Cursed (3 page)

Quinn stayed still as a statue. If the curse bothered him, he didn't show it. I know that's Necromancer training, but it still seemed cruel. “There is nothing to be done… For him, or for you.”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. “Nothing? We can get rid of the new Tsar, that's what we can do. Kill the mage, kill the spell.”

“Viktor's a Grand Master. There are few at that level of power, and even those won't come to your aid. Word of the curse had spread. So many of my Brothers have died already. All the Cloisters and Monasteries are pledging fealty to the Tsar. Anyone with power and training is being asked to join him. I'm getting the mark, too.”

Rage spiraled through my limbs. How could Quinn be so resigned? I hopped to my feet. “Viktor killed Tristan. You're going to leave your dyad to suffer in fire?”

“And protect the one
I
love most from this curse? Yes.” Quinn sighed. It was the first time he'd showed any real emotion. “Plus, it's not so terrible. Tristan was—” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “
Unwise
to deny the new Tsar. When you pledge fealty, Viktor merely gives you a mark on your left shoulder.”

I opened my mouth, ready to argue the point. That mark was undoubtedly laced with evil magick. But the steely look on Quinn's face made me stop. There was no way I'd change his mind. And there was still a curse to end.

I laced my fingers behind my neck and tried to think. My limbs shook with shock. If I couldn't rely on Quinn and his Monastery, then I'd need to find someone else. Tristan always said I had the most raw power he'd ever seen in a Necromancer.

By the gods, I could get trained. “Do you know of anyone who's refusing the mark? Anywhere I could learn to become a Necromancer?”

Quinn's still features melted into a placating look. “You'd need to reach the Grand Mistress level. That's years of grueling study. Few make it after a lifetime and you only have five years. I say live them to the fullest. Enjoy your farm. Think on your good memories of Tristan.”

I set my fist on my hip. “If I were the type of person who gave up, I wouldn't have a farm in the first place. Now, do you know where I can get trained or don't you?”

Quinn looked to the ceiling, as if imploring the gods for patience. I was starting to really dislike him. “The Zelle Cloister sits high in the mountains on an isolated spot. Its Sisters are elderly and weak. Word is, the Tsar isn't bothering to ask for their fealty. Maybe they could train you… If you're sure that's what you truly wish to do.”

I paced the floor. My life teetered on a precipice. On one side, there was life I'd carved out for myself. The Braddock was my legacy and first love. Maybe the Tsar would die of natural causes before my time was up.

On the other side, there was a chance to save myself and Tristan. I could choose a strange new existence as a Sister in a Cloister for Necromancy. Becoming a Grand Mistress Necromancer meant years of backbreaking work for possibly no reward. And I'd have to leave Braddock Farm behind, maybe to never see it again.

I ran my fingertips along Tristan's jawline. Images of his suffering flickered through my mind. His pale skin blackening with char. The mass of gore that was once his firm chest. His horrible screams. That was Tristan's existence now and for all eternity, and it could be mine as well. Unless I did something.

There really was no choice. My life tumbled into a new phase. “I'm positive. You can be on your way now.”

“Are you sure you don't want my help for the journey?” It was hard to tell if he felt anything, but I thought I saw a flicker of worry on his face.

As much as I wished Quinn would help me, I couldn't blame him for wanting to protect someone he loved. “No, you've fealty to pledge and no time to waste. Besides, there's a Cloister agent in town. She can take me.” Most towns had a recruiting agent for Necromancers. They were always someone who'd left the order but still had contacts. The one for my Shire had been trying to get me to join up for years. She'd be thrilled when I stopped by. “Please. I've kept you long enough as it is.”

“Best of luck to you, then.”

“And you as well.”

Quinn stepped away and closed the door behind him. I moved back to Tristan and gripped his hand. Already, the flesh was ice cold. My friend was gone, but still suffering. “Don't worry, Tristan. I'll try with everything I am. For both of us.”

And I meant it.

Chapter Two

Five years later

I leaned against a wall in the Zelle Cloister library and tried to hold back my temper. Good Necromancers always controlled their emotions. And now that I'd attained the level of Grand Mistress Necromancer? I shouldn't let anything upset me. Still, I wanted to tear every book in this library to shreds.

I couldn't find the
Master Atlas of Magick
, and that was thwarting all my plans.

After five years of hard work, I'd finally tracked down the elusive Tsar. Viktor would visit the Midnight Cloister on Sunday… The same day that my curse ran out. I brushed my hand over my queasy stomach. In one week, my torso would get torn wide open, followed by fires that would consume me for all eternity. Panic tightened up my spine as I thought how hopeless my mission really was. That's when the words of my Mother Superior rang through my mind. She could always sense when my resolve was fraying.

Focus on what you can do, not the curse.

I inhaled some calming breaths and tried to regain control. After all, I should be thankful for any chance to kill Victor and end my curse. No one thought I'd become a Grand Mistress, let alone track down the mysterious Tsar. Those thoughts didn't help for long, though.

That gods-damned
Atlas
still stood in my way.

Why couldn't the Tsar be at a Sanctuary Fair or visiting some open city? Of all the places to find him, a Cloister was the worst. Years ago, Viktor had magickally cloaked every Cloister and Monastery that had pledged fealty to him. You wouldn't know they existed, even if you were standing at the front gates. He also put hexes on any books that could unhide those spots. To see and enter the Midnight Cloister, I needed an incantation from the
Master Atlas of Magick
. Trouble was, Viktor's hex kicked in whenever I cast a finder spell to locate it.

And today alone, I'd tried seventeen finder spells. I wanted to scream. Too bad that would wake up the entire Cloister.

I twisted the totem rings on my left hand. I'd carefully loaded each one of them with spells to kill Viktor. My plan was simple. I'd swamp the man with so much magick, so quickly, that he wouldn't know how to retaliate. That was the idea, anyway… If I could get to the Midnight Cloister by Sunday. My shoulders shook with rage.

I hated Viktor.

I hated that it had taken me so long to discover where he'd be.

And I really hated how he'd put a hex on that atlas.

But most of all, I hated that he was right. I'd finally pinpointed where the tyrant would appear. My kill spells were loaded and ready. So, Viktor was clever to hide the damned
Atlas
and its incantations. I kicked the floor with my sandal. Every time I thought I got a step ahead of Viktor, I'd find out I was wrong.

Think, Elea. There must be some way to break that hex.

I stepped around the library floor, hoping the movement would clear my head. This library was always my favorite place to think. The rest of the Zelle was hand-hewn out of a mountainside. The other rooms were so small, you'd clunk your head if you weren't careful. But the library? It was nothing but natural caves, starting with the massive one that I stood in right now. Brown rock towered above me, the jagged stone looking like the majestic columns of a cathedral. Niches had been lovingly carved in the walls and filled with rare books. Even better, this cavern was only the first in a long line of caves that wound on for miles.

So many books.

So much beauty.

Such a hike to find anything, even if it didn't have a hex.

My footsteps kicked up to an anxious pace. Time was running out. I brushed my finger along the only band I wore on my right hand.
Tristan's betrothal ring.
He suffered in fire. My turn was next.

I needed to find that book.

A Sentinel spirit hovered nearby. These were Sisters who'd tied some of their life force to the Zelle, hoping to serve it through eternity. Faith was our library Sentinel, and she was pretty intense for a ghost. Most Sentinels floated around peacefully, but Faith darted about, her wrinkled features always pinched with worry. She floated directly into my line of vision and pointed anxiously at my mouth. Sentinels couldn't make any sounds unless they were singing hymns, so this was Faith's way of asking me to eat something. I shook my head.

That's when the idea appeared.

I motioned to Faith. “What if I let loose with everything I had? Pumped it all into the finder spell?”

She frowned, titled her head, and pretended to sleep.

Faith had a point. The other Sisters could sense my magick, and if I used that much power, I could wake them up. Outside of myself, the youngest sister here was ninety-three. They all needed their rest.

“How about if I cast a regular finder spell, and then pushed more energy in? That shouldn't bother anyone.”

Faith tapped her thin chin for a moment before nodding.

I exhaled.
Good, I had a plan.

Raising my left arm, I focused all my energy. Power tore through my body. When I started training, the sensation would get so intense, I'd convulse. Now, after years of practice, it only tickled. My powers were no longer a wild animal that I simply tried to ride. Now, I could focus a droplet of energy onto the tip of my pinky, or set loose a torrent of magick from my palm. Within a few seconds, the bones in my left hand glowed with sapphire light, casting eerie shadows inside my flesh. I began the words for a finder spell.

Dust and bone, skull and stone, locate what I seek.

Dark from light, morn from night, strength from the words I speak.

Instead of giving my own muscles power, the energy now whizzed out from my left hand. The air became charged, reminding me of the promise of lightning before a storm. My magick grew heavier until an azure-colored mist appeared by the floor. I focused the flow of my power, making the haze solidify into the shape of a skeleton that was covered in sparkling blue sapphires.
What beautiful sight.
So far, the spell was working.

“I summoned you,” I said. “There's an atlas here that's hidden under a hex, the
Master Atlas of Magick.
Get it for me.”

The finder skeleton didn't move. Instead, its eyeholes flared with brightness as it inspected me from head to toe. Seconds passed. The skeleton should have responded by now. That urge to scream came back with a vengeance.

This is where all the other spells had gone wrong, too.

The sapphires on the skeleton's body began to blacken. Its bones clattered and wobbled as more of the blue gems disappeared.

Damn, the Tsar's hex was kicking in.

Faith waved her translucent arms at me in a gesture that said ‘now!'

“I agree, Faith.” I drove fresh power into my finder spell, more than I ever had before. A tidal wave of energy washed out of me and into the skeleton. My body became drained and numb. The skeleton turned bright with blue sapphires once more. Excitement skittered across my skin. The spell was in action again.

“I summoned you. Get me the
Master Atlas
.”

“I heed you, Grand Mistress.” The skeleton's teeth clacked as it spoke.

I bobbed a little on the balls of my feet.
I'm one step closer, Viktor.

The skeleton turned on its heel and began scaling up the cave wall.

Faith gestured wildly to the finder skeleton. It was clinging by one hand to the ceiling, like a monkey. With its free arm, it jammed its hand inside a deep niche.

I never would've looked in there.

The skeleton's legs swung beneath while its arm dug around the hole. Anxiety tightened across my chest.
This had to work.

The skeleton dropped down to the floor with a rattle and thud. The
Master Atlas
was in its hand.
Thank the Sire of Souls.
The skeleton walked up and offered me the volume. “As you requested, Grand Mistress.”

“Thank you.” I reverently slipped the atlas from his fingers. “You may go now.”

The skeleton vanished. My knees turned rubbery with relief.
The
Master Atlas
was mine.

I quickly flipped through the pages. The book began with maps of Nyumbani, the far-off continent where Creation Casters dwelled. While Necromancers controlled spirit and stone, Creation Casters wielded magick over nature. I kept going.

Next, there came Ausdauer, the continent that was my home. Here the maps began with the Eastern side. These lands were home to the Forgotten, which was what we called men and women who didn't have magick. There were two kinds of Forgotten, and they lived in different types of places. Commoners held all the farms, while Royals lived in the cities.

I turned another page and there it was, the Midnight Cloister. It sat in the center of a vast desert called the Endlos. I tapped the spot with my fingertip. The words for a transport spell were clearly marked. After such a long search, it hardly seemed real to be this close. I quickly committed the incantation to memory.

Across the library, an uneven footstep sounded on the stone floor. Petra, my Mother Superior, hobbled into view. She was a tall and wiry woman whose dark mage robes contrasted with her pale, lined face, and long white hair.

“Greetings, Elea.” Her features were perfectly unreadable. Necromancers never showed emotion. Petra was so good at it, I sometimes wondered if she was human.

“Greetings, Mother. Sorry if I woke you. I tried not to use too much power.”