A Curse So Dark and Lonely

by Brigid Kemmerer

  If I put a crystal goblet in this one’s hand, she’d likely smash it and use the shards to cut me.

  “I feel you looking at me,” she says. Sunlight gleams in her night-dark curls. “Stop it.”

  Half a dozen compliments leap to my tongue, but she’s not the type to swoon for pretty lies. “I was wondering if you would share your name.”

  She hesitates, like she’s weighing the ramifications of the question. “Harper.”

  Ah. Of course. No Annabeth or Isabella for this one. A name with edges.

  “Harper.” I give her a nod. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

  She looks like she thinks I’m mocking her. “And who are you?”

  “My name is Rhen.” To my left, Grey glances at me, but I ignore him. At one time, I would have used titles to my advantage, dazzling girls with the promise of wealth and power. But as time has passed and my kingdom has fallen into poverty and terror, I have little pride left in who I am.

  “You live in a castle,” Harper says. “I’m thinking there’s more than just ‘Rhen.’ ”

  “Would a list of titles impress you?” I add a shred of practiced intrigue to my voice, but it takes more effort than it once did. “I’m certain there’s more than just ‘Harper.’ ”

  She ignores that and glances away, her eyes finding Grey. “And him?”

  “Grey of Wildthorne Valley,” I say. “Commander of the Royal Guard.”

  Grey gives her a nod. “My lady.”

  “Commander. That means there should be people to command.” Her eyes are narrow and calculating. I have no idea where Grey found her, but her distrust runs deeper than in any of the other girls he’s brought here. “Where are they?”

  Many fled and many more died, but I do not say that. “Gone. We are alone.”

  “There’s no one else here?”

  “You sound skeptical. I assure you, you will find no one else on the property.”

  I expect more questions, but she seems to withdraw farther. She’s so determined to keep space between us that she’s practically walking on the narrow edge of the path.

  “Do not torment yourself to keep your distance,” I say to her. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

  Well. She has nothing to fear now.

  “Oh yeah?” Her glare is sharp. “Why don’t you tell me what you were going to do with that woman Commander Grey meant to kidnap?”

  “I would not have harmed her.” At least not at first, and not intentionally. Grey is well practiced in keeping them safe once the change overtakes me and violence is inevitable.

  “She wasn’t conscious. She wasn’t going willingly.” Her words are fierce. “And for the record, I’m not either.”

  I have to look away. Once, this coiled tightness in my chest would have been arrogance. Now it is shame.

  I remember a time when my people feared the day I would come to lead—because I was seen as spoiled and selfish and not half the man my father was.

  Now I am spoiled and selfish in another way, and no better fit to rule.

  We’ve reached the castle steps, and I offer a hand, but she ignores me to limp up the steps on her own. Grey strides ahead of her, reaching for the ornate gold handle. As he swings the door wide, lively music pours out from the Great Hall.

  Harper stops short.

  “It is only music,” I tell her. “I admit, I once found it wondrous as well.”

  Now I hate all of it.

  Usually the girls are charmed, even delighted, but Harper looks like she wants to turn and walk right back out of here.

  She must steel her nerve, because she moves into the room and peers at the instruments. She places her fingers over the vibrating strings of a violin. “This has to be a trick.”

  “You can throw them into the hearth. Beat them into splinters. Nothing stops the music. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  Her eyebrows go up. “You’ve thrown musical instruments … into the fireplace?”

  “I have.” In truth, I’ve burned the entire castle to the ground. More than once. The music continues to play from the ash and rubble.

  It was actually quite fascinating the first time.

  I gesture toward the staircase before she can ask more questions. “Your room, my lady?”

  Grey waits behind as Harper follows me up the main staircase and down the west hall. I always take them to Arabella’s room because my eldest sister’s tastes were calm and inviting: flowers and butterflies and lace. Arabella would have slept half the day away if her tutors had allowed it, so food always waits on her side table: honeyed biscuits, jam and sliced cheese, a pot of tea, and a pitcher of water. A small crock of butter will be half-melted beside the biscuits.

  I unlock the door and swing it wide, then nod toward the back of the room. “Through that door, you’ll find a hot bath. Through the other, a dressing room.” I glance down at her ragged, sweat-dampened attire. “You should be able to find clothes, if that … suits your fancy.”

  “And you’ll leave me alone?”

  She sounds doubtful, but I nod. “If that is what you wish.”

  Harper eases through the doorway slowly, looking around. A finger traces the length of the side table, pausing for just a moment by the food—though she takes nothing.

  I frown and glance at her feet, her legs now encased in the too-large boots of a livery boy. Her left ankle appears crooked, making her steps uneven. “Are you certain I cannot provide assistance of some sort?”

  She turns in surprise. “What?”

  “You are clearly injured in some way.”

  “I am not …” She hesitates. “I’m fine.

  I cannot tell whether this is pride or fear or some combination of the two. While I am trying to puzzle it out, she says, “You told me I could be alone.”

  “As you wish, my lady.” I give her a nod.

  “Wait.”

  I stop with my hand on the door, surprised. “Yes?”

  She bites her lip, then gazes around at the lush offerings of Arabella’s chambers. “This place. The music. Is this all some kind of …” Her voice trails off and her expression turns sheepish. “Never mind.”

  “Enchantment?” I suggest, then raise an eyebrow.

  She inhales almost hopefully—but then her expression darkens into a scowl. “You’re mocking me. Forget it. Leave me alone.”

  “As you wish. I will return at midday.” I pull the door closed, but I do not move from in front of it. This season has gone so terribly wrong. She will never trust me.

  I will fail again.

  I put my hand against the door. She has not moved from the other side. “I was not mocking you, my lady.” I pause, but she says nothing. “Ironrose is not enchanted.”

  She speaks from just on the other side of the wood. “Fine. Then what is it?”

  “Cursed.”

  With that, I turn the lock and take the key.

  As usual, I take out my frustrations on Grey.

  Or maybe he takes his out on me. I’m good with a sword, but he’s better.

  We’re in the training arena, and clashing steel sings through the rafters. I see an opening and swing for his midsection, but he steps out of the path of the blade, twisting to parry and deflect. His attacks are quick and nearly lethal—which is good, because I need something to require my full attention.

  Grey’s sword slams into mine, driving me back a step. We’ve been at this for an hour and sweat threads through my hair. I recover enough to counterattack, my boots cutting neatly through the dust of the arena. I swing hard and fast, hoping to put him on the defensive.

  It works at first, and he gives ground, backing away. But I know better than to think I have an advantage. He’s not yielding; he’s waiting for an opening.

  His patience is always endless. I envy that.

  I remember the day he was first assigned to my personal guard, though I’m not sure why. I barely gave any of them a glance then. Just another subject, swearing to lay
down his life. If something happened to one, another would be along shortly.

  But Grey had been eager to prove himself. I think that’s what I remember most clearly: the eagerness.

  I quickly destroyed that, just like I destroyed everything else.

  In the arena, Grey feigns an attack. I think I see an opening and I swing hard, the blade arcing wide. Grey ducks and bolts forward to drive his sword hilt into my stomach. He follows with a shoulder.

  I go down. My sword skitters away in the dirt.

  “Quite the demonstration, Your Highness.” A feminine voice speaks from the railing at the side of the arena, accented by slowly clapping hands. For a wild, crazy moment, I think Harper must have found her way down here.

  But it’s not Harper. It is Lilith. The last—the only—enchantress in Emberfall. My father banished them from the kingdom once upon a time.

  I was too stupid to know I should have done the same.

  I fetch my sword and roll to my feet as Lilith steps into the arena. Not even the dust dares to cling to her skirts.

  I force myself to sheathe my weapon instead of raising the blade and plunging it into her chest.

  I’ve tried that before. It never ends well.

  I bow low as she approaches, taking her hand to brush a kiss against her knuckles. I infuse my voice with false charm. “Good day to you, Lady Lilith. The morning light favors you, as always.”

  At the very least, that is true. Soft skin, pink cheeks, rose-colored lips that always seem to be keeping a secret. Hair the color of a raven’s wing, perfect curls falling over her shoulder. An emerald silk dress clings to every curve, accentuating her narrow waist, the soft rise of her breasts. The color brings out the green in her eyes. In the sunlight pouring through the windows overhead, she’s exquisite. She turned my head once, for all the wrong reasons.

  “Such manners,” she says, a faint trace of mockery in her voice. “One would think you’d been raised as royalty.”

  I know better than to let her bait me, but it’s an ever-growing challenge. “One would think,” I agree. “Perhaps some lessons take longer to learn than others.”

  Lilith glances at Grey, who stands silently behind me. “Did Commander Grey honestly think that scrap of a girl would be the one to break your curse?”

  “From what I understand, she was not his first choice.”

  “Yet you throw away an opportunity by leaving her to languish alone?”

  “She refused my company. I will not force myself on an unwilling girl.”

  “How chivalrous.” She sounds as though she doesn’t think it’s chivalrous at all.

  “I have played your game for well over three hundred seasons. If I allow one to languish, as you say, another will be along eventually.”

  She frowned. “That is not playing. That is giving up. Are you truly so tired of our little dance?”

  Yes. I am. So terribly tired.

  “Never,” I say. “I find each season more enjoyable than the last, my lady.”

  She is not easily fooled. “For five years, your kingdom has been falling into poverty. Your people live in terror of the fierce creature that steals lives with horrifying regularity. And yet you abuse a chance to save them all?”

  Five years. Somehow both longer and shorter than I thought—not that I have any means to track the intricacies of her magic. I knew time had passed outside the grounds of Ironrose. I knew my people were suffering. I hadn’t realized how much.

  Fury sharpens my words against my will. “I will not take full blame for casting my people into poverty and terror.”

  “You should, my prince. One must wonder how many opportunities to save them fate will grant you.” She glances at Grey. “Do you tire of your gift, Commander? Perhaps the ability to cross to the other side at the start of each season is wasted on you.”

  I freeze. Her words always carry an element of threat. Once, I was too foolish to see that, but I can clearly read between the lines now.

  “I never tire of the opportunity to serve the prince, my lady.” His voice is emotionless. Grey is well practiced at never answering more than what is asked, at never offering an opportunity to start trouble.

  He likely learned it from serving me.

  “Commander Grey is grateful for your generosity,” I say, trying to appeal to her vanity. If she removes his band, he will have no way to cross over. My chance of breaking this curse will be even more dire than it is now. “I have heard him remark often on your magnanimity and grace.”

  “You are such a pretty liar, Rhen.” She reaches up to pat my cheek.

  I flinch—and she smiles. She lives for this moment, the space between fear and action. I all but hold my breath, ready for my skin to split and blood to spill.

  Her eyes shift past me, though, and she frowns, turning to face Grey. “What happened to your neck?” She lifts a hand, but hesitates with her fingers an inch away from his throat.

  He holds absolutely still. “An unfortunate misunderstanding.”

  “A misunderstanding?” She traces a finger along the uppermost scratch, and as her finger moves, the cut turns bright red. A trickle of blood spills down his neck. “Did that girl do this?”

  He does not move, not even a twitch of muscle along his jaw. “Yes, my lady.”

  I am frozen, wanting to stop her, knowing that would likely end up worse for him.

  She glides closer. “If she drew blood from the great Commander Grey, I believe I like her a bit more.” She traces another line, her finger glowing red this time. More blood flows.

  Grey still doesn’t move, but he’s not breathing. His eyes are hard.

  I clench my jaw. I once thought the monstrous destruction was the worst part of the curse, but I’ve long since learned that it’s not. It’s this, the repeated humiliation and punishment. The powerlessness to reclaim what is mine. Being forced to watch as every dignity is stripped away.

  She traces her finger along his neck a third time, her expression one of intrigue.

  Grey flinches and hisses a breath. I smell burning flesh.

  Lilith smiles.

  I step forward and grab her wrist. “You will stop this.”

  Her eyebrows go up and she looks delighted. “Prince Rhen! Such spirit. One would think you have some concern for your subjects.”

  “You leave me with one man to command, and I will not have him harmed. If you must play, play with me.”

  “Very well.” She swipes her free hand across the front of my abdomen.

  I don’t feel her nails. I don’t feel anything.

  And then I feel the pain, as if she sliced into me with pure fire.

  Spots fill my vision, and my knees hit the dirt floor. I’m distantly aware of Grey trying to catch me. I clutch an arm to my stomach, but this injury is infused by magic and nothing I do will stop it. Fire burns through my veins now. The rafters spin overhead.

  I wish for darkness to overtake me. I wish for oblivion. I wish to die.

  I kneel, barely held upright by Grey’s grip on my shoulder, molten lava surging through my veins.

  Draw your sword, Commander, I want to say to him. End it.

  It would not work. I’d wake back in that cursed room, waiting for Grey to return with a new girl.

  Lilith speaks from above me. “Are you truly so tired, my dear prince? Do you wish for me to end your torment?”

  “Yes, my lady.” My voice is barely a whisper. The words are a plea. A prayer. Even if the end to my torment means the end of me, it would mean an end to the suffering my people have endured. It would mean freedom for Grey.

  “I am generous, Prince Rhen. I will have mercy on you. This shall be your final season. Your days will march in tandem with the rest of Emberfall. Once this season expires, Ironrose will return to its former state.”

  Relief begins to bloom in my chest, a small trickle of ease among the relentless pain. My final season at last. I will endure these three months and be free. I want to jerk free of Grey’s hold so I ca
n kiss her feet and weep with gratitude.

  “What will happen,” Lilith asks then, “when you fail with this girl and you are condemned to spend eternity as a monster?”

  The question nearly stops my heart in my chest.

  “I did not leave you with one man to command,” she says, and her voice has turned into the sound of a thousand knives scraping together. “I did not plunge Emberfall into poverty and terror. I will not be the one to destroy all your people.”

  A sound chokes out of my throat. I want to weep for an entirely new reason. The burning pain has reached my head, and my eyes begin to cloud with stars.

  “You are responsible,” she says, her terrible voice fading away. “You, Rhen. You alone will destroy them all.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  HARPER

  I’m plotting an escape.

  It’s not going well.

  This bedroom is stunning and as opulent as the rest of the castle, but it might as well be a steel cell. There’s nothing here that I can use to pick a lock—as if I had any idea how. Still, I’m pretty sure “find pointy metal things” would be step one, and I’ve already failed at that. There aren’t any hairpins in the dressing table, but if I want to do a makeover, there are plenty of cosmetics, ribbons, and jars full of scented lotions.

  Maybe later.

  The four-poster bed is massive, layered with heavy down blankets and satin sheets. Everything is pink and white, with tiny flowers stitched everywhere, small jewels forming petals along the edge of the coverlet. I’ve crawled along the baseboards, but no electrical outlets hide anywhere. Light shines through the windows, but oil lamp sconces line the walls, too. The washroom has running water—thank god—that requires a pulley. A full, steaming bathtub looks as if it were just drawn—though the steam has been rising for over an hour now, so it’s either part of this “curse,” or there’s a heater somewhere.

  For a different girl, the best part of this bedroom would be the closet. It’s large enough to be a bedroom on its own, with hundreds of dresses stretching from wall to wall. Silk, taffeta, and lace crowd for space, fabrics in every color of the rainbow. At the back of the closet, beneath a small window, sits a dresser with five drawers. I hoped maybe I’d find hairpins or even a spare set of keys there, but no.