A Heart So Fierce and Broken (The Cursebreaker Series Book 2)

I’ve been peering out the carriage window for miles. The air on this side of the mountains has a weight to it, a heavy stickiness that makes me wish I could travel in a vest and leggings instead of my royal robes. The beauty of the landscape is worth it, though. Beyond the mountains, Syhl Shallow consists of miles of flat farmland, broken only by occasional cities and only one narrow river. Emberfall has been a wealth of valleys and forests and varying terrain.

Plus a few burned-out cities, charred remains left by our own soldiers when Mother first tried to take this land.

Those always force my eyes back into the carriage. I have no interest in seeing the destruction wrought by our people.

A pattern of destruction I once thought I could change, until Mother named my younger sister as heir.

Across from me, my sister looks unaffected by the weather and the scenery. Nolla Verin is sitting in the shadows, embroidering with red and silver thread. Knowing her, it’s an adornment for one of her horses.

She would not flinch from the sight of burned-out cities. Nolla Verin would not flinch from anything.

That is why my sister has been named heir, and not me.

Nolla Verin’s mouth is curved with soft amusement. “Lia Mara. You do realize we will be seen as hostile,” she says in Syssalah, our language.

I do not take my eyes off the lush greenery. “Mother has tried to raze this country. How could we be seen any differently?”

“I am thinking you would make an easy target, leaning out the window with your mouth hanging open.”

I close my mouth and settle back into my seat, allowing the sheer curtain to fall over the window.

Nolla Verin’s smile widens. “And everyone always says you are the clever one.”

“Ah, yes. Though I do prefer that to being called the sturdy one.”

She laughs softly. “Keep a list. When I am queen, I will have them all executed on your behalf.”

When I am queen.

I smile and hope she does not see the hint of sadness behind it.

Not because I am jealous. We promised each other long ago that we would support whoever was chosen. And though she is two years younger than I am, even at sixteen she could not be better suited to inherit the crown from our mother. Nolla Verin was practically born with a bow and arrow in hand, not to mention a sword at her hip. Like our mother, she has no hesitation in using either. She can break the most aggressive horse in the stables, and in fact many of the Royal Houses have begun sending their colts to her for training, just to brag that their steeds were tamed by the great queen’s daughter.

Nolla Verin and our mother also share the same affinity for swift, brutal judgment.

That is what makes me sad. My sister laughs at the thought of execution.

Because she is not joking.

Their resemblance does not end there. Nolla Verin and Mother share the same build, small and lithe and athletic—perfectly fit for the battlefield. The only trait I share with our mother is my red hair, though mine hangs to my waist, while Mother keeps hers shorter. Nolla Verin’s hair is a shiny curtain of black. I am not small and I am not nimble, leading many at court to remark on my cleverness when they’re being kind—and my “sturdiness” when they’re not.

My sister has gone back to her embroidery. Her fingers fly back and forth across the fabric. If she is nervous, she shows no sign of it.

Our traveling party is not large. Sorra and Parrish are my personal guards, and they ride at the back. Tik and Dyhl, Nolla Verin’s guards, ride at the center. My mother has four personal guards, and they surround her carriage at the front.

“What if the prince rejects Mother’s offer?” I say.

Her eyes lift from the fabric. “He would be a fool. Our forces could destroy this pathetic country.”

I glance at the window. So far, I have not found Emberfall to be pathetic. And Prince Rhen was able to drive our forces back through the mountain pass, so it seems that we would be wise to be cautious.

“Hmm,” I say, “and do you think this destruction will lead to people being willing to work the waterways we so desperately need?”

“Our people can learn.”

“I feel they could learn more quickly from people who already possess the skills.”

She sighs patronizingly. “You would likely beg for instruction with nuts and honey.”

I look away, out the window. I’d rather ask for help than order it with a sword in hand, but this is another reminder of why Nolla Verin has been chosen instead of me.

“We can leave a few alive, if need be,” she says. “They’ll be desperate to help.”

“We can leave them all alive if Mother secures an alliance.”

“And we will. Prince Rhen’s monstrous creature is gone,” Nolla Verin says. “Our spies have reported that his cities are beginning to question his right to rule. If he wants to keep this silly country, he will accept.”

She is so practical. My lip quirks up. “What if you do not like him?”

She rolls her eyes. “As if that matters. I can bed a man without liking him.”

I blush at her boldness. “Nolla Verin. Have you … done that?”

“Well. No.” Her eyes flick up to meet mine, and her fingers go still on her embroidery. “Have you?”

My blush deepens. “Of course not.”

Nolla Verin’s eyes widen. “Then you should do it first and tell me what to expect. Are you bored now? I shall call for Parrish right this very moment. Or would you fancy Dyhl instead? You can have the carriage—”

I giggle and throw a brocade cushion at her. “You will do no such thing.”

She dodges the pillow without missing a stitch. “I am just asking you to be sisterly.”

“What of Prince Rhen’s betrothed?”

“Princess Harper?” Nolla Verin pulls her thread tight and knots it off. “She can bed who she chooses, too.”

“Do not be coy, Sister.”

She sighs. “I am not worried. Their alliance means nothing. Three months have passed since the prince supposedly allied Emberfall with the mysterious Disi. No forces have arrived. Mother does not think the prince has been fully honest with his people, and I am inclined to agree.”

I am too. While Nolla Verin prefers to spend her time on the training field, I prefer to spend hours each week under the tutelage of Mother’s chief adviser, Clanna Sun, learning about military strategy or the intricate interweaving of the Royal Houses. Over the last few months, it seemed that Prince Rhen was assembling an army that could produce a threat—but somehow one has never materialized. I do find it curious that the prince would continue courting the Princess of Disi if their alliance has fallen apart. Emberfall is weak. He needs to tie himself to a country that can offer the support his land needs to thrive.

A country like Syhl Shallow.

The curtain flutters at the window, and in the distance, I see the charred remnants of another destroyed town. My throat tightens. Mother’s soldiers were thorough.

I look back at my sister. “What makes you think the prince will even grant us an audience?”

“Mother has information he wants.” Her fingers fly through the fabric. “Do you remember, months ago, when that enchantress came to the Crystal Palace?”

I do. The woman had beautiful alabaster skin framed by silken black tresses, and a gown of the deepest blue. When she first appeared, claiming to be a magesmith, Mother had laughed in her face, but the woman caused one of her guards to collapse at her feet without laying a hand on him. Mother granted an audience after that. They disappeared into the throne room for hours.

Nolla Verin and I had hung back to whisper about it. You didn’t have to be a great student of history to know that anyone with magic had been driven out of the Iishellasa ice forests decades ago. They used their magic to cross the Frozen River, then asked to settle in Syhl Shallow, but my grandmother refused. They sought shelter in Emberfall—where they were granted asylum, but later, after some kind of trickery on the king, they were all executed.

Except, apparently, the enchantress.

“Of course,” I say. “She was the last one.”

My sister shakes her head. “Apparently another survived somehow. Mother told me last night while we were preparing for our journey.”

Of course Mother told her, and not me. Because Nolla Verin is the heir.

I am not jealous. My sister will make a great queen.

I swallow. “Another survived?”

“Yes. She was seeking the other.”

“Why?”

“Because he is more than a man with magic in his blood.” She pierces the fabric with her needle. Scarlet thread flies through the white silk like a bleeding wound. “The other magesmith is the true heir to the throne of Emberfall.”

I gasp. “Truly?”

“Yes.” Her eyes flash. Nolla Verin loves a good bit of gossip. “But the prince has no idea who he is.”

What a scandal. Magic is no more welcome in Emberfall than it was in Syhl Shallow. I wonder if Rhen’s people know. I wonder how they will react.

I imagine living the rest of my life like this, learning information about warring kingdoms like a dog seeking scraps beside a butcher’s block.

I swallow again. “Does Mother know who the heir is?”

“No. Before she left, the enchantress said there was only one man who knows his identity.”

“Who?”

“The commander of the prince’s guard.” She ties off her thread and snaps it with her teeth. “A man named Grey.”

By nightfall, we are miles from the last town we’ve passed, and my mother orders the guards to stop and make camp. If we were traveling through Syhl Shallow, large tents would be erected for our comfort, but here in Emberfall, we must be discreet.

Nolla Verin and I share a narrow tent. Sorra and Parrish, my guards, have spread blankets along the ground to make a round space resembling a nest of pillows and blankets. We haven’t shared a space like this since we were very young, and I’m grateful for the chance to be close again.

My sister has already reclined among her pillows, and her eyes narrow mischievously. “These blankets are quite soft. Are you certain you would not prefer to share them with Parrish?”

My cheeks flare with heat. It was one thing to joke in the privacy of our carriage. Entirely another to say such things when the man in question stands on the other side of an opaque length of fabric. Being named heir has emboldened her—just as it’s stripped away some of my own confidence.

“Hush,” I whisper at her.

Her smile widens. “I am merely asking. It may make for a more interesting evening.”

I glance at Parrish’s shadow on the other side of the curtain, then shift closer to Nolla Verin. “I believe he fancies Sorra.”

Her eyebrows go up. “You do?”

I arrange the blankets around me carefully and force my voice to be bored, because I do not want her to needle my guards. “I have long suspected.”

I have done more than suspect. A year ago, during the midwinter celebration, I found Parrish and Sorra kissing in the wooded darkness beyond our palace. They broke apart hurriedly, stars in their eyes and a blush on Sorra’s pale cheeks.

“Do not stop on my account,” I said to them, then turned and fled back to the party before my own blush could flare.

No man has ever looked at me the way Parrish was looking at Sorra. I thought about that kiss far longer than I’d admit.

Sorra is always cool and distant, stoic and fierce like all the guards, with her brown hair bound into a tight braid that hangs trapped beneath her armor. She wears no adornments on her lean body, no kohl darkens her eyes or rouge brightens her cheeks, but anyone can see the gentle beauty in her face. Parrish is equally lean, slighter of build than many of the men, but he’s quick and skilled. Many think he is quiet, but I know he’s simply careful with his words. When I’m alone with my guards, he’s rather funny. In fact, he can often pull a smile out of Sorra with barely more than a glance.

My sister is studying me. Her voice finally drops until it is almost inaudible. “Lia Mara. Do you fancy Parrish?”

“What? No! Of course not.”

Her eyes scrutinize my face. “Do you fancy Sorra?”

“No.” I finally meet her eyes. “I fancy …” My voice trails off, and I sigh.

“Who?” She giggles and shifts closer. “Oh, you must tell me.”

“I fancy the idea of a man fancying me.” My blush deepens. “I fancy the idea of a companion.”

“Ugh.” She rolls onto her back, disappointed. “You are a princess, Lia Mara. They all fancy you.”

That is decidedly untrue. No man at court seeks a woman who would rather discuss extensive strategy or ancient mythology than display her skills on the battlefield—or in a ballroom. “I do not want a man to fancy me because I am Karis Luran’s daughter. I do not want someone’s attention because he believes I will bring him political favor in our mother’s court.”

“Well. That is all the women of our bloodline are worth to any man.”

Her voice is so practical—this doesn’t seem to bother her at all. Maybe she wasn’t teasing about bedding the prince or asking me to experience it first so I can describe it to her. Maybe my sister looks at such a thing as just another royal obligation. Something else to practice so she can be perfect.

I flop down on the blankets beside her, staring up at the darkening panels of fabric. “This is why I am far more enamored of the men in my stories.”

“Oh, I am certain those dry pages keep you quite warm at night.”

“You’re so vulgar.” I giggle and turn my head to look at her.

She makes a lewd gesture and grins. I smack her hand away, and she laughs.

I know she will make an exceptional queen, but I want to remember my sister just like this, with a soft smile only for me, no vicious determination in her gaze.

A shout echoes through the camp, followed by more yelling, and then a girl screams. A man speaks rapidly in the common tongue of Emberfall, his accent much thicker than the one our tutor has. It takes me a moment to parse out the words.

“Please,” he is saying. “We mean no harm. Please allow us passage.”

Nolla Verin is already through the panels of our tent, and I am quick to follow.

Our guards have built a fire, and a few hare hang on a spit above it. No one is paying attention to the food, though. Tik and Dyhl have their crossbows trained on a middle-aged man who is on his knees, crouched over a young girl, blocking her with his body. A thick beard covers most of his face. A few brown pelts lie in a pile beside him.

My mother stands in the firelight, tall and lean and striking, her red hair hanging straight to her shoulders. “What is your business here?” she says.

“I am a trapper,” he says. “I saw your fire and thought—” He breaks off with a gasp as Dyhl moves close enough to drive the point of his crossbow into the man’s back. From where he stands, if Dyhl pulls the trigger, the force of the weapon will drive the arrow into both the man and the girl.

“I-I-I am unarmed,” the man stammers.

“You wear a knife at your hip,” says my mother. It’s right there in plain sight. She doesn’t suffer fools.

His hand shifts as if to go for the weapon, but Tik, standing in front of him, lifts his crossbow just a hair. The man’s hand goes up as if to prove he’s harmless. “The knife is dull!” he cries. The girl whimpers underneath him. “For skinning. Take it. Take everything I have.”

My heart thuds in my chest. We’ve ridden past the remains of towns—destruction caused by our soldiers. The population here is sparse, but we are also trying to make our way to the prince’s castle under some veil of secrecy. If we allow this man to leave and he spreads the word, we could be attacked before our arrival. As my sister said, we are in hostile territory.

Hostile because of our own actions, my thoughts whisper to me.

If I did not want to see the result of our attacks on Emberfall, I most certainly do not want to see slaughter before my own eyes.

At my side, Nolla Verin does not look affected. She looks curious. She is waiting to see how our mother will handle this invasion.

To my surprise, Mother turns to look at Nolla Verin. “My daughter will decide your fate, trapper.”

My sister straightens. This is not the first time Mother has looked to either of us for a decision, but it is the first time real lives have hung in the balance.

The man’s eyes lock on my sister. From below his arm, the girl peers out. Tears streak through the dust on her cheeks.

“Please,” the man says, and his voice is rough. “We have no part in the quarrel between your people and ours.”

I cannot see my sister’s expression, but the man’s eyes fill with sorrow at whatever he finds there, and he turns his head to speak softly to the girl cowering beneath him. A sob breaks from her chest.

I reach out and grasp my sister’s hand. “Nolla Verin,” I whisper. “We are here to find a path to peace.”

She squeezes my fingers, then glances at me. I want there to be a flicker of indecision in her eyes. Of dismay at having to make such a choice.

There is none. She looks back at Dyhl. “Kill him.”

The girl screams. The crossbow fires. The man collapses. The girl is no longer visible. The bolt must have gone right through them both.

Silence envelops the forest.

It does not last long. Nolla Verin looks to the guards. “Double the number of lookouts through the night. I do not want another trapper stumbling into our camp.”

She turns on her heel and returns to our tent.

I cannot follow. Every guard in this clearing can probably sense my unhappiness.

Mother surely can.

I turn from the bodies as well. I cannot go back to our tent, but I can walk. Sorra and Parrish will follow, though I do not feel as though I deserve guards. Not now. I step into the heavy darkness surrounding the camp.

A bit of gold glints between the trees, barely caught by the firelight. I freeze, narrowing my eyes.

Not gold. Blond. Hair. A girl, larger than the one who was pinned beneath the man. Her hands are over her face, her shoulders shaking. A long strand of pelts hangs from one shoulder.

She is crying.

Her eyes meet mine, and she gasps. She goes still, panic washing over her face.

I give a brief shake of my head. So brief it’s almost invisible. No, I want to say. Stay away.

Run.

“Lia Mara,” my mother calls.

I should not care about one man and his daughter. Daughters. I swallow.

I should not care.

Mother will not call my name twice. I turn, awaiting a rebuke.

Parrish, my guard, is right there, almost beside me. He followed me into the trees, as he should, but one look at his eyes and I know he’s seen the girl, too. His own crossbow hangs ready in his hand, and a swell of fear rises in my gut.

He gives a brief shake of his head, the movement as minute as mine was. “You should not walk into the forest,” he says. “Who knows what other dangers hide among the trees.”

I fight to keep from gasping in relief. He will not pursue her.

My gaze returns to the spot where the girl hid. Only darkness waits there now.

If I look back at Parrish, Mother will know something is amiss. I straighten my shoulders. “Yes, Mother.”

“Come join me.”

She is sitting by the fire. Near the bodies.

This will be my punishment. For being too soft. For begging mercy.

This is why Nolla Verin will be queen.