Shadow Cursed: A Noblesse Oblige Duet Book Two Page 6

  I glare down at her body, stalking to her with a burning rage I can’t contain. She was going to let herself die, and she didn’t so much as tell me. I need to shout at her.

  The sound of a frantic set of footfalls rushing toward us distracts me. I unsheathe my dagger and return to the door, positioning myself in front of the queen, though there are plenty of guards in the corridor.

  Instants later, an imp in a page outfit appears, out of breath, wide eyes still open in shock.

  “Your Highness—” The dainty, light-green-skinned imp is breathless. “You’re needed in the war room at once. We have had news.”

  Queen Ciera’s violet eyes cut through me.

  “I’ll stay with Vlari,” I say, my words concealing my rage. She and I have a matter or two to discuss today.

  The queen squeezes my arm, and follows the page out of the room.

  I sit next to Vlari, and take one of her hands.

  As the seconds stretch, I half expect her to take the coward’s way out. She has to know how pissed I am. But reality fades, and she pulls me into one of her visions all the same.

  Looking at her, I find that I’m incapable of saying anything at first, taking in the fact that she’s right here in front of me. Almost alive.

  “You were dying.”

  She sighs. “My mother can be dramatic.”

  “You were dying.”

  She doesn’t seem to get it.

  Silence looms as she stares at me cautiously, and I do my best not to snap.

  If I let go of whatever control I have left, there’s no telling what I’ll do. Quietly, I ask, “Why didn’t you wake up?”

  She takes a moment before answering. I know she’s thinking of a way to make her response sound better. “If my energy were to die down in eversleep, I think I could still power the ward for a while. Years, maybe. They say the Cursed Prince in the Wilderness still retains his power, though he’s been in eversleep for thousands of years.”

  “You decided to stop caring about your survival based on tales.” Never mind control. I’m shouting. She deserves to be shouted at.

  She waves her hand. “So what? My life against that of thousands of folk? It’s not like many people would actually care if I wasn’t around. You would have forgiven me, eventually.”

  I could throttle her. I want to. “They have to. I don’t.”

  She seems amused, as though she knows I’m talking utter nonsense. As if she knows I’m twisted around her littlest finger. “You would have.”

  That’s new.

  Vlari has never given me a reason to think she was aware of her hold on me, not even once. Even when I was weak enough to let her glimpse just how deep my obsession with her ran, she’d gloss right over the knowledge, reading something else instead. Teasing, cruelty, indifference. She’s never acknowledged any awareness of my feelings.

  Now she is implying she knew.

  She knew I loved her.

  “You would have understood I did the right thing. You would have admired me for it. And when Tenebris was ours again, you would have danced to songs about the sleeping princess at the heart of the ley lines. In a thousand years, you would have told your grandchildren you knew me.”

  I’ve never known such fury. “Don’t.” I can’t deal with this. Her flippancy. Her indifference to death. “Don’t you dare do this. Don’t you dare give up on life.”

  “I’m not. Obviously. I mean, it was the best solution at the time. I’m too far from fading away to consider it again. And you have come up with an alternative solution I like a lot better than turning into a statue.”

  How can she be so very cavalier? “You’re a corpse. You can’t move. You can’t touch, or feel, or see, or dance in the rain. Why don’t you seem to care?”

  She shrugs. “I’m a pretty corpse, at least. Mom’s brushing my hair every day. It used to be so dry. I doubt it’s ever been nicer.”

  I think she’s doing it on purpose to provoke me now. “Why?” When she doesn’t reply, I clarify, “Why don’t you care at all?”

  Her gaze evades me, gliding toward the fireplace. It’s lit up and burns bright green in this vision of hers. “I suppose because this isn’t much worse than what my life was before. I was going through the motions. I was powerless, frightened, and useless. Now I have a purpose I can embrace. I have little regret.”

  My anger dissipates, replaced by something worse. I don’t think my heart can take more of this battering.

  For so long I’d been intrigued and fascinated by her. I wanted to see beyond the mask, understand her, know what her life was like.

  Now I find she had nothing. Nothing to hold on to, nothing to make her live.

  My princess used to be a void.

  “Please.” My voice is barely above a murmur. “Please, talk to someone before risking your life like this again. To your mother. To me. You matter, Nevlaria. You matter to this world. You are more than a power source to protect the rest of us. Don’t take it upon yourself to shield everyone. Not ever again.”

  She doesn’t say a word, visibly disagreeing with me.

  “You don’t need a purpose. You just need to exist. Life doesn’t have to have a grand meaning.”

  “I know that. I existed for decades. Now, this is who I am. The shield of Tenebris. Just like you coined yourself the shadow, I found a role that suits me.”

  “No one asked you to shield us. If you hadn’t, we would have gone to war, and we might have won. The usurper had fewer human forces on our territory at the time. Either way, this would have been over by now.” I don’t quite mean that, but it feels good to say it all the same. “Next time, let the folk decide what they want to do.”

  “If I had, the folk could have tried to change my mind, and they’d be dead. I don’t have to give anyone a choice. I am the heir to the crown of Tenebris. This is my fight.”

  I see it right in her eyes. What she is. What she may become.

  She’s the true queen. It doesn’t matter that her mother wears the crown. She was the one who’d saved the folk, defeated our enemy, and brought us to safety.

  The fact that she didn’t have to justify herself, and that her orders were law, shouldn’t bother me.

  It didn’t.

  My jaw tightens. “Why didn’t someone—anyone—tell me you were able to communicate, all these years? If we’re friends, as you pointed out.”

  “Did you ask?” she asks, eyebrows raised.

  Of course I hadn’t. I didn’t speak of her to anyone, and I avoided her family like the plague, as everything about them reminded me of her.

  “You forbade them. You told them to hide it from me. You wanted to punish me.” The wild accusations spill over my lips like vomit—I can’t keep them in.

  Her leveled gaze is the picture of indifference, as though my words roll off her. But I didn’t miss the fire in the depths of her stormy eyes.

  I was right. By all gods and demons, I was right. “You punished me because I wasn’t playing your game, and supporting your decision to abandon us.” I step close to her, leaning forward to reach her face. Now, I whisper. “You wanted me here, and when I didn’t come, you lashed out like a scorned lover. Very mature, princess.”

  She says nothing, and doesn’t move at all.

  “You had no right. We aren’t lovers. We’ll never be lovers. Because. You. Left. Me.” I enunciate each word to make her feel just how profoundly they are engraved on my soul.

  “I have every right,” she replied. “Besides, don’t you remember? You owe me a favor.”

  I’m stunned again.

  She’s absolutely unbelievable.

  “Rystan Drusk, you gave me your word you’ll do any task I ask of you, some sixty years ago. So, you’ll forgive me, and that’s the end of it.”

  Infuriating. Manipulative. Proud.

  She’s been sent by the deepest circles of hell to test me, I know it.

  I can’t believe she’s given up her power over me now, after all her grand decl
arations about keeping me under her control at any cost.

  She’s freed me and shackled my hands in one go.

  Because if I have to forgive her, then I’m back to being hers, unconditionally.

  And I have no choice at all in the matter.

  “You’re a monster.”

  She grins as though I’ve complimented her. Maybe I have.

  I close my eyes, and force myself to let go. Of the darkness, of the pain, the betrayal. Of the feeling of unworthiness. The fact that she’s shown me my will would never matter to her.

  I let go.

  I forgive her.

  And I close my mouth on hers.

  Only, where her lips should be, there’s nothing at all.

  She isn’t here.

  She’s asleep, and slowly dying.

  I’m kissing her for the very first time, and I don’t feel her under my skin.

  Will of the Queen

  Drusk

  I should feel guilty about yesterday’s outburst, but I don’t. I’m on the defensive when I walk through Whitecroft Hall, half expecting to be told to clear out, but as usual, no one attempts to get in my way.

  When I reach Vlari’s room, a chaise has been moved next to her bed, and there’s a fresh bouquet of flowers on her nightstand.

  I make my way to the chaise, and drop on its plush crimson velvet. I can imagine falling asleep on it; it’s a considerable upgrade to the cot I use at my parents’.

  I take in Vlari’s serene expression. She hasn’t moved at all, though her hair has changed. Today, she’s under a blue silk throw.

  I could take her hand, get to talk to her, but at what price, and to what end? She shouldn’t be draining her resources just to have a chat with me.

  “I considered bringing you a book on the Cursed Prince, as you’re evidently fond of children’s tales, but instead, I thought you may benefit from a lesson in curses, instead.” I’m petty, and I don’t care.

  I read aloud, barely taking in a word, flying through lessons in spellcasting, faerie tongue twists, and other tedious things I learned long ago.

  My choice of book wasn’t just born of anger. It occurred to me that while I’ve been guided through my discovery of Myst, Vlari has never had the chance to study her power. No wonder she was riveted by the possible mention of a Void in my sister’s book. I’ve taken the knowledge for granted, but it’s all new to her.

  She can bring gods to their knees, but she has no clue about the limits of elemental magic.

  She needs to know it. She needs to understand what is likely to suck her energy, and how to control herself.

  Not that she cares about her own safety, but if the day comes that she chooses to consider it, she’ll have the basics.

  The manual takes us a week. I don’t touch her. I don’t want to speak to her. I can’t leave her alone either, though.

  When I finish reading the book, it’s too bright out; the sunlight prickles my eyes, nearly blinding me.

  “That’s it.” I yawn and stretch my arms over my head.

  In a week, my anger has receded. I’ve taken in what she revealed about herself, accepting it—even the parts I loathe to consider.

  She used to be alone. She used to feel hopeless, maybe even depressed.

  Never again.

  Now, I’m desperate to see her again.

  I give in, my hand closing over Vlari’s. “Any requests for tomorrow?”

  She doesn’t pull me into one of her visions this time, but I hear her loud and clear in my mind. “More of the same would be great. Lessons in magic may be boring, but they’re useful. Thank you, Drusk.”

  It has always been strange to hear her call me Drusk. Unfamiliar. It’s the name I used at school and in the armies, but to my friends and family, I’ve always been Rystan. Yet I’ve never asked her to call me that. I suppose I want her to come to the decision on her own.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I return to my parents’. My life has begun and ended with Vlari for weeks. I’ve barely seen my family. I make a mental note to spend the morning with them, before collapsing.

  My sister stumbles in my room at twilight. I blink the moment she advances, my instincts alerting me of a potential threat.

  She's changed in ten years, even I know that. She's strong enough to do damage when she aims to.

  I can't say I like it.

  "The queen sent two pages! She wants you."

  I suppose I’ll have to spend time with my family another day.

  I groan, sitting up. I've survived on a few hours of sleep here and there for years, but I've been exhausted on twice as much of late. My body is reaching limits I didn't know it had. Mental exhaustion.

  "Can I come with?"

  A rebuttal is ready on my lips. Nebula asks this very question every other day, and the answer is always no. She can't join raids outside Whitecroft. She can't fight in tournaments. She can't apply to be a palace guard. She can't be in danger.

  Not only because I'm worried about her safety—though I am. Our parents already have one child bleeding for Tenebris. The second should get to enjoy some peace.

  However I can't imagine that a meeting with the queen would place her in much danger. Like I was when I first enrolled at Whitecroft, and even later, she's fascinated by gentries. Their bright armor, clothes stitched with gold, and pointed shoes embroidered with hexes blind her. In time, she'll learn what I did. They're the best and the worst of us, stronger and weaker all at once. A prince of the lower court may raze an entire city in a fit of wrath, but they'd be hard-pressed to manage one day of hard work like our parents do. Accidents of birth may make them richer, indolent, but the common folk are the heart of Tenebris.

  For now, Neb is still captivated, and I can't find a reason to deny her this one indulgence. "Sure."

  She gasps, flabbergasted, then squeals. "I need to get changed!"

  I laugh at her candor, dragging myself out of bed. I wash and get dressed in one of my ten near-identical black tunics and breeches, fitting my sword in a leather baldric I seldom wear. It’s less practical than my other belts, hindering my movements as it does. Again, I’m assuming there’ll be no fighting near the queen. I may have grown more trusting than is wise. By the time I leave the room I claimed—the smallest in my parents' quarters—I find the two pages seated in the living area, munching on fresh buckwheat rolls.

  I eye my father, rolling my eyes. I favor my mother, save for the dark blue hair. Both of my parents are several inches shorter than Nebula, and she only reaches my shoulders.

  That there’s gentry blood in our veins is obvious—my power cannot come from the lines of the little folk. We don’t know whose, because we haven’t asked. Neb is too nice to bring up the subject. I simply don’t care.

  Da's rules of hospitality are so well engrained in his psyche, he’d invite the usurper for tea, if she ever dropped by. Those who knock at his door are his guests, and guests must be fed. The pages eat gratefully. No one starves at Whitecroft, but the rationing has been hard on some. An extra mouthful is a treat. My family gives away food where we can. Every new moon, a knight drops off the same pouch of gold I earned as a soldier. Here, it’s a fortune. Most of the folk barter what they can—grain for leather, silk for wood. A gold coin is worth ten times more than it used to be.

  I wonder when they’ll realize it should be worth nothing at all. At least until we’re out of this prison.

  "Ready!" Neb screeches, running back in the kitchen.

  My eyes soften. It's been a while since I've seen her like this. She used to wear pinks and blues and greens, with backless cuts and scandalously slit skirts that drove my parents close to the edge of madness. I've nearly murdered plenty of fellow soldiers for looking at her. Recently, she's been in leathers, always ready for the worst, like the rest of us.

  Today, she's opted for a dress I've never seen: a blue silk affair with long sleeves, gathered at the waist and falling in soft waves that would have looked regal had her skir
ts not ended around her mid-thighs. She's wearing flat-soled boots that hike up over her knees, blending practicality with her sense of impropriety. I love it.

  My father swears under his breath. "If your mother was here!"

  Neb isn't one to be shamed. "She isn't." She winks at Da, and we exchange a grin.

  I may have to stab a few fae today, but she's certainly old enough to decide what she should wear.

  "You're meeting the queen!" I didn't think Da's pitch could reach so high. When I say nothing, he looks to the pages for support, but the sprite and his goblin companion are suddenly fascinated by what's left of their rolls.

  "Well, I haven't had time to sew anything else, and I'm not going in leathers."

  To end the pointless argument, I clear my throat. "When the high queen calls, we're supposed to answer. We're late enough. No time for an outfit change. Let's go."

  The pages jump to their feet, visibly as eager to get going as I am. "This way, sir."

  They lead us to the riverbank leading out to the Arm of Sea—the path we sailed to reach Whitecroft from the Wicked Court.

  I stiffen. The bank is included in the protective walls Vlari erected, but all the same, everyone gives it a wide berth. Dozens of guards survey the area at any given time of the day and night, and we've taken care not to build too close to the sea.

  Water is a temperamental element, and none of us land folk can boast to completely understand it. Some of us have a certain degree of sea blood, but true naiads, nixies, and merrows belong to the Sea Lands. Their allegiances change with the tide.

  We don't have a clear agreement with the Sea Lands. The old high queen did attempt to form an alliance, predicated on her promising Vlari to one of their princes. That agreement was never sealed, and what's left of it died with Morgana.

  Yet we need them now.

  I find the queen right in front of the water, peeking down to the bottom of the river. Her mate grabs her by the middle and forces her to take two steps back. I shake my head.

  One carefree queen. One caitiff consort king. Their reign wouldn't have mattered much during times of peace, but now, our leadership could determine victory or chaos.