A Curse For Spring

by Amanda Bouchet

  Daric took a torch from the wall. If he’d spoken up two years ago and Rain had agreed, he might have been able to convince his father to let them marry. Now, it was too late. They’d both been bartered away, him for a canal and Rain for her own safety along with that of the household.

  “Your thoughts look darker than this cavern,” Rain said, following him with the other torch.

  Daric stayed watchful and alert as they moved deeper into a tunnel. “Do you have my mother’s Ashstone ring with you?” he asked instead of addressing his thoughts. They were indeed dark and dismal.

  She shook her head. “I left it at the castle.”

  “Promise me you’ll wear it,” he said, taking her free hand and squeezing. “If things don’t go as we hope, it’ll connect us. We’ll remember how we once lived together in the House of Ash.”

  Rain stopped and swung an iron-hard gaze on him. “Don’t give up before we even start.”

  “I’m not giving up,” he hastened to assure her. He would never do that.

  “You’re giving me an odd look I don’t like at all.”

  “You’ll outlive me by far, Rain. Maybe by millennia. It’ll be something to remember me by.”

  A storm flashed in her eyes. He saw it for what it was now. “I’m as mortal as you are.”

  “Are you though?”

  “Yes,” she said emphatically.

  “Mortals don’t grow vines from nothing and make gale winds blow.”

  Her budding anger abruptly disappeared, and her face fell. “Are you afraid of me?”

  “Of course not.” The need to wipe away her horrified expression made him pull the first thought from his mind. It was an inane one—inevitably. “Although I would think twice before turning you backside-up for a spanking.”

  Rain’s jaw dropped. Heat billowed inside Daric like an inferno.

  She laughed suddenly, the bright sound chiming through the cavern. “A little vulgarity suits you. Suits us,” she corrected. “It’s amusing.”

  “I strive to never bore you,” Daric admitted, his voice rougher than a rockslide.

  The smile on Rain’s lips widened, so beautiful it was heartbreaking. She started moving again. “I can safely promise, Daric, that you never bore me.”

  Every already raw and heightened emotion inside him swelled painfully. Rain was both his joy and his affliction. She was his everything.

  Chapter Eight

  Rain was amazed. They found the bloodstones in a large chamber at the far end of the first tunnel they’d taken and didn’t need to backtrack to try the other—or to explore any of the half dozen offshoots they’d seen. They’d briefly ventured down one transecting pathway because of the dim glow emanating from it and had come across the witch’s living quarters. A high-up hole in the rock ceiling let in light and air and let out smoke from the kitchen fire. A long rope ladder hung from above and a clever drainage culvert ran underneath the hole and toward a descending passageway. The rope ladder was an encouraging discovery that relieved them both, although emerging on the clifftop would mean a lengthy walk back to the horses.

  Their torches became unnecessary as they approached a wall nearly covered in bloodstones. The red crystals grew from heated fissures in the rock and glowed with a crimson thermoluminescence.

  “The gemstone is aptly named, it seems.” Daric swept his gaze around the cavern.

  Rain grimaced. “I feel as though the wall will spurt blood if we pull one out.”

  “There’s a gruesome thought,” Daric said.

  The wall pulsed with heat and light, almost a heartbeat.

  “And I agree,” he murmured.

  “The witch said we wouldn’t get one without her, but this wasn’t that difficult to find.” Rain glanced from side to side, looking for clues. “That makes me nervous.”

  Daric studied the cavern as well, touching the bloodstone wall with tentative fingers. “Could the gems be cursed?”

  Rain groaned at the possibility. She was thoroughly sick of curses.

  She doubted that she—Spring—had been cursed, but rather thought a nefarious spell had been cast over Leathen. As far as she knew, she’d forgotten all about Leathen and skipped right over it with her weather from around the time of Daric’s birth.

  “According to the book you found, the Blood of Braylian is used for breaking curses,” Daric said. “Can it also be cursed?”

  “I don’t know. What else could the witch have meant?” Rain asked.

  Daric shrugged. “It could have been a bluff. Let’s dig one from the rock and find out.”

  Rain wasn’t sure that sorcerers bluffed. At the crone’s age, could she even still think clearly enough for that?

  Daric took out his dagger and started chipping at the base of a crystal.

  Rain hovered near his shoulder. “Daric, be careful. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  He tossed her a reassuring grin. “Then be prepared to defend me, my lady. I know you’re capable.”

  He could tease, but Rain couldn’t smile. Her tongue stung with the acidic taste of worry.

  Daric worked at the gem, chiseling and wiggling until it loosened. Slowly, he pulled the glowing crystal from the wall. Rain held her breath. The wall pulsed with inner light and the bloodstone throbbed in return, almost sentient. Daric held it out to her—and the crystal exploded into a monster.

  Rain gasped and threw herself back from the towering creature. Daric leaped in front of her. It lunged, and a snap of razor-sharp teeth sent them scrambling in different directions.

  “Rain!” Daric rolled under a swiping claw to get back to her.

  The monster’s furious roar slammed into Rain. Chilled to the bone, she drew her dagger. Demonic eyes rolled in a reptilian head. Its scales were blood-red. She’d never seen anything like it.

  Daric swung his knife. It was all he had for a weapon. Rain sent out vines to tangle around the beast’s legs. It somehow evaded capture, and her creepers fell to the ground, useless. How could that happen?

  She blew her strongest gale, but it did nothing. The wind just bounced back at them, whirling around her and Daric.

  True helplessness swamped her, dredging up more fear than she’d felt in years. She’d adapted. She’d thrived as a human. She’d even retained some of her magic. Now, she knew dread again—for herself and for Daric.

  Rain drew her knife. Her hand trembled, and she gripped it harder. Terror had a distinct flavor. It tasted like waking up from the dark and realizing you were still in a nightmare.

  “Run, Rain! I’ll hold it off!” Daric’s dagger whistled through the air in front of the monster.

  And leave him? Never.

  “The witch must know how to control it. Find her!” Daric shouted.

  She shook her head. The beast would chase them down and rip them to shreds before they’d run ten steps down the tunnel.

  “Go!” he cried, sweeping his knife in a wide arc when the monster sprang forward.

  Rain stopped and watched, her eyes narrowing. Daric’s blade should have swiped the creature’s muzzle. His was a long dagger, almost a short sword, and the beast had lunged right at it.

  “Did you see that?” She looked harder. “It wavered.”

  “What? Go!”

  There it was again—an odd ripple when the creature moved quickly.

  Rain jumped to the left, drawing the monster with her. Daric’s shouts turned frantic, but Rain jumped back again almost as swiftly. The beast followed her movement, confirming her suspicion. It had flickered from one position to another and then back again. There was no in between, no solid movement.

  “It’s not real,” she said, her panic subsiding. The ancient-looking monster hadn’t touched them, despite the cold murder in its lizard-like eyes and its ferocious jaws snapping at them. It couldn’t. “It’s an illusion. It’s a guardian, not an executioner.”

  Sure of herself, Rain lunged forward, rolled, and thrust her knife upward just as she landed between the front legs o
f the deception. Her blade sliced into nothing instead of hitting a scaly breast and muscle. The illusion disappeared from her vision, gone, as though it had never existed. The bloodstone lay on the ground beside her.

  Triumphant, she turned to Daric and saw his face turn ashen with grief-stricken panic. Her smile died. What happened?

  “Rain! Rain!” His eyes wild, his voice raw and terrible, he let out a bloodcurdling howl. He sprang forward, plunging his dagger toward her.

  Daric’s arm came down like a hammer. Rain threw her weight to the side, but his blade still sliced a burning cut across the back of her shoulder.

  “Daric! Stop!” She twisted to look at him.

  His hand went slack. His knife clattered to the floor of the cavern, and he stared at her in abject horror. “Rain? My darling, what have I done?” He dropped to his knees beside her. “Your shoulder.” His cautious touch was shakier than a dead leaf in autumn.

  “It’s nothing.” The wound throbbed, but that was all. “I’m fine.”

  “It’s bleeding.” He flinched, and she knew her pain was his. “You attacked the beast. You rolled right under it. I saw it rip you apart. I saw it kill you.” Daric’s voice veered toward guttural, and a sheen coated his eyes, turning them glassy in the dimness.

  “It was a deception. Trickery.” Rain picked up the bloodstone that Daric had dropped and showed him. “I saw through the illusion. And once I proved to myself that the monster wasn’t there, it disappeared entirely.”

  “You mean you weren’t sure?” he choked out.

  Rain shrugged, although it hurt her shoulder. “This is a place of sorcery.”

  “I swung at the beast and felt nothing until I grazed you.” Daric glanced at the bloodstone. “That broke the illusion for me, too?”

  Rain nodded.

  He swallowed, and the vision of her gruesome death was still there for her to see in his eyes—as well as the fear that he’d hurt her.

  She touched his cheek, pressing her hand against the beard that had grown while they traveled. “It’s just a scratch, Daric, and now we have what we came for.”

  The crease between his eyebrows deepened. “I’m sorry.”

  I love you. “I know,” she answered.

  Rain’s heart turned over heavily, churning with a mix of hope and despair about their future. She stroked his furrowed brow, smoothing a thick lock of hair back from his forehead. She let her fingers slide over one strong cheekbone and then traced the curve of his jaw, rough with whiskers. Her hand moved to his mouth. It was full and soft even though his lips were pressed together. Daric’s eyes heated. His lips parted, and his breathing accelerated.

  She’d never touched him like this before, the way she’d always wanted to, exploring the textures of his skin and the slopes of his features. The contrasts thrilled her and made her want to touch him everywhere. And to feel him touch her.

  Heat spread through Rain. Tension gathered low inside her. Deep down, she ached for things she’d never experienced.

  Daric’s lids grew heavy. The low, vermillion light turned his blue irises wine-red, and Rain found herself wholly intoxicated. Her pulse beat hard enough to make her unusually aware of it. At her throat. In her thudding veins. Between her legs, where her body called to Daric.

  She inched toward him. Daric lowered his head. He brought his arms around her.

  A sharp ache flared in Rain’s shoulder, and she sucked in a breath. Daric let go immediately.

  “I’m sorry.” He stepped back and scrubbed a hand over his face so hard it looked like punishment. “Let me tend to your injury.”

  “That can wait until we’re safely away from this place.” Rain wished she hadn’t made a sound. Daric would have kissed her.

  She waited, but he made no move toward her again. Sighing, she turned to the bed of gemstones.

  “I think we should take another bloodstone.” Letting their future partially hang on just one crystal they could break or lose wasn’t an option.

  Daric faced the pulsing wall. His mouth flattened. “I don’t like it.”

  “You get the crystal out,” Rain insisted. “I’ll slay the illusion.”

  His brows knotted into a frown, but he nodded and pried at another stone. “Life would be easier—and possibly safer—if I were capable of denying you anything.”

  Rain didn’t answer. Daric had done a fine job of denying her that kiss in the library.

  As soon as Daric freed the gemstone and held it in his hand, it turned into a long, writhing, black-scaled serpent.

  Rain jumped, leaping backward. She’d expected the same thing again, or at least something red. The snake struck at her, and she reacted quickly, her breath hammering out in fright as she backhanded the reptile, feeling her hand pass right through what should have been solid fangs and a triangular head. The illusion disappeared, and Daric still held the bloodstone.

  “Great Braylian!” She blew out a shaky breath and then laughed a little wildly. “That was still terrifying.”

  Daric grinned at her, sliding the second crystal into his pouch to join the other. “Remind me never to anger you.”

  Rain snorted softly. “Remind the sun not to shine.”

  He arched both brows, looking playfully wounded. “Do I anger you daily, then?”

  “No,” she admitted. “You’re my hero most of the time.”

  Daric reached out and touched her jaw, tilting her face up. Their eyes met, and Rain stopped breathing.

  He stroked her cheek, his deep voice wrapping around her like comfort and a shelter. Home. “You’re my hero today and every day, Rain. You saw through the first illusion. You got us the bloodstones we needed.”

  Tears stung Rain’s eyes, and she fought them. If she lost Daric to Astraea Nighthall, her heart would break and she’d wither, just like Leathen.

  Daric dropped his hand and turned to the exit. “Let’s leave this place.”

  Rain nodded and led the way toward daylight.

  Chapter Nine

  Daric was relieved to finally reach the horses. It was long after sunset, and he gathered what water he could from the abysmal stream at the base of the Heights of Alder while Rain freed the Cave Witch from her green bindings with only a thought. Now, the irate hag spit curses at them from the cavern entrance—though luckily not in a language that could hex them.

  They mounted and departed by tacit agreement, despite the darkness and Rain’s injured shoulder, riding until they were more than a league away and well out of the witch’s purview. The abandoned and near-empty farmhouse they found made a decent shelter. It had three walls and half a roof, in any case.

  “It’ll be warmer tomorrow,” Rain said, sniffing the air.

  “Tonight is still frigid.” Daric wrapped his extra cloak around her shoulders. They were hours from any town or inn, or he’d have tried to find them better accommodations. That was the thing about sorcerers: they were mysterious, generally unpleasant, and lived in the remotest areas.

  He trusted Rain’s instincts, though, especially about the weather. They might wake tomorrow to the first real spring day of the season, if one could call it spring with no moisture.

  “I need to tend to your shoulder.” Daric wished he’d been able to do so long before now. He fetched a rickety milking stool from a gloomy corner and set it near the campfire. “Sit.”

  Rain looked less than enthusiastic. “It’s fine.”

  Daric wasn’t arguing about this. It was happening. “Your blood-encrusted tunic is stuck to the scab, and I’m going to have to cut the material off you. Now sit.”

  Rain’s delicate eyebrows swept up in astonishment. “When did you become so overbearing?”

  “Amiability is overrated if it means the people you love die of infection,” Daric informed her flatly.

  Her mouth puckered as though she might argue, but then she tossed both their cloaks aside and sat, her back to him. “Happy?”

  Now, isn’t that a complicated question? “Not entirely.”
>
  After a moment, Rain sighed. “Me either.”

  The future returned like a shroud, dark and weighty upon them. It even blocked out the moonlight, forcing Daric to rely solely on the fire he’d built to see what he was doing.

  He used his dagger to slice Rain’s tunic down the back and then gently peeled the material away from her shoulder. He tried not to let the sight of her naked back distract him, but her pearlescent skin and the subtle curve of her spine were heady reminders that they were alone and she was partially bared to him.

  “Daric?” He heard the hesitation in her voice.

  “Yes?” It was torture not to touch her.

  “Does it look bad? It doesn’t need to be sewn, does it?”

  He cleared his throat before answering. “No. I just need to clean it.”

  “Are you unwell?” She frowned at him over her uninjured shoulder. “You sound hoarse. I hope you haven’t caught a chill.”

  “Believe me,” he murmured as he carefully tugged the last bit of tunic loose from the scab. “I’m excessively hot.”

  Rain slipped her arms free from the sagging tunic but held the ruined garment in front of her. “I’m cold.” She shivered when he brushed her hair aside.

  “This will warm you.” With a stick, Daric reached for the cloth he’d put into boiling water. He let it cool for a moment before wringing out the excess and then gently pressing the steaming material against Rain’s injury.

  She moaned a little. “That does feel good.”

  Daric was incapable of responding. He renewed the cloth and finished cleaning her shoulder.

  “You’re good at this,” Rain said. “Do you have experience as a healer that I don’t know about?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I’m using what I hope is good sense.”

  “This is one of those moments when you should have reassured me with a small falsehood,” she teased.

  “I’m reserving my wicked untruth for this.”

  “For what?” she asked.

  Daric uncorked the small flask of spirits he’d brought out of precaution. He never drank the stuff, but he knew how the shrewdest of healers used it to prevent infection. He soaked a clean cloth with the strong-smelling liquid and then took a deep breath, steeling himself.