Cursed

by Keri Arthur

“We'll deal with it when and if it happens. But given that—as far as he's concerned—I'm here at Marttia's request, I doubt he will. Not immediately, anyway.” It was said with a surety that I wasn't feeling. If the king was anything, it was unpredictable.

  “If for no other reason,” Donal commented, “than to bask in the glory of his own cleverness and superiority.”

  Rutherglen raised an eyebrow. “I would disguise your dislike of the man far better than you currently are, highlander, or we'll all end up in the hangman's keep rather than the great hall.”

  “He's already locked me up in that wretched place once; he'll not do it a second time.” Donal's gaze came to mine. “How do you plan to gain access to the sword?”

  I hesitated. “It will depend on where the meeting happens.”

  And that very much depended on the king’s mood. On whether he felt the need to remind Marttia's representatives of his position and power.

  But it also depended on how much more his mind had degenerated in the brief time I'd been away. I suspected his grip on reality had fallen greatly, because surely no sane and sensible king would ignore the warnings of his frontline commanders or their urgent requests for additional troops.

  “But no matter where it is held,” I continued, “he’s going to be wary—”

  “Then we do our best to put his mind at ease,” Rutherglen said. “And give the appearance that this is nothing more than a plea for help instead of the intended treasonous takeover of a sitting king.”

  “It’s only treasonous if we fail,” Donal commented, amusement evident.

  “Once we do move,” I said, with a wry look his way, “we'll have to contain the situation quickly. If we’re in the council chambers, we’ll have to force everyone into to the hall. The only way any of them will believe the truth—especially given their opinion of me—will be for them to witness the inability of both the king and my brother to draw the sword. And that means we first have to get the sword from him, and then return it to the throne.”

  “Are you one hundred percent sure neither of them are capable of redrawing the sword?” Rutherglen asked. “Rainer is after all the current king because he did do so initially.”

  “There’s no guarantee when it comes to my father,” I said, meeting his gaze evenly, “but the earth no longer acknowledges him or answers his commands, and the sword is an extension of the earth power. But it was never my brother’s. It’s just another blade to him.”

  Rutherford grunted. “Containing the council will be far easier in the chambers than the great hall, given the latter has three exits and at least a dozen permanent guards within the room.”

  “There're actually four exits—there's an escape passage hidden behind the glass throne—and a dozen additional guards armed with pulse rifles watching from aeries hidden throughout the rafters.”

  “The wind can counter the guards easily enough,” Donal said, “but you'll need to ensure all four doors are locked before we make a move.”

  “No one is getting in or out of that hall unless I will it.” I hesitated. “But we will have to be fast. The king might no longer command the earth, but he will sense its use and react accordingly.”

  Neither man seemed overly concerned by that prospect. I wasn't sure whether to be worried or reassured.

  “How likely is it that any of the council will act to protect their king?” Rutherglen said.

  “Jedran is the only one who’ll be on our side. The rest believe the king was chosen by the sword to lead, and they all fear the power of the earth. Until I prove I hold that power, they will defend him with their lives.”

  Rutherglen raised an eyebrow. “Will they do the same for your brother if he's present?”

  “He's the sword’s heir as far as they're concerned, so yes.” I smiled, though it held little more than cold satisfaction. “Vin won't be involved in any fighting that happens, though. He won't have fully recovered from having part of his right arm chopped off.”

  “A man in need of revenge is always the more dangerous opponent,” Rutherglen said. “What if either of them orders you killed the minute the earth answers your call?”

  “They won't; they'll simply order you two shot and hope I get caught in the crossfire.”

  Rutherglen frowned. “Why?”

  “Because I bear Lokain’s mark, and they fear the curse that comes with it.”

  “I wasn’t aware that the god of war had marked you as his own.” For the first time since I’d met him, Rutherglen’s smile actually touched his eyes. But it was a fierce thing that sent chills down my spine and made me thankful he was on our side. “It makes me more hopeful for a positive outcome, both here and at our border.”

  “I’m afraid the other lords view it more as a portent of doom.”

  “Even Jedran?”

  “Gigurri and her mages pay little more than lip service to Cannamore's gods. The earth mother and the voices of all those who have gone before them is the only form of divine wisdom they ever need.”

  I glanced out the window again; we were moving through the gates into the royal quarter. My gut clenched and my heart raced a whole lot faster. Fear, excitement, dread, uncertainty—it all churned through me even as the voices started in my head. Voices that said I wasn't worthy, that I’d never be worthy. Not of the earth and certainly not of the throne.

  But those voices were part of a past in which I'd held no power.

  That was no longer the case.

  It was time to prove that.

  To them. And to me.

  “If that is the case,” Rutherglen said, “the sooner you call to the earth and secure either the hall or the chambers, the better it’ll be.”

  I nodded. “As soon as the doors are closed, I'll raise the earth and lock them. If the god of war is indeed riding with us, the king will be too busy deriding my presence or plotting to kill me to notice.”

  Rutherglen grunted and glanced out the window. “We're here.”

  The carriage came to a halt in front of the plain, rectangular building that was the great hall. I quickly unbuckled the knife sheath and tucked the blade into the waist of my pants, so that it was resting against my spine and out of sight. I'd stab myself if I wasn't very careful, but better that than its presence giving our game away before it had even begun. The king might or might not be losing touch with reality, but he'd know what the knife was the minute he spotted it and would react accordingly.

  We needed to have the great hall secured before that happened.

  Four guards approached the carriage, all of them armed and wary—a reflection of my father’s mood, perhaps. The carriage dipped as the driver climbed out, and then the carriage door opened.

  Holt Karland—the court chamberlain—bowed and then said, “The king has assembled the council in the great hall. Please follow me.”

  He turned and walked away without waiting for a response.

  “It would seem your god is on our side,” Rutherglen murmured as he moved past.

  “Let's hope it remains that way,” I muttered.

  Donal gripped my knee in brief but silent support, then rose and followed Rutherglen out of the carriage. Neither looked back at me. I took a deep breath then stepped from the vehicle and looked around at the place in which I'd been born and raised. And oddly felt as if I no longer belonged.

  It was a feeling amplified by the contempt that rolled from not only the four guards waiting for me to move but also from those stationed around the exterior of the great hall and on the wall.

  Would that contempt ever be fully erased?

  Probably not. After all, I had earned it, even if my actions had been forced rather than by choice.

  But perhaps the real question in this situation was not whether I could change opinion but rather, did I even want to try? Or was this place as dead to me as my father?

  I frowned and thrust the question—and the uncertainty that rose with it—away. I had a whole damn mountain of problems to overcome before I start
ed worrying about things like that.

  I hurried after the three men. Rutherglen's guards fell in behind me, and the king's escort behind them.

  We stepped into the vestibule—an area so large it could easily hold several hundred people. But it, like the exterior of the building, was dour and cold; the walls were bare of plaster, the stone painted a simple white. There were no adornments on the walls, no heating or cooling, and the chairs were simple wooden benches—all very deliberate choices. All designed to make those wishing an audience with the king ill at ease—a feeling that would only be amplified once the doors into the great hall were opened and the sheer extravagance of the room was revealed.

  Three doors lay at the far end of the vestibule. The largest and plainest led into the great hall. The one on the left led into the various antechambers—including the council chambers—that ran along that side the great hall. The other led to the various service departments and privy facilities.

  Our footsteps echoed on the polished concrete floors, a heavy beat that matched the pulse of the earth. All I had to do was express what I wanted and it would be done—but that same pulse was dangerous if the king was paying attention. And that, in turn, could certainly explain the tension so evident in our escort.

  Sweat trickled down my spine, but it had nothing to do with the heat coming from the knife. It was fear, tension, and the need to get this over with—to either claim what was mine or die—all combined into one gut-churning, pulse-racing sensation.

  The guards directly ahead opened the plain but sturdy double doors, revealing the interior of the great hall. The entire room—walls, floor, ceiling, as well as the soaring arches that supported it and gave the great space the feeling of a cathedral—were made of white stone through which thick veins of gold glittered. Brightly hued tapestries hung from the walls, interspersed with flags that represented the twelve territories. Wall sconces provided the entire room with a warm glow, though their flames were electric replicas rather than the real thing.

  Twelve plush seating stalls—six on either side—dominated the dais half of the room, each large enough to hold the highest-ranking members from each territory’s court. All of them were occupied with either the current lord or lady being present along with at least two other representatives. The stalls closest to the dais and the throne—a position that indicated the esteem those families were held in—were full, which was unusual given the hastily called nature of this meeting.

  The Gigurri stalls were positioned on the left side of the room midway down, an indication of just how far out of favor her people had fallen from the king's good graces. My uncle sat in the front row, his posture casual and arms crossed. He was a typical Gigurrian in looks—a tall, broad-shouldered man with brown hair and skin. In many respects, he could have been blood related rather than via marriage, so similar in coloring was he to my mother.

  There were five others with him—two men and three women. I vaguely recognized two but the other three were strangers—no real surprise since my last journey to Gigurri had been at least fifteen years ago. But I had no doubt that—given what my aunt had said—all five were mages. While I had no idea how adept they were at using the earth power, their presence at least gave us an edge.

  It was an edge we were going to need, given that the number of guards within the great hall had been doubled.

  My brother sat in the stall that was reserved for Divona's royal elite. I didn't recognize any of those sitting with him, but they were wearing the colors of the five main families. Vin's expression was nothing short of murderous, and I had no doubt that if he'd been capable of shooting me at that moment, he would have, consequences be damned. But he'd never been adept at using weaponry with his left hand and his right hand was now mechanical—which was surprising, as I’d thought his Sifft heritage would have been enough to save his real hand. I doubted he’d become proficient at its use in such a short period of time.

  And while he was now forever maimed—thanks to the fact that mechanical hands could never replace the ease of use and dexterity of a real hand—that didn't make things even between us. Not one little bit.

  Close to Vin's stall, at the far end of the room, was the long and simply constructed wooden dais. On this stood the glass throne—an ornate and beautiful piece of artistry that shimmered like a rainbow in the hall's flickering light. The king sat upon it, dressed head to foot in black, a dark blot against the brilliance of the throne. The combination made his brown skin appear almost sallow but had the opposite effect when it came to his eyes. They were as vivid as the wall of gold that rose behind the throne.

  But it was the elaborately decorated, blue-white glass sword he idly spun on its point that caught my attention—as he'd no doubt intended.

  The King's Sword. Out of its case and in his hand.

  Was he mocking me? Or was he not so subtly daring me to go ahead and try to claim it?

  Our footsteps echoed loudly in the otherwise silent room. The gathered lords and ladies watched us with varying degrees of disinterest, which suggested they had no idea as to why this meeting had been called.

  Jedran, I noted, wasn't one of those studying us, though that was no surprise given he knew well enough why we were here. But I could see the tension in him, could see it also in the guards that lined the room and the way their gazes seemed to be trained on me rather than the two men in front.

  The sword was definitely a dare.

  Challenge accepted, I thought, even as my gut twisted and my heart began to beat so fast anyone would think I was climbing a mountain.

  But in many ways, I was—one that had been twelve years in the making.

  My gaze rose to the ancient text that dominated the golden wall behind the throne. Whomsoever draws the sword from the ancient seat of this land shall rule it, and they shall bring peace and prosperity to its people.

  Rather oddly, as I silently finished reading the prophecy, peace descended upon me. All the fear, all the doubt, and all the tension inside stilled.

  As did the earth’s pulse.

  Not because she was in any way abandoning me, but because that pulse had been a reflection of my own fears and anger. Her anger hadn't in any way abated. I could still feel it in the heat of the knife, in the warmth radiating through the polished stone under my feet, and fervently hoped that the king didn’t. At least the dais on which the throne sat was made of wood rather than stone or metal; it didn’t conduct the earth’s energy as strongly. The king might be aware that her voice had stilled given how strong it had been, but there was less chance of him sensing the heat.

  But Jedran would. And he, like the earth, would be readying for action.

  The chamberlain stopped a third of the way down the room, forcing us to do the same. “My king and councilors, I present Lord Rutherglen T’Annor, Lord Donal O’Raen, and Princess Nyx.”

  “Bid them come closer.”

  The king’s expression was as bored as his tone, but to believe that was to believe a lie. The presence of the sword and the tension in the guards were evidence enough of that.

  As the chamberlain once again led the way forward, the doors behind us closed with an ominous clang. The heat pulsing through the knife increased, as if in anticipation.

  Fuse metal and stone to prevent the four doors from opening, I silently ordered. But do it as quietly as possible.

  The blade's heat increased and a tremor ran through the floor. My gaze jumped to the far end of the room, but there was no indication the king had noticed.

  We continued walking down the hall. The closer we drew to the dais, the more the guards’ tension increased. It made me wonder what he'd ordered—and whether whatever he'd told them to do in any way involved my brother. Given Vin's fury was now tempered by the glitter of satisfaction in his eyes, I suspected it might. It wouldn't be the first time blood had stained the pristine whiteness of the great hall. While the current king hadn't shed life in this place, the same couldn't be said for many of his ancestors.<
br />
  We were three-quarters of the way down the room when he said, “Far enough.”

  The chamberlain bowed and backed away. For several seconds, no one else moved and no one spoke. The sharp scent of anticipation rolled from both Donal and Rutherglen, although their stance remained easy.

  The king finally stopped twirling the sword and instead placed both hands on its hilt—a casual move most here wouldn't think twice about when in truth it was a deliberate reminder that while I might be the sword's chosen heir, both it and the throne were still his by right.

  I carefully reached back under my jacket and wrapped my fingers around the knife's hilt.

  Your wish? came the earth's voice.

  The minute I speak, reach up and quietly leash the sword with stone.

  The earth didn't reply, but the tremor that ran through once again spoke of her gathering readiness. Again, the king gave no indication he'd felt it.

  That is because he cannot, the earth said. He is blind in mind.

  And my brother?

  Same.

  “Lord Donal,” he said, “I thought I'd made clear the penalties for bringing Nyx back into Divona.”

  My father's tone remained bored, but his golden gaze was on me rather than Donal. One eyebrow rose—a move that was both a silent taunt and a challenge. He might not be aware of the force gathering against him, but he had no doubt about my reason for being here.

  He wanted me to move against him. And I had no doubt as to why—the minute I did, his guards would shoot, and he could claim self-defense to avoid the god's wrath.

  “Indeed you did.” Though Donal’s voice was even, the air stirred. It was only light—little stronger than a faint brush of breath—but it spoke of a readiness as fierce as the force thrumming through the floor. “But there are some things totally unavoidable.”

  “I gave you full control of the restraint bracelets, highlander. Nothing is unavoidable; all you have to do is state your wish and she has no choice but to obey. Ask any of the lords here to confirm it—they have, after all, enjoyed the same privilege these last twelve years, if only for their assigned night.”