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

by Clarrisa R. Smithe

  And so she lied.

  "No."

  His grip firmed through the furls of her dress, thumb finding the bud of sensitised flesh just above his palm, where he strolled in leisure circles. "Why is it my little sister is lying to me?" he asked while her breath caught. "Has she forgotten how terrible she is at it?"

  She swallowed. "You know me too well." Her hips shifted and pushed down against his hand, urging him to remain there or apply greater pressure, but each time, he slowed or shifted away. "Do not think about him. It is you and I, big brother. Astrid and A'zur, as it should be."

  The storm in him looked to quell to gently lapping waters as he took in the sight of her, the one thing he once confessed to be his favourite pastime. "And soon to be Prince Tristian," he countered, though it was a toneless whisper.

  "Stop." It was the desired end to their mingling in Redthorn, yet she could not face the truth just yet. Just now. Her hand gripped his shoulder and she shook her head, urging him to silence himself if he was going to mention her target. "It is me and you, big brother. Just now. Just the two of us. Not him, so leave him aside. Think of me, and think of you." A lazy smile spread across her face. "Do you love me?"

  His touch became rough, his voice somehow more hewn. "I do not really have a choice."

  Her head was thrown backwards and she laughed airily, with the intention of teasing. "Am I that irresistible, big brother?"

  "With the thought of your lips against another man's, you're easily resistible."

  She leaned forward then and permitted their lips to touch. A brief taste, if nothing else. "And when my lips are against yours?"

  He removed his hand from between her and his eyes lit in the way that meant he would be no more fun for the night. "It does nothing more than remind me of what I cannot have."

  He was pulling away. "I mean it. Sleep."

  Then she pouted, for her game and the fun that came with it had ceased. She tugged on his shirt, pulling her body into his as she shook her head. "We will sleep together. I want us to cuddle."

  "Well I am not for it at the moment!" he abruptly seethed, taking either of her arms and pushing her away. "The day has been long, and while your belly may be humming with bees and happiness, mine is not. I do not have your gift of ignoring the world around me. I do not believe cuddles and apathy to remedy all wounds. And I damn sure cannot overlook what is to be achieved between you and that prince. So either you sit somewhere quietly, or you go to bed. But do not touch me, Astrid."

  Her shoulder slumped as her heart grew thrice as heavy. Truly, she must have done or said something terrible for him to react in such a way. If he did not wish to be touched by her, when he rarely rejected when she slipped her hand in his, or moved to hug up, or rest her head against his shoulder, then she had committed a grand wrongdoing.

  Enough to bring tears to her eyes and for her to wear the expression of a broken woman.

  "I think I shall go to bed," she whispered around small, congested sniffles. "But might I get a goodnight kiss?"

  The way he looked at her was similar to the charge in the air after a vicious storm, where thunder and lightning clung all around.

  And then he closed his eyes, fists clenched, jaws visibly hardened. One moment. Two.

  When he spoke, it was tender, traces of anger removed. "I did not mean to raise my voice. I apologise. The day has been hard, the night harder. Won't you stay and keep me company? Please."

  Her expression broke into a smile as easily as it had fallen. He did not hate her at all and wished to spend time with her, just as he always liked to, she hoped. After a quick succession of nods, Astrid moved to squeeze his hand. "Always, big brother."

  And she remained with him, keeping him company as promised and talking, until the darkness beyond the window pane melted into the velvet light of coming dawn; until neither of them could hold their eyes open any longer.

  10

  ~EDGAR~

  Thelle, Thellemere

  The time was now for Prince Alan's sacrifice, and still Edgar had yet to come to terms on what the boy had said to him in the tower—just as he had not accepted that his brother would soon cease to breathe.

  The sacrifice was to be held out in the bayard, where the public with coin were permitted to view this impressionable act that was set to redefine the Misseldon history. Those were the words passed from his father's lips, though Edgar did not believe Alan's sacrifice would yield anything more than sorrow. A sorrow that seemed to apply only to him, for his siblings, Ethan and Eleanor, they stood upon the wooden platform beside Mother and Father, their expressionless faces so much like their parents it brought a pain to his chest.

  They were all dressed in their royal vestige and the crowd gathered beyond the platform, all with their eyes wide and waiting. Some of them, Edgar could feel, were not here in hope of relieving the family of their curse, but were here for nothing more than a chance to witness pain and violence. As he looked out at this in the moonlit night, he felt he saw the true faces of man. All of them pale and mistaken on what life was.

  Behind the royal family, the nameless were stalking forward in their brown habits with the hoods drawn up to make them faceless as well. They approached through the grassy walk in two rows of three, and at their center, he saw Alan dressed in all white. His hair had been brushed to a voluminous fall of blond, and his eyes were blue but stolen of life as he neared.

  King Robert held up a halting hand when they reached the platform. Then he motioned; only Alan joined their royal numbers to stand beside the king without truly looking at their father.

  "Behold!" King Robert announced to the people, all in their clothings of warmth and comfort as they prepared for the entertainment. "My last born son, Prince Alan. A child of great lineage and worth, a spoil given to the Misseldon home for a gracious six years by our gods Roirii and Rarah. His blood runs pure. His mind sits innocent. He has been written as irreplaceable, and here this silver-mooned night, his life will be offered in a plea to see the Misseldon years extended beyond the thirty-five gracious years, so we might serve this land greater. So we might serve our true gods endlessly!"

  He was nearly sickened when those in the crowd cheered and praised Alan, who appeared more shocked and lost than afraid just then.

  Father in his dark attire of leather and furs and a thick blond mane, gestured to the left of the platform, where men were hauling in the largest structure of a snow leopard Edgar had ever laid his eyes upon. It was made entirely of white birch so that it appeared just as spotted as a true leopard of the white mountains. The beast was crafted with a roaring profile, a figure of teeth and savageness that looked eager to devour the entire crowd.

  And the events proceeding that began to blur before Edgar's eyes as his chest became tighter and tighter. He saw the flare of torchlight ignite in a ring around the crowd. He saw the white shift lain down his brother's form, his small body lit up orange and silver, and he heard his father's voice. Though it was all far away from him now as he feared his knees would not hold him.

  Father was repeating an incantation now as Edgar watched his brother step onto the unlatched ramp. Led right into the beast's belly.

  This was life.

  Controlled by forces stronger than you. And was there ever truly an escape from any of it? Were they all simply walking into their own demise the same as Alan, fooled into believing there was the smallest of chances for them to rise above and become the strongest?

  This world was weak.

  This world was sick.

  Wouldn't they all be...better off..

  Dead.

  Edgar knew Alan would scream despite what Roirii had promised. And Edgar knew Roirii was just as evil as his sister, for he had put into Alan's head a glimmer of hope when he knew it would be futile.

  Still, Edgar hurled over at the sound and watched as clear liquid charged from his mouth, as water had been the only thing permitted to be consumed this night.

  The ground and platform a
nd all of the faces around him were bending. Deforming.

  Alan screamed another awful sound that would haunt the lands forever and more as the pain licked into his resistance and the smell of his brother's roasting flesh lingered in his nostrils.

  And when it was over, when the screams became little more that the black, smoky crackle of the raging flames, the fire was quickly subdued lest it eat away the green grass, and when the heat had fled in the coming morning, physicians were sent to examine the remains of his brother.

  Edgar had found out Alan had been attempting to bite off his tongue to keep from making a sound. To remain silent so as to protect them all from Rarah's promise.

  Upon learning this, he had decided the world was entirely too cruel. That nothing could change the fate of the gods. Those of Finvaria were but the gods' toys. They did not truly have a voice, no matter how loudly they cried.

  And it was this notion that brought him to decide that he would never speak again.

  11

  ~ RHENAN ~

  Great Lodge, Redthorn

  Thornhall, Redthorn

  He tied the ribbon around her wrist, shifting her sitting form aside to loop it properly. "And remember, Jocelyn, if we lose, you owe the Misseldon girl the earrings right on your ears."

  Rhenan loomed above her, smiling at his perfect bow.

  "How funny, brother, that our costs for losing all these silly games we play must come from the pockets of others, yet never yourself. Pray tell me, sweet Rhenan, what will you owe?"

  He scuffled out a noise. Disbelief. "Why, my nearest and dearest, Kanter."

  That pale-skinned Misseldon prince had discovered his weakness, his affection for his war-horse and the moment Rhenan had gotten so involved in the designated game of hide and seek—a most beloved tradition of their land begun by a previous king who was in love with hunting, not animals, but the women he was fond of—and had begun to carelessly toss bets to all guests involved, he hadn't been prepared for the prince to challenge him, for they usually just gave a dismissive shake of their heads whenever he worked himself up.

  But now he narrowed his eyes at the pair of them across the fields. Nobles and royals and less mentionables all filled the Great Lodge, sanctioned off in ridiculous couples that couldn't have possibly been politically inspired, rather stiff-armed by superiors.

  Beth had gotten stuck with the motionless, composed Prince A'zur, who mingled with none unless approached. And he had to say, his sister appeared just as standoffish.

  Tristian had cheated, pairing himself with the Lymerean princess, who Rhenan had only just met hours prior. One might have thought they were lovers off in their own world for how obviously his brother leered over the girl, smiling and charming and finding poor excuses to brush his fingers here or there.

  Jocelyn blinked up at him in surprise. "Goodness! If we lose you may as well have lost a limb. Can you not negotiate? Have him take your left arm instead?"

  "Afraid I'd not thought of that. Where's..." Wendell? Winston? Weasley? "Wesley?"

  "He remains playing horse and soldier with his nurse. It would not be wise to have him hear of our game, for he would insist on joining. Although he does not carry the Hanson name, he has a habit of demanding attention and inclusion like all Hanson men. Papa would be the target of his attack and he'd most likely alert all others of their presence. Best to leave him out of it."

  Rhenan grinned. Her boy was a spritely thing, irksome to a degree he absolutely adored. The ruckus he caused was worth payment in gold.

  But then the hall fell silent as the king and queen rose.

  The Great Lodge was home to various purposes. That of the council, that of church inductions as the entire left wing was dedicated to the Sirista itself, but primarily that of education—the Architecture Hall, Pottery Hall, Scripture Hall, Mathematics Hall, Science Hall, Inquisition Hall, and the magnificent berth of the Training Colosseum connected to the rear of the massive structure.

  Gathered in the hall of gardens, the scents floral and oppressive, the King's voice was an echo through the stone pillars and turrets, the leafy green bowers lining the long strip of water on either side of the lily beds. "You have your partners this magnificent eve. You have your ribbons."

  Rhenan was bouncing from foot to foot. He'd given Jocelyn the lavender coils of silk—seeing as she would be doing nothing else throughout.

  "The team with the most ribbons in the end will be gifted the Mystery Chest and their choice of dance partner at tomorrow's cake tasting."

  The game was simple. There were twenty teams total. Which meant thirty-eight targets. During the first round, there were those who hid and those who sought. Objective: find as many teams as possible and collect their ribbons. Then they switched.

  Rhenan wholly intended to be brighter than a rainbow when this was over.

  Specific teams had more ribbons than others. Those who knew the Great Lodge well had four ribbons instead of some visiting nobles.

  The king had seven.

  The queen had six.

  He and Tristian had five.

  When the time came, they would be the most sought after targets.

  "Seekers," the Queen spoke. "To your bowers."

  Feet shuffled, some giddy and young, others old and putting on a show for the king.

  He joined Jocelyn on the bench, feet tapping erratically against the cobble slabs. "And remember, do not breathe too loudly, understood?"

  "You have my permission to suffocate me," Jocelyn replied with heavy sarcasm. "So long as you stop prancing about like the family dog."

  He bumped her with his shoulder. "Come now, if we win, Tristian's to allow you and Beth to do his hair."

  Tristian just didn't know it.

  A wicked smile appeared and now Jocelyn was the one bubbling with anticipation, resembling an excited pup. "Yellow and pink ribbons? Little girl bows?"

  "Yes, you know Aunt Charleé is going to want to see those rosebud cheeks contrasting yellow and pink. Actually, I do believe he and the Misseldon girl have the yellow and pink ribbons."

  He had nothing to do with it.

  "Yes I noticed. Rather poetic considering his losing punishment. Do you not think it's sweet that he offered to babysit? Perhaps he is getting broody."

  Of course, he hadn't told Jocelyn about the nobles and what they'd done to the girl's chambers. Mostly because he wasn't certain whether or not he should. Jocelyn may well have been the instigator. But he had certainly notified his brother of the fact.

  "Perhaps he is interrogating the weaker link. Though I do feel rather bad for our Beth. She looks miserable." Meanwhile, he couldn't quite recall the last time he'd seen Tristian look this lively.

  "I must say I have the best partner. Our Beth can savour all of your attention once I've returned to my bland as beige husband. Until then, I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

  He slung an arm around the smaller frame and crushed it to the side of his chest. With a comparably gentler motion, he kissed the top of her head and growled, "You're stuck with me, sister."

  From the overlooking balcony, the arbitrator signalled a whistle and Rhenan was on his feet, yanking his sister to hers and disappearing into the Inquisition Hall, for he could never forget the unsettling recount his father once told him of his youth and love and "re-exploring" his mother's founts.

  He knew exactly where they were.

  ~ TRISTIAN ~

  "Where is the sense in hiding just to be hunted down like an animal?" he asked as they walked the vacant marble-swirled floors of the Science Hall. He had not even tried to hide as he led them dully. Pillars formed a row of colonies on either side of the hall, topped by glass containers housing dioramas of victorious battlefields, weaponry, anatomical reprieve, weather diagrams and much more. A suitable environment for staving off the worst of his iniquitous thoughts, for no man with a speck of awareness could possibly romanticise such an atmosphere.

  Which is exactly what Prince Tristian had been guilty of sinc
e the night his lips had said their farewell to the female's beside him now. She'd tasted of sweet chill and the kind of decadence that might lead a lesser man astray...

  "Do you not like the game, Prince Tristian?" Her voice pulled him from trance. The girl's steps were half his own and when he dragged his gaze from them, he was met by her furrowed brows of deep thought.

  "I see no sense in it," he explained. Hiding just to be found. And tossing their wealth to the hunters with lavish disregard. And wealth was putting it mildly; he knew what lay within the Mystery Chest. There were some who would kill for it.

  Of course, that was why guards attended inconspicuous distances all throughout the Great Lodge.

  "Besides, my brother always wins. It's hardly a fair game."

  "Hmm. Well, I do have an idea of what we could do to make things more fun, but you'd have to find a good place for us to hide." She beamed up at him, her eyes creasing and cheeks plumping in a way that gave his teeth the most peculiar sensation.

  An impulse, an urge to sweep down and try the sensitive skin in a gentle nibble.

  He forced his attention ahead.

  "I am enjoying myself already!" she went on and he couldn't see why. They were doing nothing more than walking. Out in the open. Where anyone might stumble upon them and claim the four pink and yellow ribbons he'd tied at her wrists in a bow.

  Despite himself, he found difficulty in extending his pessimism in light of her optimism. Perhaps if she were Jocelyn, or Bethan, or anyone really, he'd have returned to his bedchambers almost as soon as the arbitrator whistled the game's commence.

  "It would be a lie to say I was not curious." His smile was a quirk, and there was a fair possibility he'd begun to walk a space closer. Eager to catch a drift of the refined lavender of her pale curls, to reenact the feel of them against his cheeks, that light undercoat of lemon and something saccharine.