A Curse So Dark and Lonely

by Brigid Kemmerer

  Grey stops beside one of the fallen men, kicking him onto his back. “This man wears a crest,” he says to me. “But I do not recognize it.” We so rarely leave Ironrose anymore that it’s not a surprise. Well, Grey does—but only in an effort to lead the monster away from the people.

  Grey moves to the next man and pushes the flap of his jacket to the side, pulling a knife from his belt. “Decent weaponry. Better than common thieves, I would think.”

  The infant fusses to my right, and the barefoot woman pales and tries to hush her when I look over. She seems to be clutching Harper’s hand. Considering their clothes and the thinness of the woman, this family has little worth taking—and even less now.

  When I approach, the woman gasps and falls to her knees in the snow.

  “Children,” she hisses, and they all mimic her immediately, though they draw closer to their mother. The toddler clings to her shoulder, huge dark eyes staring up at me.

  The woman tugs at Harper’s hand. “He is the crown prince,” she whispers. “You must kneel.”

  Harper meets my eyes, and hers are full of wary defiance. “He’s not my prince.”

  I stop in front of her. Snow is collecting in her dark curls, and she lacks appropriate clothing for this excursion. Her hands are streaked with dried blood.

  There’s blood on her lip, too, and her cheek is swelling. I give her a narrow look and reach out a hand to lift her chin. “Do you still claim to be uninjured, my lady?”

  The woman gasps and lets go of Harper’s hand. “My lady,” she whispers. “Forgive me.”

  Harper brushes my hand away. “I’m fine.”

  Beside us, the smaller boy’s breath is hitching as he shivers in the snow against his mother. I look at the woman. “Rise. I will not have children kneeling in the snow.”

  She hesitates, then rises from the ground, keeping her head down. Each time her eyes shift to the burning structure at my back, her breath shakes.

  “We are in your debt,” she says. “Take all we have.”

  “I will not take from those who have nothing,” I tell her. “What is your name?”

  “Freya.” She swallows. Her eyes are as large as serving platters. “Your Highness.”

  “Freya. Who are these men? What do they want with you?”

  “I do not know.” Her voice trembles. “Rumor speaks of an invasion in the north, but—” Her voice breaks. “My sister and her husband are dead. This is all—this is all we had—”

  Two of the children start crying, clinging to their mother’s skirts.

  Harper moves close to Freya. “It’s okay,” she says gently. “We’ll figure something out.”

  Her censorious eyes shift to me.

  Clearly I am to figure this out.

  “There once was an inn just north of here,” I say. “Do you know it?”

  The woman chances a look up. “The Crooked Boar? Yes, of course, but …” She glances at the flames again. “I have nothing. I have no money—nothing to pay.” She pulls the infant closer. A shaking hand swipes at her cheek.

  The girl moves closer and speaks through her own tears. “But we’re together. You always say all is well if we’re together.”

  From the looks of it, they will all freeze to death together. Even if I can get them to the inn, they cannot stay there forever. I consider Lilith’s threats and wonder if it would be more merciful to kill them all now, before the monster can hunt them for eternity.

  This woman and her children are so thin. My kingdom has fallen into poverty, and I am unable to do anything about it. A reminder that if I manage to break this curse, I will still be left with nothing.

  Harper glares at me. “Staring at them isn’t helping.”

  I imagine her criticizing my father this way.

  I then imagine him backhanding her across the other side of her face.

  If he were here right now, he would likely backhand me for not doing the same.

  She has been here one day and I am already exhausted.

  “My lady,” I say tightly. “Perhaps I could have a word with you privately.”

  “Fine.” She stomps away, her limp pronounced, leaving me to follow.

  At ten paces, I catch her arm and turn her around. I glare down at her, incredulous. “Just who do you think you are?”

  “Who do you think you are?” she says. “You’ve got a huge castle with a hundred rooms. You can’t give them a few to use?”

  My eyebrows go up. “Ah, so you run from the castle, but you’d submit another woman to your fate?”

  “You’d rather leave them to freeze in the snow? Some prince you are.”

  She moves to turn away from me, but I catch the sleeve of her wool blouson and hold her there. “Do you know why those men were after her?” I point to the bodies in the snow. “Do you know they meant to kill you? Do you wish to invite more?”

  She sets her jaw. “I know they would have slaughtered those kids if I hadn’t shown up. I know they were trying to claim her land for the crown. What do you know about that?”

  “They would have slaughtered those children if Grey and I hadn’t—” I freeze, my irritated thoughts seizing on her second statement. “What did you just say?”

  She jerks out of my grasp. “I said those men were trying to claim her land for the crown. That’s you, right?”

  “If that is what they said, they were lying.”

  One of the children laughs, full out, with pure glee. I snap my head around.

  Grey has laid his cloak in the snow for the children to stand on. He looks to be making ridiculous faces at them. A little boy of about four has found the courage to step in front of his mother, and the toddler giggles between shivers and says, “Again, again.”

  When Grey sees me looking, he straightens and sobers immediately.

  Harper has lost patience with me. “They’re all freezing,” she says. “Either help them or get out of here. But I’m going to help.”

  She returns to Freya’s side and unwinds the satchel from around her shoulder. “There’s food in here,” Harper says, biting back a shiver. “It might be a little squished, but it’s something.”

  The woman’s eyes go from Harper’s face to the bag and back. “My lady,” she whispers. “I cannot—”

  “You can.” Harper gives the bag a little shake. “Take it.”

  The woman swallows and takes the bag like it contains something poisonous—though the children begin digging at it.

  “Mama!” says the toddler. “Sweets!”

  “The Crooked Boar is not far,” I say. “We will ride ahead and arrange for a room for you and the children.”

  Harper looks startled. “You’re going to leave us alone?”

  I ignore her and unfasten my own cloak. “Grey, divide the children between the two horses.” I stop in front of Freya and swing the cloak around her shoulders.

  She stiffens in surprise and backs up, shaking her head. “Your Highness—I cannot—”

  “You are freezing.” I glance at Grey, who is settling the older boy on his horse. “My guard commander will keep you safe on the road.”

  Harper watches all of this, her expression nonplussed. “You just said you and Grey were going to ride ahead.”

  “No, my lady.” I turn to look at her. “I meant you and me.”

  She opens her mouth. Closes it.

  Checkmate.

  But then her lips flatten into a line. “There aren’t any horses left.”

  “There’s one.” I turn my head and whistle, three short chirps that cut through the night air. Hoofbeats hammer the ground and Ironwill appears out of the smoke. The buckskin slides to a stop in front of me and affectionately butts his face against my shoulder. I catch his bridle and rub the spot he likes, just under his mane.

  Harper’s eyes go wide and then her face breaks into a smile. “He didn’t run away!” She rubs the bridge of his nose, then hugs his face. “That’s a neat trick. Do all the horses come when you whistle?”

&
nbsp; “Not all,” I say easily. “Only my own.”

  She loses the smile. “Your … own …”

  “You chose well.” I straighten the reins, then grab the pommel and swing into the saddle. Then I put out a hand for her.

  She stares up at me. The indecision is clear on her face.

  I nod toward Freya and the children. “They grow no warmer, my lady. We should not delay.” I look back down at her. “Then again, I forget that you left Ironrose on a journey of your own. Would you prefer to go on your way?”

  That catches Freya’s attention, because she hesitates before lifting the toddler to sit in front of the girl. Her eyes worriedly dance from me to Harper.

  Harper sees this, too. She sets her jaw. “No. I’m coming.”

  Then she reaches out and takes my hand.

  In another time and place, I would be glad to be riding double in the snow, the weight of a girl against my back as we canter along a silent road. The air is crisp and cold, and I haven’t felt snow on bare skin in ages.

  But tonight, the magical wounds in my abdomen ache, pulling with every stride. Harper clings to my sword belt instead of wrapping her arms around me, a clear refusal to get any closer than she needs to. Cold silence envelops us, broken only by Ironwill’s hooves striking the ground in a familiar cadence.

  Eventually, the dull pain turns into a hot knife and sweat begins to collect under my clothes. I draw the horse to a walk.

  “What’s wrong?” says Harper. “There’s nothing here.”

  A note of alarm hides in her voice, and I turn my head just enough to see the edge of her profile. “The horse is winded.”

  “You sound like you’re winded.”

  Indeed. But she is, too, I realize. Her breath clouds on the air every bit as quickly as my own. I wonder if her stubbornness has kept her from calling me to stop earlier.

  Much like my own stubbornness has done exactly the same thing.

  “You seem to have a knack for finding trouble,” I tell her.

  She’s silent for a bit, but I know she is thinking, so I wait.

  Eventually, she says, “I was trying to find a way home. Or at least … someone to help me.”

  “There is no one in Emberfall who could help you get home.” I lift a hand to point. “Though you should head south if you wish for different companionship. Westward travel from Ironrose leads through sparse farmland, as you see.”

  “All I see is snow, Rhen.” She pauses. “Prince Rhen.”

  She says it like she means for the word to be an attack, but I do not rise to the bait. “The snow runs deep this season,” I agree.

  “Am I supposed to call you Your Highness now?”

  “Only if you can do it without such contempt.”

  “I still don’t understand why I can’t go home.”

  “There is a veil between our worlds. I do not have the power to cross it.”

  “But Grey can.”

  “The curse grants him the ability for one hour, every season. No more, no less.” I turn my head to glance back at her. “Magic was once banned from Emberfall. You will find no one else who can help you.”

  She goes quiet again. Wind whistles between us, lacing its way under my jacket. At my back, she shivers. Her fingers tremble on my sword belt.

  Swiftly, I unbuckle the straps across my chest and pull my arms free of the sleeves, then hold the jacket back to her. “Please, my lady. You’re freezing.”

  She’s silent for a moment, but the cold must be quite convincing, because she snatches it from my hand. When she speaks, her voice is small. “Thanks.” She pauses. “You’ll be freezing, too.”

  With any luck, I’ll freeze to death. “I have survived worse.”

  “You really didn’t send those men to burn down that woman’s house? So you could claim her land?”

  “No.” I can’t even muster indignation. I remember a time when I would have done so without a thought. Honestly, I shouldn’t be surprised that vandals are claiming such activity on my behalf.

  “Why is it so cold here, when it’s so warm at the castle?”

  “Ironrose—the castle and its grounds—is cursed to repeat the same season, over and over, until I …” I search for the right words. I am rarely forthright about the curse. “Until I complete a task. Time outside the castle grounds passes more slowly, but it does pass.”

  Harper is quiet as a ghost behind me, except when a shiver makes her breath tremble. Snow dusts across my hands, collecting in the horse’s mane.

  “My lady,” I say, “you are still shivering. You need not keep your distance.”

  Wind rushes between us, accenting her silent refusal.

  “We do not have far to travel,” I add. “It would not be—”

  She shifts forward and slides her arms around my waist so suddenly that it makes me gasp. Her head falls against the center of my back. Tremors roll through her body and she pulls the jacket around both of us.

  Her grip is tight enough to be painful, but I do not move.

  This is more about the weather than about trust, surely. But as her body warms and she relaxes against me, I realize some measure of trust must be at work here. The thought feeds me hope, crumb by crumb.

  She adjusts her grip, and I hiss a breath and grab her wrist. “A few inches higher, my lady. If you do not mind.”

  She moves her hands. “Why? Were you hurt?”

  “No,” I say. “An old injury.”

  She accepts the lie readily, but I do not like it. Earning this moment feels a thousand times more satisfying than plying women with pretty falsehoods and empty promises. In the darkness, together on the back of a horse, it’s tempting to forget the curse and pretend my life doesn’t exist outside this moment.

  “What would you have done,” I ask quietly, “if we had not arrived?”

  “Did you see their swords?” she says against my back. “I’m pretty sure I would have died.”

  Her voice is so earnest that I laugh. “I’m beginning to wonder if you would have found a way to escape even that. How did you manage to leave Ironrose without Grey noticing?”

  “I’m assuming you haven’t seen your trellis.”

  “You climbed down the trellis?” She can barely mount a horse. She is crazy, surely. “It is not even beneath your windows!”

  “Trust me, I realized that when I hit the ground.”

  No wonder I found her facing a cadre of swordsmen in front of a burning house. Next time, it will likely be an army. “Injured as you are, you chose to leap—”

  “I am not injured!”

  “Then what are you?” I demand. “There is a difference between pride and denial, my lady.”

  She says nothing, but her silence feels like resignation instead of anger. I half expect her to pull away from me, but she doesn’t.

  “I have cerebral palsy,” she says quietly. “Do you know what that is?”

  “No.”

  “Something went wrong when I was born. The cord was wrapped around my neck, and I got stuck in the birth canal. I didn’t get enough air. It causes problems in the brain. Some muscles don’t develop the right way.”

  She stops, but I sense there is more, so I wait.

  “It affects everyone differently,” she says. “Some people can’t walk, or they can’t speak, or they have to use a wheelchair. I was a lot worse off when I was younger, so I had to have surgery to correct my left leg. I still have trouble with balance, and I walk with a limp, but I’m really lucky.”

  I frown. “You have an unusual definition of luck.”

  She stiffens. “Spoken like someone who lives in a castle with an endless supply of food and wine, but calls himself cursed.”

  I bristle, my pride pricked. “You know nothing about me.”

  “And you know nothing about me.”

  A nettlesome silence falls between us now.

  “Have you caught your breath?” I finally say.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Yes.” Without an
other word, I kick the horse into a canter.

  It’s not until later, when we reach the inn, that I realize she never let go of me, despite her sharp words.

  CHAPTER TEN

  HARPER

  For some reason I thought an “inn” would be comprised of more than a two-story house with tightly shuttered windows and a thin plume of smoke rising from the chimney. If there’s a sign, the dark and snow keep it hidden.

  When Rhen pulls the horse to a stop, I straighten and let go of his waist. We’ve formed this little cocoon of warmth, and his jacket—fur-lined leather—smells like oranges and cloves. My body wants me to stay right here.

  Which is exactly why I need to let go. He might be handsome and chivalrous and well-mannered, but underneath all that, he’s a kidnapper. He turned the key in that lock this morning.

  The air between us is suddenly awkward. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

  It’s the first thing I’ve said since we snapped at each other, and he looks over his shoulder at me. I can’t read his expression, so I have no idea whether he’s mad or we’ve formed a truce or I’m going to have to find a way to run again. “Yes, my lady.”

  “Would you stop calling me that?”

  “It is meant as a mark of respect. When you travel with me, people will assume you are a lady, a servant, or a whore.” His eyebrows go up. “Would you prefer one of the latter?”

  Now I want to punch him. “Get off the horse, Rhen.”

  He swings a leg over Will’s neck and drops to the ground, then turns to offer me his hand.

  I don’t take it. “Would you offer your hand to a servant or a whore?”

  He doesn’t move. “You asked a question. I answered it. I meant no insult.”

  “What about prisoner? What if I tell them you kidnapped me?”

  His hand remains extended. “I am their prince. They will likely offer to bind you and lock you in the stables.”

  He’s so arrogant. I ignore his hand and slide my leg over the buckskin’s rump. I do it too fast, just to spite him.

  I spite myself. My left knee buckles when I hit the ground.

  He steps forward to catch me.

  It puts us close, his hands light on my waist. In the dark, he looks younger than he seems, like life has injected age into his eyes, but the rest of his body hasn’t kept up. His tan skin is pale in the moonlit shadows, the first hint of beard growth showing on his cheeks.