Cursed (The Price of Magic Series Book 1)

by Freya Black

  When I returned to my bedroom, Clara helped me with the corset. Between the rich food and the stress of my mother’s deception, I felt as though my chest could cave in. I dumped my bag on the bed and changed into a pajama top and shorts. It took longer than I had expected to untangle the mess of curls piled on top of my head. Clara had worked a comb through my hair and left by the time Sloane pushed open the door adjoining our rooms.

  Beyond exhausted, I slipped under the sheets, rubbing my skin against the silky fabric. Sloane climbed in with me and rested my head in the nook between his arm and chest. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. I pressed my lips to his bare skin, kissing my way up to his mouth. Our auras intertwined, each kiss growing more passionate than the next, and it wasn’t long before I fell asleep in his arms.

  The next morning, I woke up to the sun on my face, an otherworldly glow shining through the stained glass panes. Floor-length velvet curtains covered most of the windows, except for the one pesky pair that had refused to stay shut. Most of the night, I’d slept with a pillow over my head. Unlike Tartara, the realm of darkness, Krona was the realm of light. They didn’t have time zones or daylight savings time. Time stood still, never changing.

  Electricity pricked my skin, like a calming magical pulse, as Sloane slid his fingers down my forearm. After we bathed and dressed, Claudius escorted us to the Great Hall. The room could fit the entire town of Arcadia ten times over. Candelabras flickered, casting their shadows over the smooth sandstone walls.

  Unlike the first time we had seen the bustling hall, it was now empty, not a servant in sight, but I could smell delicious scents wafting from the kitchen. Tables, made of enchanted oak, seemed endless, like we would never reach the man at the end of one.

  A middle-aged man with dark hair tucked under a cap stood up as we approached. His navy robes fell to the floor as he bowed at the neck in front of me. “Your Grace,” he said as he pulled a chair out for me.

  I flashed a polite smile, unsure of what to do in this situation. I never knew when to bend, curtsy, kneel, or do whatever it was the Fey expected of me. They were so refined and polished, and everything I said sounded clunky and unsophisticated.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” I said.

  “Your Grace, I’m Magnus Maximus, Magical Advisor to Queen Moira. Erilaz is on his way.”

  He looked the same as my vision, and according to Sloane, Magnus was the most powerful wizard in Krona. Wizards aged just like mortals, but with the kind of magic Krona harnessed, they could extend their life expectancy by at least a hundred years.

  “Magnus, nice to see you,” Sloane said, taking a seat next to me.

  “You as well, Your Grace,” Magnus said, lowering his head.

  Several minutes passed before a man appeared through a trap door of some sort from the far corner of the room. He had blond hair hanging past his shoulders and the youthful face of an angel. Pointed leather shoes clacked across the marble floor at a blistering pace, his black-and-gold robe flapping behind him. “Your Grace, my apologies. I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Erilaz, Rune Master of Krona.” He sounded winded, as if he had run around the castle to get there.

  I extended my hand, and he shook it, giving it a firm grip.

  “Please, call me Fiona.”

  “Very well.” He sat at the head of the table with Magnus on his right, me on his left, and Sloane at my side.

  Erilaz extracted a velvet pouch from his pocket, producing an object with four golden blocks held together on a rod. He held it out to me, expressionless. “The Talisman of Grimnir is one of the most powerful Sacred Tokens. Queen Moira procured it from the Arcanus.”

  “Will the Queen get in trouble for this?” I asked, afraid to touch the Talisman.

  Erilaz sat so straight that he reminded me of a statue. He was a wizard like Magnus, but his posture made him seem as though he were Fey. Even his graceful movements, when he did move, matched those of an immortal. “Queen Moira is Councilwoman of Krona,” Erilaz said, resolute. “It’s not my place to challenge a member of the Imperium Council.”

  “Okay,” I said, still unsure if we were adding another offense to the list of Divine Laws we had broken.

  I squinted when I looked directly at the Talisman in his palm. The blocks were brighter than I remembered from my visions, and I felt an odd sense of nostalgia as I studied each one. “What do these symbols mean?”

  Erilaz spun each block with his finger, making them look lighter than I’d thought they would be. “Each side of the four blocks has letters from the runic alphabet. In order to control a Nightwalker, you must know their true name. When the sorcerer Cyprian lived in Krona, he created the Talisman to control Grimnir, leader of the Druden. But the Talisman has many purposes.”

  My gaze shifted from the magical object to Erilaz, who I regarded as much as the device that could save Arcadia from Hexenjagers. “Did you know Cyprian?”

  Magnus folded his hands on the table and flattened his back against the oak chair. “Cyprian taught me everything I know about wizardry. He was a brilliant wizard, but he insisted on practicing Malum to defeat the dark Fey. Over time, he became obsessed, and the spells changed him. They darkened his soul.”

  “That is something you need to understand,” Erilaz said. “In order to send a Hexenjager back to Tartara, you must speak an incantation from The Black Book created by Cyprian. I must warn you, this kind of magic has consequences. Veneficum spells can cause harm to the caster, so you need to be careful.”

  I glanced at Sloane for confirmation that we were doing the right thing, but he was lost, a stony look in his eyes.

  My chest tightened at the thought. “You mean, I could turn dark like Cyprian.”

  “Anytime you use a spell from The Black Book, your soul darkens. For one spell, you should be okay, but you must ensure you speak the incantation correctly the first time. Old blood such as yours can withstand dark magic, but you run more of a risk of turning.”

  I raised my eyebrow at the thought of old blood. The foul taste of bile rose up the back of my throat. My stomach burned, each word Erilaz had spoken hitting me like a punch in the gut. I stared at the Talisman of Grimnir, hoping it would speak to me, dance in my palm, or do something that didn’t require me to risk not only my life, but also my soul.

  Sloane’s aura shot up my back, giving me a sense of peace.

  “If I only have one shot, I’d better learn everything there is to know.”

  “So much like your mother,” Erilaz said, smiling for the first time. “So eager to learn.”

  For several hours, Erilaz taught us the runic alphabet and the correct pronunciation of Old Norse words spoken in the incantation. But he didn’t dare speak them in order. That should’ve been the first clue that I was in over my head. The language of the dark Fey was harder to pronounce than Latin. To vanquish the Hexenjagers, I would have to speak four stanzas in the correct order while turning the blocks into position. Even in my vision, I’d had trouble with the spell.

  The incantation could be the death of me, my Coven, and the destruction of Arcadia. And it was our only option.

  After Erilaz finished, Magnus produced a hazel Divination wand from his pocket. He waved it in a circular motion, an electric-green film forming a magical sphere, and as the fog thinned, images developed at its center.

  A silver-haired man dressed in a black robe held the Talisman of Grimnir. He turned the dials on the instrument as he spoke the incantation, never faltering.

  At the wave of his wand, Magnus’s memory evaporated along with the green mist. “You must recite the Veneficum spell in the same fashion,” he warned, his tone firm and even. “This is very dark magic you are dealing with. Your blood might be able to withstand its power, but make no mistake, this kind of power can kill you. If you allow it to consume you, it will. Now, do you remember the words?”

  I started to repeat what I could remember, but Magnus silenced me.

&
nbsp; “Never say the words aloud unless working with the Talisman. You’re a Crescent Witch, so that means you can recall this vision, but to do so, you will need to channel your powers.”

  “I’ll try my best.” My hand shook as I lifted a gold chalice to my lips, taking a sip of nectar. I tried to push the fear from my mind because that was what my mother would have done, if she were in this situation.

  I could see her face, hear her voice. It was as fresh in my mind as the last night I had seen her.

  “Fear is your biggest weakness,” she had drilled into my head. “Fear is a waste of an emotion. Never let it cloud your judgment.”

  Sometimes, that was all it would take to ground me, to force me back to reality.

  I licked the sweet nectar from my lips and looked at Magnus. “Who was the man in the vision?”

  “Cyprian,” Magnus said, gazing at the wall of stained glass blasting its warmth across the room. “He was the only person to ever use it. Your mother was in training, but even she had trouble.”

  My anxiety magnified by a thousand when I realized I would be the first mortal to use the Talisman. I hoped my old blood could beat its old magic.

  Our lesson concluded when Claudius entered the hall, which came as a relief because my stomach was growling. He escorted Sloane and I back to our chambers where Clara had drawn a bath.

  After I slipped into another gown, much too fancy for my small-town tastes, I lay on the bed. The diamond tiara fastened to my curls could survive a war, and I was almost positive magic was keeping it in place.

  Without realizing it, I bit my nails down to the skin while staring up at the golden tiles. A wave of relief washed over me when Sloane slipped through the adjoining door between our rooms. His dark hair was styled in a way that made it appear gelled, but when I ran my fingers through his hair, it was as smooth as silk.

  He scooped me off the bed and planted a kiss on my lips. “It’s time,” he said before kissing me again.

  Chapter 23

  When we stepped into the expanse of the Great Hall, Queen Moira was waiting at the head of the table with Princess Brigit and Princess Arabella at her sides. They looked regal and polished, their pale skin glowing as radiant as the sun. They tugged at the corners of their velvet gowns, acknowledging us with polite nods. I stared in awe of their jeweled bodies—draped with sapphires, emeralds, and rubies—each fleck of candlelight making them twinkle. I wanted to be like them, elegant and sophisticated in every way. Like something out of a fairy tale—that was what my godmother and her sisters were.

  Sweet smells poured out from the kitchen as the wait staff assembled our feast. I ate five ambrosia and honey tarts, drank two glasses of nectar, munched on a potato pancake, and finished it off with cinnamon apples. Although their cuisine was odd, I would miss the delectable goodness. It made me wonder how mortals like Sloane and Quinn could eat this rich food for years without gaining a hundred pounds.

  “Did you find everything to your satisfaction, my dear?” Queen Moira’s piercing blue eyes found me and locked on.

  “Yes.” I finished chewing the last bite of an apple, licking the tart syrup from the corner of my lips. “I can’t get enough of the ambrosia and honey tarts.”

  Queen Moira snapped her fingers with authority. A man with short gray hair, black trousers, and a white dress shirt glided across the room.

  “Phillip, have a batch of ambrosia and honey tarts awaiting Fiona’s departure.”

  He bowed his head at the neck and then scurried into the kitchen.

  She turned her head, not an ounce of humanity behind her icy-blue eyes. Her back was stiff, flattened against an oak chair with crescent moons twisted above her head. Her chest didn’t move, not giving any indication she was alive, when she spoke, “In regard to transportation, Magnus will see to it that you find your way to the edge of Krona. From there, you will use the Scipio wand. Make sure you hide it as soon as you return to Arcadia. I don’t know why your mother kept the wand, but if the Imperium Council finds out, you will be held for trial in Castra. As a member of the Council, I’m afraid I can only intervene in this realm, so you must take every precaution.”

  I looked up from my plate and dabbed my mouth with a napkin. “I’ll be careful. Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”

  Princess Arabella flicked a tuft of black silk over her shoulder, flashing a set of pearly white teeth. “Use your Cerebral Force. It’s the one advantage you have over the Hexenjagers. They don’t know you have it, and they won’t be expecting it.”

  I stared at her, confused.

  Arabella reached over, a blank expression on her face. Her energy seeped into my skin, a mixture of warmth and electricity racing up my arm. “I felt it when we touched, just as I know you can feel my powers right now.”

  Sloane leaned on the arm of my chair and whispered to me, “Princess Arabella is a Telepath.”

  Oh, I mouthed. My attention shifted back to the dark-haired fairy.

  “If we had more time, I could show you how to harness your power.” Princess Arabella squeezed my hand tighter, but she was so strong that it felt like every bone and ligament in my hand was breaking.

  Besides the usual pleasantries, it was the first time she had spoken to me. She’d addressed me like her equal, not a mortal witch or a human unworthy of her council.

  I wiggled my fingers, wincing in pain, and then she let go. “What is a Cerebral Force?”

  “Your father passed his gifts to you. Divine powers come from within, and to tap into your Cerebral Force, you need to channel that power. Go to the darkest place in your mind. That’s where you’ll find what you need to destroy the Hexenjagers. Quinn understands how your powers work. He can help you.”

  I wished for one more day in Krona, but I knew we had to leave. Our Coven along with the fate of Arcadia and our realm depended on us.

  Her words resonated with me, lingering for a few seconds, before she interrupted my thoughts. A static feeling bounced around in my brain, and I wondered if she was reading my mind.

  “Quinn learned a great deal from me over the years.” Princess Arabella paused, staring past me to Sloane, and nodded. “Sloane did as well, and if he’s half as good a teacher as he was a student, you’ll do just fine.”

  “You were born for this, my dear.” Queen Moira’s silvery voice cut through the silence. “I have waited over a thousand years for you, and now, the time has come for you to fulfill the prophecy. You just have to deal with those pesky Hexenjagers before we can begin our mission to restore the balance among the realms. You might bleed red, but make no mistake that you are one of us. You are as much my blood as my own sisters. When this is all over, our light magic will destroy the dark Fey, and you will lead us there.”

  I gulped, choking back a sudden pang of anxiety. Her heartfelt speech warmed my insides, like soup on a cold afternoon, but I couldn’t shake this strange feeling. In my mind, no matter what powers coursed through my veins, I would never be worthy of their cause. Most days, my clairvoyance was about as useful as a car with two flat tires.

  A black robe speckled with gold trim fanned out like wings glided past me in a blur.

  Claudius whispered in the Queen’s ear and she straightened her back.

  “Fiona, my dear, I’m afraid our time is over. Magnus is waiting for you in the Hall of Glamours.”

  Sloane and I stood, and Queen Moira and her sisters each embraced us in their arms, which were surprisingly warm. After wishing us good luck and safe travels, the Queen gave me a present, but there was no time to open it. Claudius met us at the door, handed our bags to Sloane, and escorted us down a long corridor. I gave Sloane the Queen’s gift, and he stuffed the gold vase into his backpack.

  Sloane held my hand as we followed behind Claudius upstairs to a sitting room large enough to fit my entire house. Walled off with panels of glass and trap doors, the mirrors made the plush couches seem out of place. I assumed they were for show since Fey had no use for sitting or even s
leeping. The closer I looked, the more I strained my eyes to get a better view.

  Each mirror, some floor-to-ceiling and others framed in wood or metal, all had a shimmer. Our reflections cast shadows in what appeared to be Astral Glass capable of performing Glamours beyond my wildest dreams. I had wanted so badly to see one of the Fey use their Glamour magic in this room. Kate always shooed me away every time I had asked to play with the Astral Glass in Enchanted Books & Beans.

  Magnus stood next to a panel the shape of a door, gazing into the glass. He spun around as we crossed the threshold and bowed his head. “Your Grace.”

  My lips tightened into a straight line. I never knew when to sit or stand, speak or remain quiet, so I curtsied, which seemed almost inappropriate. And judging by the unusual expression on his face, I sucked at pretending to be a royal.

  Magnus waved his hand, shooting magic out from his fingertips. The glass formed a portal, an electric-green swirl of energy taking shape before our eyes.

  As the film reduced to a manageable shape, Magnus cupped my shoulder. His grip wasn’t bone-shattering like Princess Arabella, but it was firm. “Recall the vision I showed you, but do not speak the incantation until you are face-to-face with Bastian. When you channel your magic, you will find your darkness is a secret weapon. Just like Cyprian, you can fight that part of yourself, but you must learn how to control it before it controls you. You have a light inside of you. Don’t let it burn out. Do you understand?”

  Numb with fear, I glanced at Sloane, who looked as though he were made of stone. His posture was as stiff as the Queen, but unlike my fairy godmother, his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath. I wanted confirmation we weren’t making the biggest mistake of our lives by taking on the Hexenjagers with a Talisman I wasn’t so sure the Queen had procured legally. But I’d already dug my grave. No one would save me from myself or tell me I could change my fate. The Gods and Goddesses had made sure of that a long time ago.