Curse of Shadows and Thorns: A Dark Fantasy Romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 1)

The Sun Prince and Night Prince fight much like the day battles the dusk. Poor Valen, such a fighter’s temperament, but no match for the cunning of his brother. Sol, gods help me, the boy will be the scheming king of history. If he sets another trap for his brother, I don’t know if Valen will live to see ten turns.

The poor boy was found only this eve, sobbing, and when he laid eyes on me, he covered his ears and cried harder. Distressed, I asked the child why he feared me. His response: Dear elder brother, along with children of the gentry, convinced Valen he was not true Night Folk, and in fact, Arvad and I had stretched the curves of his ears into points because we hung him by fishing hooks as a babe.

Gods deliver me from my silver-tongued first son.

Arvad spent time in the sagas with Valen, showing the boy what Night Folk can do. Reminding his second son that he, too, had a taper at his ear. After—such a thing happened—Valen shifted rock.

The first inkling to a gift with bending the earth. While other children of the gentry have shown fire, air, and water fury, my heart soars thinking at long last fury to bend the soil might show itself. So many generations have passed since the last Bender.

Arvad bolstered the boy and went on, explaining how our line is fully blessed with fury, but it chose to present in his blood, in his new gift, and yes, his fae ears.

And gods deliver me from my husband. Next, Arvad pierced the child’s ears right then. A way to show off his uniqueness and boast about his faeish features. If Sol keeps up his schemes, if Herja continues her desire for knighthood—by the father of gods—I will not survive my own strong-willed, thick headed, beloved family.

Ithought Queen Lilianna might give us answers. But she simply left me wishing for Arvad and her rule once more.

Doubtless, the Ettan king and queen would not have cursed someone. Would not have tortured another with fury.

I closed the journal, a delivery from Bevan just this morning. I’d cried and embraced him, wholly relieved he hadn’t been the scorched body at my family’s home.

The old man had scoured through my room at Ravenspire and brought them to the alehouse with some elixir for Legion, and an added note: Calder’s hunt for Night Folk, to dissect them and steal fury for Timorans, had already begun.

Legion’s curse had something to do with the Timoran crown, and I could only hope once it was broken, we could work together to stop the new king and his foolish queen.

“Halvar, are you all right?” I asked.

Halvar lifted his head off his hands, a look of astonishment written on his face. “We’re really going? We’re doing this?” He raked his fingers through his dark curls and faced Tor. “When you discover I am a bleeding king or something, I expect you to bend the knee and kiss my hairy—”

Tor punched him in the shoulder, hard, sending Halvar laughing and moaning at the same time.

I shared a smile with Legion; even Siv grinned.

“Do ya even know how to get into the bleeding tomb?” Sven asked as he passed around horns of sharp ale.

This was the piece that had Legion unsettled. He didn’t like knowing I might have more tasks that could catch us unaware. But what choice was there? How could I walk away knowing they suffered? I had feared them—sometimes I still did—but the truth was Halvar had saved me; Tor had protected us all with his watchful eye. And Legion, he had brought me to life in more than one way.

“We will approach each step with caution,” I said after a pause. “We take this in strides.”

“Agreed,” Legion said. “Any unnecessary risks arise, though, and we change plans. We think of a different way.”

“What about her?” Tor asked, nodding at Siv.

I considered for hours after speaking with Legion about how to handle Siverie. I might be a fool, but tonight we needed all the help we could manage. “She is an Agitator but has had ample chances to kill me and she didn’t. For now, that trust will need to be enough. We could use an extra fighter.”

The others agreed. After another round of silence, Halvar slapped the table. “Right then. We meet the old man at the high moon, so until then I plan to drink until I’m singing delightful sonnets that will woo you all into maddening love with me.”

Tor muttered about brainless half-wits, but it only brought out more laughs from his companion. Siv rose from the table and headed for the stairs. “I might rest, if you don’t need anything.”

“Siv, you aren’t my serf. Not anymore.”

She nodded and left me alone with Legion in the empty, pungent aleroom.

“You’ve been quiet,” I said. During the discussions with the others, Legion had said very little; only offering a few explanations, or thoughts on what he knew about the Black Tomb and how to find it.

Still a little weary from the lingering effects of the curse, he lifted his gaze to me and held out a hand. “Walk with me?”

I took his hand and went back to the yard. The moon was rising, and the first calls of night birds filled the treetops. Legion didn’t release my hand and stood with me at the edge of the yard, his eyes at the first stars.

“I want to give you another chance to turn from this, Elise.”

“Thank you,” I said flatly. “You’ve given your chance and I won’t hear of it again. I’m staying.”

He kept his eyes on the sky, but even in the dimness the smile was visible. We stayed shoulder to shoulder for a long moment, breathing in the night, maybe breathing in each other.

I nestled closer. “Are you afraid of discovering who you are?”

“Yes,” he said with great deliberateness. “I don’t know who else to be but Legion Grey.”

I’d thought the whole of the day about who Legion could be. A disgraced Timoran noble. An experiment much like Calder planned to do with fury. Perhaps an Ettan warrior; a Night Folk rogue. I considered he could be from the Ferus line, but they died nearly two hundred turns before. Still, there was talk they lived on. Even Agitators worshiped the Night Prince. I’d happily return Lilianna and Arvad to the throne, but I had seen the grave markers. Arvad in a rocky quarry, murdered in front of his sons. Lilianna and Herja, slaughtered after they refused to be consorts to the first king of New Timoran.

“Now it is you who has gone quiet,” Legion said, glancing sideways at me.

“I was thinking of what happens after.” I had too many thoughts all at once and picked one. “I am not welcome in Timoran courts for I will not give my fealty to Calder. Ever.”

Legion shifted on his feet. “I want to promise you protection, but I don’t know what will happen if we succeed. But I do swear to you, as long as I am able, I will keep you safe, Elise. You did not abandon me when you rightly should have, and I will not abandon you.”

As long as he was able.

What if the curse ended everything?

I shuddered. No. The idea of losing him sent sharp, prickly pains into my middle. I tightened my hold on his hand and he allowed it. He drew me in against him. We’d go in a few short clock tolls, and I wanted to forget about what we would face. Wanted to pretend nothing had changed between us, and we could be the insignificant second daughter, and the handsome tradesman from the Mellanstrad docks.

“Legion.” My stomach spun and coiled and jumped, my hands were damp. I met his eye. “Kiss me again. Once more, before everything changes.”

A spark of need lit his eyes. His hands trapped the sides of my face and urged me closer. He grinned against my lips. “It will always be my pleasure, Kvinna.”

He claimed my mouth with his. Slow at first, gentle and warm. My palms traveled around his waist, holding him close, and it unlocked what we’d held back before.

Legion kissed me deep and raw. He parted my lips with his and groaned when my tongue teased his bottom lip. A kiss of give and take. One of hidden things we wouldn’t say, or were too afraid to say. We kissed with hope for a new dawn, and with the dread of the end.

I kissed him. Kept kissing him, touching him, holding him until the moon raised to its highest point and the time to face our fate arrived.

There weren’t enough horses for me, but this time I chose to ride with Legion. Held in the space of his arms, my back to his chest. I could almost pretend my body did not protest to the rough ride.

He’d dressed like the Blood Wraith, black axes on his waist, red mask over his mouth. I told him if we all lived through this, I’d be getting him a new color, so I didn’t startle every time I saw it. He laughed, pulled the mask down, and kissed me quickly. And I wanted to stay, to not leave into an unknown direction.

But the hope in the eyes of Legion and the Guild of Shade couldn’t be ignored.

This night could be their liberty.

Warm air off the shore hinted at a storm approaching. The forest was alight with sounds of creatures, and in the foothills of Castle Ravenspire the sweet spices of Lyx perfumed the air.

Legion rode into a narrow clearing in the forest beyond the gates. He abandoned the horse but helped me slide off with his hands on my waist. Sven had stocked his alehouse with clothes, and I’d come to understand most were for the Guild of Shade. A refuge over the turns where Legion could transform and be kept chained and beaten and bloodied without killing anyone. I’d first thought the old aleman a sort of saint, until I learned the hefty sum Legion Grey paid him to keep his mouth shut.

Sven was more businessman than friend, but I was glad he had a tunic and hose I could use tonight instead of a tattered gown.

Seated on a fallen log in the clearing, an oil lantern in hand, Bevan stood and grinned as we approached. He wore a traveler’s jacket, a sea swab knit cap, and had a knapsack on the ground.

“Bevan, are you leaving?” I asked.

He glanced at his supplies and nodded. “It’s time to return home. Calder has devised a way to test for different mystics. Unfortunately, we Alvers, if you cut us our blood is quite pungent. It will be easy to figure me out, and I’ve lived too bleeding long to be a rat in a cage, being poked and prodded.”

“But you said they trade Alvers in the East,” I protested.

“Still true,” he said. “But in Skítkast, my old region, there are rings of Alver smugglers who know how to stay hidden. I will survive, Kvinna. If you find my foolish nephew, do keep him in line.” He tapped my nose and lowered his voice. “You chose this?”

“I did,” I whispered. “He doesn’t deserve this anymore.”

“He doesn’t. And I knew you’d be the one to help. The moment he mentioned the Lysander manor, I knew. You are a different Timoran, Elise Lysander, and I believe fate has a grand plan in store for you.”

“Bevan,” Tor interrupted.

The old steward gave me a final smile and approached the Guild of Shade. From the knapsack, Bevan removed a leather pouch, tied in string. He handed it to Halvar. “Can you handle this without dropping it?”

Halvar balked. “Dear Bevan, why the constant interrogation on my responsibility? I am the obvious choice to bear something gravely important.”

“It is a powdered elixir,” Bevan explained. “Use it at the markers and it will reveal anything fury-hidden like—”

“A tomb,” Tor said.

“Yes.” The old man looked to Legion, a fatherly sort of pride in his eyes. “You helped this old man once turns ago, and it has been an honor to help you since. I believe fate led us together. Led all of us together. This is the end of it, and I know you will have a part to play in healing this kingdom. In all the kingdoms.”

Legion took Bevan’s forearm, a warrior’s farewell.

We didn’t have long. I wanted to spend more time with Bevan, tell him I worried for him on the tides. Ask him how we’d know if he made it to his smuggling ring in one piece, but we parted with final goodbyes and left on foot through the far thicket behind Castle Ravenspire.

“You helped Bevan?” I asked Legion softly.

“He’d been ambushed in the trees, we intervened.”

“As Legion or the Blood Wraith.”

He chuckled. “They do not flee from Legion Grey, Kvinna.”

At the base of a slope, dead shrubs were stacked in a far-reaching archway. “Moonvane,” I whispered. Dead, brittle. A reminder of the fae prince who’d died and took power away from this land. I’d heard more than once the land resisted us, and in a way, I believed it did. Loyalty, good intentions, compassion—all of it was needed to break this curse, and if I had to guess I’d say fury thrived in good intentions. Not that it didn’t work for the wicked, but potential was unlocked for the genuine.

At least, I hoped.

“This is the marker,” Legion said as he broke off one of the dry moonvane branches. He stepped back as Halvar took a rather grandiose step to the front.

“Ready?”

“Been ready,” Tor grumbled.

Siv settled behind me, silent and observant. We had hardly spoken in all this, but I felt a bit of gladness she was here and willing to help end this. When this was over, I’d tell her. If I could forgive Legion his secrets, I could forgive Siv hers.

Halvar opened the leather pouch and dumped a bit of silvery powder into his hand. “Oh, it sort of tingles.” He faced the arch of dead moonvane and tossed the dry elixir.

I held my breath and waited for a marvelous rush of wind as a magical place appeared.

There was no wind, but a smoky kind of haze wrapped around the space, and when it lifted it was as if the ground had extended. A great space that had not been there before. The courtyard was surrounded by a hip-high stone wall. Statues of the gods—the father of gods with his ravens, the goddess of love, even the god of tricks and schemes. The statues protected what looked to be a cluster of mausoleums. Simply built from wood and wattle and sod. The mounds were reserved for burial chambers of warriors and royalty.

To see it appear from air left me breathless.

“This is it,” Halvar whispered, entirely serious now.

“Which one?” Siv asked. “You said the help to end this will be in the Black Tomb, but there are several mounds.”

“We’ll search all of them if we must,” said Tor as he withdrew a slender short blade from his hip. “Keep low and keep alert. Let’s go.”