Cursed (10 page)

Still, it's one thing to think about being attacked and dragged away, it's another to have someone's whiskey-foul breath oozing down your neck.

Hestia stepped into a patch of moonlight before me. “Hello again, Sweetling.”

I writhed against the man's grip and tried to look like a frightened country girl instead of an enraged Grand Mistress Necromancer. “What's this about?”

Hestia forced on a false smile. “All we want is a friendly chat, now that you're gone from the Casters.” The moonlight created a halo of light behind her dark curtain of hair. “We don't want you running away again.”

Let her have her say, Elea. The,n the goon will let you go.

“Why would I run? I was coming to find you.” I blinked a lot, hoping that might help my illusion of frailty.

“Ah, I see.” Hestia waved to my captor. “Our error.”

The man released me and I quickly stepped closer to Hestia. “I truly wish to join the Midnight Cloister.”
And get away from your henchman.

“Good. There's just one little test we must perform before we go.” Hestia pulled back her robes to reveal her left shoulder. The skin there was raised in the shape of a letter ‘v'.
Her mark.
“You know what this means?”

Now, I guessed this was the part in her little play where I gasped in awe at the symbol of our beloved Tsar. And in truth, it might be better for me to grovel at this point, but I wasn't that good of an actress.

So, I played the simpleton instead. That much, I could manage easily. “What
is
that?” I did a lot of squinting. “I can't see in the dark, you know.”
And I want a better look at your mark
. I'd never seen one close-up before.

An evil grin rounded Hestia's mouth. “It means that I serve Tsar Viktor the Great. And this mark is how I will test you.” She grabbed my wrist and set it against her bare shoulder.

I froze with surprise. This encounter was becoming weirder by the second. “What are you doing?”

“This is the test, Sweetling. You may have imagined your powers. It's not worth my time to send off someone with no raw Necromancer energy. The Cloister won't accept you.” She pressed my fingertips against the ‘v' of raised skin on her shoulder. Her flesh was clammy and slick. My stomach roiled. “Give it a moment. I'll soon know the truth.”

Please, not the truth.
If I was exposed as a Grand Mistress, I was good as dead.

Seconds passed as I pictured this situation turning into a disaster. The last time I touched hybrid magick, it was Rowan's dagger. That encounter had ended with a flash of purple light and me blown six feet away. Of course, I'd tried to pump power into the weapon, which I wouldn't do now. Still, who knew what would happen when I interacted with a real mark?

All of a sudden, a wall of magick slammed into me. On reflex, I firmed up my footing. Lucky thing, too. If I hadn't, I might have toppled over. More brick-hard power pummeled into my hand. If I let this go on, there might be another blast of light, like what had happened at the oasis. That could expose my true identity.

I yanked my arm back with force. “There, I did it.”

Hestia closed her eyes, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled deeply. “Hmm… I can sense the Necromancer power in you. You're strong. The Midnight Cloister will pay well for that.” She opened her eyes and glared at me. “You'll have another test when you arrive at the Cloister gate. Don't muck it up and try to run away. You'll end up dead and I won't get a farthing.”

I fluttered my lashes at her. “I'll do my best. I realize what a great chance this is for a girl like me.”

“Quite right.” Hestia pulled out some loops of metal from the folds of her robes. It took everything I had not to bat them out of her hands.

Enchanted manacles.

“Now,” continued Hestia. “The Midnight requires all its Novices to wear these. Merely a safety precaution.” She snapped the thick irons around my wrists.

I knew this was coming. Still, I wasn't prepared for the actual sensation. Normally, a steady flow of soul magick poured into my body. That energy evaporated, leaving me feeling hollowed-out and miserable. I hadn't felt such fierce grief since Tristan died.

“She's not taking ‘em well,” said the man behind me.

“Then, put her to sleep,” said Hestia. “She'll journey better that way.”

I was wondering what kind of spell they'd use when the man slammed his fist into the back of my head. My skull exploded with pain as the desert night disappeared into perfect darkness.

Chapter Seven

I woke up to a heavy pounding noise. At first, I thought that someone was knocking on a door. Then I realized that the thumps came from inside my head.

It was my own pulse.

I cracked my eyes open—even that tiny movement hurt—and I found myself encased in semi-darkness. My eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light.

I was trapped inside a boxy wagon as it rumbled along an uneven road. Horses whinnied outside. Inside the stifling-hot box, my body had turned so sweaty, my back felt stuck to the wooden wall behind me.

What I wouldn't give for a gulp of water.

Thin tendrils of light peeped through the seams along the wagon's roof. It was daytime now.
Tuesday, most likely.
The Tsar—and my curse—arrived on Sunday. And this wagon was taking me to the Midnight Cloister.

Five days left. I could do this.

I shifted my weight and felt a rope tighten around my waist. I was secured in a line with five other girls, three of us seated on each side. Everyone looked bedraggled and covered in sweat. The wagon hit a deep rut in the road, jostling us off our seats for a moment. One of the girls started pounding on the wood panel that separated us from the driver. She was willowy, about my age, and had blonde curls that cascaded down her back.

“Hey, there,” she said. “I won't repeat myself again. I'm Mademoiselle Veronique Adeline Josephine de Haverville. I'm second cousin to the fourth family line of the Vicomte himself. I don't belong here. Release me before you pay the consequences.”

Consequences?
I was stunned. She was one of the Forgotten and a Royal. The worst she could do was pound on the wall, and she'd done that already.

The other girls took up her cry anyway.

“We're all under her protection,” said one.

“Tell him, Veronique,” added another.

“You have to set us free,” cried a third.

All four girls stared doe-eyed at Veronique, absolutely convinced that she'd soon save them all. I almost felt sorry for them.

Once again, Veronique slammed her palm against the wagon panel behind the driver's head, one pound for every word. “Set! Me! Loose!”

A girl tapped Veronique's arm. “Set
us
loose, you mean.”

“That's what I said.” Veronique rolled her eyes. “Set us loose.”

I slumped further back against the wall behind me. If my plan were to succeed, it'd be good to have allies inside the Midnight Cloister. Veronique wasn't an option, though. She was everything I distrusted when it came to Royals. Whining. Entitled. Not too bright.

Veronique's friends continued to congratulate her for the clever threats against the driver. The girl who was tied beside me watched the show with interest. She had ebony skin, long braided hair, gold-colored eyes, and an air of confidence despite her ragged dress. She turned and offered me her hand. “I'm Nan.”

I shook Nan's hand without so much as a wince. Funny how quickly it comes back to you. “I'm Elea.”

“You all right, Elea? You look like you're about to lose your larder.”

“My head's been better. I'll be fine, though.”

She lowered her voice. “You know where they're taking us, right?”

“To the Midnight Cloister.”

Veronique now kicked at the wall behind the driver. “I am one of the Forgotten. You know what that means? I don't have any magick. And more than that, I'm not just a lowly Commoner. You carry a Royal in your carriage. You'll pay for this outrage. Set me loose, I say!”

Nan shot me a sly look. “Right proper ninny, ain't she?”

Veronique rounded on Nan. “How dare you call me names, you gutter wench? I'm the ward of the Vicomte himself. You're nothing more than a street thief and penny whore.”

Nan leaned back. “You'd know a whore, I suppose. Heard all about the Vicomte and his wards, I did.”

I smiled. Nan seemed cool under pressure and a sharp judge of character. Fine ally material.

Veronique's blue eyes turned wild. She lunged for Nan, but the ropes held her back before she could get too far. Since we were all connected, the movement yanked on everyone else, pinning us against the wall. My back slammed with enough force to knock some air out of my lungs. Everyone else wore looks of shock except Nan, who'd had the foresight to lean against the wall in the first place.

I lifted my brows, impressed. “That's quite the trick.”

Nan shrugged. “Been trapped in here for a day or so. Not much else to entertain meself besides finding new ways to stop that one's mouth.”

Veronique rolled her eyes, but she did remain quiet.

“Well done,” I said.

The ladies huddled together and spoke to Veronique in soothing tones. Nan elbowed me. “I'm looking to escape,” she whispered.

I lifted my brows in surprise. “Are you sure we should talk about it here?”

“Ah, once they start cooing at Veronique, they won't hear a thing for ages. Watch.” Nan spoke in full voice again. “The Vicomte Gaspard is a fat old blowhard who eats worms and wears ladies under-drawers.”

I cupped my hand over my mouth to hide my smile. Veronique and her friends didn't so much as glance in our direction. “Well done, again,” I said.

I took a closer look at the woman I'd been tied to.
I can't believe those words came out of her mouth.
Eating worms? Wearing ladies under-drawers? She wasn't even blushing. “You seem rather calm.”

Nan shrugged. “Oh, I've been in much worse scrapes. Goes with the territory.”

I squinted, like I could see through her words somehow. “Territory? What does that mean?”

“My job, you might say. I find folks like Veronique here—those who have far more money than sense—and then I even things out a bit.”

I kept my features still as stone, but on the inside I was jumping with surprise and excitement. “You're really a thief?”

“Cat burglar. I specialize in jewelry.”

I angled my body toward her. The rope cut more tightly into my waist but I didn't care. “Have you been in many tough spots?”

“Like this? Oh, sure. Can't tell you how many times I've been bundled up in the back of a sheriff's wagon. I was all set to hang one time, too. Now
that
was a close call.”

In my eyes, Nan's ebony face took on a radiance all its own. While I'd spent years poring over books and learning how to focus magick into my pinky, she'd been living free in the city, stealing from fools like Veronique and escaping from one adventure after another. “How wonderful.”

The chatter from Veronique started to slow down. Nan leaned in closer, speaking in a voice that only I could hear. “We don't have much longer before they start paying attention again. Here's the thing. I'm not the planning type. More of a foot solider, if you know what I mean. But you've got a clever glint in your eyes. What do you say? Interested in teaming up to escape?”

I tapped my chin and considered. I wasn't looking to escape, but I couldn't exactly announce my assassination plans here. Still, I definitely wanted Nan for an ally. “I'm not sure what I can do, but how about we agree to watch each other's back?”

“I like it. Let's make it official.” She spat on her hand. “Shake again?”

This was a new level of touching, but for Nan, I was ready to try. I spat on my palm and shook. “Deal.”

The wagon hit another rut in the road, and I fell backwards, slamming my skull against the wood panel behind me. Hurt tore through my head, like a knife plunging into my temple. I leaned over and wrapped my arms around my torso. Nan patted my back. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. Just still not feeling my best.”

“You want me to tell the driver? He's awful obsessed about us not making a mess back here. He'll stop if you tell him you're about to get sick.”

“No, I'll be fine. I need some quiet, that's all.”

Nan leaned away and gave me some breathing room. I tried to focus past the pain, but I couldn't. No matter how awful I felt now, this was only a sampling of what waited for me on Sunday.

I had to end this curse.

Chapter Eight

The wagon wobbled along for hours before jostling to a rough stop. The driver's gruff voice sounded from outside. “Time to get out and piss, girls.”

Nan elbowed my arm. “Got a way with words, don't he?”

“As long as he allows us out, he can say it however he wants.” I've never been afraid of small spaces, but the walls of this wagon seemed to press in closer by the second. Add to that my headache, and I was beyond ready for a breath of fresh air.

The driver stomped around to the back of the wagon and flung the wooden doors open. Blinding light seared into my eyes. I couldn't see the driver yet, but I could feel him tugging on the rope that was tied about my waist.

“Get out, you.”

Following his pull, I stumbled too quickly from the wagon. Nan fell along behind me, slammed into my back, and sent both of us tumbling into the driver. Now that I was up-close, I could see the man just fine. The driver was short and paunchy and wore the plain trousers and laced-up shirt of a Commoner. Before I knew what was happening, he'd opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue, and licked my cheek.

I stepped back as far as I could go without pushing Nan over again.
Who licks the side of someone's face?
I've handled frogs less slimy than that man's tongue. My rage got the better of me, and I glared at the driver like the Grand Mistress Necromancer I was. No, I couldn't cast a spell with these manacles on, but that didn't mean I didn't have other options. In fact, the manacles were heavy enough to put a nice dent in that man's cranium.