A Curse So Dark and Lonely

by Brigid Kemmerer

  “Can you stand?” he says softly.

  I nod. For a heartbeat of time, the world seems to shift, like I’m a breath away from figuring all this out. I want him to wait, to hold right there, to just give me one more second.

  But he draws away, moving toward the door of the inn, giving it a forceful knock.

  Nothing happens. I shiver. My body is missing his warmth, and I need to keep convincing myself that this forced companionship is false, that he’s the enemy here.

  He raises a fist to pound on the door, and it swings open this time. A heavyset middle-aged man stands there with a lantern in one hand—and a short knife in the other. A thick mustache and beard frame his mouth, and a stained leather apron is tied around his waist.

  “You move on!” he shouts, gesturing with the lantern with enough force that Rhen falls back a step. “This is a peaceful household!”

  “I am glad to hear it,” Rhen says. “We are seeking peaceful shelter.”

  The man raises the knife. “No one with good intentions seeks shelter after dark. You move on.”

  Movement flashes behind him. A woman peeks from around a corner, her white fingers gripping the molding.

  Rhen takes a step forward, his voice sliding dangerously close to anger. “Are you running an inn or are you not?”

  I move to his side. “Rhen,” I say quietly. “They’re afraid. Let’s leave them alone.”

  “Rhen?” The man’s face turns white. He draws the lantern forward to look Rhen up and down, then drops the knife. “Your Highness,” he cries. “Forgive me. We have not seen—we have not—” His knee hits the floor so hard that I wince. “I did not recognize you. Forgive me.”

  “You’re forgiven. Doubly so if you have rooms available.”

  “I do,” the man sputters. “We do. My family can sleep in the stable, Your Highness.” He scrambles to get out of the way, half bowing as he does. “Take our home. Take our—”

  “I do not need your home,” says Rhen. “A woman and her children have been the victims of a fire. My guard commander should arrive with them shortly.”

  “Of course. Of course. Please come in.” The man gestures, then looks over his shoulder to yell toward the staircase at the back of the room. “Bastian! Come, see to their horses!”

  We step through the doorway, and the warmth is so inviting that I want to lie down right here on the rug. “Horse,” I say to the man. “Just one.”

  He nods rapidly, as if this is the most common thing ever. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  Rhen takes hold of my jacket gently and turns me to face him. “I will see to the arrangements. Warm yourself by the fire, my lady,” he says, with just the slightest emphasis on the words.

  I open my mouth to protest, but Rhen leans in close. He whispers low along my neck. “I would never travel alone with a female servant. The choice is yours.”

  Goose bumps spring up where his breath brushes my skin. “My lady” it is.

  “Bastian!” the man hollers again. “Horses!” A quick abashed glance at me. “A horse!”

  A boy who can’t be more than nine comes stumbling down the staircase, rubbing his eyes, reddish-brown hair sticking up in all directions. “I was sleeping, Da. What horse? What?”

  “Bastian.” The man’s voice is short, and he speaks through his teeth. “We have royal guests. You will see to their horse.”

  The boy is still rubbing his eyes. He glances at me and Rhen, his face barely alert. “But the royal family ran off years ago.”

  Beside me, Rhen stiffens.

  “Bastian,” the man hisses.

  “What? You always say they’re too good or too dead to bother with the likes of—”

  “Enough!” The man puts up placating hands in front of Rhen. “Forgive him, please, Your Highness. He is young, he is not yet awake—”

  “We are neither too good nor too dead.” Rhen looks across at the boy, who blanches a little at the sternness in his tone. “But we are here now.”

  “Go!” the man snaps at his son.

  Bastian scurries down the rest of the steps to fling his feet into boots. He scoots past us, grabbing a cloak from a hook by the door.

  “I will put soup on the fire, Your Highness,” says the woman hurriedly, as if to make up for her son’s rudeness. “I have some fresh bread, too, if it suits your fancy.” She doesn’t even wait for an answer, just disappears around the corner.

  I stay close to Rhen and keep my voice low. “Do people always do everything you want?

  “Not always.” He turns to look at me, his expression inscrutable. “Clearly.”

  My cheeks warm before I’m ready for it. I have to look away.

  “Go,” he says, and his tone is a fraction more gentle. “Sit.”

  Sitting sounds better than standing here blushing at him. I move across the room to perch on the edge of a chair near the hearth. The fire is so warm and the seat cushioned so plushly that I find myself sinking back almost against my will.

  The woman reappears with two large, steaming mugs. She offers one to Rhen first, then brings the other to me. “Apple mead, my lady,” she says with pride in her voice. “We had a good batch this season.”

  “Thank you.” The warmth of the mug feels so good against my battered fingers. I take a deep swallow. For some reason, I was expecting something like hot cider, but mead tastes like a bushel of apples drowned in a vat of beer and honey. “This is amazing.”

  The woman curtsies. “My boy took care of your horse,” she says. “He is lighting the fires in the upstairs rooms. His Highness said you have had a long day of travel.”

  I run a hand down my face. “You could say that.” I blink up at her. “I’m sorry—can I ask your name?”

  “My name is Evalyn, my lady.” She offers another curtsy. “My husband is Coale. And you have met our son, Bastian.”

  “My name is Harper.”

  “Ah, the Lady Harper. We are so honored.” She pauses. “If I am being too forward, please tell me so. But we hear so little of royalty nowadays. I am not familiar with your name or your accent. Are you from a land outside Emberfall?”

  I blink. “You could say that.”

  “Oh, how wonderful!” The woman claps her hands. “For years, the king has kept our borders closed and many believe our cities have suffered without the opportunity for trade. Travelers have been few these last couple years.” Her face pales. “Not that I would ever question the king, my lady.”

  “Of course not,” I agree. Her expression evens out in relief.

  “But you are here with the prince, so this must mean changes are afoot. Tell me, what is the name of your land?”

  I glance at Rhen and wish he would stop talking to Coale and come help me figure a way out of this conversation. “DC,” I say weakly.

  “The Lady Harper of Disi,” says Evalyn, her voice hushed with awe. “Such happy news.” Then she gasps. “Are you Princess Harper? Is there to be a wedding?”

  Maybe the cold has frozen my brain cells. “I’m not—did you say a wedding?”

  Evalyn shifts closer and flicks her eyebrows at me. “Yes, my lady. A wedding?”

  It takes me a second.

  “No!” I sit bolt upright and almost spill the mug. “No. No wedding.”

  “Ah. There are negotiations in play.” Evalyn nods sagely. “I understand.” She pauses. “People will be pleased. There has been so much worry. The rumors of invaders from the north are terrible indeed. We’ve had to bar the door at night.”

  What on earth is Rhen spending all this time talking about? I crane my neck around.

  I don’t even want to think about how quickly he’s gone from captor to jailer to savior.

  “My lady,” Evalyn whispers, her voice low. “Did you take a fall during your ride? I can offer an herbal remedy to draw the bruise out of your cheek. If you need to keep his attentions, perhaps it would help—”

  “Yes. Sure. Thank you.” Anything, anything at all, to stop this woman’s questions.


  After she’s gone, a hard knock sounds at the door. When Coale throws it open, bitter wind swirls through the house, making the fire flicker and drawing another shiver from my body. Grey stands in the doorway, one child on his shoulders, half-covered by the cloak. Another is in his arms, sound asleep and drooling against the front of his uniform. Snow dusts all three of them. Behind him, Freya is carrying the infant, followed by the older girl. She and the children all look worn and weary and exhausted.

  I uncurl from the chair. “Here,” I say. “I’ll help you.”

  Evalyn is faster, coming around the corner. “Freya! Oh, Freya, you poor girl. When he mentioned children, I was so terrified it was you. Come, the rooms are prepared. I will help you get them upstairs. There is soup on the fire.” With quick, businesslike efficiency, she takes the children from Grey and ushers them toward the staircase, with Freya close behind.

  Grey shakes the snow from his cloak and offers it to Coale, who hangs it by the door.

  “Please, warm yourselves by the fire,” says Coale. “I will bring food. Bastian will see to the other horses.”

  The men sit across from me on the hearth, blocking most of the light from the fire. Grey’s hair and clothes are damp with melted snow, and his cheeks are pink from the cold, but his dark eyes are bright and alert. For as worn and wounded as I feel, Grey looks almost energized.

  Something heavy hits the front door, and I nearly jump out of my chair. Grey is on his feet, his sword already half-drawn. But the door swings open and the boy comes through, shaking snow out of his hair. “The horses are in the stables.” He throws his cloak at one of the hooks by the door.

  Grey lets the sword slide back into its sheath, then eases back onto the stones of the hearth.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was disappointed. “What’s wrong?” I say. “You want to fight someone?”

  His eyes meet mine. “Is that an offer?”

  “Commander.” Rhen’s voice is sharp with warning.

  But Grey’s expression isn’t hostile. If anything, there’s a hint of dark humor in his eyes. I think of his level voice in the bedroom, when I was so ready to fight him for my cell phone. Here now, there’s no need for all that.

  I think of how he made faces at the children in the snow.

  Or the way he carried them in here.

  “It’s okay,” I say quietly. “He’s okay.”

  This feels like the moment when I crossed a line in my head and wrapped my arms around Rhen’s waist. A cautionary voice in the back of my mind says that this is dangerous—all of this. They kidnapped me. They imprisoned me.

  But then I think about those men attacking Freya’s children. How the one was ready to use his sword on an infant. How the other said, Keep the girl, too! I like them young. I think about how Rhen fired a volley of arrows to save my life.

  How Rhen could have directed that horse to take us anywhere, and I wouldn’t have known any better until it was too late—and he’d kept his word and come here.

  Rhen is glaring at Grey. “You should not wish for violence.”

  How he’d make statements like that.

  “Not violence,” says Grey, his expression losing any humor. “I had almost forgotten what this was like.”

  Rhen doesn’t answer that, so I say, “What what was like?”

  “Being useful.”

  Coale reappears from the kitchen with a serving tray topped with three steaming bowls, another mug, and a basket of rolls. He serves me first, and I look down at some kind of brown stew, with large chunks of cheese beginning to melt.

  Rhen and Grey take their bowls, but Grey waves off the mug Coale offers him.

  “It’s only hot tea,” Coale says. “I know the Royal Guard forsakes spirits.”

  Grey nods and takes it. “You have my thanks.”

  Interesting. I look up at Coale. “You have my thanks, too.”

  “You are most welcome.” Coale’s eyes linger on my face for a moment, and something in his expression tightens. “My wife added some herbs to take the pain out of your cheek.” He gives a cool glance at Rhen and Grey before moving away.

  It takes me a minute to figure out why—and considering my life outside of this place, it shouldn’t have taken me any time at all.

  I tear off a hunk of bread and dip it in the soup. “Coale thinks you’re knocking me around,” I say quietly.

  Rhen snaps his head up. “Who thinks what?”

  “The man.” I flick my eyes toward the kitchen, where Coale has disappeared. “He thinks you did this.” I gesture vaguely at my face, then tear another piece of bread. “His wife thinks we’re getting married as part of some negotiation between rival nations.”

  Rhen sets down the bowl of soup. “Exactly what did you tell these people?”

  “Nothing!” Heat floods my cheeks. “You were talking to the guy and I didn’t know what to say!”

  “We are not alone,” says Grey, his voice very quiet. He gives a significant look at the far corner of the room, where Bastian is sitting.

  I lower my voice. “I don’t know anything about all this!” I hiss. “How do you expect me to answer their questions?”

  “Ah. So you determined that an engagement to ally divided kingdoms was the best path.” Rhen picks up his soup again. “Perfectly reasonable.”

  I scowl. “Why are we even whispering? Can’t you just tell them we’re not?”

  “Not now. Do you have no understanding of how gossip works?”

  I can’t tell if he’s mad or not. “You mean if you try to tell them it’s not true, they’ll believe it even more?”

  He nods, then tears a hunk of bread for himself.

  I feel like I’ve screwed something up without even trying. “Well. You’ve hardly told me anything about yourself, so it’s not like I have any idea what to say.”

  He dips the bread in the soup. “I might have told you more if you’d joined me for dinner instead of climbing down the trellis.”

  Grey stares at me. “That is how you escaped? You climbed down the trellis?”

  “Fell,” I say. “I fell down the trellis. I took most of it with me.” I look at Rhen, then glance at Bastian in the corner. “He said royalty was either too good or too dead to leave the castle. What does that mean?”

  “Let’s ask him.” Rhen sets down the soup bowl again. “Boy!” he calls. “Come here.”

  Bastian jumps and looks around, clearly seeking his parents. Coale appears in the kitchen doorway, then gives his son a look. The boy approaches slowly, but lingers at a distance, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He glances between Rhen and Grey but says nothing.

  “Did you take good care of the horses?” says Rhen.

  Bastian nods. “I rubbed their backs and their legs, like Da showed me.”

  “And water?”

  Another nod. “I knocked the ice off the trough.”

  Rhen shifts to reach a hand into his pocket, pulling out a silver coin. “You have my thanks.”

  The boy’s eyes grow wide, but the coin lures him closer, and now he stands between me and the men. He takes it and turns it between his fingers. “I’ve never held a silver before.” He glances at his father in the kitchen doorway, then back at Rhen. “Can I keep it?”

  Rhen nods. “Brush them and feed them in the morning and you’ll get another.”

  “I will.” Bastian grins.

  “When we arrived, you spoke of the royal family. What do you know?”

  The smile melts off the boy’s face. Coale has moved out of the kitchen now, and hovers near the doorway, obviously torn between obedience and protecting his son. With one question, Rhen has tripled the tension in the room.

  He must know it, because he puts up a hand. “You have nothing to fear from me if you speak honestly.”

  Bastian swallows and glances at his father again. “I—I do not know.”

  “What have you heard?”

  “My da says—” He stops and licks his lips, as if
realizing that’s not the best way to start.

  Coale comes across the room to stand behind his son. He puts his hands on the boy’s shoulders and for the first time, his voice isn’t deferential, but resigned. “His da says a lot of things. Many of which are spoken in jest.”

  “I do not want pretty words, innkeeper. I want truth.”

  “Then ask your questions of me, not my son.”

  Rhen’s eyebrows go up. I’m frozen in the chair, trapped by this confrontation. This tension reminds me of how it felt when the loan sharks would come to hassle my father. I want to run so badly that I try to will myself invisible.

  Coale falters as if realizing that he’s made a demand. “If you please. Your Highness.”

  “Then speak your mind,” said Rhen.

  Silence hangs in the room for a moment, as both men struggle with truth and protocol.

  “You’re all hiding,” says the boy, his voice hushed. “From the monster.”

  The monster? There’s a monster?

  Then I remember what Freya said. I hope the monster comes to hunt your family.

  I clear my throat. “The monster?”

  Rhen sits back and picks up his mug. “You see why I seek answers from children.”

  “Yes,” says Coale, his voice sharp. “There are some who believe our rulers have abandoned Emberfall, living in safety elsewhere, leaving the people to suffer at the hands of that creature that inhabits the castle, whatever it is. It is no wonder we are vulnerable to attack from outsiders. For five years, we have begged for help, but our cries go unanswered, our people starve, and our kinsmen die. So you will forgive me for careless words, but it seems that the king has no sympathy for the people who make up this kingdom, and cares only for those in his own circle.”

  Silence falls over the room, the tension so thick it’s like a blanket smothering us all.

  Rhen sets down his mug and stands. Emotion clouds his eyes, but he gives Coale a nod. “I thank you for your honesty.” He chucks the boy under the chin. “I meant it about the coin in the morning. We’ll leave at daybreak.”