice is rough and worn. “What—where—” She winces and lifts a hand to her face.

  I catch her wrist, but gently. Freya added an ointment for the pain, but she warned of infection. “Be still. You do not want to pull at the stitches.”

  “So that really happened.” Her voice is so small.

  “Yes.” She has not pulled away and her wrist rests in my grip, her pulse a soft beat against my fingers.

  She stares at me, and all I can do is stare back at her. My meetings with Lilith have been a source of private shame for … ever. An eternal hell shared only with Grey.

  And yet Harper has still not seen me at my worst.

  I break the eye contact and look at the fire. Now that she is awake, waiting here feels like a mistake. I feel too raw, too exposed. “Shall I call for Freya?”

  “No.” She shifts and tries to roll toward me. “I need—I need to sit up.”

  “Go slowly. You have been asleep for hours.”

  She slides her wrist out of my grasp and struggles to push herself upright. One arm presses against her abdomen and her eyes close.

  Eventually, her breathing slows. “My head is pounding.”

  “A dose of sleeping ether,” I say, though it could also be the loss of blood. Her skin seems more pale than usual. “We worried you would wake during the stitching.”

  She swallows and her eyes widen further, flicking past me to the hearth, the windows, the tapestries lining the walls. “This isn’t Arabella’s room.”

  “No. This is mine.” I pause. “I worried the children being so near would not let you sleep.”

  She looks down at herself. A sudden tension seems to grip her body. “And this—I wasn’t wearing this.”

  “Freya,” I offer. “She brought a new chemise. Yours was—quite soiled.”

  “Oh.”

  For a moment, my emotions are unsure where to settle. I want to sit beside her and offer my gratitude, to tell her how no girl has ever risked herself for me. I want to hide from the knowledge of what she saw. I want to fight—to prove that I am not vulnerable.

  She’s seen the truth.

  Harper’s eyes rise to meet mine. “I want to see it. Do you have a mirror?”

  “I do.” I rise slowly, and then, out of habit, extend a hand. I fully expect her to refuse.

  She does not. She takes my hand, her fingers wrapping around mine, then pulls herself to her feet.

  Once there, she does not let go.

  She stands a foot away from me. I want so badly to touch her face, to whisper my thoughts against her skin. This torture is nearly as bad as what I endured in the arena.

  “Steady?” I say softly.

  “Enough.” Her steps hitch behind me, and I lead her to my dressing room, where a mirror stands in the corner.

  When we stop in front of it, she stands in silence, her expression flat. Her hair is unbound, the curls cascading wildly over her shoulder. She stares, her eyes fixed on the wound. The incision is an angry red, but clean. The medicine Freya applied has forestalled any swelling.

  Harper lets go of my hand and moves closer, until her breath faintly fogs the glass. She swallows and touches her fingertips to the mirror. “The stitches are smaller than I expected.”

  “Your lady-in-waiting has a steady hand.”

  She turns to
look at me. “Freya did it?”

  “She did.” I pause. “She was quite forceful, in fact. Yelled at Commander Grey.”

  “She yelled at Grey?” Harper’s eyes widen.

  “Yanked the needle right from his hand.”

  “What did she say?”

  I raise my voice into a lilting imitation of Freya’s. “ ‘You will not put field sutures in my lady’s face! She is not a common soldier!’ ”

  A ghost of a smile finds Harper’s lips. “That’s amazing.”

  “She is quite protective.” I pause. “I thought she might drag him away by his ear.”

  That makes her laugh—but then she gasps and raises a hand to her cheek. Now her eyes fill. She draws a long, quavering breath, then steadies herself.

  “Come.” I take her hand again—and I am equally shocked when she lets me. “You should sit.”

  I lead her to an armchair by the fire. “Wine?”

  She shakes her head. “Water?”

  “Of course.” A pitcher sits on a low table by the bed. I pour a glass for her, then a goblet of wine for myself.

  My movements are slow, and she watches me. “Are you … okay?”

  The question is touching and humiliating at the same time. I ease into the chair beside her. “Lilith is quite good at discovering ways to cause the most pain without causing lasting damage.”

  Harper looks down into her glass. “I thought—I thought she was going to kill you.”

  “Killing me would end her fun.” I take a sip from my glass and feel the burn all the way down. I welcome the numbness that will trail behind it. “She prefers to make me beg for death.”

  Harper swallows that information. “I’ve seen—I’ve seen bad things before. But not—” She falters, then shudders. “I couldn’t let her—I couldn’t—” Her voice chokes to a stop. “I couldn’t watch.”

  “My lady.” The emotion in her voice turns my own rough. “What you did for me …” I find I have no words myself and I flinch away from her eyes. “I regret that you have been injured so … permanently.”

  That seems to steady her, but at the same time, she sinks into herself a bit. “Why didn’t Grey do something? Why did he just stand there?”