by M. Lynn
La Dame’s face reddened. “Rapunzel was her name, but it has been translated from Draconian. Persinette.”
“No.” Etta shook as realization crashed in on her, drowning out everything she thought she knew. Truth always came at a price. She raised her eyes to the powerful woman standing over her as the smoke slithered down her throat. Why would her father name her after the cause of all their family’s pain? There had to have been a reason. Had she known the man at all?
Her voice rasped on its way out. “It wasn’t us.” She covered her mouth with her arm and coughed. “That happened a long time ago.”
“Oh, but dear, I made a promise to Phillip Basile. I would see to the torment of his line.”
She motioned behind her and Pierre and Maiya came forward. Pierre handed her a bundle Etta recognized instantly.
“Persinette’s own sword.” La Dame raised an eyebrow. “Fitting.” She unwrapped the sword Etta knew well. Every nick. Every imperfection. It was a part of her.
La Dame held up her palm, and the sword rose into the air.
Smoke swirled around the blade and Etta pushed away from Matteo to rise on her knees.
“A curse,” La Dame began, her voice dangerous. “Is not supposed to bring happiness. Comfort. The Basile curse is my greatest accomplishment.”
Her hand twisted the sword to Alex.
“Take it.” The knife he’d been holding clattered to the ground and his fingers closed around Etta’s sword.
La Dame no longer smiled. “We are at the end of our game, I’m afraid. Stab the sword through your abdomen.”
Etta and Edmund screamed in unison as they could do nothing but watch Alex push the blade through his skin.
The burning began low in Etta’s gut and she fell over sideways. “Alex,” she cried. Matteo pulled her into his lap and rocked back and forth.
She was still alive. He couldn’t be dead. She raised her head to see Alex lying in a pool of his own blood beside Edmund with Tyson barely stirring behind them.
La Dame shrugged. “I don’t want him to die yet.” She nodded to a woman who stood beside Maiya with the same caramel skin and corkscrew curls. “Esme, keep him alive.”
The woman rushed forward and all Etta could do was watch as she went to work healing Alex just enough to keep him alive.
“Why don’t you just kill us?” Etta cried.
La Dame’s eyes darted around to the flames encroaching on the room. “I don’t think I’ll need to be the one doing the killing. We’re running out of time thanks to your little fire trick. You’re going to die, dearest Persinette. But before you do, I’m going to take everything.” She scanned the crowd of people who’d begun to pass out from the smoke. “Who knew that in the end, breaking the curse would finally give me vengeance?”
Dark dots swam before Etta’s eyes and she could barely breathe, but there was no escape.
A guard yanked her up, and she cried out in pain, wishing they’d let her die. He carried her to Alex’s heavily breathing form and dropped her into the sticky path of his blood. She touched him gently, and he opened his eyes.
Bending over him, she leaned her forehead against his. “I love you,” she whispered, her tears dripping onto his face. “I will always love you.”
He smiled weakly but couldn’t speak so she pressed her burning lips to his colder ones as if it was the last thing she’d ever do. It probably was.
“Touching.” La Dame’s voice made her jerk back. “Before you die, I will take even your love from you.”
Etta shook her head violently. “Not even you have that power.”
A wall of magic slammed into her from behind, sucking the remaining air from her lungs and pushing her forward. She collapsed onto Alex’s chest and everything disappeared.
Etta was out for a moment, but it felt like years. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was flames. Everywhere flames and smoke were killing her people.
The pain was gone.
Alex’s eyes drifted shut, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Scrambling from his chest, she turned to face La Dame.
“How does freedom feel?” La Dame leaned forward in anticipation. “You have a few moments of it left.”
How did it feel? Etta no longer felt Alex’s pain. In fact, she felt nothing at all. No ties to the King of Gaule, no tug on her heart. Instead, she felt… empty.
The emptiness began to fill as a power she’d never known flooded her veins. It buzzed through her, strengthening her resolve. Hatred. Anger. Vengeance. Her mind turned to darkness as the Basile magic took hold.
“Etta.” Matteo’s voice was awed as he pointed to her arms. Her veins glowed through her skin for a few moments before fading entirely. But the power she felt remained.
Hair brushed her shoulders, and she raised a hand to feel the golden locks as they grew out from where she’d shorn them off. The strands drifted through her fingers and down over her back, light emanating from each.
La Dame’s mouth hung open, and she backed up a step.
“The Basile power.” Matteo rushed to her side, covering his mouth with his jacket.
Behind them, Tyson woke and got to his feet, slightly disoriented as he positioned himself at Etta’s other flank.
Etta’s gaze flashed over the crowd almost separated from her by the fire and two familiar faces stood out. Analise lay on her side as Henry swayed where he stood before collapsing amongst the smoke. She was right. Pierre had brought them here. Anger unlike anything she’d ever felt surged through her and red tinged the sight before her.
With a quirk of her lip, power shot from her fingertips and the flames were extinguished in an instant. Etta cocked her head, regarding the woman who’d destroyed her family. Destroyed, yet here they stood. The three remaining Basiles.
She punched her hand forward, throwing La Dame through the air.
La Dame landed on her feet and skidded to a halt with a growl. She sent bolts of magic to each Basile, but Etta blocked them, instinct taking over.
Tyson met Etta’s eyes and she nodded. She flicked her finger and a cup of wine flew into the air. Tyson expanded the liquid and Etta set it aflame as it rushed toward the guards who were running to La Dame’s defense.
Etta made the flames grow, engulfing the guards in the inferno and it didn’t faze her. Her magic whipped around her uncontrollably as adrenaline flooded her veins.
A crack boomed through the room and the floor split open. Etta leaped to avoid getting sucked into the darkness. La Dame threw a bolt of lightning at her and she dodged it.
They stayed, locked in their duel as their magic weakened with each use.
“I can’t hold her off forever,” Etta yelled to Tyson. She strained to get control, but that dominance seemed just out of reach.
Tyson filled the floor gap with water, pulling it from the ground to keep any of the villagers from being lost. He slumped over from the effort.
Matteo picked up Etta’s sword and tilted his head. Etta nodded, and he tossed it into the air for Etta to send it sailing toward La Dame. It hit one of her guards with such force the hilt went straight through him, leaving a hole in the middle of his chest.
“Etta,” Edmund yelled. “She’s weakening. I can see it.”
The villagers started to stir, their screams proof La Dame was losing control.
Matteo wheezed beside her. “She’s trying to hold the illusion of the palace while both keeping the villagers under her control and fighting you. It’s too much for her.”
La Dame stared at them from across the room, her guards closing in around her.
Edmund ran toward them. “I say we take care of her for good.”
A steady beat painfully drummed in Etta’s head and she leaned over to catch her breath. She could barely feel her magic anymore as weak as it was making her.
The ballroom around them flickered, showing a crumbling ruin—before the ornate, but slightly charred room was back.
Before she could stop it, a sp
ear sailed through the air aiming for Matteo. Everything happened in slow motion. He didn’t see it until Edmund lunged for him, tackling him to the ground as the spear embedded in the soft flesh of Edmund’s stomach.
He screamed and Etta turned from La Dame to check if Edmund was breathing. Blood dribbled from his lips but his eyes told her to continue the fight.
She pulled on every ounce of magic she had left and twisted around to find the guards disappeared and La Dame with them. Not even Pierre and Maiya were still present.
Her eyes darted around as the room descended into darkness and the palace disappeared altogether, leaving behind the ruins of what had once been the Basile home.
The magic snapped back into her and Etta stumbled forward, dropping to her knees as exhaustion took hold of her body. Around her, people ran. Some screamed. Others didn’t know what to do.
“Etta,” Tyson called through his tears. “You need to come now.”
Alex struggled to keep his eyes open, and each breath was weaker than the one before. He met her emotionless eyes with a similar look. She couldn’t decipher what she was feeling. Every memory of her and Alex remained, but all she felt was rage. No other emotion could permeate that red-hot wall of fire inside her. It was as if along with the curse, her love for him had been ripped away. The Durands and Basiles would always be enemies. Her magic hated the Gaulean king. But she couldn’t turn away.
“Etta!” Tyson’s voice turned frantic. “He’s dying, Etta.” He wiped his face on his sleeve.
Etta looked from Alex to Edmund, a struggle brewing in her heart. Unable to resist any longer, she knelt down beside Alex. How had something that had made her so happy suddenly fill her with despair? Alexandre Durand was an enemy of her magic. He would always be her enemy. The curse had fooled her into thinking differently.
But she couldn’t let him die. Not after everything they’d been through.
“Is anyone a healer?” she screamed to the magic folk who remained.
None came forward. She knew now that healing was a Draconian magic. Her people couldn’t help her. A tear fell from her lashes and she met Tyson’s swimming eyes with a shake of her head. “I can’t help him. I’m so sorry.”
Pushing to her feet, she went to check on Edmund.
Her friendship with him remained and when she saw him with his eyes closed, tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Is he…?” She couldn’t get the words out.
“Not yet,” Matteo answered as he cradled Edmund’s head.
Etta sank down beside him and put her head in her hands. Her back heaved.
“So the curse was keeping the Basiles from their magic.” Matteo nudged her.
“Matteo, I’ve never felt that kind of power. It… It was like I could tear the whole world apart.” She observed her shaking hands, curling them into tight fists. “Yet, I can’t save Edmund or Alex.”
“Maybe I can help with that,” a soft voice said.
The woman who’d been ordered to help Alex before lowered herself beside Edmund.
“Who are you?” Etta loomed over her.
“My name is Esme. I believe you knew my daughter, Maiya.”
“She betrayed us.” Etta crossed her arms, but allowed Esme to place her palms against Edmund’s abdomen. She couldn’t do anything to make it any worse.
“Let me help and then I will explain.”
Edmund’s wound closed up and before long, he opened his eyes. Etta choked out a relieved laugh and lunged to hug him.
“Take it easy there,” Edmund wheezed.
Esme moved to Alex next and then went out among the villagers treating burns and other wounds.
Tyson helped Alex to his feet and steadied him before leading him toward the others. Edmund wrapped Alex in a long hug. Etta kicked a rock on the ground and her glass shoe cracked.
“I can fight La Dame with no problem, but the minute I kick a stupid rock, these things break.” She shook her head and removed both her shoes. She wrapped an arm around Edmund’s waist and another around Matteo as she led them from the ruins, creating a torch to light their way. They stopped at the cliffs and looked to the east where the village should sit, but it was hidden in the night.
Something was missing. There was a hole in Etta’s chest. A gap where her heart should be. All she felt was a void, black as the night, and her power.
Without a word to any of them, she turned and walked away, past the ruins and crowds of people who were moving toward the village. Past the unconscious forms of the two friends she’d made promises to in the dungeons. Past the woman who claimed to be the mother of Etta’s once-friend. Maiya’s betrayal no longer hurt. She felt nothing.
For the first time in her life, she was free, and it weighed down on her, crushing her. She began to run, knowing she could only flee for so long. By the time she reached the tree line, her breath wheezed in her chest. She wiped at her face furiously but the tears were relentless. She stopped running and put a hand on a nearby tree to steady herself as she hiccupped back a sob.
She’d been fully prepared to die. A willing sacrifice. No one considers what happens after the battle. How was she supposed to help her people recover when she was utterly destroyed herself? She’d never imagined breaking the curse would break her as well.
La Dame was still out there. Would she return to the mountains of Dracon and resume her duties as La Dame Dracon? Always waiting. The only thing Etta knew was the fight wasn’t over. It had only begun.
Etta sank down to the forest floor, the woods more a home to her than any palace could ever be. Drawing on the smallest amount of power she had left, she pulled budding flowers through the pine needles that covered the ground. Only three grew at her bidding, but it was enough to remind her who she was and who she could become.
This power that had belonged to her ancestors before her, it churned and boiled. She held it down, but the ire it evoked could not be so easily kept away.
Supplies were consolidated and moved to the only structures still standing in Bela. The small village. It was a quiet night with most people still stunned from events of the day.
Etta and Edmund stood on guard most of the night, despite their exhaustion. They didn’t trust that La Dame had taken all of her men with her.
Etta’s long sword hung at her waist and as she fingered the hilt, she pictured it sliding into Alexandre’s stomach. The memory was tainted now. La Dame’s magic had forced the action upon him, but her own magic wished for it as well. Why had she been so adamant to save him?
No. She couldn’t let herself think that. It wasn’t her. The power would not control her. None of her memories were gone, they were just altered. The magic twisted everything. She’d been sleeping with her charge, nothing more. Despite her position in his palace, he was not a friend to her family. He’d persecuted her people, killed and imprisoned them. Hell, she’d experienced his dungeons for herself.
The Basile in her wanted to hate him, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t. Still, she couldn’t pick out the love between waves of confusion and resentment. Maybe it had only been effects of the curse after all.
A Gaulean king didn’t belong in Bela, her magic pleaded.
Why couldn’t she despise him?
She scanned the darkness, still searching for a single face. Vérité wouldn’t have found his way to the village stables without seeking her first. He’d find her. He always did.
A voice cleared behind them and she turned abruptly, preparing to draw her sword.
“King Alexandre,” she barked. “Do not sneak up on a soldier in the dark.”
Dark brows drew together. “Etta…”
Edmund put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to give you two a few minutes.” He walked away before she could stop him.
Alexandre inclined his head formally, and she did the same before an uncomfortable silence stretched between them.
He studied her for a long moment before grabbing her roughly and kissing her. She hit him but he
didn’t stop. Sliding her hand down to his waist, she pulled the knife he had stuck there and held it to his neck.
He pushed her away. “Etta…” He closed his eyes with a sigh. “It’s me.”
“I know very well who you are, Alexandre Durand.”
“You would kill a king?” Amusement flashed across his face. Did he think they were playing a game?
“One who kisses me against my will? Yeah, I think I would.” She pulled back the knife but didn’t give it to him. “Why did you kiss me, Durand?” Did his feelings change as the curse broke?
He ran a hand through his thick hair. “I don’t feel it anymore.” He clutched at his chest.
“Feel what? Love?” Her magic curled in disgust.
His eyes widened, and he grabbed her shoulders. “Etta, I will love you for as long as I live. It’s the curse. I… we aren’t connected anymore, are we?”
She pushed away from him. “No.” Sheathing her knife, she couldn’t meet his eyes. Everything inside of her screamed that she should take her chance and cut him down where he stood. It was a new feeling and the strength of the power, it’s ability to turn her thoughts, scared her.
“Etta.” Alex brushed her hair back over her shoulder. “Your hair… it glowed.”
She brushed off his hand. “Don’t touch me.” The words were not her own. “A Gaulean king is not welcome on this side of the border. I am a Basile, I could not love you.”
His face pinched in sadness and he shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”
Did she? Her magic reveled in the words, but the rest of her didn’t know. Yet she couldn’t stop them from spilling forth. “Do not question my words. I am Persinette Basile. I have more power than you could ever imagine. Everything I felt for you was just the curse masking my real feelings. Your kingdom is on the brink of a civil war. You will leave in the morning to return to Gaule.”
“Why are you doing this?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I never speak just to hear my own voice, King. This discussion is over.” She turned away from him, afraid to see any emotion in his eyes.
Alex was silent for a long moment before the low timber of his voice rumbled through the air. “I have no choice but to return to Gaule. In that, you are correct, but this isn’t you, Etta.” His voice thickened. “We can find our way back. The curse didn’t make me love you. I don’t want to say goodbye like this, but you give me no other choice. Fight it Etta. Fight whatever is turning you to stone. When you’re finished and there is no more will left in you, I will fight for you. I’ll never give up. You are more than this.” He began walking away and then paused. “This is not the end, Etta.”
