by R. Scarlett
Molly swallowed, trying to decipher the symbols on the page. A lost cause.
“This book is probably the main reason why my father chose to hide this library from everyone,” he whispered. “Because not many things can be a real threat to a king, but this… this could crush one into nothing.”
Molly frowned. “If you wanted the throne so bad, why didn’t you use this against him.”
“Because I am not a stupid man, Molly Darling,” he explained, shrugging once more. “Some things should never even be considered options.”
“Then why now? Why think of using it now?” she asked, feeling herself growing agitated.
“Because we have well and truly run out of options,” he said darkly, eyes growing heavy and wild. “And desperation makes even the most sensitive men grow restless, wild. When there aren’t any options left, you create them. No matter how crazy they might be,” he finished on the same tone, his finger pointing at the book. “Because it would surely be a threat against him.”
“If this is so dangerous, maybe we shouldn’t…” she started and a thought suddenly hit her. “Oh my god, you can’t possibly mean to kill…” she stopped, a hand flying to her chest and her knees buckled. “No…” she whispered, the word cracking completely.
The prince laughed, the sound loud and vicious. A few bookshelves seemed to rattle, as if curling in on themselves. “No. No, Molly. I do not intend to kill your precious king,” he said, and Molly finally started breathing again. “At least not with this curse,” he added, but his eyes only held playfulness.
“Then…” she started, swallowing with difficulty. “Then how? How is this supposed to help us without killing him?” she finished, glancing up at him and seeing a muscle in his cheek feather.
In a slow breath, his eyes met hers. “Here,” he said, his finger tapping at the edge of a particular line of symbols. “I cannot read this language either, they stopped teaching it to the young, long, long ago to insure we could not read this particular book, but from legends and myths I’ve heard over the years, I know what this here says.” He continued, a deep frown taking place between his brows. “It says: The curse of a heart.”
“The curse of a heart,” Molly repeated. Slowly, it sunk in. “The ultimate sin of a demon. Destroying him. Make him grow a heart.” Hope invaded her chest and she gripped his wrist. “We can get his heart back.”
The prince’s mouth pinched. “Yes, but we need a warlock willing to speak the curse. It can backfire. Like I said, it can completely destroy not only the target, but also everyone and everything that stands in the way of its wrath. It’s an old, vicious curse, it’s been sleeping for thousands of years now, and I can only imagine how it would react if woken up by someone who cannot control it.”
“Then find a warlock,” Molly bit out fast, desperation driving her to a deadly cliff.
The prince eyed her. “That child of his is controlling you.”
Her free hand touched her stomach. “What?”
“He’s half demon; he’s aggressive, he’s moody,” the prince explained. “Not uncommon for females carrying to go through violent mood swings.” He shut the book with a loud smack, the sound resonating like thunder through her soul. More dust flew around them, and the prince placed the book under his armpit as if he was carrying just about any novel, not something so final, so powerful. He rubbed his forehead and let out a sigh. “You want a warlock? I have one, but he’s lethal and dangerous in his own way. We let him out of his cage, we’ll have to kill him once we’re done.”
Molly tried to swallow, but the thick lump in her throat prevented her. “Kill him?”
“He went on a rampage centuries ago, murdered half the court by using them like puppets against each other,” he explained, shrugging his shoulder as if it meant little.
Molly weighed the options, but her heart was heavier.
“The only question I have for you, little daemon, is; are you ready to kill someone if it means saving your Tensley? Are you ready to jeopardize your life and the life of others, to get him back? You’ve killed before, haven’t you? I can see your hands were once tainted by blood. But are you ready to do it again?” he asked, a dark look roaming through his eyes.
At first, she didn't answer. Taken aback by the question, by everything it implied. But in the darkest, most vile parts of herself, she knew the answer. And so did her heart. “I am,” she whispered, heart beating wildly. “I am.” And the words sounded so heavy. So final.
“Good,” he said, the word sounding short, brusque.
“Are you?” she asked suddenly, surprising herself. “Are you ready to potentially kill your own court and die, just for the chance of getting the throne you so desperately want?”
His eyes seemed to cloud over, getting lost in his own thoughts. Then, after a beat, he looked her straight in the eyes, and said: “Of course,” and his smile was pure evil, liquid ash and fiery hunger.
A man who had nothing to lose and had sold his soul to the devil without ever looking back.
She shivered. “Where is he?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. “The warlock. Where is he?”
His teeth flashed, eyes turning almost black. “The deepest pit of hell.”
THE FAMILIAR STENCH of the dungeon sunk deep into her heart and made it bleed all over again. Two days before, Molly had been down in the dungeon with Tensley. Trying to escape. It left a bitter, sour taste in her mouth that she wished she could wash away.
The stench was of rotten flesh and feces sat in for weeks. Perhaps even months. Or years, she thought, almost gagging, as she realized the warlock she was about to pay a visit to had been left there to rot for centuries.
Dear lord…
Each cell they passed, a tired groan greeted them. The few that spoke words or cried out were newer to their tiny prison, she realized.
Molly felt along the brick walls, guiding herself through the maze, following behind the prince as best as she could.
It was so dark she could barely see two feet before her.
The prince suddenly stopped and Molly ran into his back, grunting in pain.
“Here,” the prince said, gesturing to a dark cell. Molly moved closer, peering inside, but saw no one.
“I don’t see anyone,” she whispered.
The prince scowled, took out his sword and banged it across the iron bars. An ugly, violent scream vibrated against the walls. Not of the sword, but of a man shrieking.
A crouched figure stumbled out of the darkness of the cell.
He lifted his head, his hair long and knotted like a rat king, and he smiled. He smiled a toothless grin of anger and insanity.
“Dear prince, who is this fine maiden,” the man sung, his voice raspy and mauled. Ancient.
The prince stepped forward. “A friend.”
“A friend,” he repeated, his beady eyes tracing her figure.
“We need your assistance, Saul,” the prince continued and he leaned closer. “In exchange for your freedom from this prison, you must speak a curse.”
Saul laughed darkly. “A curse. A curse of what, my prince?” a vile smile appearing on his cracked and bleeding lips. Molly could hear a terrible sound and as she looked at the ancient man, she was convinced it was rotten teeth grinding against each other.
She couldn’t get out of this place and away from this man soon enough.
Still, she sucked in a breath, the smell making her knees wobble, and spoke to the warlock.
“The curse of the heart,” Molly answered, confident, a touch of venom tainted the words.
Saul’s wolf eyes narrowed and his joyful, crazy exterior switched to one of darkness. “You wish to wield that curse?”
“Yes,” she said sternly and gripped the bars, her daemon eyes raging as Saul balked at her bravery. “And I want you to destroy that demon until his heart beats so loudly the entire kingdom hears it.”
Saul scanned her again, more carefully this time and gritted his teeth. “A daemon.” H
e glanced at her stomach. “A pregnant daemon.”
“So what will it be?” the prince asked, his fingers flexing across the handle of his sword.
Saul’s eyes turned a darker shade of evil. “Say I did not accept your proposition,” he said, a filthy hand shooting out in the air as if having an idea, fingers wiggling. His nails were long, and pitch black with dirt. As if he had tried to carve his way out of the dungeon during all those centuries.
“What would you do?” Saul said wickedly. “No warlock in their right mind will help you. And the heart of your beloved will be forever damned.”
How he knew about her and Tensley, she didn’t know.
“There is great power lurking in the daemon’s womb,” he said, dirty nails rubbing back and forth against the remnants of his lips.
“Saul…” the prince warned, his clench tightening around his blade.
“Perhaps, I would like to have a taste of the young,” he said, eyes zeroed in on Molly’s stomach. “Perhaps, in exchange for my help, I would ask for my magic touch upon the power of the thing,” he said, speaking of the baby. Molly placed a protective hand over her stomach. “Perhaps, I would ask to be fed the young, to carry his powers within me.”
Before he could say anything else, the prince had the warlock’s shirt in his fist, pulled against the bars of the cell, his blade dangerously pressed against Saul’s neck. Blood dripped, and fell to the already filthy dirt floor.
“I’ve grown tired of waiting, Saul,” the prince said menacingly. “Very, very tired.”
Saul’s laugh was heard, but it held no joy. No life. “Patience, little prince, patience. Living under the earth for so many years teaches you some things,” he said, voice tight.
The prince pressed the blade even harder and the warlock gurgled, more blood gushing from the wound. “Answer the question. Now,” he spat, anger evident. “Help us and be free. Or stay here to rot for centuries more.”
Saul’s eyes found Molly once more, his gaze traveling down to her stomach. The tip of his tongue came out, licking along his dry lips. “My answer is yes,” he said after a beat.
The prince nodded, backing away as more blood gushed from the wound. Molly couldn’t keep her eyes away as the warlock spat a few strange-sounding words and the wound around his neck started to heal itself.
The prince cleared his throat. “Good. I will come for you tomorrow. At dawn. If you step out of line, I will make sure those fragments of lips you have left are sealed shut, so you can never speak a spell again, and then, I’ll make sure every part of your body hurts equally as much. Are we clear?”
“Very clear, my prince,” Saul said, as more rotten teeth grinding against each other could be heard.
The prince grabbed Molly’s elbow and pulled her away from the cell. They made their long way back through the pitch-black halls. More moans and cries could be heard.
As they approached the steep stairs, she stopped, suddenly remembering something she had meant to ask the prince the night before. “Wait.” She glanced down the hall at each cell she could see, too many shoved together in tiny spaces. “Where’s Seto? What happened to him after… everything?”
The prince glared. “He was brought back here immediately after Fallen caught you. My father said he’d deal with the traitor later,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Oh, no. No, no, little daemon. Do not let your mind wander there. We do not have time to release that scum.”
Molly spun to face him and she felt a cool sensation run down her spine and tingle her scalp. “I am not leaving here until you release him.”
The prince’s face pinched in anger and he opened his mouth, but just as fast, growled and moved past her. “Fucking—” She followed him through the dark maze, feeling as if he was leading her nowhere until he stopped at a corner.
“Here you go, your majesty,” the prince snapped.
“Seto?” Molly called as she rushed to the bars. “Seto?”
His callused hands wrapped around hers and she saw his gaunt face appear from within the shadows. “Molly, you’re alive.”
“Yes,” she said, holding back a whimper.
“But Tensley…” he said, shaking his head repeatedly. “They brought me down here right away, I couldn’t… I couldn’t…”
She sucked in deeply, her head dropping. “He’s alive, but he’s not himself.”
Seto’s dark brows lowered. “What happened? What did the king do?”
“He’s heartless, Seto,” Molly managed to say with a quivering voice. “Fallen ripped his heart out, and then Tensley killed him. There’s a new king now.”
Seto’s hands weakened around hers. “Tensley—Tensley’s the king?”
She nodded viciously. “We need your help.” She turned back to the prince who stood to the side, eyeing the scene with impatience. “Open the cell.”
The prince sighed loudly, but didn’t argue. He produced his skeleton key and unlocked the door. As Seto stood on wobbly legs, Molly wrapped an arm around his chest and helped him out.
The three of them, the misfits of the high court, walked through the darkest pit once more.
“What do you plan to do?” Seto asked, coughing violently.
Molly glared at the stairs ahead, a dim light cascading down the steps. “We plan to curse him.”
THE PORT WAS packed to the brim with merchants, the high sun beaming down on top of Molly’s cloaked head. The smell of the ocean’s essence surrounded her and as hot as she was underneath the cloak, she had to hide her identity from the public.
Being the wife of the new king wasn’t something she wanted the public to know. She had no clue how the rest of the kingdom outside of the court felt about Fallen’s death, but from the scrunched up noses and ugly scowls, she knew the court didn’t like her. The prince had warned her as they left on how different the village would be from the palace.
Seto gripped her elbow, making her pause as the dusty street lined by stone buildings of slab filled with people. “Do not wander away from me. You may not officially be the queen, but you are the king’s wife.”
Molly nodded, fixing her hood so half of her face was concealed. “How do you think these people feel about Fallen? About the court?”
Seto tsked and guided her through the heavy crowd. “They respected his power over them, accepted it, but feared him nonetheless. The court, however…” he began as his eyes wandered to a nearby armory display, its vendor shouting praises at each pedestrian as he tried to get them to buy one of his beautifully crafted blades or various weapons. Seto’s eyes came back to hers, his eyes serious, almost sullen. “Most villagers dislike the court. These men and women are slaves to do the biddings of the high court members, to offer them food… and sometimes bring them power.”
Seto sneered and Molly remembered hearing of Seto’s past. He once lived amongst these people. He was them—once a poor boy surviving here by dueling in vicious street fights. He had seen both the court and this world, a rare perspective to acquire.
In the mid-afternoon light, Molly saw the clear damage the dungeon and the last week had done to Seto’s body. The gaunt features, the limp in his step, the sickly pale skin, but his mind, a mind so strong and powerful propelled his weak body to keep fighting, to keep surviving. At the thought of Prim, Molly bit the inside of her mouth. Seto was doing all of this for Prim. He kept moving forward, only so he could fight for what Prim would have wanted; a better world. A world where people could fall in love freely and marry who they wished to marry. A world that wasn’t so restrictive with unnecessary laws. A world in which the greatest thing people could experience wasn’t seen as a sin or a weakness, but seen as a strength.
Fruit stands displayed fresh berries and harvested tomatoes, red, large and juicy. Molly watched as a woman pulled a fresh tomato from the vine and take a large bite, the juices and seeds running down her chin, but she didn’t appear to care. She sucked in the nutrition and savored the food.
The port was a long straight dock lined w
ith tiny boats that fishermen used to brave the ocean beyond. A statue stood erect at the end of the dock, a stone carved figure of a man—holding a sword in one hand and a cresting wave in the other.
“Aegaeon, he was the god of violent waters. He’s said to be a symbol to our people to protect them from the ocean. He’s both a savior and a villain, but most sailors pray to him for safe voyage,” Seto told her when he caught her stare. By his tone, she could hear how fond he was of tales, of their society’s myths and legends and she smiled up at him.
“I guess most of us pray, even for the villain,” Molly said, thinking back to Tensley. Women singing down the road stole her from her thoughts and she continued walking alongside Seto. “What are they singing about?” Molly couldn’t understand the language they sang in, but it was soft and high, a chant that almost sounded religious, and the way they moved, all in white, swaying their hips and throwing their heads back toward the sky was mesmerizing.
She thought of the hunt she had been thrown into, in honor of Sonolios the sun god, and of the white dresses and veils they had worn for the occasion, how pure and pristine they had looked. So innocent and inviting. But as Molly looked at the singing women, she realized their white dresses were dirtied and stained from hard work and weather.
“They’re singing the song of the beast,” Seto explained, watching just as closely. “About the purest form of our people, how each man wields a beast inside of him and how to cherish the violence and the hunger within him.”
Molly shivered at his words and the heated song—almost chanting like a group of sirens luring men to drown.
Molly eyed two boys dressed in shreds of cloth kicking a ball between them.
Her chest ached at the sight of their dirty skin, the sand and dirt like a second skin to them, how tiny they appeared, how fragile, but how they still wore genuine smiles. She pinched her palm, restraining herself from touching her own stomach. Seeing such young boys made her think of her own son. Her heart broke at the mere sight.
