Cursed by Diamonds (A Dance with Destiny Book 1)

by JK Ensley

  The deep voice came from the hunter’s right. He was surprised to find his honorable Prince sitting alone in this dingy tavern.

  “Sire, what brings you all the way down here?”

  “I had some unfinished business I was forced to attend to personally. Come. Join me.”

  The hunter seated himself beside his royal monarch.

  “So, Mordon. What brings you all the way down to Tamar Broden? Game getting scarce in Wrothdem?”

  “No, Milord. I was helping out a foreign traveler. That’s all.”

  “Lost in the woods?”

  “I believe so, Milord.”

  He shrugged his shoulders and chuckled, thinking of how strange the maiden had acted, so confused.

  Prince Merodach slapped him on the back. “You’re a good man, Mordon. A damn fine hunter and tracker as well. Fortune smiles upon me that I’ve met you here this day.”

  “Do you have a problem, Your Grace?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I have reached an impasse, my good man. An ancient spell blocks me from the treasure I seek.” He winked conspiratorially at the hunter.

  Mordon shook his head and grunted. “Old magic shouldn’t be toyed with, Sire. How may I be of service?”

  The malevolent Prince laughed. “The maiden whom I seek has proven to be rather clever. It seems she has allied herself magically against me.”

  “Your skills in such matters far exceed mine own, Sire.”

  The Prince laughed again. “That is true, yes. But now I am in need of a tracker. I’ve already found her house, spoken with her friend, and picked up her scent. Yet I can find no trace of her past a few paces from her home.”

  “Do you know where she’s headed?”

  The Prince took a drink of ale. “The Thralldom Mountains.”

  “But, Sire. There’s nothing there. The legends and storytellers be damned. There’s nothing in those forsaken hills but wild animals and beasts the likes of which few men have ever seen and lived to tell the tale.”

  Merodach smiled, coolly. “This I know.”

  “How long since she left?”

  “Nearly two full days now.” He emptied his pint. “By all accounts, she left sometime around sunrise yesterday.”

  “Sire, if she’s headed south at all, she’d be nigh to that haunted place as we speak.”

  “Yes, that would be true. Save for the fact she is barefoot, and alone.”

  “I don’t believe so, Sire.”

  Prince Merodach looked hard at his hunter as the barkeep delivered Mordon’s humble meal.

  “If you lost her scent not far from her home, she’s on horseback. Or at the very least, booted.”

  Merodach pondered this. “True…”

  “If she now wears boots but travels by foot, I’ll have little trouble finding her. But if she acquired a steed, then I’m afraid she’d be past helping by the time I could reach her.”

  “Irrelevant.” He rested his elbows on the table, leaning toward the hunter. “I wish you to track her, even if it’s only to retrieve her remains.”

  “Yes, Sire. As you wish.”

  “This man’s meal is on me.” Merodach yelled to the barkeep, who only slightly nodded in return. The Prince placed a soft leather pouch in the hunter’s hand. “Here’s some gold. Acquire the best horse you can find, along with all else you will need. Bring me back the girl or proof of her demise. Hers is the small rose-covered cottage at the nearest end of the town’s square. Her aunt was the healer here. The maiden left through the back window of the house and headed south. That’s all I know.”

  “Was she a witch?”

  “The girl?”

  “No, Sire, the aunt.”

  “I have never heard such. A healer only. Why?”

  “The old witches have ways even I cannot follow. You said before, you felt a spell was blocking you?”

  “Yes.”

  “This does little to ease my mind, Sire. I’ll do all that I can to find her. Alas, I fear this young maiden may no longer be of this world.”

  “Dead? You believe her dead?”

  “No, I don’t believe so. Well, perhaps not yet dead.”

  “Then what, Mordon? What’s on your mind?”

  “Taken, Sire,” Mordon whispered.

  “Taken? By whom?”

  “By whom, I know not. Normally, it’s as payment, Sire.”

  The Prince glared at the hunter. This possibility had not yet crossed his mind.

  It could very well be true, he thought. Perhaps the maiden never actually started on her journey, but was taken instead. It’s true no one witnessed her departure… and all magic comes at a high price.

  Mordon continued his reasoning, “Payment for the spell which hides her from you, payment for safe passage south. I know not. Witches only look out for themselves, Sire. If she sought the aid of a witch, payment is usually extracted immediately.”

  “Hmm… Perhaps that’s why her delicious scent disappeared.”

  The hunter shrugged his shoulders. “Could be. Who knows? There’s power at work in this world, Sire, powers you couldn’t even begin to imagine.”

  A wicked look flashed across his perverted royal face. Laying his hand upon the hunter’s shoulder, Merodach rose to leave.

  “Oh, I bet I could imagine, Mordon.” He laughed, sardonically. “I have an especially vivid imagination.”

  *****

  The hunter acquired all he needed with minimal effort, and headed out in search of the little rose-covered cottage. He caught the ethereal scent of magic while he was still a good twenty paces from the modest house. It wasn’t the bitter, stifling smell he’d encountered around most witches. But the odd aroma was definitely not of this world.

  This house is protected by something very old and very strong.

  He sniffed the air once more and headed around to the back window. Mordon easily picked up Jenevier’s unusually arousing scent upon the windowsill. Just as his Prince had said, it simply disappeared not far from the house.

  “Someone’s covered it,” he whispered.

  Feeling eyes upon him, Mordon realized he was being watched. Looking up, he saw a woman watching him through a window of the house behind the maiden’s. He matched her gaze. She never wavered, didn’t even flinch.

  The hunter easily found the hoof prints leading away from Tamar Broden. He headed south from the village, tracking the horse step for step. His eyelids fluttered when he picked up the girl’s enticing scent on the grass near a deep running stream.

  “Ahh… This is where you slept, Milady. I can see why a great man such as the Prince seeks you. Your lingering scent is angelically divine. I dare say I shouldn’t trust myself were I to meet you in person. You’ve stolen my unworthy heart by smell alone.” He rode on, intent upon the solitary trail. “You’re a long way from anyone or anything, young maid. You must be either terribly brave, or horribly scared.”

  Mordon had heard the whispering tales of his Prince’s almost morbid obsession with young women. He’d even heard the occasional scream from the palace towers himself. Yet, he judged not his Lord. All the maids who attended Prince Merodach seemed loving and willing. None seemed anxious to be rid of their handsome master. Even the Princess, Lady Margareet, seemed truly smitten with her glorious husband, happy in her castle home. So, Mordon chose to ignore the perverted rumors and gossip. The Prince had always treated him honorably and fairly, a true gentleman.

  Still, he couldn’t quite shake the nagging feeling that this particular young lady was trying desperately to escape Merodach, and the Prince was just as desperately seeking her.

  It must be fear, he thought.

  The trail abruptly ended in the middle of a wide open field. He could tell the horse had been tethered to something. That was obvious from the print pattern. But there was nothing present upon which to tie the animal. The maiden had most definitely sat upon the ground, had eaten there. Her alluring aroma was still strong enough to raise the little hairs on the back
of his neck, and there yet remained some small evidence of her meal sprinkled about.

  Hmm… Sweet crumbs with cinnamon.

  The hoof prints led away from her resting place for several paces, then abruptly disappeared. The horse’s tracks weren’t nearly as deep and defined as they had previously been.

  “She dismounted,” he whispered. “The horse walked alone.”

  Searching the maiden’s resting place closer, he happened upon an extremely light, nearly un-noticeable footprint.

  “She’s awfully light-footed. Her shoes aren’t very defined. Hmm… soft bottoms, no real sole. Well, she won’t get far in the mountains with shoes such as those.”

  Mordon continued his search, following the girl’s prints along roughly the same path the solitary horse had taken.

  “She’s certainly not leading it. Nor is she chasing it. It’s almost as if… they’re just two casual beings, strolling across a field. The only ones around, but not together. Strange.”

  Just as the last word slipped from the hunter’s lips, the maiden’s delicate prints disappeared, same as the horse’s had.

  “Here now. How can this be? There’s nothing here. Not a tree, not a stream, not a rock… just… nothing.”

  Mordon continued to look around, frustration setting in. There was only open field to the North, East, and West of him. To the South, in the distance, was the outline of the Thralldom Mountain Range.

  “You didn’t even make it to the mountains, did you? Poor little thing. Your lonely journey ended where I stand. What has befallen you, tiny Princess? How is it you came to simply vanish?”

  He looked up. There was nothing but open sky. A faint breeze blew his coarse hair as he stood, silent, face towards the clouds, eyes closed. Hard as he tried, Mordon couldn’t pick up even the faintest scent on the gentle breeze.

  He pressed on southward for several more yards, but failed to find a single trace of the maiden or her horse. He turned, heading north for the long journey back to Wrothdem.

  He would return to his Prince, tell him of all he had found… and of all he had not.

  Chapter 24

  Alissa

  (ah-LISS-ah)

  Alastyn and his father were frozen, mouths agape.

  The strange creature spoke with a raspy, almost parched sounding voice. “Please, don’t throw me out. I am weary. I beg you. Let me rest here this night. I promise to stay by the corner, minus noise entirely.”

  She dropped her eyes, unable to hold their stares. Markus willed his words to come forth. The pale lady met his questioning gaze.

  “Are you a ghost? Has he slain you? Have you returned here only to haunt me now that my son is returned?”

  The eerie woman’s piercing green eyes shot over to the raven-haired young man standing, still frozen in the middle of the room, holding his bowl of stew. Tears spilled down the ghostly woman’s pale cheeks.

  “Alastyn?” she rasped.

  Alastyn began to tremble, his bowl crashing against the hard floor.

  “Alissa? Is it truly you?” Markus gasped. “How can this be? It’s a trick. I won’t believe. I refuse to take up false hope. I can’t. I won’t.”

  The woman’s emerald gaze never left Alastyn. “He let me leave.”

  “But, how? Why? After all these years, it simply cannot be.” Markus was fighting the shock he could feel creeping over him. He collapsed into his chair, trying desperately to shake himself back to reality. “Wait, this is but a dream. Our fond memories and laughter this day, they have served to invoke your spirit. That’s all. It’s not real.”

  As Markus spoke, he glanced back to the frail creature just as she took a step towards Alastyn, and the boy took a step back. He jumped out of his chair, positioning himself between the strange wraith-like creature and his son.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  The woman focused then on the man, but didn’t speak.

  Markus sighed. “Only this day, my son and I have come to a place in our unfortunate lives where we can finally grieve for his mother. The pain of this great loss has torn our weary souls apart. We barely speak to one another. And we never eat together.” He motioned toward the table holding his now cooling stew, no longer able to restrain his tears. “And but a few short hours ago, did we again bond. I told him all that his mother wished me to. We poured our grief and our guilt out upon the wind, letting it blow far away from here. This meager meal was to be the tie that bound us, finally bound us as father and son again. But now, that godforsaken Prince would steal this away from me as well? Can he not be satisfied with my precious wife? Must he also destroy my only son for his own twisted pleasure?”

  The great strain of his grief overtook Markus. Alastyn caught hold of his father before the swaying man hit the stone floor.

  “Father, no!”

  The wraith woman turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Alastyn cried.

  He eased the crumbling man down into a chair as the wraith waited silently by the door, eyes downcast.

  “Who are you, Ma’am? Are you Alissa? Are you my mother?”

  “I used to be.”

  “So, you are a spirit, then.”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “I don’t understand. How is it you’re here now? What is it you want from us?”

  Alastyn approached her, reaching with trembling fingers.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. My one wish, my only wish, was to come home to my beloved husband and little boy.”

  “I still don’t understand.” Alastyn lightly grazed her sunken cheek with the back of his hand. She felt so cold. “Tell me. Did Merodach send you to Tamar Broden… to retrieve a young maiden?”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Apologies. I have troubled you so much already. Yet, I am weary and I thirst.”

  “Alastyn, go,” Markus whispered. “Make the lady some hot tea.”

  “Yes, of course, Father.”

  He bowed to the odd woman before heading to the kitchen.

  Her lovely eyes are so sad, so lost.

  When he returned, his father was staring blindly into the fire. The wraith woman was still standing by the door looking down at her feet… her bare, bloody, bruised feet.

  “Deepest apologies, Ma’am. You have obviously been through a terrible ordeal. Our own emotional turmoil has caused us to treat you unkindly. I wasn’t taught to act thusly. I humbly beg your forgiveness.” Alastyn placed the steaming tea on the small table beside his father’s now cold stew and motioned for the stranger to take the chair opposite him by the fire. “You must be freezing. How is it you come to be traveling with no wrap and no shoes? Are you lost? Perhaps a bit confused?”

  For the first time, Markus’s gaze fell upon the woman’s mangled feet. He felt shame, and then anger.

  “Alastyn, son.”

  “Yes, Father. I will see to it.”

  The woman greedily took the tea, wasting no time in emptying the entire cup.

  “I’ll bring the pot as well.” Alastyn smiled softly as he spoke.

  “Son, please. Check and see if there’s any stew left.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  He returned with a large pan of warm water and set it at the woman’s feet before he brought out a tray containing the pot of tea, another cup, and the cream and sugar bowls. Removing his father’s untouched dinner, he placed the tray on the table separating the bizarre couple. His heart sighed as he stared at them.

  The woman hadn’t placed her feet in the water. She was intent on the tea alone. Alastyn gently eased her torn feet into the warm bath. As he rose, he met her beautiful emerald gaze. Immediately, his heart was lifted.

  While he hurriedly prepared a warm meal, Alastyn listened intently for any conversation coming from the other room. All was silent. When he returned with the fresh stew, warm bread, hot cider, and a hastily prepared batch of custard, the two strangers were still staring into the fire. Not a word had passed between them.


  Placing his hand upon his father’s shoulder, Alastyn gave him a little squeeze.

  “Father, you must eat.”

  He tenderly patted his son’s large hand. “I don’t deserve you. You have spared me the embarrassment of mistreating our guest. You grow more a gentleman with each passing day.”

  “Father, don’t go on so. It’s only stew.” He handed a bowl to his father and one to the peculiar woman sitting beside him. “You must be famished, Ma’am. May I?”

  Kneeling in front of their pale guest, Alastyn began washing and bandaging her mangled feet. She remained silent, but he saw the tears pool in her lovely eyes as her cheeks slowly took on a warm, pinkish glow.

  The awkward couple eagerly devoured their humble meal. As they began to eat their custard dessert, Alastyn noticed a faint flush returning to the wraith woman’s death-like pallor. When they were finished, the odd threesome warmed silently by the fire.

  “Are you feeling better now, Ma’am?”

  “Yes, Alastyn. Gratitude. You are too kind.”

  He blushed. “Not so. Are you feeling more like yourself now?”

  “Yes, I am. And I owe you thanks for that as well.”

  He smiled, tilting his head to the side, gazing at her. “Now that you’re on the mend, would you mind sharing with us your story?”

  Markus perked up then. The two men sat silently, waiting for her haunting words to begin.

  “I must warn you,” she whispered. “There is no happiness or joy in this tale.”

  The frail creature began her story at almost the same place Markus had left off only a few hours before. She skipped over the more painful parts and ended with her recent banishment.

  *****

  “The Prince was so angry I feared he would kill me. Instead, he granted my begged freedom. But he kept me bound to him in spirit… as punishment. I soon felt the firmness of my body returning. My heart leapt at the thought of being able to rock my little boy to sleep again.” The woman turned her bright green gaze toward Alastyn. “There’s no sense of time or space in the Shadow Realm. Apologies, I had no idea…” She dried her eyes and continued with the tormented account of her recent years. “When my body had fully returned, I realized the immense emptiness he had cursed me with by restoring only a portion of my soul. He kept the rest so he could retain power over me and my life. My master grabbed me by my hair, drug me through the castle, screaming out curses and hexes all the while. He jerked the door open wide and threw me out upon the ground.”