Of Glass and of Gold (The Cursed Kingdom #2)

1. Nora

1

Nora

A current of red light speared the sky, illuminating the mass of clouds above as if they were a wound above the ivory castle.

Within a blink, it vanished as if it had never been. From where I stood on our front stoop, pouring the sudsy gray water into the thawing flower bed, I had a clear view of Highcrest Castle—though I never warranted a glance in that direction if I could help it. The most corrupt place in the entire world of Myelle, if you asked me.

A few villagers heading to the market stopped to marvel at the unusual display, dressed in thick woolen cloaks accentuated by cherry red noses.

But the spectacle in the sky was quickly left behind. These people, my people, didn’t have the luxury to sit and gawk or gossip for hours as the wealthy did. Work needed to be done, coin to be earned, and bellies to be fed.

Months ago, dear ol’ Prince Nicholas had The Coveted girl move into the castle, so a display of magic wasn’t overly shocking. Of course the man with access to untold riches would give himself the magical ability to grant his desires, as if he didn’t already have everything.

What a prick.

Maybe I would get lucky and hear about how whatever self-serving indulgence he’d requested from the magic girl backfired, causing the elimination of the last in the royal line during tomorrow’s market chatter. Perhaps it had been the prince’s blood that’d hurtled toward the heavens and stained the sky.

The thought had a smile grazing my lips for a brief moment. But that sort of luck wasn’t afforded to those who lived in South Harbor—the lowest laying town with access to the ports.

I peered down at my task, grip tight on the worn wooden handle. Swapping daggers for a mop really put a damper on my training high from a few days ago.

Blowing out a breath, dark fallen strands that framed my face fluttered in its path. I was sure I looked as unkempt as I felt with my messy ponytail and sweat-dampened shirt.

A sweeping breeze blew past, the last chill of winter still clinging to it. I closed my eyes and welcomed the relief against my heated skin. I’d been doing these damned floors for hours now, the muscles in my neck and lower back tense.

Despite being the only one to work outside the home to pay off the debt, my dearest stepmother, Eucinda, also saw fit to delegate house cleaning duties to me.

In the fifteen years I’d lived with the woman, I couldn’t recall a time she’d ever lifted a finger to manage the house. Having half a dozen staff meant she never had to, but those days were long gone, thus ushering in my reign of indentured servitude to the cruel hag.

Awkwardly balancing the mop and empty bucket over the threshold, I let the bucket clatter and bang against the wooden floors after it tripped over the lip of the doorframe, giving it a tiny kick of frustration for good measure. I closed the front door, enclosing myself in the darkened foyer.

You’d never think this dark, unlit, cobweb-dusted entrance was the same one we’d moved into. Bright, potent flowers used to have a place on every surface. Candelabras and torch sconces used to make this place look as posh as a castle. Freshly waxed floors and a shiny staircase welcomed every guest into our home, treating them like royalty.

A smile twitched on my lips as memories played in my head of my father coming home and running into his arms.

“Daddy!” I shouted when I saw my handsome-faced father walk through the door. He had the sharpest jawline out of anyone, especially his business associates who usually had pudgy cheeks to match their bellies. My father remained slim, hair so dark it bordered on black.

His smile spread to his eyes, wrinkling the skin around the almond shapes. “Ellanor!” he exclaimed, matching my level of excitement. We collided, embracing each other in an all-consuming hug. He rose with me still secured tightly in his grasp and we twirled in the immaculate foyer.

My giggles and his laughter echoed off the tall walls, our joy resounding back to us.

I swore I could still hear it now, but the scene in front of me dulled as I came back from the memory. Sconces that hadn’t been lit in months wore a layer of dust, and the tables had been cleared of any furnishings—sold to offset the cost of living without my father’s ship merchant income.

“Nora!”

A shudder racked my body at the shrill woman’s voice. Heaving a sigh, I left the mop behind to go fulfill whatever request she no doubt had prepared.

The living room off the front entrance held half the furniture it used to, most of it covered now by sheets to shelter them from dust.

Ready for resale at a moment’s notice.

Passing through to the formal dining room, it was much the same. Half of the chair set had been sold, leaving only enough for the four of us—not that we ever enjoyed family meals in here anymore.

I veered down the hall connected to the kitchen and her sitting room and regrettably stepped to the left. Eucinda came into view, her posture straight in her favorite chair while she embroidered. Her swept back hair was gathered in a low bun, not a strand out of place. Maybe she was such a bitch because her hair was always painfully tight. White strands streaked the former blonde and her face had developed deeper creases in recent years. Especially that one between her eyebrows that became more prominent when she spoke to me.

She was surrounded by her creations on the walls. Embroidered pieces adorned almost every room, even though the stitching was sloppy at best. My father had been so proud, though, acting as if every new piece she presented belonged on display in a public gallery.

Back then, it’d been easier to support her. I could see even as a child that her talent lacked, but with my father’s sweeping enthusiasm and lessons about how to treat others from my angelic mother, I’d joined in singing her praises.

That was another time, when the love of my father softened that ice heart of hers. While she never made much of an effort to bond with me while he lived, she certainly shut me out after he died. Another mouth to feed in a time of upset, a child she never consented to raising on her own. Strange to think how it’d already been twelve years since he passed.

I stopped in front of the doorway. “Yes, Ma'am?” A forcibly ingrained title.

“I need you to go to the baker. The funds are on the kitchen counter.” Her eyes didn’t once lift from her needle and thread.

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“And don’t dawdle.” She breathed out an exasperated breath, as if all I ever did was purposely waste time and disappoint.

I started walking away before my gaze shot to the ceiling. My teen years taught me that if she ever caught my attitude, the back of my hands would pay the price. She hadn’t ridden a horse in years, none of us had, but that riding crop still served her well, evident by the lines striping my skin.

The coin purse rested near the flour jar, and I picked up the small pack. A tune played from the bag as the coins jingled against each other—the sound of freedom. While I knew there would be no more in the bag than the exact amount needed for the necessary loaves, I reveled in the sound. It meant not going to bed with hunger pains, at least for the better half of a week.

My steps became lighter as I floated through the house. Permission to leave the confines of her walls within the day hours before my chores were completed sent my heart aflutter. I wasted no time adorning a scratchy wool cloak and boots that had split apart at the seams. On silent feet, I raced down the stairs and out the door. Skipping down the front steps, I noticed a shift in the temperature. Spring teased its impending debut, and I couldn’t wait for the warmth.

Sure, I’d regret that come summer when my attic room became a furnace, but for now it was a relief I longed for. These streets were glacial in thin layers at night.

While I resented those that lived in the grand houses that surrounded ours, I was grateful that we hadn’t been forced to move yet, that I still had a roof over my head. Life had changed drastically after my father died, not only from grief, but from the way we’d been ostracized among our peers. Like being poor was some disease to catch. I tried not to let it get under my skin every time I walked the short, familiar path to the market square.

Vendors worked hastily at their stalls. The aroma of sizzling meat had my stomach groaning as I trudged past, wishing I could sink my teeth into juicy, tender filets.

A mother purchased a kabob for her pristinely dressed daughter. The young girl jumped up and down before taking the stick and chomping on the perfectly charred end. My father used to casually buy me things like that, and the memory upturned my lips.

My mouth watered as I watched satisfaction spread over the little girl's face, and reality reminded me that my circumstances were much different now.

He was a good man, Nora. A good father. That’s what matters.

Reciting that helped ebb the rising tide of anger that occasionally wanted to break the surface.

No more than two steps away from that little girl enjoying her food was a family of three huddled together between vendor stations. Their cloaks and jackets were caked in dirt, as were their faces. Tear stains marked the children’s cheeks, and I knew it was from hunger. The mother flitted her gaze between any passersby, pleading for mercy.

For scraps.

If I searched from where I stood, I knew I’d find dozens of other begging faces. It was the reason I tried not looking. We struggled alongside them, but fortunately, didn’t live in the clutches of homelessness. Guilt gnawed away at my attempt to rationalize why I couldn’t help.

Up ahead, noises from the gathered crowd grew in strength, an excuse to steal my attention. After rounding the corner, I could see someone on the platform in the town square speaking to the crowd.

“While we suffer down here, left to fend for ourselves, the wealthy sit in their golden towers and pass their days with gluttony and lethargy!” The man with long, graying hair stoked the throng of agreeable citizens to roar and pump their fists. He continued, and I threaded my way through the quickly accumulating bodies.

I finally reached the bakery stand. “Afternoon, Alejo. How are you today?”

“Good, Nora. Nice to see you. The usual order?” he asked.

“You bet.” I dropped the coin pouch, and he took it to count. Using the counter ledge to lean against, I returned my attention to the demonstration garnering excitable onlookers. “Think it’ll ever make a difference?” I asked over my shoulder without taking my eyes off the man on stage.

“I think people with a purpose can always make a difference,” he replied.

I ruminated on his sentiment, unsure if I believed it. For nearly a year, our village faced more than the regular hardships. Disappearances of members from our community were reported with no genuine effort to show from the prince’s guard to find them. They patrolled our streets, collected our taxes, and were the face of law. Yet, they acted as if people going missing didn’t fall under their purview.

Speaking of which, a few guards entered the square, recognizable by the glinting silver armor and blue painted crest. The crowd had grown so large that I doubted the speaker would have been able to spot their entrance. His flaring passion on the stage had me questioning if their presence would even matter to him at all, though it meant trouble.

The guards scrupulously assessed the situation, exchanging what appeared to be a plan of attack. Within moments, more guardsmen appeared, marching toward the stage. My body stiffened, seeing the impending altercation, but not being able to stop it.

The gray-haired man obviously hadn’t spotted their movement, even as they split to surround the stage, leaving him nowhere to run. He continued bashing the lack of support from the Crown, noting the hunger crisis, tax collection, The Coveted girl, and the kidnappings.

Acutely coordinated, the guardsmen closed in. Shared revolt dampened as they neared the stage. I spotted the moment the man on stage saw his fate. Guards stationed at both sets of stairs leading to the platform caged him as they approached.

We were all witness to the four guardsmen, two on either side, as they grabbed his arms. In one quick motion, they kicked the back of his knees and he crumbled to the floor.

The crowd had almost sucked all the air from the market with their collective inhale as a guard addressed them. “Those found speaking against the Crown will be punished!” He dug his fingers into the man’s silver hair, balling it in his fist to control his movement. Without pause, he delivered a cracking blow to the man’s face, not relenting his grip. It kept his helpless victim in a primed position to take hits.

The punches were delivered in rapid succession, but luckily, the man lost consciousness. Probably the only reason the guards released his limp body, letting it tumble on the wooden boards before they stepped over him and retreated.

A few bystanders rushed the stage, gathering the man’s unmoving body and dragged him away. The audience quickly scattered, leaving an empty, fear-tainted stage. My nostrils flared.

I had long hated the Crown, but my contempt easily ballooned over the years. Falling from wealth quickly altered my perspective on the world and every witnessed injustice was another layer of scar tissue on my already marred heart. Anger can be a comforting coil around sorrow and grief, giving you a sense of redirection, a fire that burns away the memory of things that weigh too heavily on a spirit.

As I surveyed the scattering townspeople, I fell into that fluffy embrace of heated temper. We suffered, they prospered. Even the act of speaking out, of pointing out the insulting indifference we were shown, led to our suffering.

“Nora,” Alejo said softly, grabbing my attention again.

“Yeah?” I hadn’t realized the tight clench that’d had a hold on my jaw until he broke my trance.

“There’s not enough for four loaves here, only three,” he kept his voice quiet so no one beyond us could hear the pity.

“What?” I shifted on my feet to face him, my stomach tensing at the thought. “Let me see.” He placed the pouch and coin back into my extended hand. I moved the coins around with the tip of my finger, adding the tally in my head. He’d been right. “Oh.” Why wouldn’t Eucinda have told me? “I guess three, then.” I handed it back to him, disappointment making my movements stiff.

He filled the bread bag with one less loaf than I’d anticipated, and I left with a forced smile. My thoughts turned toward my shift at the tavern tonight. If I was lucky, by the time the kitchen closed down, there might be leftovers I could snag.

I clung to the less than full bag as if it were as valuable as gold. Eucinda’s words echoed in my mind, ‘don’t dawdle’ , but they didn’t sway my decision. Instead of turning down my street, I veered left down the main path toward the docks.

Odion’s shop was second to last down the sloped lane that fed to the port, commonly referred to as ‘the strip’, and I stepped under the roof of the exposed shop. None of the shops along the strip had walls, all open to each other and the ocean breeze. I waited for the formidable man in a leather apron to finish pounding the glowing red steel he’d pulled from the fire roaring in the stone hearth embedded in the back wall. Sparks flew off with every pummeling strike, but his repetition never wavered until he finished.

He raised the blade and inspected it.

“Looks good,” I complimented.

My friend turned to face me, his already dark complexion smeared with ash. When he smiled, I felt all the affection of a father. Much needed comfort.

“My girl, I didn’t expect to see you today.” He set down the scorching metal into the nearby water barrel, sending steam and sizzling bubbles spewing upward as it hissed.

“I didn’t expect to stop by, but I think I’m starting to need another break from that house,” I admitted. Odion knew all about my family dynamic, and understanding flashed in his eyes.

“Another lesson so soon?” He gave me a knowing grin.

“Yes, I can handle it.” Okay, maybe that part was a lie, seeing as I’d still woken up stiff this morning from our sparring three nights ago. “Though, I question if you can?” I snarked.

He chuckled under his breath, wiping sweat from his forehead with a rag. “Don’t you have a shift tonight?”

“I do, but not until eight. I can swing by after dinner? You can show me more of those disarming techniques.” I waggled my eyebrows at him.

He wiped down his hands and peered at me from under his brow. “I suppose a girl should be proficient in these things. Especially these days.” Tossing the rag on the table, he splayed his palms over the long wooden surface, propping himself up. His gaze scoped both sides of the street before he continued, “I heard the guards by the docks last night. A wife reported her husband missing.”

Odion probably knew more dirty secrets than the wives of the elite in the kingdom. Almost nothing noteworthy happened without him hearing about it first. Being one of the main blacksmiths in the village, and ideally located between the market and the docks, he was constantly surrounded by chatty civilians and bored guardsmen. It’s amazing what people will gossip about while waiting on tools or weapons or the next ship at port.

“A husband sneaking out at night? Hardly sounds nefarious,” I joked.

“He left to take out the trash in his nightwear,” he continued, dropping his volume. “She heard a ruckus, and when he didn’t come back inside, she went to check on him. But he was gone.”

I confirmed no one was close enough to hear our discussion before I stepped closer. “Shit. Did she ask the neighbors if they heard anything? See anyone?”

He dropped his head between his hunched shoulders and shook. “Nah. At least, not that I’ve heard, anyway.”

“Where does she live?”

He raised his head, eyes piercing me with their warning. “Nora, I’ve told you not to get involved. The last thing you want is for attention to be brought on you. You know how they treat troublemakers.” His scolding was delicately wrapped in a whisper.

“Well, maybe if I know where it happened, I can make sure to avoid the area.” I shrugged innocently.

He wasn’t buying it.

“Come on, I shouldn’t be left in the dark. You know I’m often out at night walking home from The Thirsty Tankard. It’s better if I’m aware.” Oh, that was a good one.

He sighed heavily through his nostrils, debate racing across his dark eyes. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d given me information related to these disappearances.

“The prince is set to make an announcement.”

I crossed my arms and pursed my judging lips, trying my best to not let the grating mention ruin my chance at getting this information. “You’re changing the subject.”

He laughed, the deep, husky sound rattling his lungs. “She lives at 168 Unison Way, but I bring up the prince because he’s making the rounds. Which means his guard will be increased. Almost all the soldiers from the pier meandered through here earlier, heading up to the castle in preparation.”

My fists clenched together. “That bastard. He knows we need more protection down here. Hell, just last night another person went missing, and he calls the guards away today?!” My blood boiled beneath my skin with the same menacing sizzle as the sword in the barrel.

The prince knew of our plight. He’d seen our conditions and still never lifted a gold-ring-covered finger. The thought of him alone was enough to ruin any good mood I’d had, not to mention another traitorous act of betrayal against his most vulnerable people.

“All I’m saying is, wait until he leaves. He’ll probably be here tomorrow or the day after. I don’t have the coin to spring you from jail for trespassing on private property.” He stood to his fullest height. The man had to be close to six-foot-five, towering over me like a behemoth.

I needed to be getting home before Eucinda would think my absence unreasonably long. “And you’ll never have to, if I can disarm the guards who try to catch me.” Tossing a wink at him, I made to leave. “Tonight then?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder.

“Tonight,” he confirmed, nodding in agreement as he tried biting back his bemused grin.

That helped shine a light on the previously cast shadow from the mere mention of the prince. A little sparring, then my shift at the tavern, and then a little light recon. What better time than after the prince called away the guardsmen?

If no one else was coming to save my people, then I would.