Cursed: Briar Rose's Story (Destined Book 6)

by Kaylin Lee

  The curse snarled at me. Weak, it huffed sneeringly. It jabbed my heart, the spike of sizzling magic causing a flash of vision-stealing pain.

  My legs responded instinctively, my body clinging to survival like it had for the past year under the curse. It could control my body for basic tasks and speaking, but tended to rely on threats for training, since unconscious instincts like athletic coordination seemed to be beyond its complete control. Jittery fear propelled me forward, ever faster, as my vision cleared, allowing me to inch closer to Eugene as we completed the first field length.

  At the halfway point, a sharp pain shot up into my knee. The curse hissed and sent another stab toward my heart, not allowing me to slow.

  I passed Eugene at a lopsided sprint, ignoring his sour glare.

  Somehow, I reached the final round on the course. Tavar was still in front but slowing. So was Corbin. I held pace just behind him, the throbbing in my knee bringing involuntary tears to my eyes as I sprinted through the pain.

  When I reached the finish line, I collapsed to the ground and heaved up the contents of my stomach—the small bit of water and victus I’d eaten for lunch before coming to the training compound.

  “First recruit—Tavar.” Raven’s voice sounded distant, somewhere above my head.

  Worthless, said the curse. West is worthless.

  Black spots hovered in front of my eyes. I heaved a second time, but nothing came out.

  “Second recruit—Corbin.”

  Foolish, slow creature, the curse mocked.

  “Third recruit—Briar Rose. First time in the top three, Briar. Well done.”

  Weak. The curse laughed as I gagged again. Weak! You would be nothing without me.

  Somehow, I nodded to acknowledge Raven without losing consciousness. Speech was beyond me. I wanted to throw myself down and cry, to never move from the training yard again. Instead, I let the curse force me to stand, keeping my weight on my good leg. I squinted against the sun as the rest of the recruits gasped for breath beside me.

  “Well done.” Corbin clapped me on the back and shot me a charming grin, somehow able to talk over his own gasping breath. “You’re fierce, Bri.”

  I nodded wordlessly and found my eyes searching out Tavar, but his broad back was to us as he poured a canteen of water over his head.

  “It’s not natural for a girl to run so fast,” Eugene grumbled. “Something’s wrong with her.”

  Tavar’s back stiffened. I glanced at Eugene, but the dark spots in front of my eyes wouldn’t clear enough to bring him into focus. I took a swig from my canteen, still too breathless to talk, much less come up with a decent retort.

  Then again, why should I bother?

  Poor Eugene. He was right—something was certainly wrong with me. Too bad no one would believe him.

  “One final task before you go home.” Instructor Raven shaded her eyes as the last few recruits stumbled to the finish.

  The collective, silent groan of response was in our posture, not our voices—we’d learned early on that Sentinels didn’t tolerate complaint from recruits.

  “Mop the main compound building. I want those floors scrubbed and buffed until they shine.”

  My stomach soured. The main compound building was where teams went for debriefing immediately after returning from a mission in the Badlands. The floors were always disgusting. We’d be there for at least another hour, even if we divided in teams to tackle each of the three floors at the same time.

  We trooped into the building and collected buckets, mops, and water from the chore closet, then separated by floor. I took the section down the hall from Tavar’s on the first floor.

  I started on my hands and knees to scrub the worst sections first, my legs and arms throbbing as I pushed my exhausted body through the repetitive motions.

  When I got to my feet to start mopping, I nearly crashed down again. The stabbing pain in my knee was even worse than before. I limped over to the bucket and tried to ignore the pain as I got to work, not even needing the curse to force me. I knew full well what Raven would do if I were caught shirking chores—cut me from the program without a second thought, third-place finish or not. I didn’t want to find out what the curse would plan if the Sentinels mission fell through.

  The luminous lights in the hallway sparkled, then flicked on one by one as twilight fell outside.

  Male voices came from down the hallway. Eugene and a few of his friends hauled their buckets and mops toward the cleaning closet, which was in Tavar’s section.

  “Ugh!” Eugene glanced at Tavar, then heaved a sigh and set his bucket down heavily. The bucket wobbled, then tipped over, releasing a flood of dirty, soapy water onto the floor beside Tavar and soaking his shoes. “Whoops.” He shrugged. “Sorry about that, river dweller. Guess you’ll be staying a little later to clean up tonight.”

  The other boys set their buckets of dirty water down and kicked them over. The buckets went flying, narrowly missing Tavar.

  “Good thing the Westie’s so good at cleaning,” Eugene said as he turned toward the exit. “I hear it’s a family trait.”

  Tavar’s section of the floor, which had been sparkling clean and almost completely dry as he buffed it with a dry mop, was now covered in filthy, gray-brown water. He watched without protest as the boys left, their laughter echoing down the hallway.

  “’Night, Bri.” Corbin nodded to me as he poured his own bucket down the sink in the cleaning closet, then set it neatly where it belonged beside the closet door. He shot Tavar an apologetic glance. “Good luck, brother.”

  The compound was silent. I finished drying my area as Tavar went to the closet for a clean mop, his jerky movements the only sign of frustration in his otherwise stone-like demeanor.

  I cleaned up my own dirty supplies, then paused in the closet and checked the curse. It was dull and relaxed, lulled into boredom as it often was when I had to do chores or homework. I’d been training alongside Tavar for a year, and it still exhibited nothing more than vague, uninterested condescension toward him. Perhaps—

  I grabbed a clean mop and went back to the hallway, then resumed mopping at the edge of Tavar’s wet, muddy section, monitoring the curse for reprisal. It gave none. It must have thought I was still mopping my own section of the floor.

  Triumph shot through me, but I focused on the mopping motion and the pain in my arms and legs, successfully distracting the curse. Tavar didn’t speak, but I caught his eyes once and looked away quickly, hoping he wouldn’t address my actions directly.

  We finished cleaning his floor well after the dinner bell rang. It didn’t matter. My family had given up waiting on me for meals ages ago. They were probably relieved not to have to spend time with me.

  I checked the curse as Tavar and I put our supplies away. It was still bored, unbothered by his presence.

  “They’re idiots,” I mumbled to Tavar, hoping the curse would assume I was just complaining about Eugene’s comment to me on the field. “Ignore them.”

  He nodded, his jaw rigid. “I do.” His Western accent had faded slightly over the past year, but he rarely spoke at training, so the accent was always noticeable to me when I heard his voice. “You should, too.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t have a choice.” I bit my lip—the words had just slipped out. Would the curse notice?

  It remained quiet as we approached the building’s exit. So far, so good.

  “You’re limping.” Tavar frowned at me.

  I looked away. “Doesn’t matter.” The curse remained still, but I was certain it was listening now.

  “Been limping since we left the field.”

  “I said it doesn’t matter.”

  “You don’t rest that leg, you won’t recover.” He held the door open for me as I limped through. “You don’t recover, you’re not gonna be a Sentinel after all.”

  The curse shifted slightly, as though paying closer attention to his words. Maybe that was good. Maybe it would finally let me rest on our time
off from training, at least.

  “Thanks for helping me,” Tavar added. “You didn’t have to.”

  I nodded warily and hoped the curse wasn’t paying too much attention. “It’s fine.”

  The street outside the compound gate was dark and quiet. The government workers in this area had all gone home for the evening. “Got that skills test next week.” Tavar paused at the corner where we would turn our separate ways—him, to the River Quarter, and me, to our villa in the Mage Division. “We could study together. If you want.”

  I held my breath.

  Yes, the curse preened magnanimously after a moment of consideration. He is the best of those silly recruits. You would do well to learn from him, and perhaps it will improve your next evaluation.

  “Fine,” I sputtered, shocked at the curse’s acceptance. “Whenever you have time.”

  I walked home on a footpath of clouds, my skin tingling with a joy I couldn’t stifle, though I tried. I imagined talking to Tavar, studying together, sparring together. After a full year of curse-imposed isolation, the fantasy of simply being with another person was tantalizing.

  Happy Anniversary, Briar Rose, the curse whispered as I lay in my bed that night, my knee throbbing. Only four more years to go.

  There went the joy. That was fast.

  Chapter 8

  “You’re done already?” Tavar raised an eyebrow as he watched me from over his training manual, the dim luminous light in his tenement apartment making his features look even more perfectly sculpted than usual. “I still have another chapter.”

  What was wrong with me? I didn’t need the curse’s disapproving growl to tell me I had no business noticing Tavar’s features, sculpted or not.

  I shut my manual and leaned back in the creaky chair by Tavar’s kitchen table, my head spinning with facts about weapons maintenance. “I wish I was done. It’s late, though. I should go home. I’ll finish later.”

  I’d be up half the night working through the information in this section, thanks to the curse’s determination to make me a Sentinel, but I didn’t want Tavar to know that. I had turned fifteen already. Only three more years until I was out of time. We’d been working together for a year, and I was afraid if he knew how much I studied every night, he’d be uneasy around me.

  Understandably uneasy.

  “Stay, stay!” Tavar’s grandfather turned from the cinderslick stove where he was cooking up a mouthwatering concoction that smelled of tomatoes, unfamiliar spices, and meat. “Eat.”

  “Oh, no, sir …” I shuffled my notes and manual, glancing between Tavar, who looked uncomfortable, and his grandfather, who was beaming at me from beneath his bushy, white mustache. “I should go.” I never ate, not even victus, when we studied at Tavar’s small, cold apartment on the bank of the Theros River. I didn’t need more than a quick glance at their bare cupboards to know that wouldn’t be helpful.

  “You must call me Silvio,” Tavar’s grandfather said, for what had to be the hundredth time. “You must stay, eat.” He lifted a spoon full of mouthwatering, stewed meat. “I am demicoach driver now. We eat meat.” He shook the spoon, spattering a bit of dark-red sauce onto his white beard. “Celebrate!”

  Tavar shifted uneasily, then shut his notebook. “Grandfather’s been saving up for a demicoach for two years,” he mumbled, barely meeting my eyes. “He just quit the Sanitation Ministry last week. Demicoach drivers make a good wage.” Tavar’s pale, freckled cheeks reddened. “If you want to stay, you can. Don’t know if you’ll like our Western food, though. It’s not like your Asylian food.”

  The curse huffed obnoxiously at Tavar’s discomfort. I could imagine it rolling its eyes. West is nothing, it said, stretching languidly. Western food is nothing. Eat, don’t eat. Doesn’t matter.

  “I’ll stay,” I said tentatively. “If you don’t mind.” The curse was silent, apparently having nothing more to add.

  A ghost of a smile appeared on Tavar’s lips. “I don’t mind.”

  Why was I looking at his lips now? I shook my head and fixed my attention on the table instead.

  We cleared our study materials off the table, then helped Silvio bring the steaming hot stew and soft, spongy bread over from the stove.

  The food was perfect—more heavily-spiced than Asylian food but still tender, fragrant, and comforting. “Delicious,” I said, attempting the word in the Western tongue for Silvio’s sake. “Thank you.”

  Silvio’s mouth dropped open. He shot out a response in their language, far too fast for me to follow.

  “Umm …” I racked my brain for a reply, but my vocabulary was too limited and rusty.

  “You speak our language?” Tavar watched me like I’d sprouted a second head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Just a little.” I felt my face heat. “I taught myself some of the words when I was younger. I just liked the way the letters looked. But I haven’t had much practice.” Other than translating the stolen travel journal that ruined my life, of course.

  Silvio slapped his hand on the table, then sent out several more rapid-fire Western statements, still far too fast to follow. He threw back his head and laughed as Tavar’s face turned a deep red.

  “What is he saying? Did I say something wrong? Did I … offend him?”

  “Nothing, nothing.” Tavar hunched over his bowl, not looking at me. “Don’t worry about him. Let’s just eat.”

  When we’d finished dinner, I packed my belongings into my satchel and slipped it over my shoulder.

  “I’ll walk you out.” Tavar slid his arms into his jacket. He never let me leave the River Quarter alone, insisting on walking me all the way to the Royal Precinct’s border, no matter how early in the evening it was when I left his tenement.

  We were at the door when Silvio pressed a covered bowl into Tavar’s hands. “For Balei and the children,” he said, his thick accent hiding none of the tenderness in his voice.

  Tavar nodded. Outside, the hallway in their small, newly built tenement was narrow and freezing cold. The apartments were all crooked, and in places, the floorboards held gaps so wide, I could see the edge of the river rushing under our feet. “Who’s Balei?”

  “She’s from the West also. Just down the hall.” Tavar gestured with his chin to a door farther down. “She’s got two little ones. The Masters killed their father just before we were rescued. They made him an aurist, and one day they used him up completely, out of the blue.”

  “Oh.” I found myself reaching toward his shoulder, instinctively wanting to offer comfort. The curse yanked my hand back.

  “They took my parents, too,” Tavar said stiffly.

  I’d guessed as much but had never dared ask. The curse held my hand stiffly to my side and laughed, pleased by his pain.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. I didn’t dare say more and risk the curse taking over my words as well as my body.

  “Balei and her husband brought us here, to Theros. They were the pilots.”

  “They drove the … the airplane?” We’d all learned more about the Western survivors since they’d come to Asylia. Their tragic story had been told in bits and pieces in the Herald and other newspapers.

  They’d flown here in one of the West’s newly invented flying machines, hoping to find a land the plague had not yet touched on our isolated, sparsely populated continent. Instead, they’d landed right in the plague’s source, and the plane had been so damaged on landing, they’d been trapped here in the nightmare with us.

  The door opened just as we approached the apartment to knock. A thin, beautiful, dark-skinned woman with bright-blue eyes started, then smiled widely. “Tavar! What is this?” She shot me an interested glance.

  “Grandfather sent me with a bit of stew, made our way.” Tavar lifted the covered bowl. “You’ve fed us enough times. Guess it’s our turn.”

  “Oh, Silvio is so kind!” She stepped back as Tavar and I entered. “This will be a treat. I don’t make the old recipes often enough these days. Adria
no is out running the stall at the market while I make another batch of peppercakes to sell tonight for the late diners. He’ll be so happy to come home to the food of his childhood. Real food, he calls it. As opposed to the magical version.” She winked and pointed to the kitchen counter. “Just set it there. Tell Silvio thank you.”

  Someone knocked on the door frame. We turned to find a small, grubby boy in a threadbare sweater watching us with large eyes. He held his hands out and locked his gaze on Balei. “Food to spare? Please, mistress? So hungry.”

  She frowned but nodded, her hands full of fresh, wrapped peppercakes as she loaded them into a canvas bag. “Of course, little one. These peppercakes will be too spicy for you, but there’s plenty of food in the kitchen. Ana, help him get—”

  The boy darted into the kitchen, not waiting for Balei to finish, and flipped open the lid of the trash bin.

  “No!” Balei’s face twisted. “Not there, child. Ana!”

  Her daughter turned from flipping peppercakes on the stove and finally noticed the little boy. She rushed over and closed the trash bin, saying something under her breath in the Western language, then grabbed a loaf of bread from the counter and sliced several generous slices. “Here.” She ruffled the boy’s stringy hair, then bent at the waist to address him as he shoved the first slice of bread into his mouth. “Come back tomorrow if you need, got it?”

  The boy nodded rapidly. “Ank ooh,” he said around the mouthful of food before running out the open apartment door, his little arms wrapped protectively around the bread slices he held against his chest.

  Balei shifted the bag of peppercakes in her arms and looked from the empty doorway to her thin, wide-eyed daughter in the kitchen. A whisper emerged from her lips, but I couldn’t understand it.

  Tavar said something—it was the first time I’d heard him speak the Western language. At home, or when I was present, at least, he seemed to avoid it.

  Balei replied with a rapid-fire torrent of words, her voice trembling with emotion. Tears streamed down her cheeks, glistening in the light of the luminous beside her. After a moment, a sob choked her words into silence.