Bonds: A Cursed Six novel (The Cursed Six Book 1)

by Clarrisa R. Smithe

  And now Edgar's cheeks were wet. He shook his head. If thirty-five years was what they were given, then thirty-five years they would take. Father was being greedy and selfish and evil.

  Against his shoulder, he felt Alan mirror his action, shaking his head and soon his little brother's body was trembling as he was crying once more.

  "Alan, what's the matter?" he said quietly, pushing the boy's hair from his face, but Alan turned away so that he could not see him.

  "She says it will not matter either way."

  Who?

  "S-she says we deserve this. We all deserve this and will die horribly." Alan's words had become so garbled and teary, Edgar had to give his shoulder a squeeze.

  "Who?"

  "Rarah."

  His stomach curdled over bitterness as his eyes widened. Rarah, the snow leopard goddess of deformity. Of evil. Of all things petrifying. She and her brother were known for casting this terrible curse over the Misseldon name, but where she gave misery and horrors, it was her brother Roirii that gave redemption, the god of beauty. Or good. Of all things pure. Edgar knew their history well, that Roirii was what made all Misseldons beautiful and elegant, whereas Rarah afflicted their minds or bodies with something black and irreparable. Whispers said it was what made them so strange.

  "I-I don't understand," Edgar admitted.

  Alan clutched to him now. "She said to me in my prayers, Edgar—she said we were all bad and that our curse will never go away. She says I am to die by the fire, and Mother is to die by a black spread and Father is to die by silver piercing and Astrid is to die by in—"

  "Stop it!" he shouted suddenly, springing away from the chaise. From Alan. He was shaking, unable to breathe at the thought of his brother being right. Or the idea that Rarah was somewhere in the shadows, watching them, predicting their fates and laughing at their damnation.

  Alan brought his knees to his chest, boney shoulders quivering the same as his as he cried. "But Roirii said if I was good on the fire, if I did not scream, he would not let Rarah kill any of you." Shiny blue eyes looked up to him. "I will be good, Edgar. I will not scream at all."

  Terror threatened to seize his bones as he imagined it. Imagined Alan in the dark belly of the leopard, the wood burning and charring beneath him, as he held back the sounds of pain. He started to back away.

  "I will bite off my tongue so I have no voice," Alan continued, and Edgar knew it was wrong. Alan should have been in the royal apartments. Learning and playing and not picturing his death. When Edgar's hand touched the knob, Alan said, "Please do not tell on me."

  Tell? What would he say? What was there even to tell?

  "Our brothers and sisters," Alan clarified. "Please don't tell them. Please don't tell Astrid. She is good, but Rarah wants to take her away, wants her to feel pain. And A'zur, and Eleanor. And Ethan. And you."

  Edgar was off, taking the stairs two at a time as he tried to rid of the words his brother had told him. They could not be true. They weren't true. He was just feverish and out of sorts.

  He needed nothing more than to find his other siblings and go about his day as usual.

  3

  ~ PRINCESS ELEANOR ~

  The old crow loomed over his two young charges with a beady gaze, peering over the piles of volumes both were expected to examine. Master Beecham was a decrepit creature who boasted often about generations of service to the Misseldon family who came to devote his life to the instruction of the young royals. He was employed by their great-grandfather after being proclaimed as the most clever, and therefore most boring young man in the kingdom. Perhaps he would finally croak before the next generation of Misseldons came along.

  Quite honestly that was a matter Eleanor did not wish to consider.

  She did not crave babies like Astrid did.

  Her older sister was poised with a so-called correct posture, still and stiff, as her quill dipped into the ink and she copied out yet another passage from Wistlow's Scriptures. When questioned on whatever she had written by the old man, Astrid stuttered and her answer was a bashful, dainty little smile. Eleanor was sincerely glad that the old man could not be charmed, for he simply told Astrid to copy and copy again until she understood what she had written.

  Eleanor's page remained blank for despite how many times she was told to write something she took it upon herself not to bother. If he had provided enjoyable texts, stories about knights, hunting, and monsters hidden in caves, Eleanor may have enjoyed making copies and illustrating them accordingly. Instead he chose what was apparently necessary for young ladies to know.

  A groan loud enough to catch her sister's attention threatened to shake the table and scatter its contents as Eleanor turned over a new leaf in the book.

  The text was even smaller!

  As usual, the old crow heard nothing.

  An idea piqued in her mind, a way to free herself from his custody for the afternoon. She would save her sister too, if Astrid was willing to play along of course. If she was not, then surely she did not deserve rescuing.

  Eleanor swung her foot, not with the power of a steed as she would have been quite prepared to use against Ethan, but with enough force to cause her sister's shin a tiny ache. Astrid's hand slipped with the jolt and her gaze flashed to her younger sister. Finally, some animation from her.

  "What do you want?" The angry creases upon her face deepened when Eleanor initially responded with a smirk and shrug of her shoulders.

  "We can go do something else. Something fun. We can find the boys. The old man will never catch us if we hurry." Eleanor considered adding that the run would do Astrid some good and would burn away the monstrous weight gain she had subjected herself to following the devouring of a small jam biscuit following lunch. She thought it was best not, for when A'zur was not around, Astrid did not pretend to be so grown up. Her sister might burst into tears, and despite their differences and the hell they gave each other at times, she did not relish the thought of making Astrid cry.

  "Mother will find out. She will not appreciate us playing truant. Besides, we should spend time together as sisters while we still can. I will be married soon and you will hardly ever see me."

  It was difficult to believe that Astrid actually enjoyed most of the time the two of them spent together. She was always a different girl around A'zur, a proper lady, yet as weak as a maiden who always required his attention and reassurance. If A'zur disapproved of something, so would Astrid. When Astrid left the room, A'zur would follow. It was an indisputable pattern which was the height of boring. She could be kind at times to her siblings but was constantly paranoid about how she looked, dressed, what she ate... At times it made Eleanor terribly sad that her sister had forgotten to live a little.

  "What use is this going to be to you when you're married? A foreigner with a different faith isn't going to care about this." Unless he was those tolerant types of princes who embraced the word of other cultures. The kind who collected books and who debated over a hearty meal with a foreigner about customs and gods, all for the expansion of their respective minds.

  "Well I do." Astrid gazed over to their tutor who sat on a table close by. At times it seemed the man was sleeping with his eyes open. His bony hands rested against his torso as he stared ahead at the most unremarkable piece of wall.

  Of course Astrid cared, for this was an acceptable form of spiritual education for ladies. It was dainty, pleasing, and the type of lesson that could be boasted about in the ears of prospective husbands and their families. Eleanor could hear them now. The Princess Astrid finds great fulfillment in the studying of scriptures. She is a pious and devoted young woman. Yet whenever she boasted of her own talents, for instance, the throwing of an apple core into an empty bowl at the other side of the room, nobody seemed to care—even though she had brimmed with self-congratulation at the achievement.

  It had led Eleanor to conclude that the 'real' and 'important' way of doing things was so terribly boring.

  "That's because yo
u're a—" The crow cleared his throat from across the room and set his beady eyes on the young princess. Eleanor may not have taken offence had she been able to expel the full statement from her mouth. Instead the insult was left hanging, forgotten somewhere as her face fell.

  "Little princesses should not bicker at the copy table!" Eleanor was sure the old man did not talk, but rather sucked in as much air as he could and formed the wheezy gusts into slightly intelligible words as he exhaled.

  Beecham splayed his fingers on the desk before him and peered at the offending duo. "I ought to send word straight to the Queen, lest there is an appropriate explanation for your misbehaving."

  Eleanor looked to her older sister, for truthfully Astrid was older and she was the one who ought to be coming up with various excuses and schemes. Instead her sister had her eyes averted and fixed upon the table top. Of course she was playing bashful.

  "Astrid is suffering from her monthly." Eleanor spoke deliberately fast so to prevent the old man from catching all she uttered. His brows creased together, the long white strands that formed his eyebrows flopping and curling in parts as he examined the younger princess.

  She relished the mortified gasp from Astrid though she knew full well that her sister would never argue nor protest. It may have been true, for Astrid always carried herself with that air which implied she was irritated at absolutely everything. Eleanor took the time of attempted comprehension, and paused in embarrassment to come to her feet and tug at Astrid's dress. Her sister did not protest as she hurried out the room and neither stopped when the old man ordered them to halt.

  "He might tell Mother," Eleanor stated as she now threw her sister against the wall. Astrid merely glared and tugged at the creases Eleanor's fingers had created in her sleeve. "But at least you can say you're on your bleed."

  Astrid clicked her tongue at her sister and shook her head, adopting that look which suggested she looked down her nose at absolutely everyone that was not their parents or A'zur. "She knows that to be a lie. Besides," she said as she finished straightening the material, "he will not bother Mother at such a time."

  "Why not? The old man kisses Mother and Father's arses."

  "He knows they are busy with the matter concerning Alan. You and I hurrying from our lessons will hardly be of great concern when there are other matters at hand."

  Eleanor frowned and recalled her sister's words when she had first proposed they leave. "But you said Mother will not like us leaving. You said she would find out."

  "I said that to try to stop you, but clearly you do not care. You could have quite happily landed me in trouble, as well as throwing that lie at Master Beecham about my monthly."

  It was yet another instance where Astrid was hypocritical. In attempting to play the perfect lady, her sister had moulded herself into the worst example of a lady around. She was snobbish, not gracious. She was bossy and did not advise with a gentle approach.

  A hand clasped over her heart and Eleanor feigned shock. "Did you... did you... oh no no no, Astrid. Lie? Did you lie to me in our lesson? Ladies do not lie, Astrid. Worst of all, you tell me off for lying! Oh Astrid, how could you?"

  Like a prissy pampered cat, Astrid threw her head back dismissively. "Shut up."

  "That is not a ladylike thing to say."

  "Well I said it and meant it. Shut up."

  "Pfft." Eleanor continued toward the apartments, humming softly to herself as she walked beside her sister. Unlike Astrid whose hands were poised before her neatly, pale digits still and without the urge to fidget, Eleanor swung her arms, for what else could she do with them? A pregnant pause stretched between them as they moved across the closing yards of the corridor, before exiting through a rather unassuming side door into a courtyard.

  The apartments of the royal children surrounded the square dotted with benches and arbours, apple trees that Eleanor fantasized would someday produce the juiciest apples, if ever the cold went away. Windows and balconies provided the perfect witness area for the children below, and yet their parents never did assume those spots. A'zur and Astrid were seen more often in those areas. They were often deep in talk, like two lovers in those books her sister insisted on reading, and sometimes Astrid's lips would brush against his cheek and their eyes would meet.

  It was mushy nonsense to Eleanor, though she would take a kiss from Astrid's lips any day rather than from the sibling that rested in between their pecking order of age. Her thoughts drifted to her betrothed, Ethan. Just the thought of him touching her irritated the skin. Clammy boy hands, that look of self-importance which was tenfold more annoying than Astrid's. His scent too, which was not entirely unpleasant. He just smelt like Ethan and that was enough to turn her stomach. A distraction had to be found, and fast.

  "Would you lie to A'zur?"

  "Never." The sharp retort from her sister may as well have come from their eldest brother himself. It would not surprise Eleanor if they started to morph into the same person considering the amount of time they spent with each other. The thought of a hybrid of the pair of them was quite disturbing, but she supposed one of herself and Ethan would share equal amounts of charm.

  "What if someone paid you?"

  "No."

  Eleanor's sight did not neglect the slight smile that graced her sister's lips. Small, barely existent, yet it was there and something within Eleanor's chest fluttered at the sight of it. Perhaps her sister's genuine happiness and amusement was the cause of it, when she was usually obsessing over something that gave her cause to be miserable and as a result, everyone else seemed to be.

  "What about if it was payment in sweets?"

  "I cannot have sweets, Eleanor."

  And she was miserable yet again.

  The smile was removed and Eleanor would be lying if she were to admit she did not feel bad at all. Sweet treats were better payment than money, that was true enough, so even a girl constantly watching her figure, or being forced to, should have been able to enjoy them from time to time.

  "What if the payment was A'zur's smile, hugs, and he offered you something like sweets but it was not a sweet? Like..." She rubbed at her chin as if deep in thought, for truly she was. "A sweet carrot? Yes! If A'zur offered you a sweet carrot, smiling like he was giving you all the flowers in the world and so many hugs, and asked you to lie for him, not lie to him, would you do it?"

  "I am completely confused."

  "Same."

  They had passed through to the entrance to the royal chambers, corridors wide and winding, decorated with tapestries depicting their crest, as if they were prone to forgetting who they actually were. The communal rooms, study areas, the stuffy private chapel were all empty and passed. The destination was much more interesting and Eleanor almost salivated at the thought.

  Ethan's chambers.

  The rooms were a dreaded location when he was present, yet when he was away, they may as well have been a goldmine.

  As they came upon the door to his chamber, her hand lingered over the gilded handle, smoothing over the finery as a cackle left her lips.

  "No..." Astrid warned, but Astrid was boring. Hypocritical too, for what sort of sister did not wish to root through her brother's possessions? Their previous topic of conversation seemed redundant. Astrid was a little liar all along.

  "Yes. We might find some goodies in here."

  Astrid scoffed. "In Ethan's rooms? Are you quite serious? There's no goodies in there. Aside from smelly clothes and sticky handkerchiefs."

  "He doesn't blow his nose. He picks it."

  "That's... not what I meant."

  "Shut up." Really, her sister was an oddity. Astrid did not have to follow if she decided otherwise, but Eleanor was going in.

  With hands outstretched as if prepared to pounce upon whatever treasures caught the eye, Eleanor creeped inside.

  The chamber sat silent and still, undisturbed, yet disturbing. Upon entrance, one was greeted in kind by the gaping mouth of a fuzzy, roaring boar, hung from the ceiling m
antle like his most prized possession. Beside the headpiece was that of a deer, and beside that, the grotesque warp of a pig's head. They stared down the sisters with beady eyes, accusative almost. She ignored the ugly preserved trophies, scanning for something new to examine.

  The room was the opposite of Astrid's claim. Inhumanly tidy, unbearably clean scented. The large dark covers spread over the bed, not a wrinkle out of place, the floors swept, curtains tied back, midday sun streaming through the windows to land squarely on her brother's 'work space'—if it could be called that, where a candle sat extinguished, short volume texts lined between iron brackets, as though to suggest he actually knew how to read.

  Nothing too suspicious had been left out of place. The soft click of the door followed by the gentle steps behind her informed Eleanor that she had a co-explorer. It seemed a hopeless venture as not even a sticky handkerchief lay upon the floorboards. That was, until she noticed the bounty upon the desk.

  Stacked in an orderly fashion were seven or eight vealskin bindings, the leather soft and craggy to the touch. Ethan's journals.

  "Oooh."

  "What have you found?" Astrid creeped up behind her and placed a gentle hand upon her sister's shoulder. Eleanor could not answer, for already she was flicking through the end volume selected at random. The laugh she exhibited was full of playful malice, the cry of a villain in a courtly performance.

  "Let me see."

  Eleanor shrieked and turned towards her sister. Anticipation spread across her face as she clutched the treasure to her breast.

  "This is the best day of my life."

  "It's probably just his arithmetic books. Nothing to see here, Eleanor."

  Eleanor shook her head as she flicked through the pages, settling on one at random to begin her prying. "You log-head. These are his journals. This is Ethan's diary!"

  Seconds passed before Astrid reacted to Eleanor's most-exciting revelation. "Oh!" There was another pause and then an enthusiasm heated the girl's usually cold gaze. "Let me read too!"