Cursed Read online

  I’d heard them once, but they had long since fallen silent.

  I took a deep breath and pushed upright. Every part of my body protested the movement, but I bit my lip against the scream that stormed my burning throat and fought on. I might be naked and weak, but I wasn’t about to face whatever might come lying down.

  The effort left my head spinning and my body bathed in sweat. I ignored it as best I could, and pushed back on my butt until my spine pressed against the wall. The surface was cold and slimy, but it had little to do with the chill that raced across my skin. I dragged my knees closer to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. It made me feel less exposed, if nothing else.

  “If I wanted to fuck you, Princess, I would have done so by now,” he said. “It's not as if you could have in any way resisted me.”

  His voice was deep, smooth, and held the slightest hint of brogue that spoke of the highland tribes inhabiting the wilder regions of the Westal Ranges.

  “Such restraint from a highlander is beyond imagining.” The words came out as little more than a harsh rasp, but it was a serious gift to have any vocal ability left. “Has our dear king perhaps robbed you of the capacity to plunder?”

  He laughed, a sharp sound devoid of warmth. “Indeed he has not. But we men of Westal have an innate desire to do the exact opposite of what the king obviously wants, so your maidenhood remains intact.”

  “My maidenhood was lost long ago.”

  Sexual naivety had never been valued here in Cannamore’s court. Which was why at the age of fifteen—the legal age of consent—I'd undergone not only the Earth initiation but also the Ceremony of Eisha. Within the Golden Temple, and under the guidance of the goddess’s priests and priestesses, I’d been introduced to sensuality and the art of both giving and obtaining pleasure.

  Of course, when I’d drawn the sword only a few weeks later, the king had used that knowledge to the full, regularly offering my services to emissaries from the territories and neighboring courts—even occasionally to traders from overseas lands such as Gallion and the smiths of Salysis—in order to gain a negotiating advantage.

  And it wasn’t like I could gainsay him. Not with these bracelets on.

  I scrubbed a hand across gritty eyes and then studied the darkness to my right. My cellmate was little more than a shadow. A thickset, wild-haired, foul-smelling shadow.

  Which was odd. My eyes should have adjusted to the darkness by now, and that meant there was something else at play here, even if I had no sense of magic being used.

  “What brings a man from Westal to a place like this?”

  The bitter taste of blood began to taint my saliva. I swallowed heavily, but it did little to ease the heated soreness in my throat. I probably shouldn’t be speaking, but I had little other choice. Not if I wanted to understand the situation and survive.

  “I not only had the temerity to fuck the wrong person, but I got into a fight about it afterward—a fight I won.” His voice held little emotion—he might as well have been speaking about the weather. “What brings a princess?”

  “Removing the hand of the king’s heir.”

  “Did you now?” Despite the darkness, I felt his gaze skim me, but its touch was cold. Disparaging. “Forgive my disbelief, but you are half your brother’s size—how did you manage such a feat?”

  “I may be half his size, but I’m still a daughter of the ancient Bel-Hannon line of kings. The Sifft heritage runs true in us.”

  “Meaning you can attain wildcat form at will?” He sounded amused rather than impressed by the thought.

  “No.”

  Which in itself was nothing but the truth. Centuries of interbreeding with other races had erased the ability to shift into wildcat form from the blood of those who could claim Sifft heritage. But many did at least get some of their other capabilities—be it greater strength, extraordinary night vision, sharper senses, some degree of telepathy with others of our kind, a high tolerance of pain, or the ability to heal faster than normal.

  Both Vin and I had inherited all the DNA adaptions. It was the reason Vin hadn’t bled out in the practice yard, and why—if the medics successfully reconnected his hand—its viability and strength would be reinstated.

  “But size isn’t always an advantage,” I continued. “Especially if your opponent is light on their feet and therefore has speed on their side.”

  His teeth flashed, white in the darkness. I wasn’t sure if it a smile or a snarl.

  “That is indeed true.” He paused. “Is it not unusual for the females of the Bel-Hannon line to be taught the art of the sword?”

  “Yes.” And like so many other actions that had been forced on me since the bracelets had locked me into the prison of the king’s bidding, I’d had no choice. “Although no one would ever call my use of it art.”

  “Is that why you bear so many scars?”

  If he could see the scars in this darkness, he had better sight than me. “Yes.”

  “And are not such things considered distasteful to those of this court?”

  “Again, yes.” Especially when they weren’t just on my body but also my face. It might be only one, but it was a somewhat ragged line that stretched from my left temple to my cheek. I’d been damned lucky not to lose my eye in that particular fight.

  But disfigurement and distaste was the whole point of the scars—they made me the object of much scorn but also the recipient of much curiosity.

  And while it might not be unusual to see Cannamore’s women holding positions in the military—be it as a ground force fighter or as a divisional leader—to my knowledge, I was the first highborn female to ever pick up a weapon. Of course, there were territories in which it was commonplace—the Mauvaissians, for instance, had a long history of fighting female queens. In fact, their leaders were chosen in a duel to the death, and a woman known as the Red Queen currently ruled there. I knew from experience she was as fierce and as strong as any of the men who’d shared my bed.

  The highlander continued to study me, and it rather felt like he was determining what he should do with me—whether he should use or maybe even kill me.

  The king had undoubtedly tossed me here in the hope that he would do the latter. And given the highlanders had neither forgotten nor forgiven the forcible annexing of the Westal Mountains into the Cannamore territories—even if it had happened well over a thousand years ago—the fact that I still breathed was rather surprising. Especially as, even today, the wise didn’t dare transgress into Westal region without prior approval, as the highlanders’ response was swift and very often brutal.

  That he was even in this city was something of a puzzle. Divona, with its soaring stone and steel castle, the beautiful but austere metal constructs of many of its residences, and wide but treeless streets, was not a city in which mountain men such as he would ever be comfortable. Indeed, I could only remember seeing one emissary from the Westal region in the last twelve years, and the only reason I remembered him was because he’d politely refused the offer of my services.

  “Does the fact you’re here mean you’re going to be shipped to the Karva Pass?” I asked.

  Part of the treaty conditions with the Mauvaissians was providing a two-hundred-and-fifty-strong fighting force on a six-month rotating basis. The Mauvaissians were the fiercest of fighters, but they were also nomadic. While they no more wanted the Skaran in their lands than we did, staying bound to one place for too long was not in their nature.

  Of course, the king honored the agreement in numbers but not intent. Instead of sending two hundred and fifty trained soldiers, he offered criminals the choice of doing time at the border and then having the rest of their sentence terminated.

  It was rather unusual for those who’d chosen border service to be kept here in the eighth tower, however. They were normally taken to a secure area in the military district and given some basic training.

  The highlander shrugged, the movement nonchalant. “Who knows? I rather suspect we’ve p
ut your father in a somewhat difficult position.”

  I frowned. “We? Unless you’ve an invisible friend, we’re alone in this cell.”

  His teeth flashed again. “Indeed we are. My brother rots in a cell one floor down. Apparently we were making too much noise, so they separated us.”

  “So who did you and your brother seduce and then fight?”

  My voice was harsher than it had been only moments ago, and that band of red-hot iron was growing tighter. I had no doubt a sensible person would have stopped talking, but, unfortunately, no one had ever ascribed that particular quality to me.

  “If I tell all my secrets now, what will we have to discuss in the long nights to come?”

  What indeed. “Is there water here?”

  “In the hangman’s cells?” He laughed again. “Food comes but once a day—if we’re lucky—and is accompanied by a small flask that is removed along with the bowl ten minutes later. A last feast for the damned, I’m afraid, is nothing but a myth.”

  I grunted. Though my last meal had been a very long time ago, I wasn’t really hungry. Perhaps it was the uncertainty of the situation, or perhaps it was merely a bit of self-preservation kicking in. After all, it wasn’t practical to hunger for something I wasn’t likely to get.

  And maybe if I’d applied that reasoning to the heritage stolen from me, I would not now be wearing restraint bracelets or be locked in a cell with a Wildman.

  “What fate do you think you father intends you, Princess?”

  “I dare say only the gods could tell me that, and they haven’t talked to me of late.”

  “A statement that suggests you and they have had conversations in the past.”

  “Doesn’t everyone in need ask for help from their god of choice?” A somewhat bitter smile touched my lips. “Of course, the conversations do tend to be rather one-sided.”

  “That’s because any god or goddess worth their salt would have forsaken this wretched city long ago.”

  “In that, I believe you’re right.”

  In fact, I rather suspected the gods had fled around the same time as the earth magic. But the people of Cannamore—a province rich with both fertile pastoral lands and mineral wealth—didn’t seem to have noticed or cared. After long years of peace, her people had grown fat and lazy. It was only thanks to forced alliances—such as the one with the Westal Wildmen—that we hadn’t yet been invaded. But not only was there great restlessness along those borders of late, some of the old alliances were under pressure. Right now, the king was holding everything together; he might be a fading force, but few were aware of that, and his grip on these lands was still tight.

  But my brother?

  His arrogance was more likely to alienate than bind.

  Of course, there was no saying I would have coped any better given the chance. The king wasn’t alone in his thinking that no woman would ever sit on the glass throne.

  After a moment, I asked, “How long have you been in this place?”

  “Three weeks, near as I can figure.” It was dispassionately said, and yet I could taste the anger in him. Blue ice glittered briefly in the shadows that still surrounded him. “I will have my revenge for this treatment of us, of that you should have no doubt.”

  “A promise I’ll hold you to if you get out of here and I don’t, highlander.”

  “There’s a whole lot of repressed fury evident in that simple statement, Princess. It would be easy to think you hate your father.”

  “Are all Wildmen as perceptive as you?” I ground out. “Or is just your special—”

  My voice died before I could finish. Completely and utterly. I couldn’t even dredge up a squeak. I swallowed heavily, trying to ease the raw burn, but it didn’t help. Nothing would, I suspected, except utter silence on my part. While my vocal cords would heal, I still had to give them time.

  “Talent?” he finished for me. “Oh, I have plenty of those, dear woman, as you’ll undoubtedly find out as the days and nights drag on.”

  If that was a threat, then it was at least a pleasantly said one. A vast improvement over the many Vin had flung my way over the years.

  I closed my eyes and tried to rest. The highlander made no further attempt at conversation, but he continued to watch me. I gained a sudden sympathy for caged animals.

  The night crept by, but dawn brought no relief in the form of food or water. Wan beams of light speared into the cell, finally revealing not only its tiny dimensions but also my companion.

  He was a big man—perhaps even as big as my brother—with shaggy, matted brown hair, a thick if tangled brown beard, and eyes that were as blue as the summer skies but as cold as the deepest winter night. He was bare-chested and wearing a ragged kilt so stained with dirt and gods knew what else it was impossible to tell which of the five tribes he might have come from. He wore no boots, and the soles of his feet were thick and calloused, suggesting that even before he’d been thrown into this cell, he’d spent a lot of his time barefoot.

  “Like what you see?” The amusement in his tone touched neither his expression nor his eyes.

  I shrugged. He certainly wasn’t the worst specimen of manhood ever placed in front of me, but he was the foulest smelling. If there was one good thing to be said about the many courtiers and emissaries who’d graced my bed over the years, it was that they were all fastidious when it came to their appearance and personal hygiene.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” The amusement in his tone was deeper, but his gaze remained coldly accessing. “I’ve been thinking, Princess—”

  “Always dangerous—” I managed to say before my throat shut down again.

  “Considering it was not thinking that got my brother and me into this mess, I’ll respectfully disagree.” He paused. “What would you do to get out of this cell?”

  Whatever I needed to, I wanted to say, but the words remained locked inside. I raised an eyebrow in silent question.

  “If that freedom also included getting away from both this city and your father,” he continued, “what price would you pay?”

  I hesitated. While I had no desire to either spend the rest of my days in this cell or to suffer whatever new indignity the king and my sibling might currently be planning, this man was an unknown. I certainly had no desire to step from one disastrous situation into another.

  “Why?” I croaked.

  He raised an eyebrow. “This is my game, Princess. Answer the question.”

  “Would depend—” I swallowed against the growing bitterness of blood. I really had to stop talking soon.

  “On remuneration?” He finished for me.

  I nodded.

  “What if the price was a kingdom? Or the life of everyone you care about?”

  I’d already lost my kingdom and, since my mother’s suicide, had no champions within the high court. But there were those within the servant class who, while not exactly friends, shouldn’t pay a price for either my freedom or my revenge.

  “Would depend,” I managed. “Why ask?”

  “Because the winds of change whisper to me this morning, and she has bloodshed on her mind. I’m in the mood to appease her.”

  I raised my eyebrows. While the energy of the earth, air, and sun had been harnessed to power everything from transport systems to lighting, the use of wind as a weapon was a gift very few in Cannamore could claim. There was a smattering of weather witches who were in constant demand to control our oft-unpredictable climate, especially during cropping season. But the ability to commune with the wind—to not only hear her whispers of what happens and her warnings of the future but to draw down on her fury and use it against others—was rare.

  I had heard rumors of Westal mages who could do both, but I’d never really believed it. After all, if such mages did exist, surely the Westal Ranges would have retained their independence rather than being annexed into Cannamore.

  Besides, if this man was a mage, then how had he come to be here? And why wouldn’t he have used his mistre
ss to escape this place?

  I opened my mouth to ask, and then closed it again. As much as I might want to question him, if I wanted to keep some semblance of voice, I had to rest my vocal cords as much as possible. I made a motion for him to go on.

  “There is really nothing more to say.” He raised a grimy hand and rather elegantly motioned to the cell around us. “Either you stay here, or you pay the price for your freedom.”

  Without knowing what the cost? I didn’t want to die in this place—or any other, for that matter—but accepting such an offer without knowing either the details or even anything of the man making it would be nothing short of insane.

  “Are you planning an escape?” I asked hoarsely.

  “No.” His eyes glittered with a light that oddly spoke of wind and rain and things no one such as I could see or hear. “I’m about to be released.”

  “That’s not what you implied—”

  “The wind wasn’t speaking to me last night. She is now.” That odd light faded from his eyes, but his gaze remained compelling. “Think on it, Princess, and let me know. In the meantime, I suggest you stop talking.”

  I scowled at him, and he laughed. It was a sound as harsh as my voice and one that held little merriment. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to intimidate me. I’ve seen fiercer looks on groaner piglets.”

  Groaner was the inappropriate nickname of the large and rather savage husked black boars that had once roamed freely across the Sundar flatlands but these days—thanks to their being hunted to near extinction—were generally only found near the Kannel Mountains.

  I leaned my head back against the stone and watched the flickering rays of sunlight. Time crept by. Insects crawled across my legs, vermin rustled through the straw, and the distant sounds of everyday life beyond our prison drifted in through the window high above. The Hangman’s Keep was one of sixteen towers that had once protected Old Divona. It teetered on a finger of land that thrust out into what was now known as Belrain Bay, which had formed after the massive landslip that had happened over a thousand years ago. It had resulted in not only a huge chunk of Cannamore’s coastline breaking away but had also created the ring of islands that now helped protect the two main ports from sea attack. To this day, no one knew what lay behind the massive line of destruction, though some journals from that time had noted the epicenter seemed to be far offshore—from the lands we now knew as Gallion—and that it wasn’t a tremor, but rather the earth being drained of so much energy that it could no longer hold its substance.