The Cursed (The Cursed Trilogy Book 1)

by Iyanna Orr

  When Chandler pulled himself up from the ground, Drake called for the fight to stop and, once again, Zafrina rose, repeating her words from earlier as she announced Sir Gregory Ken of Legacy Prime the winner. The other knights carried the Legacy Two knight away from the field, and Chandler sighed heavily as he watched the next group file out. This time, they each carried a chained mace. He settled himself in for a long day of fighting.

  He’d just collapsed on his bed when her voice cracked the silence he’d been waiting for. The sky had grown dark, and with the citizens of Legacy unwilling to stay in the dark, even with the assistance of torches, Drake had grumpily dismissed them all until the next day.

  “Why didn’t you use magic?” she demanded, appearing above him. Startled, Chandler started to sit up but then collapsed back down with a sigh, closing his eyes. He just wanted to sleep, but the werecats gaze burned into him, and his mind continued to race.

  “Should I have?”

  “Yes!” she shouted. Chandler’ eyes flashed open, and he remembered he was still covered in mud and grass stains from the field. He could still feel the wound that had been scratched on his side with the mace of the Legacy Prime knight. He had been the first who’d taken pleasure in fighting him, never losing that grin while he swung the weapon around in an obvious attempt to make him squirm. Chandler had been able to see that Drake was very interested in this man, and he’d focused on him the rest of the fight. Taking advantage of his eager sloppiness, Chandler had gotten the mace from him and slam it into the side of his head. When he was carried away from the field at the end, Chandler was sure he was dead, but he hadn’t really cared. The thought made him angry. This anger was spilling back into him now as he glared at the cat woman floating above him.

  “Why the hell should I have?” Chandler demanded. “So Drake and Zafrina could find more of a reason to watch me? To make them think I’m plotting against them? Screw that! I want to get out of here, and I’m working my damnedest to make sure I get to do that. I’m not going to mutilate my changes to please your ego!”

  Her eyes narrowed into slits, and Chandler watched as her form began to waver, flickering back and forth so quickly it mangled the sight of her. It made her look half-cat and half-human all at once, but Chandler’s eyes returned her glare.

  “My ego?” she hissed. Chandler heard the animistic curl to her words and his hands clenched at his sides. “I have had over a thousand years to understand that ego is simply a lie. There is no ego in a man unless he is taught to understand the meaning of the word ‘I.’ And you are the prime example. Here I am attempting to help you and what you are doing is pushing it away.”

  “I don’t need any help. I’m doing perfectly fi—”

  “Fine? Is that what you want to say? I have been here far longer than you, watching this man destroy everything he has encountered, including my home!” Her voice broke on the last part, unexpectedly quieting Chandler as he gazed up at her. Then he could see the shine in her eyes, the way her irises dulled as the tears grazed over them. “I want revenge for what he took from me, for the family he stole, and I finally have the chance to get it, but you are wasting that opportunity by doing absolutely nothing.”

  Chandler wanted to say something, but what did he have to tell her? Thus far, he’d accomplished nothing besides inserting himself into the castle, completely on the actions of the man he was supposed to kill. He was lost in a situation he had no idea how to handle, and his best friend, along with his rocky acquaintances and guides, were possibly far away, hiding underneath the surface of a dead planet. His eyes slid closed, so he didn’t see when the werecat drifted down, settling herself beside him on the bed. But he felt it when she touched his stiff arm, fingers moving along to unclench his hands.

  “You have an old soul,” she whispered. “And it has seen things that no man, woman or child should ever have to see. I can understand the strain that lies within it as it struggles to do the thing it was meant to do. A thousand years of living has taken its toll on me, and I have yet to have a break from it, so I can only imagine what it must be like for yours to reach out to you, over and over as you live again. But you have yet to understand what it wants to tell you. This mind and this body you share with such an old soul are too young to do this all alone.”

  “Then how?” he asked, opening his eyes and turning to her. “How do I win a battle I’ve lost so many times before?”

  “You accept the help so many are ready to offer; those like me who want to take back the peace of mind Drake denied us when he destroyed our lives.” She turned her head down and rested beside Chandler, curling up like so many cats he’d seen on Earth. He heard her sigh beside him. She scarcely moved after that, only the slowing of her breath coming and going from her lungs telling that she’d fallen asleep.

  That night when Chandler slept, he dreamed.

  He found himself back in Washington, just a presence as he watched life go on. It made him wonder exactly how long he’d been away from home. His mind gave him the answer, and he realized how long these two weeks had been. The first person he saw was Layla, sitting in front of a desk in what he assumed was her room. Behind the desk was a mirror, and through this was how he saw her.

  Her usual clear blue eyes had become darker, making them stand out against her pale skin. Her eyelashes, usually so full and mesmerizing, were thinner as they stuck together on her red-rimmed eyes. Her lips were pressed together under her small nose, trembling as her hand rose from her side and touched the mirror. Chandler’s eyes followed the movement, and he couldn’t help staring at the photo taped there; something he hadn’t even realized had been taken.

  He was sitting on the hood of Rory’s car, obviously in the parking lot of the school. There had been so many days when he’d done it so he couldn’t make his mind remember what day it might have been. In the photo, his eyes were closed, and he looked relaxed, something that probably was just a memory. He could see how he might have missed the taking, though; Chandler was sure that he was sleeping at the time. His view was suddenly blocked as Layla spread her palm over it, turning her head away as a cry erupted from her. He looked back, remembering the day in the hotel bathroom and the way he’d felt with her so close. She’d been dazzled by his eyes, and the whole time, he’d been amazed by her.

  Ringing made her drop her hand, but she didn’t look back at the picture. She reached onto the desk and picked up her phone, pressing it to her ear as if she could pass through it to another place. She never said anything, but a small voice he couldn’t make out spoke.

  “I’m not crying,” she lied, her voice thick. Her free hand came up to wipe at her eyes. “No, I’m fine. You don’t have to come over.” She sighed as the voice interrupted. “I know you live across the road, Chris, but I swear I’m fine,” she paused before she sighed again, deeper this time. “Okay. The door’s unlocked.”

  She hung up and sat with her hair hanging around her face. Chandler wanted to reach out and move it away, but he had to remind himself that he wasn’t there. He couldn’t comfort her, and he was the one who’d caused this.

  It took some time, but there was a tentative knock on Layla’s bedroom door. Chandler was surprised when she sprang up and threw it open, immediately wrapping her arms around Chris. He stumbled inside, closing the door. That’s when Chandler knew she had still been crying, her face hidden from him. Chris was whispering to her; soft, gentle words Chandler couldn’t hear.

  “It’s been six months, Chris!” she sobbed stridently. “Six months! Wherever he and Rory went, he would have let us know he was okay, right? He would have called and told us!”

  Six months?

  “I know, Layla. I know,” he answered, voice calmer than hers. “But we have to trust them. We need to trust they’re hidden and far away from where anybody can get to them.”

  “What if the Marks got to them, Chris? What if he’s really dead this time?” she whispered into his shoulder. Chris didn’t answer, but Chandler could see
his face. It was far away, drawn into an unconscious array of fear. Chandler somehow knew this wasn’t the first time she’d asked this or the first time Chris had wondered about it. If what Layla said was true, and they had been gone from Earth for six months, then what had been happening while they were gone?

  “They haven’t gotten to him,” Chris finally answered, his expression turning to one of determination. He pulled away and looked into Layla’s eyes, silently asking her to see that he wasn’t giving up. “It was just bad timing that they pulled Johnson’s protection when they did. It was terrible, what happened to them, but we know they were getting far away from here when Rory called. They wouldn’t come back and not tell us.”

  “Do you promise? That they’ll come back?” she asked.

  “I do. I promise.”

  He pulled her in again, and Chandler turned away from them, eyes going back to the desk Layla had been sitting on. His mind had blanked at the mention of Rory’s parents, and now, it was going in hyperdrive, remembering the thing that Layla had stared at on top of the desk. He found himself sitting in the seat where she had been and looking down, seeing the article, already yellowing with age. Bold words stared up at him, making everything inside shatter.

  Thomas and Renee Johnson Murdered

  Chandler’s eyes began skimming the page before he told them to. It seemed like they’d included everything in the article, from the minute the officer, who’d been going to check up on the family, called in the homicide to the way they’d found the body parts decorating the house. Blood had painted the walls, dripping from their Christmas tree, and sizzling into the burning logs in the fireplace.

  He cringed away from the details yet was ensnared by the picture the writer had painted inside his mind. Surely, no paper had allowed this to be printed, but it was. It had been a whole month since the day they’d been murdered. On the very day of Christmas, the police had probably pulled their protection detail just to let the officers have a day with their families. They hadn’t expected the massacre, but the Marks had taken their chance to get revenge for Lorenzo, shot dead in the woods, and the other four men killed the night Rory and Chandler skipped town.

  His body made no movement as he woke in the darkness of his room in the castle. He stayed perfectly still, feeling the weight of the sleeping werecat, who had shifted to lay on his chest. In the back of his mind, he was hoping she wouldn’t feel the erratic beating of his heart, directly under her resting head. Despite his best efforts, he felt the werecat stir against him. Freezing in place, he stopped breathing as she curled closer, her head leaving his chest and falling to his side. Chandler waited until she’d stopped moving to breathe again. In front of his mind, he was thinking of Rory, lost in a place where he had no idea how much time had passed. Where he didn’t know how the Marks caught up with his parents only five months, less than two weeks here, after they left.

  Chapter 11 – Changed

  Chandler had awoken before the sun had even begun to touch the sky the next morning. The guard who knocked on his door reported that he would need to dress properly today for the arrival of more guests. He took the new cloak that was delivered, stitched with the Legacy Prime crests and just looked at it for a moment, frowning as he remembered Drake’s words from the day before. Chandler wanted to throw it aside and wear the cloak originally delivered to him, but something told him Drake wouldn’t take it lightly at all.

  So, he found himself pulling free the broach from his old cloak and attaching it to the one now resting over his shoulders. The heavy material was slightly uncomfortable against the plain white cotton shirt he wore. He didn’t have much choice but to lock his wings against his back. The cotton shirt had come to him newly created, but he’d still taken the time to mangle the back to create holes for his wings. Here, in Legacy, he didn’t have to force them under his shirt, to press them tighter as he did on Earth. The shirt was considerable thicker than the clothes he’d been given on Monsil, as well, telling him it was a perk of being Drake’s new “royal.” He couldn’t help scoffing at that as he turned away from the mirror and left the room.

  The corridor he walked down was lined with doors to rooms he hadn’t seen as well as the guards. There were four stationed in this hall alone, so Chandler figured there must have been something important inside those doors. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Truthfully, he was getting used to his forced life inside the castle but didn’t want to lower himself to Drake’s standards. The man was clearly waiting for something like that to happen just so he could prove that the two of them weren’t so different. But Chandler knew they were different because he was raised by Zafrina, and that was quite enough for Chandler to have learned independence. After so many years of thinking and doing on his own, he didn’t need someone like Drake telling him who he was going to be.

  Reaching the end of the corridor, the two guards who’d been waiting broke away from the gathering and began to follow. Chandler did his best not to turn on them and ask questions because he was sure he would get no answers. If Drake wanted him followed, then all he had to do was snap his fingers, and he’d get exactly that.

  They continued to trail Chandler as he began making his way to the throne room. He wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go to meet these guests of Drake but figured the place of all his power was a safe bet. Except, when Chandler reached the doors, the guards came around and planted themselves in front of it. He looked at them in question, and they exchanged looks before their faces went blank. As they turned their heads to stare at nothing once again, one of them raised a hand and pointed to the front door of the castle. Chandler turned and looked at the door a hundred feet away and then raised a brow. He didn’t look back at them as he started for it. The door reminded him that he had yet to see what Legacy looked like. He’d seen a great deal of Legacy Four when he was with Haakon, but surely, even though both places dwelled firmly in the middle ages, something had to mark a difference between the planets.

  His mind was still on Legacy Four when he pushed open the door to reveal the front of the castle. As if it weren’t big enough, there was still a thick wall of brick surrounding another two acres of land. Here, though, there were knights sparring on the lawn, not paying attention to the people walking through to the gate. Chandler followed them, curiously keeping his eyes forward until he could see the iron doors standing open.

  Drake was already there, looking in Chandler’s direction as if he’d been waiting patiently for his arrival. Their eyes met, and the king raised a hand to gesture Chandler over, betraying his pretense since his impatience has shown through. Chandler moved toward him at the same pace, ignoring the obviously annoyed glare Drake sent him. When he finally came to a stop next to Drake, he could see that there were a lot of people making their way to the castle gates.

  “These are the neighboring kingdoms from the planets surrounding Legacy,” he started as Chandler watched them come toward the castle. “Since their planets aren’t unified, they have more than three kingdoms to each planet. Legacy is something they are intrigued by and are ready to do whatever it takes to turn their kingdoms into mine.” Drake scoffed at this idea and then glanced down at him, seeming to be looking for something in his expression. Without saying anything, Drake turned away again. “They heard about the tournament we’re holding, and they’re interested in meeting you. I’m sure most of them are just looking for excuses to bring their daughters here and marry them off to you.”

  “Marry? Why the hell would I do that? It’s not like I want to be here in the first place. I’m not even a real prince!”

  As far as they’re concerned, you are the closest they will ever get to having Legacy in their name,” Zafrina said. Chandler turned and noticed she was now standing near them, also watching the crowd approach. “Marrying their daughters to you is a fifty-fifty chance of you becoming a prince and eventually, becoming king.”

  Tell them to go screw themselves. I don’t want to rule Legacy.” The last,
Chandler directed to Drake, who only seemed amused by it. He scowled at Drake and reached up, ripping the cloak from around his shoulders and throwing it to the ground. Then he took off, startling the men and women as he flew overhead. He heard Drake shout something behind him, but he ignored it, tearing his way toward the trees about a mile away.

  As he landed on one of them and turned to stare toward the castle, a pounding began at his temples. He disregarded the feeling, unconsciously rubbing the place slowly as it continued. It wasn’t until he tore his eyes away from the castle that it came at him harder; nearly knocking him from his branch.

  But then he shivered as it stopped, replaced by a gentle grazing of his mind and followed by a whisper he could barely make out. Chandler began to listen closely, ignoring the faint ache that started again at my temple.

  “Chandler…” Max’s voice echoed inside his head. “Chandler, let me in.”

  Max? Chandler thought as he settled back against the branch. Closing his eyes, he was immediately taken elsewhere. Instead of darkness, there was a plethora a light, reminding him of the dreams that had haunted him back on Earth. He blinked against it but was able to restrain himself from doing it as the light slowly turned to soft color. It blended, beginning to become shapes, but then it was gone again. Like a painted canvas, more color rose above and became dominant. In the color, there was a figure that remained dark, but all around him, the forest was alive with shades of greens and browns. The smell that lingered was tropical and unfamiliar, but it was peaceful.

  Max only began to take shape when Chandler became around that there were surroundings to be seen. She was different in this dreamland. Her silver hair glowed, lighting the trees around them and bringing forward animals that loitered at the edge. She was wearing a long white dress that brushed the ground as she walked. Looking down at himself, he was wearing a shirt and loose-fitting pants that were completely black. His feet were bare, buried in the grass he stood in.