A Curse So Dark and Lonely

by Brigid Kemmerer

  The door gives when I push, and for a long, ominous moment, I hear nothing. The home is eerily silent. The front room is empty, so we slip down the central hallway. A man laughs loudly from somewhere at the back of the house, a long booming sound. Others join in.

  Then Rhen’s voice. “Grand Marshal, I’ve missed your humor. My father would often speak of what a joy your support meant to him.”

  He’s alive. He’s laughing. For a second, I wonder if we’re wrong. I wonder if I’m going to screw something up.

  But Mave’s body lies in the courtyard. That’s not normal—and Rhen wouldn’t be laughing if he knew about it.

  To our left, a door opens and Zo swings around, her bow raised.

  A serving girl shrieks and drops the platter she was carrying. Silverware rings to the stone floor. Dishes of soup shatter upon impact.

  Suddenly, we’re surrounded by guards—ours, including Grey, and some who must belong to the Grand Marshal. All have weapons drawn. Beyond them, three men have appeared at the far end of the hallway.

  Rhen is one of them. His expression is tight. “My lady.” He pauses. “I thought you were otherwise occupied this evening.”

  The servant girl is crouched on the floor, whimpering, her hands over her head.

  “My plans changed.” I count quickly in my head. Seven guards block the hallway, but only three are ours. Two men stand with Rhen. It seems like there are more people in the room behind him. We’re outnumbered two-to-one—and I still have no idea who killed Mave. Nothing about this meeting feels right.

  Rhen’s eyes bore into mine—then flick past me to take in Zo, who still has an arrow nocked. I clear my throat before he can say anything. “Forgive my tardiness. I apologize for giving the serving girl such a fright.”

  I stride forward as if I expect the guardsmen to fall back and yield the hallway—and they do.

  The hall gives way to a large dining room, with a marble floor and painted ceramic tiles lining the walls in gold and red, the colors of Emberfall. The guards shift to filter back into the room, taking positions along the wall. In the hallway, I hear the serving girl hurriedly trying to gather the dishes. Zo stays right at my side, her bow still in her hands, the arrow trained on the ground.

  Rhen is glaring at me, but he says, “Allow me to introduce the Grand Marshal of Hutchins Forge, and his Seneschal.”

  “Gentlemen.” I give them a tense nod. The Grand Marshal is a thin man with a lean, wiry build and a narrow beard. His expression is thoughtful and calculating. His Seneschal is his opposite in every way: large, with a belly that all but sits in his lap, a thick beard that seems greased, and small beady eyes. He’s the smug one.

  I wish Rhen and I weren’t completely at odds. At least on my first day in Emberfall, I knew his motives. Now nothing makes sense.

  “I would like to speak with you privately,” I say to Rhen.

  The Seneschal gives me a once-over and chuckles. It shakes his whole body. It’s not a good sound. “Your Highness, I have heard talk of your scarred warrior princess, but I did not realize she would be so”—his eyes flick over my form—“small.” He elbows the Grand Marshal.

  They share a good laugh—but Rhen says, “Do not underestimate the princess.” His voice could cut steel.

  The Grand Marshal’s laughter goes quiet, but he does not apologize. “We are all friends here. Surely you can speak openly, my lady.”

  I look to Rhen, hoping he’ll disagree, but his gaze is still unyielding, and he’s more concerned with the fact that I’m crashing his party.

  This all feels so precarious. I stand behind a chair and fix my hands on the back of it to keep from fidgeting. “Where are your guards, Grand Marshal? I expected to be greeted when I arrived.”

  “You seemed to make your way in here all right.” He narrows his eyes as if I’m still funny. “I don’t control my men’s every move. I have a private army. No one would dare attack my home.”

  “One of our guards is dead in the courtyard,” I say. “Forgive me if I do not find much reassurance in the strength of your army.”

  Tension falls like an ax.

  “Explain this,” Rhen says.

  Grey moves from the wall to stand behind him. He gives a low order to one of our guards by the wall, a sandy-haired man named Dustan. Dustan nods, then moves to leave the room.

  “You must be mistaken,” says the Seneschal. He laughs again, but now it’s more of a choked sound. “Nim, go with their guardsman. Check it out.”

  A man who must be Nim shifts away from the wall to follow our guard.

  As Nim passes me, he begins to draw his weapon.

  I don’t know why, but that makes my thoughts stall.

  The Grand Marshal is glaring at me. “Why do I feel like you’re accusing me of something, girl?”

  “This girl is the Princess of Disi,” Rhen says carefully. He must sense danger, too. “Perhaps you were unaware.”

  The Grand Marshal’s eyes don’t leave mine. “I’m aware.”

  “You invited Prince Rhen to your home for some type of negotiation,” I say. “But to me it seems more like a trap.”

  “Why does Emberfall need my army if Disi is willing to provide its forces?”

  I wish I could order Grey to throw a knife at him. This is so much more complicated than when we faced the soldiers in the inn. I raise an eyebrow. “Why would you kill our guard if your interest in negotiation were genuine?”

  “Who says I killed your guard?”

  When Rhen speaks, his voice is low and lethal. “I would like an answer to the princess’s question.”

  The Seneschal leans forward. “If your man was a true member of the Royal Guard, he would not have fallen so easily.” He coughs and his body shakes. “I suspect you are not being wholly honest, Your Highness.”

  “I suspect you are not,” says Rhen.

  “Your father would not have needed my men,” says the Grand Marshal.

  “Did you have my guardsman killed?”

  “What difference does it make?” The Seneschal laughs. “What will you do?”

  “Execute you both for treason,” says Rhen.

  “You and what army?” He slaps the table.

  His hand has barely struck the wood surface before Grey’s sword is level with his throat. The man’s laughter cuts short. He strains back in his chair. A spot of red appears on his neck.

  “I need no army to deal with you,” says Rhen.

  One of the guards begins to draw his sword. Zo’s arrow is flying before I can even issue an order. The shaft drives right through the man’s wrist. He screams.

  Another guard draws his sword. Zo has another arrow nocked, but Rhen snaps, “Hold.”

  She holds. Her breathing is a loud rush beside me.

  The other guards go still, too. Tension rides a knife’s edge in this room. Everyone has weapons drawn now, but no one else has engaged.

  Noise echoes in the hallway behind me, and Zo all but pushes me to the side. Her arrow is pointed, but it’s our guard Dustan—and he’s dragging a bound Nim back down the hallway. “Mave is dead,” he says breathlessly. “This one did it. He nearly got me.”

  Rhen steps back. “This was an ambush. Kill them both.”

  “No!” cries the Grand Marshal. He slides out of his chair and falls to his knees. “We didn’t ambush you. I swear it. I admit suspicion—but I have always been loyal to the crown.”

  “You killed a guard,” I snap. “What else would you call it?”

  “I swear it!” His voice has grown in pitch. “I swear!”

  The Seneschal coughs again. “Have some pride, man.” Then he spits at Rhen.

  “Commander.” Rhen’s eyes shift to Grey.

  “No,” says the Grand Marshal. His forehead touches the ground. “Please. I swear. This was not treason.”

  “Wait,” I say. I look at the guard Dustan has pinned against the wall in the hallway. “Nim, who gave the order to kill our guard?”

  He says nothi
ng.

  Dustan punches him between the shoulder blades. The man coughs and drops to a knee. “I serve the Seneschal.”

  “I had him killed,” the Seneschal says.

  “Why?” demands Rhen.

  “To show your weakness.” He winces and gasps as Grey’s sword finds his skin again. “To bargain a higher price for skilled soldiers.”

  Rhen steps forward and grabs the collar of the Grand Marshal’s jacket. He jerks the man to his knees and his voice is tight and unyielding. “So you sought to trick the crown out of silver?”

  “No, Your Highness. He acted alone.” His voice is almost stammering. “I swear—I swear my loyalty to the crown. I would offer all I have.”

  Rhen looks at the Seneschal. “Is this true? You acted alone?”

  “I didn’t need help to outwit you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Rhen’s jaw tightens. He looks down at the bearded man whose collar is still clutched in his grip. “Grand Marshal, I will pay your men a fair price for their services. I would like a full accounting of the taxes your people have been ordered to pay—and if I see that they’ve been charged one penny more than necessary, they will be reimbursed from your own coffers.”

  “Yes—yes, Your Highness.” He winces. “Please—have mercy on my Seneschal—he has a family. You have been gone so long—forgive him—”

  Rhen looks at Grey. “Fall back.”

  Grey lowers his weapon. The Seneschal puts a hand to his neck. His breathing still shakes, but then he chokes out a rusty laugh. “You’ll never stand against Karis Luran. You could barely stand against this room.” He coughs. “I hope the creature returns to the castle and slaughters you all.”

  “You took a man’s life for your own selfishness and greed. You sought to undermine me and my personal guard. All by your own admission.” He leans forward. “That, sir, is treason.”

  “I won’t be the last.”

  “Surely not, but you’ll be an example for those who seek the same.” Rhen steps back. “Kill him, Commander. Leave the body.”

  I inhale—whether to scream or protest or something else entirely—but it’s too late. The man’s throat is cut. He slumps in his chair. Blood flows.

  Beside me, Zo’s breath is every bit as quick as my own. My hands are over my mouth.

  Then Rhen is in front of me. His eyes are hard and his voice is steel edged. He glances at Zo. “Nice shot.”

  She swallows. “Thank you—thank you, Your Highness.”

  His eyes shift back to me. “My lady.”

  I’m staring at him over my hands. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do.

  An emotion flickers in his eyes, almost too quick for me to catch it—but I do. It’s not the harsh censure I expect. It’s resignation. Defeat. Sorrow.

  Fear.

  He must see the responding pity in my eyes, because he glances away. His expression is walled off. He sighs. “Come, Princess. I’ll see you to your horse.”

  We ride back to Ironrose in silence, Rhen by my side, with Zo, Dustan, and Grey trailing behind. The remaining guards have been left to ensure the Grand Marshal follows orders. Tension makes the falling snow feel like daggers, and cold air snakes between us, reminding me of the night on the cliff at Silvermoon. The night we nearly kissed.

  The night everything fell apart.

  “Would you say something?” I say quietly. “Please?”

  “You do not wish my conversation now, my lady, I assure you.” His voice is tight with fury, and his horse tosses its head, fighting his grip on the reins.

  “I’ll take anything over days of silence.”

  “You should not have come tonight.”

  “Maybe something is lost in translation, because that sure doesn’t sound like thank you.”

  “You expect my thanks?” His head snaps around. “You did not know of his plot. What if assassins had waited in the halls? What if your guard were a lesser shot? What if they were working together? We were badly outnumbered. They could have slaughtered every one of us.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing. He’s right on all counts.

  “What you did was reckless and foolish,” Rhen says.

  I turn my head and glare at him. “I saved you.”

  “The man’s plot would have come to light. Grey could have stopped him.” He takes a breath. “Now a man is dead by my order. Once again, I bring nothing to my people but death and suffering.”

  For an instant, I sense that resignation I caught a glimpse of earlier. I reach out to touch his hand.

  He snatches it away, tense now, his eyes fixed ahead. “You are lucky it was not your body I found in the courtyard.”

  “I brought Zo.”

  “You are so very reckless. Just like in the arena. You act without thought.”

  “I acted in the arena to protect you.”

  His jaw is tight. I’ve never seen him so angry. It’s triggering my own anger. I meant what I said—I’ll take anger over endless silence.

  I think of his flash of emotion in the hallway at the Grand Marshal’s home. I force myself to take a breath.

  “Please tell me what’s happening.” My words are so quiet, pressed into this tiny bit of space we occupy, as if even the night wants to keep this moment private. “I know it’s Lilith. It has to be Lilith. You made an alliance with me. Keep it. Tell me what’s going on.”

  He inhales. I watch his broad chest expand. His eyes flash with anger, a sure prelude to more fury. But then his breath hitches and he kind of … deflates.

  We ride in silence. It’s like all the fight has gone out of him.

  “Rhen,” I whisper.

  “I will release you from our bargain,” he says softly. “I no longer have anything to offer.”

  I turn and look over my shoulder at the guards. “Fall back,” I say. “Please.”

  Grey meets my eyes, then gives me a nod. They drop back a dozen yards.

  “I don’t want you to release me,” I say. “I want to know what’s going on.”

  He doesn’t answer. He says nothing. We ride for miles.

  Finally, he says, “I feel trapped, my lady.” His voice is so quiet. “I swore a bargain with you, but I find I cannot invite you into her presence again.”

  I inhale to speak, but then he looks over at me.

  His eyes flick to the scar on my cheek.

  Then I understand. “You think she’d hurt me again.”

  A nod.

  “But she’s hurting you, Rhen.”

  “I have endured it for hundreds of seasons. What is another?”

  His voice is so bleak. “Does she torture you every night?” I whisper.

  “She does nothing to me. She shows me what I have done.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He swallows. “Every night, she comes to me. She shows me my people. Those who have died. Those who are starving. Those in pain.” He presses a hand to his abdomen. “She shows me the creature. She shows me their deaths. Their pain. Their suffering. I cannot endure it.”

  I want to kill her. “Rhen—you’re trying to save them—”

  “I am failing, Harper. Even tonight, I had nothing to offer but death and pain and fear.” He presses the heel of one hand against his eyes. “I have never wished so badly for a season to end.” His voice breaks and he takes a shuddering breath.

  “You’re not killing them,” I say fiercely. “You’re trying to save them.”

  “I am killing them, my lady. I’m doing it one by one.”

  “You are not,” I snap. “Even tonight, when that guy was trying to trick you out of money for his soldiers, your first thought wasn’t of yourself. You worried that they’d been stealing from their people, too.”

  “You cannot paint me in a better light,” he says. “I know what I have done. I see it night after night.”

  “You’re doing the best you can,” I say to him. For some reason, my father pops into my head. The bad men he led to our fam
ily. He abandoned us—but maybe he thought he was doing the best he could, too.

  Rhen drags his hand away from his face. “I do not know how to lead my people when all I see are my failures.”

  “You’re leading them,” I say softly. “The Grand Marshal swore to you tonight. You have a castle full of people who have sworn to you. You once told me you were raised to rule a country, and you’re doing it.”

  “Please,” he says to me. “Please. I beg of you. You do not understand.”

  I beg of you. The words break my heart, because they’re not words he would ever say.

  “Okay,” I whisper. “Okay. Just ride.”

  We travel the rest of the way to the castle in silence. He’s regained his composure by the time he hands his horse to a boy in the stable, then turns to lead me back into the castle.

  He stops in front of my door. The last time he stood here, we’d just returned from Silvermoon. I’d been a breath away from kissing him.

  Tonight his eyes are full of resignation. “I bid you good night, my lady.”

  Much like in the courtyard in Hutchins Forge, I don’t know what to do, but I do know I need to help him. “Why don’t you come in?”

  That startles him. Maybe it’s the tired eyes or the slumped shoulders, but he’s never looked so young. “What?”

  “Stay in my room tonight. Lilith isn’t allowed to interfere in your courtship, right?”

  A line forms between his brows.

  “Let me court you.” I falter, realizing how that sounds. A blush heats my cheeks. “I mean, not really. I mean—I’m just—”

  “My lady.” He straightens. “I will not put you at risk.”

  “You once said you would give me anything in your power.”

  He sighs. “Now you will trap me with my words.”

  “I’m not trapping you.” I step closer. “I’m not chasing you. I’m not tricking you.”

  He says nothing.

  “I’m inviting you,” I say quietly.

  He hesitates, then offers me a nod.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  RHEN

  Harper’s room is warm from the roaring fire. A platter of hot tea, biscuits, and honey sits on the side table, and this season has gone so differently from the others that I no longer know whether those always appear on this day, or if Freya provided them.