Heir to the Underworld (Suffer a Witch to Reign Book 1)

by D. H. Dawson

  The guard pauses. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I hear you’ve commissioned a rather expensive sword.’

  The man fully turns to me now, but he won’t see much of my face. I stand side-on so I won’t be recognised, and am glad for the gathering shadows.

  The man stands up to his full, impressive height. ‘I’m a man of good taste. What’s this to you?’

  I take a few careful steps closer. ‘I have some wares for you to pass on. I expect you will be able to afford brilliant daggers to match your new sword.’

  The guard steps closer to me. ‘Are you one of hers?’

  ‘Of course. How else would I know to approach you?’

  He shushes me and leads me out of the way of the growing crowd. ‘Keep your voice down.’ He turns, shielding me from view. ‘What did you manage to get? The last one was a servant, but after he came to me, he disappeared.’

  He did? Perhaps he was caught. I wonder who in the royal household has suddenly gone missing, and why Carmen hasn’t mentioned this? Perhaps she hasn’t noticed. I carefully reveal my Spirit items. I’m a little sad to part with them, but they’re all replaceable enough. I watch the man’s eyes gleam with greed.

  ‘That’s a good haul. Who are you? How did you—’

  ‘Ah. I don’t pester you with questions, you don’t pester me. Do you want them or not?’

  The guard nods. ‘Of course.’ He digs around in his coin purse and pulls out five gold pieces. My heart hammers. I’ve never seen so much money at once. He shoves them in my hand and relieves me of my haul. ‘She’ll be pleased. Well done.’

  ‘Glad to be of service.’ I don’t risk asking any questions, but I don’t need to. My Spirit items have tracking spells on them. I incline my head, and he inclines his, and we part ways as night blankets the village. Torches begin to flare to life, but before their light reaches me, I’m out of sight, back home, pulling my cloak off with a sigh. I grab a bowl and fill it with water. Now this will impress the princess.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Carmen

  I follow the directions Matthew gave me to Cristian’s smithy; it’s hard to miss, the only place with such smoke drifting up into the air, thick and grey from the forge’s fire.

  As evening falls, it’s not an ideal time to train, but I feel I must see him, must show him my new resolve. I’m expecting a front door, but come across a stained cloth, a curtain of sorts, instead. I knock on the roof. ‘Cristian? It’s—’ What do I refer to myself as, to him? Well, he’s my instructor, I hope. ‘Carmen.’

  Snoring fills the space divided by nothing by cotton. Is he sleeping? I can’t see inside, but something tells me a young man couldn’t produce such a reverberating sound. At least, I hope not.

  Cristian swipes the cloth aside and meets me with a surprise and annoyed look. ‘What are you doing here?’ His gaze travels over me, blue eyes widening. ‘What—what are you wearing?’

  ‘You remember who you’re speaking to?’

  His brow furrows. Instead of inviting me inside—is his house somewhere close by?—he steps out, arms folded over his—I hadn’t noticed before—muscled chest. Of course he is, he’s a blacksmith. That seems like it would be hard work. He must usually be covered in more smoke and ash than I am. Not that I would ever say that.

  ‘I remember. What are you doing here, Princess?’

  Oh, yeah, he hates me. I work up my courage. I’m not used to that. Normally people cower before me, or at least bow. The way Cristian stands seems like he’s challenging me. That makes me think of my worries which I spoke to Grandma about—Will I end up with a man who bows to me, or holds my hand and walks beside me? Cristian doesn’t bow.

  ‘I wanted to show you I’m ready to fight better, if you’ll still train me,’ I say.

  I’m standing outside still, and he bars the way; out here, torches line the path, and the flames flicker. The light catches Cristian’s face, but his expression is unreadable. For a moment, he says nothing. I can’t tell him I now know why he feels the way he does. I can’t share what Juliette told me.

  ‘You know, after the last time I saw you—and you upset me—I went to my favourite bakery. The baker is so lovely, she talked to me and made me tea. She says she knows you, and that you have a problem with witches.’ I watch for his reaction.

  Cristian steps down, and the firelight catches his eyes; he’s not angry as I worried he might be. He looks sadder than I had ever imagined. ‘This baker, is her name Juliette?’

  ‘Yes. She’s very lovely. She spoke highly of you.’

  Cristian turns his cheek. ‘Maybe I do have a problem with witches.’ He meets my gaze, hands together, as though I carry handcuffs. ‘Will I be headed to the cells now? I prefer the one at the end of the hallway, if you don’t mind. Less dank.’

  I know he’s only half-joking because he’s right—the one at the end has the window. He’s been through tough times, I can see that written all over him. I glance around, but everyone is too preoccupied to notice us. I push his wrists down. ‘No. I was just hoping that you could separate your problems with other witches, and me.’

  Cristian’s gaze is locked on where I still touch his wrists. I expect him to say, get off me, but he’s silent, though he does move his hands, again, folded over his chest. He won’t meet my gaze. ‘That’s hard, Princess.’

  It wasn’t me who killed your mother, I want to remind him. Instead, I say, ‘I am only just beginning to realise the pain my throne was built on. It wasn’t me who—’ I trail off, a little too close to the secrets. ‘Whatever you hate them for, it wasn’t me.’ He still won’t look at me. This was a mistake. Perhaps all humans will always hate me. I close my eyes briefly, starting to feel stupid, for the way I’m dressed, what I’ve come here for. I guess this was pointless. I turn to leave, but he catches my hand.

  His mouth works, and whatever words he wants to say are obviously difficult. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t think you realise that all that pain is not in the past. We endure it every day.’

  My eyes go to our clasped hands. ‘Then tell me about it. Perhaps I can help. There’s nothing I can do if I don’t know about it.’

  Cristian’s head tilts, considering my words. His gaze travels over me again. ‘I do like your outfit, Princess. It’s much better than a dress.’

  I turn to him. ‘I don’t appreciate you making fun of me earlier,’ I point out.

  Our hands break away as he dips his head. ‘I do apologise for that. It was uncalled for. Truth be told, you’re the bravest girl I’ve ever met, you ran into the field—ow, hey.’

  I thwacked his hand.

  ‘What was that for?’

  ‘Bravest girl? Why do you have to specify girl? Because girls aren’t brave? Because we wear dresses and have long hair?’

  ‘I was trying to be nice.’

  ‘Well, you weren’t.’ It’s my turn to fold my arms over my chest, but I realise this only enhances my cleavage, so I lower my arms. That’s new. I’m not used to shirts like this. I will my cheeks not to heat. Cristian watches me, amusement in his eyes.

  Cristian holds his hand out for mine, and though a few days ago I wouldn’t have, I set mine in his. ‘I am sorry.’ He bows his head. ‘You are brave. You are selfless, and I was a jerk. Will you forgive me?’ His voice is low, smooth and serious. It sends a chill through me. I can’t explain it, but it’s pleasant.

  ‘Oh, very well, I suppose.’

  ‘Would you like to train with me? Tomorrow?’ Cristian says.

  I take my hand back. ‘On one condition.’

  He raises a dark brow.

  I point to his leg, blood seeping through the fabric of his pants. ‘Tell me what happened here. The truth.’

  Cristian sighs. ‘You know that guard of yours? He’s even ruder when he’s drunk.’

  I blink. ‘Patrick? No—’

  ‘You stepped between us, Carmen. He is one of the worst to us.’

  I
close my mouth and carefully contemplate my reaction. I can see it in his eyes. He’s not lying. Do my guards really terrorise humans? ‘I’m sorry. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

  ‘Can I be honest?’

  ‘Since when do you ask?’

  ‘As a princess, you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.’ Cristian briefly squeezes my hand. ‘Goodnight, Princess.’

  Cristian’s words fill my mind as I make my way back to the castle. It’s time I spoke with Mother and Father and updated them on the, well, lack of progress in locating the Summoner. They won’t be thrilled by that, but perhaps I can check in with Matthew again tomorrow to brainstorm new ideas.

  Shadows dance on the walls, behind the flames in braziers. I approach one and reach out to the flame, pulled toward it. What the dark figure said had scared me, and it was a truth I didn’t want to face. ‘Search your mind for the answers. If you do not, it is only because you are not willing to know.’ I shake it off and back away from the fire and head to Mother and Father’s chambers. Hopefully the kids are asleep and I can speak with my parents freely. I hope all this hasn’t scared my brother and sister. I approach the chamber door, the one with the charred handprint—praying no one has noticed this—and hear voices trailing out into the hallway.

  Father’s, low, booming voice echoes. ‘—this all happening since her birthday, what are the odds?’

  Mother’s softer, but firm voice. ‘I don’t know what to tell you—’

  ‘I want the truth, woman, before this all blows back on us. It won’t ruin our marriage, but that girl could bring this realm to its knees, and by then our marriage will be the least of our worries.’

  My eyes widen and I flatten myself against the wall. Are they talking about me?

  ‘That girl is your daughter,’ Mother reminds him.

  ‘I’ve always suspected, but with that power—her servants speak to me. I know she dreams of fire, and wakes with it on her skin. The handprint just on our door. The woman whose hands were suddenly free of ice, the cottage that thawed so suddenly? I am not blind! Tell the truth!’

  My heart thunders. Of course he knows of these things. How could I be so stupid?

  A shattering sound crashes through the halls as something is broken. Did Father throw something?

  ‘I will not,’ Mother says. ‘Whatever her power, she is my daughter. I won’t have you cast her out. She belongs here, with us, not with him.’

  ‘She is his heir, too,’ Father growls. ‘Isn’t she?’

  What the hell are they talking about?

  ‘Carmen is a good girl, Gordon, she will make a lovely queen in our realm,’ Mother says.

  ‘Will he not claim her?’ Father asks.

  ‘He promised me he wouldn’t. He has other heirs.’

  ‘But a firstborn heir? A Spirit witch and fire-cursed?’ Father says.

  My stomach climbs up my throat. Oh, Gaia. No. This can’t be happening. I remember the dark figure’s words from my vision: There are things in our minds that we know, which we press down, because it’s frightening. I step a little closer to the door, wanting to see my parent’s faces.

  Mother stands, taut and arrow-straight, chin high. ‘He promised me she was mine.’

  Father paces back and forth, distressed, then turns to her. There’s a broken vase on the floor by the table. He stops and stares at his wife of twenty years, gazing into her eyes. ‘But she’s not mine. Is she?’ His voice is barely a whisper.

  Mother rocks back, as though she hadn’t expected the question. Her mouth presses and her eyes fill with tears. ‘My betrayal was a mistake made in youth. I never meant to hurt you, Gordon, I want you to know that.’ Tears spill down her cheeks. ‘No. Carmen isn’t yours.’

  I suck in a panicked breath, waiting in horror.

  The King runs a hand through his hair. ‘My little girl.’ He sinks into a chair by the blazing fireplace and stares into the flickering flames. ‘My little girl is born of evil.’

  ‘Not evil.’ Mother puts a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs her off. ‘The Underworld is a place of dark things, but the power she has, you know as well as I that she’s only used it for good. To help people.’

  The King turns and glares up at her. ‘She is not my heir. She is Heir to the Underworld. To Hades!’

  I slide down the wall, tears blurring my vision. Hades. It really was him.

  ‘No, she is your heir, too,’ Mother insists. ‘Carmen is my child, of my blood. She has the right to the crown. I know you love her. Don’t take that away from her. Her blood is not her fault, and it is you who has raised her. The people will never know.’

  I can hardly breathe. I can’t believe this is happening. A rustle to my left turns my head and a choking sound escapes my lips.

  Tiberius stands, wide-eyed, holding a teddy bear and a candle. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’ The teddy falls from his grip. ‘You’re not my sister?’

  He turns to run, dropping the candle and its metal holder. I scramble to my feet after him as the metal clangs to the floor, alerting my parents. ‘Tiberius!’ I reach him as my parents fall silent. I catch at his sleeve and turn him, but he jerks away from me.

  ‘What are you?’ Tiberius squirms, his lip quivering.

  ‘It’s okay. I am your sister.’ I hug him gently and rock him back and forth just like I used to. ‘I’m just… a little different than we realised. Do you remember those books I read to you? About the Underworld, Cerberus, and Persephone?’

  Tiberius nods and breaks away to stare up at me, no longer squirming. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Remember how cool you thought they were?’ I brush away his tears with my thumbs. ‘Well, I guess I’m like them. But I am your sister, okay? You don’t have to be afraid of me.’

  Tiberius stares at me, measuring. He’s only nine years old, but he’s intelligent and brighter than any other kid. He brushes a few loose strands of hair out of my eyes. ‘You have fire power, don’t you? I saw you that day. I saw you heal that woman’s hands.’

  ‘And you didn’t say anything? Or was it you who told Dad?’

  ‘I didn’t, I swear. I tried to see if I could do it too, but I can’t.’ His voice is heavy with disappointment. ‘I wish I could heal people.’

  I squeeze his arms. ‘Are you okay? I mean, with me?’

  He reaches out and touches my face. He’s always been a touching, curious, tactile boy. It’s how he learns and shows affection, Mother says. He turns his head, and I see Mum and Dad are in the hallway, watching us with tearful eyes. ‘Only if you stay our princess, not the Underworld one. You won’t leave us, will you?’

  Before I can say anything, Dad comes over, Mum behind him. ‘I’m afraid that’s your sister’s choice, son.’ Dad looks at me so sadly and brushes a hand over my hair, taking in my new appearance. ‘You may not be my blood, but you are my daughter. You have more choices than I could have foreseen, though. Carmen, it seems you have a long road ahead of you, but I want you to know I don’t care what powers you have.’ Dad squeezes my cheeks together like how he used to when I was Hara’s age and I giggle. ‘You’re my girl, and you’re good.’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, honey.’ Mum’s hands are tightly clasped together.

  I shake my head. At least I know I’m not crazy or imagining things. At least there’s an explanation for my power. Dad wipes the tears off my cheeks, mimicking the motion I’d just made for my brother.

  Tiberius tugs on me. ‘You won’t, will you? You won’t leave us.’ His eyes are big and sad.

  ‘Come, now. She doesn’t understand that decision yet, son.’ Father puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘I think there’s a lot more we need to know before anyone decides anything.’

  I get to my feet, exhausted, and nod.

  ‘Honey,’ Dad says, ‘what in Gaia’s name are you wearing?’

  I swallow. ‘Um. Fighting clothes.’

  Dad pauses, then laughs. ‘Of course, you ar
e. Has that human boy trained you up, yet?’

  ‘We start tomorrow.’ I smile at the thought.

  The End of Book One

  Want to keep reading?

  Click here to order book two, The Secrets Shadows Keep, (releasing 31st of March 2021), or turn the page to read the first chapter.

  Chapter One

  Carmen

  Fire dances in my palm, over my skin. Smoke and flames flicker at the base of the throne as the figure watches over me. His face is cast in shadow, and I look up from his feet, as though I were a child. I do not mind sitting here, as he has much to teach me.

  Hades, King of the Underworld. He tilts his chin forward, and I wonder why he doesn’t wear a crown. Apart from his otherwise clean and well-presented attire and grooming, there’s nothing overly ornate or rich about his appearance. Nothing that, in my realm, would point him out as a king.

  The fire in my palm wavers, though I can’t feel any breeze. Sparks kiss my skin, warm and bright.

  ‘Focus, child,’ Hades says, his voice low. ‘Your fire is only an illusion here, but when you do it for real, you must be in control.’

  I stare at the fire, red and orange, as it grows, then dims, and nearly dies. ‘It’s hard.’ An illusion of fire. I wonder what the real thing will feel like, when it happens.

  ‘It is your birthright,’ Hades says. I cannot bring myself to think of him as Father or Dad. It’s too surreal, and not true. Perhaps by blood, but not by love. ‘Using your fire should be as natural as your witching clairvoyance.’

  Perhaps Hades doesn’t understand what it means to be a witch, because I wouldn’t say my clairvoyance is natural to use. It’s useful, but not always accurate; if I try to foresee my day, if one thing changes, it all does. If I look at someone and try to foresee something of them, it may not be accurate if I don’t know them well. I shake the thoughts away. ‘You don’t know what it is to be something other than what you are, so don’t pretend.’ The fire in my hand sparks out, leaving ash on my palm. I wipe it on my night skirts.