Chapter 8 #2
I had no time for leisure—barely enough for soap.
The braid came quick and tight down my scalp, rehearsed and practical, a long-sleeve tunic smoothing down the curls that never stayed put as I brought it over my head.
My leather pants were worn enough where I didn’t have to force them over my hips, and I cinched a thick belt around my waist, ensuring nothing came loose.
The same Verena as always.
That’s who looked back when I passed the mirror, scratched from decades of use. The woman I believed myself to be.
Chestnut hair braided thick from forehead to waist, though a few strands still defied me. I tucked a curl behind my pointed ear, where a gold hoop was pierced through the inner fold.
I must have gotten it after the pub one night, because I have never been able to remember getting it done. The scar across my cheek caught the light, it was barely raised now, yet it marked me all the same.
My reminder that even monsters can bleed.
My only merciful feature might have been my restless eyes. Blue and green, never quite one, but always both.
If not for the stain in the left.
A shadow curling at the edge of the iris, spreading with leisure, claiming silently. Bleeding inward like dusk devouring the sea's horizon.
The curse. Always there. Always devouring.
I stepped away, the bed squealing as I sat where my boots waited, not nearly as clean as Callum’s. Scuff marks layered their leather; the laces frayed as I pulled them tight.
But I didn’t mind, not like he would.
Light ricocheted off the table, a glint sharp enough to catch my eye. That’s when I finally noticed it, what lay beside the mug.
My key.
Cold air swept past as I pushed the door open, carrying with it the breath of the village.
Csolenia was no longer known for its beauty.
Whatever splendor it had once claimed was stripped bare, stolen to veil the palace and polish its lies. What remained was grit, survival.
The stubborn way we carried on despite it.
Homes leaned crooked, stacked one atop another as though holding each other up, their chipped stone and rotted wood long past its peak. Narrow paths of cobblestone twisted throughout the village like a maze, confusing even those who’d lived here their whole lives.
Desperation lingered in these streets. But sometimes it was drowned beneath sweeter things. The comfort of bread, the tang of herbs simmering in pots, the acrid bite of steel pulled fresh from the forge.
The further you strayed from the village’s heart, the more it sagged. The slums curled around its edges like decay, homes belonging to mortals, those not born of Fae blood. They were all left to the margins, forgotten.
Guards prowled through the alleys, their armor clattering, their sneers louder. They shoved passersby for sport, knocking baskets from hands, faces into grit.
No reprimand would follow.
This was their authority, their king’s command.
And gods, how Obrann relished it.
Callum was waiting at the end of the path leading to my cottage, arms folded, posture crisp. Together we slipped into the center of town, boots squelching in the muck.
I let my eyes linger on the statue of Aelia, the Goddess of Land and Sun, as we passed. Her smile was crafted soft, her stone hands open, keeping the light loud through the darkest days.
A few years ago, Obrann had raised his own beside her, defiling her protection. The stone he used was bigger and stronger; a challenge chiseled in sculpture. His way of telling the gods they were wrong, that a non-heir could rule their kingdoms.
Aelia still shone, though, even with her statue marred by his murk.
Chill gnawed at my skin, sinking teeth into my bones. I reached for my cloak—oh, right, I hadn’t grabbed it since I had been rushed out like some half-dressed fool. I rubbed my arms, friction sparking little relief.
Winter crept in faster this year. Many wouldn’t have enough to keep from freezing, from starving. And no one met one another’s eyes anymore. Not in frost season.
When it came, family turned to survival.
And survival was rarely about sharing.
I glanced at Callum, noticing the way his shoulders had squared, his jaw tensing more than usual. He didn’t need to speak; the mask was enough. Command suited him and yet carved into him all the same.
His acceptance of the guard’s mantle years ago had rattled me, but it had torn something from him he didn’t let show. Most of the town hadn’t forgiven him. Some sneered as we passed, some spat, slamming their doors. Some hurled curses meant to bruise.
If only they knew who walked beside him.
He ignored it, keeping his hands tucked deep in his pockets, his stride measured, letting every insult slip off him as though he didn’t hear. But I knew he did. Every word cut, each one lingered.
I let new ones pass from my mind to his, words I knew he needed to hear. I’m so proud of you.
He turned, eyes catching mine. “I’m proud of you too, sis.”
I clutched my chest, throwing my hand to my forehead like some fainting maiden, feigning awe. Anything to lighten the affliction. He caught the jest, lips tugging at the corner.
But even as the truth hummed beneath his voice, undeniable, I wasn’t quite sure what he was proud of. Sure, I hold power and am slightly lethal, all traits one aspires to be, but there is certainly nothing good about who I am.
Still, he said it. So, maybe it was true.
The crowd thickened as we moved deeper into town, voices rising in waves, the village finally waking. Faces blurred past, nods here, faint smiles there, thin pretenses of civility in a place built on endurance.
A crooked sign swung on rusted chains above a corner shop, its sweet, familiar scent suffocating around my throat.
Guilt slid without warning into my chest. I knew where we were headed. And I was going to kill Callum for it.
Excuses scrambled through my head, frantic as birds in a cage—I forgot my cloak. True enough. Winter flu, sudden and tragic. Less true, but not my first time feigning it.
Callum slowed his strides before I could give one breath, then halted completely, his shoulder blocking my path.
“Stay here,” he said before darting away.
I turned, right into a wall of salt and sea. “Sorry—” I started, then cringed. That scent. That damned smirk.
Reve.
He turned, grin slicing across his sunburnt face, his blond hair plastered to his temples, those careless blue eyes still sky-bright and irritating. His ears, rounded, mortal, still pretended to belong to a boy who never grew into the charm he wore.
But once, gods help me, for a year when I didn’t know better, it had worked on me.
“Hey, V!” he sang. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.” His voice was deeper now, stripped of the boyishness I remembered.
I forced a thin smile. “Hi, Reve.” My arms folded around myself as I peeked past him, where Callum stood shoulder to shoulder with Duke, the two leaned close, words hushed between them. “No rest for the wicked. You know how it goes.”
He tugged at his quilted jacket, puffing his chest as if to fill the space between us. “Not sure if you heard, but my next voyage to Amarrow’s been postponed.” He grinned wider. “I’m here for a few more months.”
I blinked, unsure what reaction he wanted. We hadn’t seen each other in over a year. Why should I care how long he stayed? And yet, interesting...
Trade with Amarrow didn’t simply pause. It was a neighboring continent, reachable only by sea, its ports relying on our coin to thrive. Something was wrong if the ships weren’t moving.
My mind reeled with what could possibly be causing the trade disruption, but I could barely string a thought together because Reve was still staring at me.
“Yay?” I offered flatly.
“That’s the spirit.” He chuckled, stepping forward, hand outstretched for my arm.
The grin fell when I shifted back, hope slipping like sand through his fingers.
“We should meet at the pub this week. I hear some Fae woman from a southern territory wandered in, claiming she knows,” he mouthed his next words, “the Viper.”
The world shifted. Everyone knew of the curse, the stories, the whispers that traveled like fog. But no one spoke of the familiarity.
Why, out of every village in Luamis, would this stranger arrive here?
Reve kept rambling, something about songs, about stories, a voice like melted silver. His words blurred, dying beneath the alarm pounding through my head, my body already scenting a hunt.
I forced calm, anything to change the subject. “Pretty sure she’s playing you all for coin.”
I slipped past him and his voice followed, layered with confusion. “How did you know she charged?”
Because I don’t know her.
My tongue clicked against my teeth. “Because that curse doesn’t exist. Not anymore.”
It was a myth, a legend, a scary story honed into gloom. All the above, yet none of it true.
I halted beside Reve when his hand raised to stop me from passing. “Come on. Either way, it’ll be fun. You do remember how to have fun, right?”
Gods spare him from my wrath this instant.
He fished in his pocket and dangled a coin between his fingers, bait glittering in the morning light. “First drink and story are on me.”
My lip curled in humor. Nineteen-year-old me might’ve melted at the offer. Now, even the curse inside me chuckled.
“No deal.”
His face cracked, reformed into bravado. “I’ll beg,” he threatened. “Right here, on my knees, Verena. Embarrass you in front of the whole damned village.”
I exhaled through my nose, already sharpening the scowl snapping past his shoulder. Duke’s eyes, finally, landed on mine. About time.
He murmured low into Callum’s ear, and my brother’s stride angled back toward us.
Reve leaned closer, hands pressed together, pout painted across his tanned face. “So?”
I rolled my eyes skyward, regret sinking its claws in before the word even left my lips. “Fine.”
Curiosity was my ruin.
Maybe this stranger at the pub truly knew something. Secrets meant for me, truths I was destined to claim. But if she didn’t, if this was nothing but a scam for coin and attention, then I would show her just how true the rumors of my blood truly was.
He sagged with victory. “You won’t regret it.” His gaze flicked over my shoulder. “Hey, man.”
Callum stepped in, hand clasping Reve’s with practiced calm. His presence was a wall, just as Duke’s arm slung casual possession over my shoulders.
And Reve, whether he noticed or not, was suddenly outnumbered.
The scent of honey and cinnamon floated up from Duke’s hand, washing away the brine of Reve’s stench.
Reve’s glare skimmed, narrowing in on Duke for a moment too long before he said, “I have to run, but I’ll see you soon.” He winked at me and I hid a grimace before he turned on his heel and left.
Duke only smiled, eyes alight with mischief, his arm drawing tighter around my neck.
Callum lifted a finger at the notion. “Alright, enough of that.”
I dropped my arms dramatically, shoving them out to either side. “Did no one notice my help me eyes for the last two minutes?”
Duke bit into his pastry with zero shame. “Looked more like fuck me eyes.”
My palm slammed into his gut. “They most certainly did the fuck not.” He groaned, crumbs scattering down his shirt. “Don’t be gross. And where was this sense of humor when I was late the other day?”
Callum snapped toward us. “Come again?”
Duke’s eyes widened, chewing faster, stuffing another bite into his mouth as if the pastry could save him.
My lips parted to answer, but not one damn excuse was found on my tongue.
Callum’s arms folded across his chest, his lips pressed into a hard line.
I only shrugged, turning away with innocence as Duke waved us off with a laugh, already veering toward a girl waiting by the bakery. She was small and beautiful, with thick curly hair and eyes like his. She squealed when he picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder.
“Let’s go,” Callum muttered.
But my feet stayed rooted when my attention shifted. No longer on Duke, not on Callum.
It was on Reve.
On the note he too casually, too smoothly, slid into the pocket of a one-eyed guard when he thought no one was watching.