Cursed

by Keri Arthur

  “I’m reserving the whole flesh-to-stone thing for very special enemies. You’re pretty safe, Cap.”

  “Good.” Amusement briefly touched his lips and just as quickly fled. “So, twenty minutes? That should give you time to shower before the meeting.”

  “I think he’s saying you stink,” Donal said.

  I slapped at his knee and he laughed. “Twenty is fine, Captain.”

  He nodded and left. I flung off the bedcovers and got up. “You, highlander, can sit right there. I shall have my shower in peace and alone.”

  His response was a deep, somewhat martyred sigh. “Deprived of viewing your loveliness in what could be my final hours alive. You’re a cruel woman, Princess.”

  “You can watch my butt as it disappears out the door, if you like.”

  “Oh, I will, trust me on that.”

  I grinned and gathered my clothes and Marttia’s mesh vest. It had certainly lived up to promises made, and I wasn’t about to go anywhere without it now. While I doubted my brother had more deadly surprises waiting within the regiment, I wasn’t about to bet my life on that.

  Once I’d showered and dressed, we headed across to the briefing room. Gallego and Marttia once again sat on one side of the table, but this time, the far end seat was occupied by a thin man wearing the blue uniform and silver circlet of a communicator.

  Marttia motioned us to sit down opposite her and then said, “Ragstaff, please connect with the Gigurri communicator.”

  Ragstaff closed his eyes and, after a moment, the circlet began to shine.

  “Lady Helena,” Marttia said, “I’m here with your niece, as requested. Please proceed with the information you’ve found.”

  There was a pause as the message was passed on and then Ragstaff said, in a voice that held so many echoes of my mother’s that tears briefly stung my eyes. “Nyx, you have no idea how happy I am to learn you’ve escaped your father’s grasp.”

  “A grasp you did nothing about.” I took a deep breath in an attempt to control the bitterness, and added, “Did you find anything on the Volker in the archives?”

  There was a long pause, then, “There’s little information available from the time of the fleeing; the old records were too numerous to be carried, and there wasn’t time to call in aid from the air mages. The great libraries were destroyed with the island.”

  The communicator’s tone suggested my aunt was upset by my response, but what else did she expect? She’d not only left me alone in what had very swiftly become a hostile environment, but hadn’t in any way attempted to contact me in the last twelve years. Even a note of support slipped to me during my uncle’s infrequent visits to court would have left me feeling a little less alone.

  “We did find some information in Racinda’s final journals, which accounted for the last two years of her life,” she continued. “It emphatically states that raising the earth’s molten core against creatures born on the outer edges of such heat was not the answer—that it had now failed twice and should not be tried again.”

  “I think it’s safe to say we’re not going down that path.” Marttia’s voice was dry.

  “Did Racinda’s journal offer any information about the mage staffs or offer suggestions on how to destroy them?” Donal asked.

  “There were twelve staffs, one for each of the great mage houses of old. Each was topped by a black crystal and was tied to the earth with earth,” my aunt said. “And if we’d known how to destroy them, young man, we would still be living on our isle.”

  “Then why were the King’s Sword and the knife my mother gave me created if not as a counterpoint to the staffs?”

  “They exist thanks to the fact that, in the Isle’s dying minutes, the magic hampering us using the earth’s force died, and Racinda was able to capture two staffs. She deconstructed their magic and then used that knowledge and power to create the sword and knife. Whether they will actually work against the remaining ten mage staffs is unknown, given the Volker have only recently resurfaced.”

  “The knife certainly does,” I said.

  “Which does give us hope the sword will also work.”

  But was no guarantee, her tone implied. Obviously, there was more dark news to come, at least when it came to my use of the sword.

  “Why were only the two created?” Marttia asked. “Surely it would have been more logical to at least create as many counter weapons as there were staffs.”

  “It would indeed, but perhaps she simply ran out of time.”

  “Then why create two different weapons?” I asked. “Why not two knives or two swords?”

  “We don’t really know. But one of the very last entries in the journal mentions the fierce and all-consuming nature of the magic that stains the staffs. We suspect that in her efforts to understand and provide counterpoints for it, she was drawn deeper and deeper into its thrall and simply ran out of time. Had she not realized what was happening and locked herself in endless sleep, she would have joined great mages in that darkness.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I thought no one knew what happened to her?”

  “No one truly does, but such an action would make sense for one such as she.”

  “If the greatest earth mage of the day couldn’t control or destroy the darkness within the staffs,” Donal said, his gaze meeting mine, “then it’s certainly not something you should be trying.”

  “There’s no darkness in the knife, Donal. It may not exist in the sword, either.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not,” came my aunt’s reply. “The final line in that last journal suggests that to destroy all you must first be linked to all.”

  I frowned. “How the hell am I supposed to link either weapon to ten mage staffs?”

  “I thought you’d already destroyed one?”

  “I destroyed a staff, but it was topped by a clear crystal, which means it wasn’t one of the old earth mage staffs but a Volker copy.”

  “But you destroyed it?”

  “By shoving the knife into its core and shattering the crystal,” I commented. “I’m unlikely to get that close to the rest of them.”

  “You might not need to,” my aunt replied. “Not if the staffs are embedded in earth, and you are able to disrupt the magic that restricts your access to her power.”

  Which was what the knife appeared to do—at least on a small scale. But there was still altogether too much being left to conjecture and “might nots” for my liking. “Did Racinda leave any information about the sword’s capabilities?”

  “There wasn’t a great deal. She said that both must be bound to you by blood for you to use them.”

  “But the earth doesn’t demand blood....” My words trailed off. The earth mightn’t, but the Volker’s magic did. I licked suddenly dry lips and tried to ignore rising trepidation as I added, “I didn’t bind the knife to me.”

  “You blood must have stained the hilt at some point if the magic now answers your call.”

  Given the number of times I’d used it lately against both human and bipedal adversaries, that was more than possible. “So I simply have to bleed on the King’s Sword to unleash its power?”

  “In theory, yes. But being able to use the knife is no guarantee you’ll be able to unlock the sword’s true capabilities.”

  I frowned. “Why not? I drew it from the glass throne—”

  There were gasps from several in the room, but my aunt didn’t seem surprised, which made sense given she would have heard the truth from the earth itself.

  “Countless of your ancestors have done that,” she cut in. “It’s unlikely any would have been able to access the power, given few of your father’s line have joined the greater consciousness.”

  “Great,” I muttered. I thrust a hand through my hair and then added, “Did she say anything else about it?”

  “No.”

  “Then why was it given to the Bel-Hannon kings rather than being gifted to her heirs, as the knife was?” Donal asked.

  “A me
ans of protecting these lands if the Volker attacked again was the price for our resettlement. Over the centuries since, the Bel-Hannons have deliberately sought marriage to the earth mage lines to bolster their power and their ability to use the sword. But they will never be able to fully access it.”

  “Which leads me to the one question that’s been bothering me,” Marttia said. “Why now? Why has it taken them so long to attack us again?”

  She hesitated. “It could be a number of things, but I suspect that, given the sword was created in part by Racinda’s knowledge and in part by her possible use of Volker magic, they simply became aware there is currently no true heir to wield its power.”

  “Except I can use the knife. If they can sense the sword’s presence, however tenuously, why wouldn’t they also sense the knife?”

  “I have no idea. Perhaps it is simply a matter of the sword having more power.” She hesitated. “But if you can use it, doing so may well kill you.”

  A “may well” at least left room for a “may not” possibility. Still…. “Why?”

  “Because using blood to bind yourself to the blade you might also unleash that darker energy. The sword was created in the last days of Racinda’s life, remember, when the darkness was beginning to tell on her strength and determination. It’s very possible she wove the threads of that darkness into the sword’s fabric.”

  “Is there any way to counter or protect myself against that possibility?”

  “None that we’re aware of.”

  Meaning the one weapon we had against the Volker magic might be the one weapon we dare not use... but even as that thought crossed my mind, I knocked it away. If the sword was capable of destroying the mage staffs, then it had to be tried, no matter what the personal cost.

  “Anything else?” Marttia asked.

  The communicator shook his head. “As yet, no. We’ll continue to search through the records and journals, but I doubt we’ll find anything relating to the Volker or their magic. It seems both Racinda’s sacrifice and any information about the bipeds has been deliberately pushed from the consciousness of those who survived the Isle’s destruction.”

  Either that, or it was a result of the dark power Racinda had unleashed when she’d dismantled the mage staffs and created her two weapons. Perhaps as well as nearly consuming her, it had dulled the memories of those around her. While I had no idea what was and wasn’t possible when it came to magic, if a healer could draw on personal energy to fix the broken bodies and minds of others, why couldn’t a darker force alter collective memories?

  “What of my request for additional mage assistance?” Marttia said.

  “We are sending five of our strongest. Whether they will get beyond Divona remains to be seen. The king has placed a temporary ban on travel into Mauvaissia, citing unrest.”

  I snorted. Unrest was an oversimplification if I'd ever heard one.

  “I'll contact him and request they be allowed passage,” Marttia said. “Please notify us immediately if you do uncover anything else about the bipeds.”

  “I will. But I would have a private word with my niece before we break communication, if that is allowable.”

  Marttia raised her eyebrows and glanced at me. I shrugged in reply.

  “If this has anything to do with the Volker, their magic, or the mage staffs, I’m afraid that’s a request I cannot—”

  “It is a personal matter,” my aunt replied. “No more.”

  “Then we'll retreat.”

  She and the commander immediately rose and left the room. Donal made to follow, but I touched his arm, silently asking him to remain.

  “They’ve left, Aunt, so you can say whatever it is you need to say.”

  The communicator hesitated and then said, in a softer tone, “Be wary if you return to Divona, niece. And be aware there’ll be consequences for us both if you attempt to reclaim what was taken.”

  For several seconds, I could only stare at the man who gave her voice. Then a mix of anger and uncertainty surged, and I snapped, “And what else would you have me do given the threat we all face?”

  “All I’m saying is that your actions will have consequences. You need to be prepared this time, that’s all.”

  Something in her reflected voice—an edge that was both fear and something else—had me frowning. “Meaning what? Now is not the time to be evasive, Aunt.”

  “If I could tell you more, I would. But I can’t, for much the same reason you were unable to react in any appropriate manner against your father’s treatment of you over the last twelve years.”

  It was such a simple statement, but one that once again turned my world upside down. I swallowed heavily and then said, my voice somewhat hoarse, “Why would he restrain you, of all people?”

  “Because he feared losing control.”

  I frowned. “I’m still not getting—”

  “Your father knew we would not stand by and watch an imposter wield the sword.” The communicator's face twisted. “The bracelets were a present, gifted to me on our arrival minutes after you’d staked your claim on the throne. I had no idea what they truly were until it was too late—and by that time, greater evil had been done.”

  Greater evil.... The words echoed harshly through my brain and my grip on the table became so fierce the stone melted around my fingertips.

  “No,” I denied. He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have... and yet, if he had, it explained so much.

  “Yes,” my aunt replied softly.

  I closed my eyes and slumped back into the seat. All these years of believing my mother had taken her life to avoid the shame of a daughter who flouted both tradition and expectation when in fact nothing could have been further from the truth.

  She hadn’t been ashamed of me at all.

  She been killed—murdered—by the bastard who'd helped give me life.

  That was why the earth had abandoned him. It wasn’t because of his treatment of me—although I had no doubt that played some part given the anger I so often felt in the earth—but rather his murder of my mother.

  But why take her life in the first place? Was it a simple matter of doing to her what he couldn’t do to me, thanks to his belief that I was marked—and protected—by the god of war?

  Or was there something deeper at work?

  “I felt her passing, Nyx,” my aunt said softly. “She bid me to protect you, but no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t.”

  Because she’d also been trapped by the restraint bracelets. Her absence in my life made so much more sense now. Tears stung my eyes but it was rage more than regret that ran through me. The king would pay for his treachery—even if I couldn’t save Divona or Cannamore, I would ensure that.

  Donal placed his hand over mine. I shifted our grip and twined my fingers through his, drawing comfort and some sense of calm from his touch. Whatever happened, I was not alone in this fight.

  I took a deep, somewhat shuddering breath, and then said, “Are there others in the same position as you?”

  “No. Only Gigurri. He controls our lands—controls Jedran—through his control of me.” She paused. “But you must do whatever it takes to save this land and her people, Nyx. However diluted it may be, Racinda’s blood still runs in your veins, and it will help you when all else fails.”

  “You're being cryptic again.”

  The communicator's smile was faint and, while it was little more than a reflection of my aunt's reactions, had images of my mother rising. Though there'd been two years between my mother and aunt, they could have been twins, so alike did they look.

  “Yes, and I'm sorry, but much of the past knowledge has been lost and what remains has been handed down verbally from generation to generation.” The communicator's mouth twisted again. “In the retelling, small details often get lost.”

  “If we survive this, that has to be rectified.”

  “I agree.”

  Her tone told me she didn't expect to survive and that deepened the anger stirri
ng within. He'd taken my birthright, murdered my mother, and made me believe I'd been abandoned by everyone else who mattered. He would not take anything else from me. Not ever again.

  “All magic has limits, be they time or distance. If you stay in Gigurri, he cannot use the force of the bracelets against you, right?”

  “Yes, but even with the sword in your hand, you will need someone you can trust to back you—”

  “I know,” I cut in. “Which is why—when the time comes to act—I want Jedran to be present but not you.”

  She hesitated. “Jedran's control over the earth isn't as strong—”

  “It doesn't have to be. I want him there because he's respected by the other lords.” My mouth twisted. “Let's face it, many of them are going to be too worried about how I'll react to their treatment of me in the past to listen to anything I might say about the immediate future. But they'll listen to him.”

  “I think you underestimate your own strength and presence, niece, but I agree Jedran's attendance could be vital. Send word when you leave for Divona. Jedran will be there to back you against whatever might happen.”

  Trepidation stirred, but before I could question her further, the floor shuddered violently and dust rained down from the ceiling. I pressed a hand against the table, seeking a connection to the earth, trying to find out what was happening. But there was no answer from her. No link. Just anger.

  She was being restrained.

  The bipeds weren’t waiting for sunset.

  They were here.

  An alarm rang out, a claxon sound that made me jump. I shared a quick glance with Donal then thrust upright.

  “We’re under attack, Aunt. We’ll talk again soon.”

  “Be careful, Nyx,” she said. “And remember, when you get to Divona, show your father exactly what he expects to see; otherwise, you won’t get anywhere near him.”

  There was little point in answering—not when we first had to survive the Volker’s latest attack before we worried about how the king would react to me returning to Divona.

  As life returned to the communicator’s face, Donal and I rose and sprinted for the door. Another deep shudder ran through the thick stone that surrounded us, throwing us sideways for several steps. The door jammed before it fully opened, forcing us to squeeze through sideways. Neither Marttia nor the commander was nearby, and the guard had no information as to what was happening. I pressed the halo, but either communications were down or everyone was too busy to answer my request.