Cursed (7 page)

“Oh.” I'd never met someone imperial before. Was I supposed to curtsey or something?

Rowan turned to the other Casters, and I was grateful he ended the awkward moment. “Everyone, this is Elea. She's a Grand Mistress Necromancer and an independent one, too.”

Laurel paled. “She is?”

“Are you sure?” asked Orion. “We haven't met on yet, unless you count the corpse.”

“That's what I heard.”
And I'm here to see if it's true.

Rowan scanned the tents. “Where's Jakob?”

“Ale tents,” said Orion. “Where else?”

Rowan muttered something under his breath.

“Who's Jakob?” I asked.

“The Necromancer in our number,” said Rowan. “We needed a mage who understood Necromancer ways. Jakob is the finest independent we've met.”

Interesting choice.
The ways of life in a Monastery were very different from that of a Cloister. The Brothers made us Sisters look like wild women. They had regulations on how you could walk, talk, or even use the toilet. “Is that working out?”

“Not well,” said Rowan. “Not yet, anyway. Jakob learned magick in a Sanctuary Fair. His knowledge of Cloister life is limited.”

I stifled the urge to roll my eyes. A Sanctuary Fair was hardly a fit training ground for Necromancy. It's where rogues went to cast sloppy spells for desperate people. Someone who grew up there would be next to useless in understanding a Cloister. “So, where are you getting your intelligence from?”

“Most of what we've learned has been from infiltrating the traders who make deliveries to the back gate.”

“Which is why you need me.”

“Correction, that's why we need you
alive
. But you'll see that for yourself soon enough.”

I shifted the torn neckline of my Necromancer robes. “I can't see an agent of the Midnight Cloister dressed like this.” The dress was ragged, sure, but it also advertised my skill level.

“Right. We've all manner of disguises here.” Rowan turned to the woman who'd spoken before. “Laurel, help get Elea dressed as a Commoner. I'm taking her to the marketplace.”

Laurel jumped forward. After such a long day, she seemed like a chipper blur with her hazel eyes, golden hair, and a bright smile. If dressing Necromancers for market was strange to her, she didn't show it. “Let's get you ready.” She reached for my hand. I pulled away quickly.

“Apologies,” said Laurel. “I forgot how you Necromancers are.”

I hugged my elbows. Back in the Cloister, you never touched another Sister. But being around people who weren't in Necromancer robes? It reminded me of my life back on the farm. I used to give and receive hugs all the time. If I was going to play the part of a Commoner, then I'd have to seem a little less controlled. Laurel might be a good person to practice on.

Laurel gestured toward one of the tents. “In here, when you're ready.”

I stepped into a snug space that was filled with waist-high baskets. Laurel followed. “Things in there should fit you.” She pointed to one of the baskets, and the motion highlighted a silver ring on her finger. The jewelry seemed so normal, like Laurel's attempt at an embrace. What would a typical girl of my age say to something like that?

“That's a, uh, pretty ring.” The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to pop them back in. Trying to act normal wasn't a good idea for me.

“Thank you.” Laurel stared at me expectantly.

I searched my mind for something else to say. “Are you a mage?” Those were the only kind of bands that I knew much about.

“No, it's not that kind of ring.” Laurel beamed. “This shows that Orion and I just got mated. Our bonding animal was a ladybug.” She held out her hand for closer inspection. “See?” She tapped the tiny rock. “The stone is carved into a ladybug shape.” Laurel gripped my hand and gasped. “You have rings, too!”

I was very proud of myself for not pulling my arm away. “Yes, I do.”

“They're so interesting—silver with little white skulls.” She touched them all. “Oh, and the skulls are made from real bone, too. What are your rings for?”

The words fell from my mouth before I could stop them. “Killing people. Well, a person.”

“Oh, I...” Laurel kept blinking at me. “Oh.”

“But I won't kill you, of course.” My cheeks turned red. It served me right for trying to act like a normal girl. “I need to change now.” Laurel kept staring and blinking. “By myself.”

“That's fine.” Laurel snapped back into being chipper. She nodded toward the brown basket. “You'll find what you need in there. Do you know what a Commoner dresses like?”

“Very much so.”

“I'll leave you to it, then.” A few seconds later, the tent flap closed behind her with a swish of fabric. What a disaster. I'm not trying normal girl stuff again any time soon.

I turned my attention to the brown basket and began sifting through its contents. There was a simple green dress that looked like it would fit, along with a pair of matching slippers. I put them on and almost moaned with pleasure. The loose fabric felt so cool and smooth against my skin.

How strange to wear a shift without ties again.
Back on the farm, I dressed like this constantly. For the first time in years, it felt like I could really breathe. I hadn't realized how all those ribbons were pulling on me. I slipped my totem rings into my pocket—no need to advertise that I was a Necromancer with my jewelry—and stepped back outside.

Rowan looked me over from head to toe. His expression was unreadable. The man was as bad as Petra.

“What? Don't I look like a Commoner?”

“You look fine.” There was an odd heat in his eyes, but it disappeared too quickly to be certain. Perhaps I imagined it. “We need to get going.”

“I couldn't agree more. Where are the agents of the Midnight Cloister?”

“In the marketplace. This way.”

We stepped along the edge of the pool and through more clusters of tents. Most were tall and elaborate constructions made of heavy tapestry and covered in gaudy colors. Royals. I choked on the heavy perfume wafting out of each one.

Soon, we left the royal tents behind for a busy marketplace. The scent of burned meat and unwashed bodies hung in the air. The place was a warren of cramped streets and simple tent-like stalls. Some were nothing more than four tall poles with some fabric tied between them. Simple wooden tables were piled high with exotic fruits. Other stalls were strung across with ribbons, cloth, or strips of drying meat.

And the people. I'd never seen such a crowd. Strange faces were everywhere. Now, I understood how a jackrabbit felt in a noose-trap. I wanted to run away, but the press of the mob only held me more tightly in place.

Rowan touched my shoulder again. I didn't jump as much this time. “You all right?” he asked.

“I think so. This is…” It was an effort to organize my thoughts. “Unusual for me.” I scanned the crowd and the stalls. “I don't see any Necromancers.”

“You have to know where to look.” Rowan nodded toward a far corner. “That's her.”

I shot a discrete glance over my shoulder. A woman sat at the end of a cramped row. Her rug was covered in large, empty-looking bowls. Unlike the other stalls, hers seemed pretty bare. There weren't even any tent poles and fabric to block out the sun.

I turned to Rowan. “She's dressed like a Necromancer, but there isn't a banner or statue to the Sire of Souls. Most agents have those.”

“She's not that kind of agent, Elea. Her recruits aren't willing. Who would volunteer to become old and dead?”

“We'll see.”
I hope you're wrong.

“What's your plan?” asked Rowan.

“I approach her and play the Commoner with untrained powers. Once I have her alone, I can cast a truth spell or compulsion. Based on her robes, she looks like an Apprentice level mage. She shouldn't be able to detect a thing.”

“I'll stay here.” Rowan folded his arms across his chest and frowned. Something was upsetting him, but I didn't have time to find out what. “Be safe.”

“Thank you.”

As I approached the stall, I couldn't miss how the woman reminded me of Tristan with her elegant bearing, high cheekbones, and simple robes. Close-up, I found that her bowls were half-filled with fruits, nuts, and some dried meats. There were no sacks of dried marrow for making pudding, though. That was odd. Strict Necromancers only ate marrow pudding, a nourishing gel that was made from bones.

“Hungry, Sweetling?” The woman had a lovely alto voice. “Come get something from Hestia.”

My stomach rumbled in reply. Buying food seemed as good a way as any to start a conversation. “The dates look delicious, but I've no coin. May I work in exchange?”

Hestia looked up at me through long lashes. “Depends on what you can do.”

I crouched over and spoke in a whisper. “I can turn milk sour. You know, if you have any enemies that you want to harass.” This story was true enough. When I was five, I soured all the milk on the farm by mistake. That was when Rosie knew I'd inherited my parent's magick.

“No one keeps milk at the oasis.” She pursed her full lips. “But you may have some magick, so I could find another use for you.”

My jaw fell open in pretend-shock. Hopefully, I didn't overdo the emotion here. It wasn't like we had acting classes at the Cloister. “You think I might have real magick?”

“I wouldn't be surprised.” She patted my hand. I took that as a sign that my ruse was working.

“I can't believe it.”

Hestia waved to small boy beside her. “Go tell your uncle that this nice young lady deserves some of our best dried yak.”

The boy bowed at the waist and then ran off.

Hestia patted the spot beside her. “Come, sit for a spell while we wait for my brother. Tell me more about yourself. What other strange things can you do?”

I sat down beside her and fidgeted on the blanket. “This will sound silly.”

Hestia's voice turned silky. “Not to me.”

“Sometimes, I can feel my bones move inside me.” It was another thing I'd complained about to Rosie, back when I was six years old.

A hungry look twisted her pretty face. The muscles in my neck tightened with alarm. I was back to feeling like that jackrabbit again, and this woman was trying to pull me into a trap. “How much does it hurt?” she asked.

“Only a twinge now and then.”

“Now, that doesn't sound silly at all. Have you ever thought of joining a Cloister? You could get trained properly.”

I slipped my hand into my pocket and set my hand against my thigh. I couldn't speak an incantation, so I'd need to cast by focusing power to my palm. That meant a small flash of light, which could give me away. But by setting my hand against my skin, Hestia shouldn't see anything at all. “I'm not so sure about that.”

“Why not?”

“I've heard stories.” A second later, my spell was cast. Hestia didn't so much as glance at my arm.
So far, so good.
“They say Necromancers disappear from the Midnight Cloister. Grand Mistresses and everything.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” As the spell took hold, I could see Hestia's soul separate from her body. A transparent blue version of her became an exact overlay on her mortal form. It was a sight that only I could see.
Perfect.
While the body could lie, the soul could not.

I leaned in closer. “I heard that Grand Mistress Necromancers have disappeared from the Midnight Cloister. They go in young and alive, but they come right back out, only they're old and dead. Is that the truth?”

Hestia spoke one word, “No.” At the same time, her soul mouthed ‘yes.'

All of a sudden, I couldn't pull enough air into my lungs.
Rowan was right.
The Midnight was murdering Sisters. I couldn't walk in as a Grand Mistress and hope to live for long enough to kill the Tsar. My only chance was to enter as a recruit. And since Rowan was telling the truth, it wouldn't hurt to have him as an ally. We needed to talk.

Hestia set her hand on her chest. “Are you all right, Sweetling?”

“I'm fine. I was just wondering how one might join a Cloister.”

She tilted her head and her long black hair fell in neat curtain over her shoulder. “Well, I happen to know the Mother Superior at the Midnight Cloister. I could take you there, if you'd like to look around.”

“Perhaps. I need to think about it first.”
And make a plan with Rowan
.

“Don't wait too long. We leave tonight, Sweetling.” Something in Hestia's eyes reminded me of the foxes that circled our henhouse back at the farm.

She'd take me there, but only as a prisoner.
Maybe there are better options. Every agent can't be as foul as this one.

“I don't know if I can make a decision so quickly. If I miss you tonight, are there others who could take me?”
Please let there be others.

“No. I'm your only way to the Midnight. I'm what you call their exclusive agent. Every so often, another Necromancer tries to step in, but they don't last long.” Her soul said the very same things as her body, only there was an evil glint in the spirit's eye as she said the part about other agents not lasting. No doubt they ended up as dead as the Grad Mistresses.

“Ah, thank you for telling me. I'll return before you know it.” I slowly rose and backed away, careful to keep my eyes on her. I'd seen enough predators to know that the worst thing you can do is run.

Once I was deep into the crowd, a heavy hand wrapped about my right wrist.
Hestia had sent someone after me already.
On instinct, I began the words for a bone melter spell. Another magick blocked mine.

“Wait, Elea. You can't cast here.”

I exhaled. “Rowan.”

He scanned my face carefully. “Are you all right?”