It was all in the blood, after all.
She pressed her finger to the nick. “You’re going to need to build yourself a lake.” Larkin imagined it, shining waters with this tree in the center. Warmth stretched toward her from the sacred tree. Warmth and awe. “And link up with the forest to the west. They’ve been lonely without a queen.” She imagined the roots stretching until they brushed against the others. Music filled her ears, a crystalline singing. “And fill it with trees for people to live in.” She imagined hometrees filled with people. “When you’re ready, you can give people thorns for enchantment, and we will give you movement and sight. There are going to have to be a lot of rules and laws, though.”
Larkin sighed, loath to leave the tree. She dropped her hand; the crystalline singing abruptly cut off. They’d done it. Resurrected a species. Set a new course for the future. For a moment, everyone was silent and still as the magnitude of what they’d done crashed down on them.
Sela turned and ran back toward the village. “Come on!” she cried. “Or Venna’s rolls will be cold!”
Venna tipped back her head and laughed, the sound rich and boisterous.
Tam shot a determined look at Alorica. “I’ve been hearing about the things for over two years. I am not missing out now.”
Alorica rolled her eyes but allowed him to hurry her along back the way they’d come. The others meandered after them. Larkin made to follow, but Denan held her back. She peered at his face in the moonlight. This man who always came for her.
She stretched up and kissed him. “Denan?”
He pulled her close; they’d had very little alone time with all the rushing around replanting trees in the Alamant and Valynthia. Judging by the way he was looking at her, he had some plans that involved hiding in the Forbidden Forest.
He’d clearly never had Venna’s rolls. She darted out of his grasp. He lunged for her.
She spun out of his reach. “You’ll never catch me!”
He grinned a wicked grin. “You haven’t escaped me yet.”
Then she was running, and he was chasing her.
I hope you loved Larkin and Denan’s story!
If you’re dying to learn more about the origins of the curse . . .
A highborn lady. An unrequited love. A cutting betrayal . . .
The path of a warrior enchantress is bathed in blood and magic.
Born to one of the most powerful families in the kingdom, Eiryss lives a life of luxury and magic. Until her father commits the ultimate act of treason.
Treason that sparks a war.
The life Eiryss knew is over. Her one-time friends are gone. All but Ramass. And if he would just look at her - touch her - the way she longs for, she might be able to bear it. But his heart belongs to another. There is only one path for Eiryss now: become a warrior enchantress and fight for what's rightfully hers. And if the powers that be deny her, well . . .
If they won't give Eiryss magic, she'll steal it.
If you love stories filled with swoony romance, dark magic, and wicked curses, order your copy today!
Still not convinced? Keep reading to try the first few pages . . .
***
CURSE QUEEN
Chapter 1
Revenge
High Lady Eiryss’s slipped around dancing pairs, narrowly avoiding Lord Darten’s gaze—if she met his gaze, propriety would demand she dance with him. She didn’t have time for another dance. Not before the toasts. And she could not endure another hour of his droning on and on about the cursed history of magic.
She reached a table set along the perimeter, slipped the vial from the folds of her skirt, and poured the colorless liquid into two glasses. The champagne bubbled and foamed before settling again. She dropped the vial to the bark and crushed it beneath her boot—she couldn’t be found with it later.
“What are you doing?” came a voice, the breath warm against her neck.
She whirled to find Ramass directly behind her, one eyebrow cocked. His curly red hair had been mostly tamed into a queue at his back. He wore royal black, which complimented his pale skin and freckles, and made his gray eyes almost appear blue. His shoulders were wide and muscular, his waist narrow.
“Light,” she swore. She grabbed his sword-calloused hand and pulled him away. “We can’t be seen here.”
“Eiryss,” he said warningly.
Back amidst the dancers, she placed one of his hands onto the curve of her hip and lifted the other into position. “You danced with me the entire song. At no point did you see me go anywhere near Iritraya or Wyndyn’s glasses.”
He rolled his eyes and took the lead, maneuvering them around the dais at the center of the kaleidoscope of dancers. The font, with its wicked sharp thorns, sparked in the middle and was guarded by sacred tree sentinels in their silver and white livery. Only royalty, the arbor, or an initiate receiving the thorns that would form sigils was ever allowed upon the dais.
“What did you do?” Ramass asked.
She smirked. “You’ll see.”
He made a sound of exasperation. “Eiryss, now is not the time for one of your pranks.”
Oh, it was the perfect time. No way either girl could best this.
“Why do you insist on this childish feud?”
She leveled a stony gaze at him. “You haven’t had to endure them.” The two cousins had been insufferable for the entire year. Ever since Hagath had graduated from the Enchantress Academy a year ahead of Eiryss, leaving her outnumbered and alone.
He looked away from her. “Don’t turn those brown eyes on me.”
Why not, when they always worked? She sniffed and changed the subject. “Where’s Ahlyn?”
Ramass’ jealous gaze immediately zeroed in on their princess, where she danced with the Alamantian king. “Busy being a princess.”
Where the princess’s features were light, the foreign king’s were dark. Where her dress was suitably sober as the night sky, his layered tunic was a garish shade of green. All the Alamantians wore loud colors and laughed too loudly—like flashy birds screeching for a mate.
Not that anyone could blame the king for wanting to monopolize Ahlyn. The princess had rich gold hair, sapphire eyes, a slim build, fine features, and perfect, dainty teeth. Not to mention unending power. Half the Valynthian aristocracy was in love with her.
The truth was, Eiryss didn’t really like Ahlyn. Certainly not because the princess was beautiful, or because she spent more time with Eiryss’s friends than Eiryss did—especially since Ramass had decided he’d fallen in love with her. But because the girl was sulky and delicate and never did anything wrong—like, for example, being chosen by the Silver Tree to become the next queen.
Eiryss pinched his arm to get him to stop glaring daggers at the visiting king. “I might be able to scrounge up another vial.” Maybe some could accidentally end up in Ahlyn’s glass as well.
Ramass huffed on a laugh, one side of his mouth quirking up. “Things are tense enough as it is.”
Feeling like she’d won a victory with that lopsided smile, she swirled under his raised arm, her skirts flaring. She came back to his embrace. “My father won’t let the wicked Alamantians hurt you.”
“Your father isn’t infallible.”
“Of course he is.” Her father was a legend. No one had bested him in any test of skill in twenty-five years.
As the last song faded to silence, the pair of them reached their own table—the plates of food having been cleared away by the servants. Champagne sparkled beside her name card. She sighed. She would never be able to drink from an unattended glass again. She took it in her hand.
Hagath slipped in beside her and picked up her own glass. Her friend was the female version of her twin, Ramass, right down to the blue eyes, freckles and wild, red hair—though she made every effort to tame it. She wore her dress healer robes—dusty blue with silver embroidery. Her boots were wet, which meant she’d only just arrived, and in a leaky boat at that.
�
�Couldn’t your father get you out of working tonight?” Eiryss asked. He was the king, after all.
“I didn’t ask.” Hagath always insisted on doing everything on her own merit, which was silly. Let one of the lower caste healers take the night rotation—they needed the money, after all. And she had proved her merit a hundred times over.
“Couldn’t miss the ceremony, dear sister?” Ramass asked.
Hagath waited until an Alamantian woman had passed out of earshot before leaning close and dropping her voice, “I promised Ahlyn I would be here if I could manage to slip away. You have no idea how nervous she is.”
Ramass expression immediately soured. “Had I been forced to play hostess to that vile king, I would be nervous too.”
Accompanied by King Dray, Ahlyn moved past them. As high nobility, Eiryss and her friends would normally have a place at the base of the dais, but her father had insisted they stay by the tables to the right—just in case anything went wrong. It wasn’t ideal, but they were still close enough to hear the princess murmuring politely to a question Dray posed.
The king’s gaze flicked to Eiryss, who dropped his gaze like she would a hot coal. She pushed her fingers down the plush skirts that began as deepest navy that darkened to black at the base. She wore sapphires and diamonds at her ears and wrists. Her thick, blond and silver hair had been twisted into a prim knot, a glowing lampent flower tucked behind her ear. If she moved too fast, she caught sight of flashes of color chasing each other along the edges of the petals.
Her attention as drawn back to Ahlyn and Dray, as they climbed the dais to stand before the wicked thorns surrounding the font and took their place next to King Zannok. Like his children, the king’s hair was red, his skin freckled, and his eyes blue, though wings of white framed his temples and lines bracketed his mouth and fanned from his eyes. He had aged well, his body still strong and honed from years of weapons training.
“On behalf of Valynthia,” Zannok said. “I am pleased to welcome King Dray and his delegation to our beloved city.”
Delegation, ha! There wasn’t an enchanter among the Alamantians under fifty—the older ones always had the strongest magic—while each of the enchantresses was in their fighting prime. More an army unit than a delegation; they could easily assassinate the king or the princess, though they would all immediately die for it.
Of course, Eiryss’s father had prepared for just such violence. Her brother and cousin, Rature and Vicil, had followed Princess Ahlyn all night as “chaperones”. Her father had trailed the king—as the son of the previous queen, it was his duty and his honor. And there were far more honed Valynthian enchanters and enchantresses than even Dray had brought.
The men of her family were a fine sight in their best tunics, their leather mantles—peaked at the front, back, and shoulders—proclaiming their house and their status. Mantles nearly identical to the one that Eiryss wore, aside from the differing jewels that hung at each of the peaks.
Her father’s hair was pure white. Vicil and Rature’s blond hair had already started to gray at the temples. It was a common family trait. One Eiryss hadn’t escaped. On her brother and cousin, it somehow lent them an air of authority, while she just looked odd.
Her father nodded to Jala, the strongest enchantress in decades, though as queen, Ahlyn would soon surpass her. The faint silver gleam of her sigils showed that she was ready to shield the king at a moment’s notice. She didn’t look worried though. If anything, the woman seemed bored.
If the Alamantians tried anything, they’d find themselves outmaneuvered and out magicked. Though her father doubted they would attempt anything tonight; he wouldn’t have let Eiryss attend otherwise. He’d seen to it that she had weapons training, but she’d decided long ago to be a healer. She’d realized it after she’d lost her second batch of abandoned baby birds and cried for three days straight. She simply wasn’t made for killing.
King Zannok raised his glass to Princess Ahlyn. “And to our princess, at the approach of the first anniversary since the Silver Tree chose her as my heir.”
King Dray lifted his own glass. “To the princess.” He was in his mid-thirties and with sharp features, dark skin, and straight, black hair. Even tied, it hung halfway down his back. His mantle was peaked at the shoulders, the jewels at the four points fire opals. The White Tree had been beautifully wrought on the center of the mantle in opal and gold. His ring bore a green serpent, knotted and eating its own tail. The symbol for his line.
Ahlyn inclined her head. King Zannok tipped his glass to his lips and drank, the cue for the rest of them to do likewise. Eiryss took a sip while looking toward Iritraya and Wyndyn, who tasted their own champagne, none the wiser. Suppressing a grin, she quickly looking away again.
King Dray took Ahlyn’s hand. Her magic flared, the raised lines of her sigils gleaming silver.
If King Dray was bothered by her obvious mistrust, he didn’t show it. “I have heard rumors of your strength, Princess Ahlyn. They have said that your Monarch Sigils have grown strong and true—that after a few months more, they will have grown strong enough for you to become queen.”
All this was true, yet it wasn’t seemly for Dray to say it. For as Ahlyn’s power grew, Zannok’s faded. He’d been a good king—a great one even—and like a dear uncle to Eiryss. He deserved more respect than to have his swift fall from power flaunted before the most powerful people in two kingdoms.
To his credit, King Zannok showed no outward signs of the insult, except for perhaps the tremor of champagne in his glass.
“After spending this evening with you,” Dray went on—he was either oblivious or indifferent to his gaucherie. Eiryss would bet on the later. “I can see that those rumors are true. I have come to make an alliance with the Valynthians, one that will bind our kingdoms. No more Alamantians. No more Valynthians. But a new people.”
He reached into his pocket and withdrew something. Valynthia guards and magic wielders tensed. He opened his hand to reveal an opal the size of a small bird. Eiryss’s mouth fell open. King Dray wasn’t going to attack. He was proposing—offering Ahlyn a jewel to hang from her own mantle. Ahlyn gaped at the opal, then at Dray, before her frantic gaze landed on Ramass.
Ramass was already moving. Hagath snatched his arm and shot Eiryss a look. Catching her meaning, she grabbed his other arm, spilling most of her champagne on his sleeve in the process.
“She’s not going to accept,” Eiryss hissed through clenched teeth. Of course she wouldn’t. No Valynthian would debase themselves by marrying an Alamantian. Especially not their blasted king.
“Release your sigils before you start a brawl,” Hagath hissed.
Eiryss hadn’t noticed the buzz of his sigils under her palms, but she felt them now. Ramass hesitated, clearly torn.
“Ahlyn can take care of herself,” Eiryss said.
He eased back a step, his sigils going dark a moment later. Eiryss didn’t trust him enough to let go of his arm. Her gaze swung back to the dais. To the king who had dangled peace between their kingdoms. For a price.
“You think to force our hand?” King Zannok said coldly. “Bully our princess into marrying you?”
The Alamantians were already pressuring King Zannok into giving magic to the rabble. Imagine, their next monarch could be wallowing in the mud right now. And Eiryss would have to bow and scrape before them. Such debasement wouldn’t stand. Not in the Valynthia. Especially not after one of their cities, Oramen, had tried to secede from Valynthia to join the Alamant.
And the Alamantians had welcomed Oramen with open arms.
That had set off skirmishes and threats until the Alamantians had decided to back off and offer these peace talks. They thought to make Valynthia and the Alamant one? Eiryss snorted. More like destroy us from the inside out.
“War between our people is coming. You know it as well as I.” Dray eyed the males of Eiryss’s family as if he’d seen right through their fine clothes to the soldiers beneath. He looked back at Ahlyn. �
�We can still stop it.”
The princess took a step back. “I will never marry you.” Her eyes again shifted to Ramass.
Dray followed her gaze, moved closer, and said something Eiryss couldn’t make out. Then he lifted his glass. “To Ahlyn—a queen who holds the future of our kingdoms in her hands.”
He drained his glass. For a time, there was silence. Belatedly, everyone realized they were supposed to drink after the monarch’s toast. Instead, Eiryss set down her mostly spilled glass in disgust. People murmured, some in outrage.
King Dray bowed to King Zannok. “My delegation thanks you for your hospitality. Please, accept our gifts of friendship.” He gestured, and men came in bearing casks. “Wine from our best vineyards.”
Ahlyn opened her mouth, closed it, and cleared her throat. There was still protocol to observe—the girl knew it better than any of them. With a deep breath, she regained control over herself. “We have gifts for you as well, King Dray.”
Bolts of finely woven material, far superior to anything the Alamantians had, were brought out. All of them were in suitable somber colors as well as royal black—a great honor that the foreign king didn’t deserve.
“And now the anthem,” the king’s scribe said with a pointed look at Iritraya and Wyndyn. Both girls hurried to the front of the crowd and stood before the dais. As the band began the Alamantian anthem, the cousins opened their mouths to sing, exposing azure teeth and indigo tongues. Unabashed as their singing was, they clearly didn’t know.
Despite everything, a wicked grin spread across Eiryss’s mouth, her crooked teeth bared for all to see.
Ramass’ head whipped toward Eiryss. Hagath narrowed her gaze. More and more people turned to look at Eiryss, whose lips slammed over her teeth. She adopted her most innocent expression. Curse the light and all who followed it. Her reputation was ruining her even without evidence. She shifted uncomfortably—she hated the attention of so many people.
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