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

Nolla Verin is pacing in my room, the sheer rose-colored overlay of her robes floating around her as she walks. “It has been hours,” she says.

I keep my eyes on my book. I have ordered documentation on Iishellasa from the palace library, hoping to determine what my mother could require from Iisak, but after Grey “lost” Nolla Verin in the city, I’ve been hearing about nothing else for hours. “Mm-hmm.”

“What could he be doing?”

I flip a page. So far all I’ve learned are things Iisak has already told us: that the scravers and the magesmiths were allies—and only by magic or by winged flight could anyone reach the ice forests of Iishellasa. The rocks and trees of Iishellasa were said to have special properties that left them immune to the forces of magic. The magesmiths tried to find warmer climates, but they were ultimately destroyed by the King of Emberfall.

Well, most of them were.

“Lia Mara!”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked what he could be doing.”

“I really don’t know.”

“Perhaps I pushed too hard. He seemed so aggravated when we raced past that child in the streets.”

My eyes lift. “What happened?”

“A child ran into the road. I would not have harmed her, but he reacted as though I planned to trample her in the street—”

“Nolla Verin. What did Grey do?”

“He drove my horse to the side and plucked the child up onto his own.” Her nose wrinkles. “Quite like a nursemaid, really.”

My heart flutters in my chest, and I have to fix my gaze on my papers before she notices the warmth crawling into my cheeks. I turn another page. “Quite.”

“No, not like a nursemaid.” She makes a frustrated noise and flounces over to drop on the end of my chaise. “Dear sister, please help me.”

That makes me set the documents aside. “What do you need?”

“I need to understand him. To figure out what will make him yield to whatever Mother wants from this alliance.” She bites at her lip. “I cannot face a second rejection.”

This feels unfair, that I should have to help my sister plot a way into Grey’s heart, to manipulate him for our mother’s purposes. I frown and make no effort to hide it.

“Why do you wear that look?” she whispers.

“You are asking me to help you trick him,” I say. “He is a good man, Nolla Verin. I believe he would be a good king.”

“I would hope so! But he will never be any kind of king if we do not unite against that wretched prince in Emberfall.”

“Well, perhaps you would have had more success in turning his head if you’d made an attempt to talk to him instead of racing through the streets of the Crystal City.”

She bites at her lip again, then sighs. “I suppose.” She lies back until her head is against my knee. “He really is quite handsome. I only offered to race because he was saying so little.”

I spend a moment trying to figure out the note in her voice, and when I have it, I giggle and stroke the hair back from her face. “Nolla Verin. Are you intimidated?”

She lifts her eyes to look up at me. “Would you think less of me if I said … a little?” She hugs her arms to her chest and sighs. “He is so very stoic. And the manner in which he declared himself to Mother … I do not know if I would have dared.”

“Hmm.” I have been trying very hard not to think of Grey, but my memory conjures him standing in the throne room, dressed in finery with the others at his back. That cool determination had been fixed in his eyes, the way it was in Blind Hollow—or the day we escaped from Prince Rhen. In front of my mother, he looked as though he would not back down from an army.

“Did you see his magic?” says Nolla Verin, her voice hushed yet full of curiosity. “When Prince Rhen tried to have him killed?”

“The prince had him flogged.” I give an involuntary shudder. “It was terrible. Grey’s magic caused the prince and his guards to fall unconscious. That’s how we were all able to escape.”

She sits up straight. “Unconscious!”

“Yes. Did our spies report otherwise?”

“Mother was told it was Rhen alone.”

“No. It was everyone in the courtyard.”

“How many?”

“Two dozen at least.”

Her eyes are wide now. “I shall have to tell Mother. Our spies did not indicate his magic worked at such a level.”

I frown, feeling as though I have put Grey at a disadvantage somehow. Then again, perhaps it is better if my sister is a bit wary. Maybe they won’t try to maneuver his affections.

I have never felt so torn, so off balance. I do not want to put my country at a disadvantage either. These political games feel so unfair, when real people and true emotion sit at the center of it all.

A knock sounds at my door. “Enter,” I call, almost in relief.

A servant eases through the doorway and bows to my sister, who is still sprawled on my chaise. “Your Highness. The prince has returned. The queen has indicated that he will escort you to dinner at sunset.”

Nolla Verin grins, her face bright like a moonbeam.

My mouth forms a line. “You should go prepare.”

My robes for dinner are pale green and shimmer in the light, and my attendants have laced a wide black belt adorned with emeralds in place over the top of them. I sneaked a slender book from my collection into a tiny bag that disappears among the folds of my robes. I wish I could read it for distraction right here at the dinner table, to avoid watching Nolla Verin using my information to manipulate Grey. But I have no desire for my mother to set my entire library on fire. So I sit, and I listen politely, and I wait for the moment when everyone will leave the tables to mingle and dance and drink, and I can vanish onto the veranda.

Candles are lit throughout the crowded hall, making every inch of silver and gold gleam. For her “small gathering,” Mother has accumulated over one hundred people, mostly families from the five Royal Houses. Grey sits at the middle of the center table with Nolla Verin. His clothes are the finest Mother could provide, the colors echoing the gold and red of Emberfall. The others sit to his side: Jake and Noah and Tycho, all dressed similarly.

Nolla Verin, in white robes, leans close to Grey, brushing a hand across his forearm. His height and the breadth of his shoulders make her look like a doll beside him. A tiny, lethal, agile doll. I can’t hear what she says, but he laughs.

I scowl and fix my gaze on my plate. I am at the end of the table, seated across from Lady Yasson Ru. She is at least ninety years old, and she smells like she hasn’t bathed for the last five. Every word she says to me is a shout, but she is the head of the most wealthy of the Royal Houses.

Luckily, she has an attendant to distract her every time she begins speaking.

Her wrinkled face is frowning. “DOES OUR QUEEN TRULY THINK WE CAN ALLY WITH—”

“Here, my lady,” says her attendant. “Have you sampled the spiced wine?” She thrusts a glass in her face.

Yasson Ru’s wife, Lady Alla Ru, sits beside me, and she’s already asleep.

I have no desire to look at Grey and Nolla Verin again, but my eyes are traitors, and they flick that way anyway. Her hand is on his upper arm now, and she’s whispering something to him, her mouth inches from his neck. Grey is listening to her, but his eyes find mine.

I jerk my gaze away and down my own glass of spiced wine all in one gulp.

Lady Yasson Ru watches me. “YOU SHOULD BE CAUTIOUS WITH DRINKING SO QUICKLY. YOU ARE OF ROYAL—”

“My lady, more bread?” says her attendant.

I give the girl a grateful look.

I only have to survive dessert. When the plate is set before me, a pile of decadent chocolate and whipped frothy topping, I nearly pour it down my throat.

“GOODNESS,” says Lady Yasson Ru. “YOU HAVE QUITE THE APPETITE.”

Beside me, her wife jerks awake. “WHAT, YASSON? HAVE THEY SERVED THE FIRST COURSE?”

I ease my chair back. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Musicians in the corner of the room have begun to play, low drums mixed with stringed instruments combine to make my pulse step up. I slip between guards and guests and aim for the glass doors to the veranda.

No one stops me. No one cares. I am not the queen and Nolla Verin has been named heir, so I am unworthy of much attention at such a gathering. I don’t want to enjoy it—but in a way, the change is nice. Right now I don’t want any eyes on me.

The veranda stretches wide from the side of the castle, jutting out with a view of the dark mountains looming overhead and the moonlit city glittering to my left. Only two torches are lit out here, allowing me a perfect view of the starlit night. The air is too cool to be comfortable, but for now I will enjoy the solitude. At least, until more wine has been poured and inebriated guests begin spilling onto the veranda.

I am feeling the first effects of that spiced wine. Not enough to offer any bravery or social ease, but enough to turn my thoughts a bit free in my head.

I wonder what Nolla Verin said to make him laugh.

With a sigh, I sink into a cushioned chair. Then I pull my book free and begin to read, ever grateful for stories about other people and their adventures.

“What are you reading?”

I jump so hard I nearly fall off the chair. The book goes flying.

Grey snatches it out of the air. The ghost of a smile finds his lips. “Forgive me.” He holds the book out.

I lurch to my feet and take it. I try to smooth down my robes and my hair, grateful for the warm shadows that will hide any blush on my cheeks. “I am glad you were not an assassin.”

“Indeed.” He casts a glance around the empty veranda. “You should have guards.”

“For what purpose? No one here would have anything to gain from my death.” He frowns at that, but I say, “And what of your guards, Your Highness?”

He smiles. “We have come to an understanding.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I do not need to beg for privacy.” He pauses, and any amusement slips from his face. “I am unused to being the center of attention.”

“You looked as though you were enjoying yourself at dinner.” I sound snippy and jealous, and I wish I could suck the words back into my mouth.

Grey studies me, and I know he’s noticed. He notices everything. “I am glad I gave that impression.” He pauses. “If I am disturbing you, I can return.”

There does not seem to be a safe answer to that.

No, I do not want you to return. I want you to stay here with me in the moonlight, where I can pretend we are sitting among the trees again, no mothers or sisters or alliances between us.

I swallow. Grey’s eyes, so dark in the night air, have not left mine.

“Or perhaps I could join you?” he says.

I nod, because I do not trust my voice. I do not ease back into my chair, however. Standing feels safer than sitting. Cool wind rushes down from the mountain to slip through my robes and make me shiver and think of Iisak, trapped in the dungeons.

Grey unbuckles his jacket and slips his arms free, then extends it to me.

I blink at him. “What are you doing?”

“If you are cold. Is it not a custom for men to offer a lady a jacket?”

I frown and square my shoulders. “It would be considered impolite to acknowledge a weakness.”

“How is being cold a weakness?”

Wind slips across my neck again. I am unsure how to proceed. Wearing an article of his clothing feels very intimate, very much like something I should not do.

I inhale and want to take the coat so very badly.

He waits, reading my silence, then adjusts his grip on the jacket, holding it between two hands. “May I?”

I swallow, then nod, then close my eyes as he slips it around my shoulders. The leather and silk are warm from his body, the jacket heavy across my back.

“Thank you,” I say.

His fingers, feather-light, brush against my chin, tilting my face up. I inhale sharply and open my eyes.

“You are far from weak, Lia Mara.”

I smile slightly. “Carrying that buck nearly killed me.”

“I am not talking about the buck.” He pauses. “I am speaking of the moment in Blind Hollow, when you should have run for safety, but you began helping the injured. I am speaking of that moment when you offered me sanctuary, when you could have been miles away on horseback, long before dawn. I am speaking of every moment and every step of our journey here.” His voice lowers. Softens. “I am speaking of that moment when Iisak tore my arm open and you took my hand.”

He’s so still that he might be a shadow, a whisper of imagination. If I did not have the warm weight of his jacket on my shoulders or the faint gleam of his eyes, I would not believe this was happening. I am very aware of my breathing, of his breathing. Music escapes through the doorway to invade our tiny cocoon of silence.

“Are you drunk again?” I whisper.

He laughs, and that’s such a rare thing that it makes my heart skip. “Quite sober, I assure you.”

I swallow. “You should be inside,” I say. “You should be with Nolla Verin.”

He does not move. “Why did you run from the party?”

“I did not run. I was not needed.”

His eyebrows draw together. “Since the moment we arrived here, you have hidden yourself from me. I do not understand why.”

“My sister—”

“This is not about your sister,” he growls.

“But it is about my sister,” I insist. “Do you understand? She is the chosen heir now. The favored daughter. You ask why I would leave the party, as if I have any place there. My goals do not align with theirs. What do I have to offer?” I spread my hands wide and turn, indicating the wide expanse of air surrounding us. “I am alone on this veranda because I have nothing. Nothing! I have no throne, no crown, no country, no—”

I gasp as he catches my waist and forces me still. His hands are strong and sure against me, and his voice comes very low. “Do not ever say that you have nothing to offer.”

I’m breathing so hard that I might cry, or laugh, or break into a million pieces that will drift away on the wind.

“Do you know,” he says quietly, “when that soldier pressed a knife to your throat, I could have taken his head.”

His words are so callous, so practical, belying the softness in his voice. That empty blackness glimmers in his eye, a hint at what he can become when the need arises. I shiver. “You didn’t need to.”

“You didn’t need me to save you.” He pauses. “And your words stayed my hand.”

“My words?”

“You said that not every problem can be solved by the end of a sword. I have carried those words with me for days.” He pauses. “Since you made me realize that I am no longer a weapon to be wielded by another.”

Emotion tightens my chest, but his closeness, his warmth, have slowed my breathing. “You are not a weapon, Grey.”

“I can be.” His hand lifts from my waist to brush a lock of hair from my cheek. “But you are by far more dangerous.”

I can hardly think with his fingers tracing a line down the side of my face. “Ah, yes, the most dangerous person at the party is always the girl sitting alone with a book.”

He doesn’t smile. “You underestimate yourself. Your sister seems determined to be as ruthless as possible—to impress your mother, I am sure. And while ruthlessness may have its place, I believe your brand of strength would garner greater loyalty. That is what makes you dangerous. Not because you would ride in with a blade and take control, but because you could quietly sit in this chair, in the dark, with your book”—the corner of his mouth turns up—“and you could determine the best way to achieve what needs to be done.”

I flush. “No, Grey, I’m sitting here with a book because—”

He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. So light, like the touch of a butterfly’s wings. Hardly a kiss, barely a kiss, but the motion lights a fire in my belly and robs every thought from my head, leaving us standing there, sharing breath.

His fingers are still against my cheek, his thumb beside my lip. “Forgive me,” he begins. “You stopped me once before, and—”

I shake my head fiercely. “I shouldn’t have.”

This time, when his mouth finds mine, there’s nothing light about it. His strength radiates through his hands, and his kiss is like a flame. My knees are weak and trembling, but my hands are sure and steady, finding the column of his neck, the breadth of his shoulders, the unruly hair at his nape.

Then his arms are against my back, holding me against him, and that is almost better than the addictive pull of his kisses: to be held, to feel cherished. When his mouth finally releases mine, I sigh and press my face into the hollow below his chin.

This is foolish. Risky. Terrifying. Anyone could come out onto the veranda. He should release me.

He does not. One hand is idly stroking the hair down my back, and I’m powerless with his breath in my hair and his scent buried in my head.

“Fell siralla,” he says, and I giggle.

“Nah,” I say. “Fell bellama. Fell garrant. Fell vale.”

“I hope those aren’t worse than stupid.”

I shake my head against his neck. He must feel my blush through his shirt. “Beautiful man. Brave man.”

He waits, then says, “There were three.”

“You notice everything!”

“What is the third?”

He never lets me back away from anything either. I love it and hate it. “You’ll have to learn Syssalah to find out.”

“Fell vale,” he muses, and his terrible accent makes me giggle again. “You’ll have to give me more lessons,” he adds.

“Someone will.”

A finger brushes my chin, and I tilt my face up. His lips find mine again. The night sky seems to close in around us, wrapping us in silence and warmth.

Then a screech splits the night.

Grey jerks his head up. “Iisak.”

Another screech. Then another. Louder and more vicious than I’ve ever heard. I want to clamp my hands down over my ears.

I remember my mother’s words to the scraver, something about tonight. Oh, what has she done?

I don’t have much time to wonder, because everyone inside begins screaming.