Cursed (2 page)

Wyatt exhaled. “Then, you'll consider my courtship?”

Tristan would tease me to no end if he knew Wyatt were here. Thinking about Tristan calmed me a little. When I spoke again, my voice was surprisingly gentle. “Wyatt, I appreciate your interest, but the answer is no.” I stretched out my palm once more. “Now, give me my letter and leave.”

His face flared red. “Any other woman would be honored to have me.” Little bits of spittle flew out of his mouth when he talked. “Necromancers had no right buying land in our shire. Your family wasn't here a month before the plague struck them down. That was the judgment of the gods, Elea, not my paintbrush. Even now, you risk their anger merely by being here.”

Rage had me seeing red. The only thing I had from my parents—outside of a few hazy memories from Rosie—was Braddock Farm. “I risk the anger of the gods by working my birthright? And why is that?”

“Be reasonable. As it is, you're a risk to good society. What if you marry another of your kind? We all saw the judgment of the gods last time. Your only chance is to choose someone like me. That way, you might even have normal children. Besides, I'm the largest landowner in the shire.”

That did it.

“How about you give me my letter, oh largest landowner, and return to your wagon?” I raised my left arm, making my bones glow the brightest shade of blue yet. “Or, if you prefer, I'll rip out your spine where you stand. Your choice.”

In truth, I had no idea if spine-ripping was something I could manage or not. But the threat sounded good, and if it got Wyatt off my farm, then I was willing to improvise.

“Your loss.” He lifted his chin defiantly. “I'll marry one of the county girls.”

I whipped the letter from his palm. “Good luck to you both.”
Mostly her.
I gestured toward his wagon. “The road is that way.”

Wyatt stomped off through the mud. I was never happier to see someone leave. Once he was well and gone, I tore open the envelope.

Dear Elea,

Please come to the Bell in Hand tavern right away. Tristan needs you.

Quinn

My stomach sank to my toes. Quinn was Tristan's dyad, the monk who'd trained with him back when they lived in the Monastery. The pair had stayed close even after Tristan left the order. Quinn had never written to me before, though.

I rubbed my chin and thought. Tristan always stayed at the Bell in Hand when he was at port, so that part was to be expected. But his voyage wasn't supposed to end for months yet. And Tristan never cut a trip short, especially when he was making a delivery to Tsar Dmitri, the ruler of the Necromancers. The two were good friends.

What if Tristan was sick? Or injured?

My body went numb. There were so many ways a sailor could get hurt. When storms hit, they could get washed overboard or caught in the rigging. The lucky ones escaped at the cost of an eye or a leg. And if pirates were the problem, then things got far worse. Those fiends always targeted the Captain for extra torture. Some even disemboweled their victims alive. My chest tightened with panic.

I have to get to Tristan. Now.

Turning on my heel, I rushed into the barn and saddled up Smoke, my fastest mare. Normally, I'd pack along some hard tack and a change of clothes, but there was no time to waste. If I left now, I could be at the Bell in Hand by sunset.

As I galloped away, images of Tristan flickered through my mind. The two of us sitting in the tavern common room, playing chess and chatting about politics in the Tsar's entourage… Walking my fields, discussing books he'd brought from overseas… And laughing in the barn while he fed my newest baby goat.

As much as I loved Braddock Farm, it was a lonely life. After Rosie died, Tristan had become my best and only friend. When the locals saw me coming, they crossed to the other side of the street. Even my servants looked upon me with fear. And now, I had false suitors trying to flatter me with lies. In some ways, that was worse than open terror, because I knew their prejudice was still there, bubbling under the surface. Every day, I sensed their dread pressing in around me like a vise. Then, I'd see Tristan and the world would become friendly again.

Please, let him be all right.

Smoke and I galloped around the final turn to the Bell in Hand. The rickety wooden building bowed out at an odd angle. A square placard hung from the corner, showing a man's hand ringing a bell. Bands of anxiety tightened around my throat.

Tristan is in there.

I slid off Smoke, tied her to the nearest hitching post, and rushed inside. The tavern was packed with bodies, loud voices, and the stench of burned meat. I pressed my way through the crowd and toward the back staircase. Tristan always stayed in the same room.

Second floor, last door on the right.

I sped up the cramped stairway to an upper hall that was thick with shadows. A single window cast a sickly beam of moonlight onto the warped wooden floor. I sped to the last door and whipped it open.

“Tristan?” My pulse beat so hard, my heart thudded in my ears.

The darkened room held little more than a tiny cot. A candle flickered atop a bedside table, alongside a washbasin. Tristan lay asleep, his features drawn and skin pale. I hurried to kneel at his side.

“It's me. Elea.”

Tristan half opened his eyes
.
“You…”

I brushed the backs of my fingers against his soft cheek. Tristan was normally all high cheekbones, and long, jet-black hair. Now, his face had hollowed out, his skin looked so pale it was colorless, and his dark hair was almost gray.

“You…” Tristan let out a dramatic sigh. “Smell like a barn.”

I couldn't help but smile. “I work in one every day, in case you hadn't noticed.”

“I had.” He choked back a cough. “Let's discuss the finer points of mating mules and mares—”

“Tristan.” I knew what he was trying to do here, and I wouldn't allow it. My friend looked too ill to pretend that everything was fine.

“It can be a rather lopsided business if the mule is too small—”

“Tristan!”

“What is it?” Tristan wheezed out a rough breath. Speckles of blood flared on his white pillow.
Oh, no.

I yanked down my sleeve and used it to dab his chin clean. “You always try to soften the blow when things are serious. Don't.” My voice hitched. “Just say it.”

Tristan leaned back into his pillows. The shadows in his cheeks deepened until his face resembled a skull. “I'm dying, Elea.”

The world seemed to stop spinning for a moment.
Tristan is dying.
That couldn't be true. I wouldn't let that be true. I'd fought for the farm when everyone said it was impossible. I could find help for Tristan. “What's wrong?”

“I'm cursed.”

My skin prickled with alarm. “Who cast it?” If an Apprentice or Master Necromancer were behind this, then there was a good chance to break the spell.

Tristan's brown eyes dimmed. “It was the work of a Grand Master. The best I've ever seen.”

A chill crept along my scalp. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

He nodded slowly, as if each movement of his head was painful. “My last voyage was to Tsar Dmitri. He's dead. Viktor killed him.”

The words didn't make any sense. I knew all the players in the Tsar's entourage. “Viktor? I thought he was harmless.”

“We all did. Turns out, the man's a Grand Master Necromancer. He took down the entire Imperial Guard with skull seekers.”

Not good.
Skull seekers combined the worst of a hungry ghost and a whipping comet. They were speedy and their teeth could bite through almost anything. “Were you there? Is that what hurt you?”

“I was there, but no, the skull seekers didn't injure me.” Tristan's breathing turned rough. Bits of white phlegm congealed at the corners of his mouth. “After Viktor proclaimed himself Tsar, he cursed anyone who didn't pledge fealty to him on the spot.”

Cursed.
Seconds ticked by before I could force the words from my mouth. “You didn't pledge fealty to Viktor, did you?”

“No.” Bit by bit, Tristan pulled back his blanket. His muscular torso was ripped open. The white bones of his ribs poked through bloody organs.
By the Gods.
Bile crept up my throat. Tristan spoke in a rough whisper. “The moment I got back to port, these wounds appeared. They're laced with magick.” His arm flopped down, covering his injuries again. “I'm so sorry.” His gaze locked with mine, and all the regret in the world hung in his eyes. “You're next.”

I must have heard him wrong.
“What?”

“The curse will kill you, five years from this very day. The spell goes after whoever I love the most.” His voice broke. “I'm so sorry. I wanted to marry you, Elea. Now, this is my legacy.”

I clutched my stomach. How could this be happening? My entire body trembled with fear. I latched onto the one possible bit of good news. “But you still have some time, right? And if we kill the caster, we kill the spell. It's the oldest rule of Necromancy. I'll find some mage to help. We can get out of this, I know it.”

“If we had more time and someone willing, this curse could be moved to another person.”

I shrank back. “I would never ask that of anyone.”

“My good hearted Elea.” He sighed. “I knew you'd say that.” Blood seeped through the blanket. A coppery tang filled the air. “There's something else—” His bloodied hand slipped from under the coverlet. A small silver band rested on his palm. “Dying would be less painful if I knew my band was on your finger.”

This is really happening. Tristan is dying.
My eyes pricked with tears.

Decades stretched before me, a never-ending string of lonely days without my friend. “Yes, of course.” I lifted the band and slipped it on. The ring glowed with a flash of blue. Magick had been cast. “What spell is it?”

“Joy. I spent the last hour casting it. Do you feel happier?”

In truth, I felt nothing, but I couldn't bring myself to tell Tristan that. Clearly, he was in no frame of mind to cast decent magick. “It's beautiful, Tristan. That's what's important.” My hand shook as I eyed the blood-covered ring. “A perfect fit.”

Suddenly, magickal energy charged the air, like the tingle of power before a lightning storm, only far more intense. Every inch of my body went on alert. Was this the curse?

Tristan's sickbed burst into angry flames. The power exploded, slamming me backwards onto the floor. Panic sped through me. Heat pierced my body.

No, no, no!

The mattress burned bright as coals while Tristan writhed under the covers in agony. Great shafts of fire licked around him and speared into the ceiling. Black smoke and flame billowed into my face. His pale skin puckered over in angry red boils. I gasped.

“Tristan!” I picked up the washbasin and tossed water into the flames. It had no effect. Gods-damned magick.

Tristan's flesh now darkened and curled. I leapt forward, slapping at the fire with my bare hands. Agony burned into my palms while the flames leaped higher. Tristan screamed, a sound that pierced my ears and shattered my heart. Edges of bone jutted out from the burn holes in his flesh.

Not my Tristan. Not like this.

The fire stopped as quickly as it had started. I panted, scanning the room for another onslaught.

Nothing happened.

The room showed no sign of flame or smoke. The charge of magick drained from the air. The spell was finished.

I knelt next to Tristan again. His body carried no mark of fire. My hands were free from burns and pain as well.

Tristan lay on his side, his body frozen in his last thrash of agony. His brown, bloodshot eyes stared emptily into mine. I sobbed so hard, I couldn't pull enough air into my lungs. I fell into a heap on the floor, gasping, weeping, and hopeless.

The room seemed to spin beneath me. My vision collapsed until I could only see Tristan. His lifeless face stared at me with horror and pity. My insides twisted with grief. I wasn't sure how long I stayed locked in his dead gaze. At some point, Quinn appeared at my side. He gently touched my shoulder.

“I'm sorry.” Quinn stood tall and silent in his black Necromancer robes. He was more of a walking corpse than a man—rail-thin and bald, with a face that was crisscrossed with scars. His voice was deep and almost without inflection. “I was surprised when Tristan told me the curse struck you. I thought his feelings for you were more infatuation than love. It's unfortunate that you were drawn into this mess.”

I slowed my breathing and wiped my face with my sleeve. “What does the curse do?”

“Our friend still burns.”

My skin chilled over with shock. “So the fire followed Tristan into his next life?”
Where he'll burn for eternity
…
As I will, too.
“We need to stop this curse. Will you help me?”