Golden Curse Read online

  "Looks like I'm not the only one who could use a wash." She scrunched up her nose and waited for the beast to react to her presence.

  He let out a short snort and continued to drink.

  Shaking her head, Etta loosened the ties of the armor at her throat. She struggled to pull the thick leather off her sweat-coated skin and over her head.

  Vérité picked up his head and his brown eyes met hers. She would've sworn there was amusement in them.

  "Yeah?" she said. "I'd like to see you fighting in leather in the heat of the day."

  He struck his hoof against the ground and she narrowed her eyes. He was mocking her. Wooden-headed beast.

  When the winter freezes came, she'd go a month or more without bathing, even with the constant training that coated her in grime. In those months, she didn't smell much better than Vérité.

  But in the summer, she could escape to the river daily. There wasn't enough soap for the ritual, but the water washed away much of the day's filth.

  She removed the rest of her clothes and unbraided her hair. It fell down her back in waves. Her fingers dug in, separating the strands. Sometimes, when all it seemed like she’d ever do was train and fight, her hair grounded her. It reminded her she was a woman. It calmed her and made her feel human in a world where they were treated as less than human.

  Etta took one more look at Vérité before leaping into the water and let herself sink for a moment before giving a strong kick and breaking the surface. The water hugged her as she floated and flicked it at the horse. He shook his head violently, and she laughed.

  Training was hard, but she knew her father was preparing her to take up the family curse, and to be able to protect herself from the enemy she'd serve. He was trying to find a way to get her into the palace household. Soon, the curse would tie her to the Gaulean prince. She was losing time before she’d have to spend her life protecting him.

  There were few women in the guard and none so young. Soon, she'd begin feeling the curse tighten around her like unwelcome bonds, only to be loosened when she was in the presence of the one she was destined to serve.

  A sigh left her lips. No one had charge of their own fate, but few had theirs set in stone generations before they were even born.

  Etta rubbed at her skin until it reddened, wanting to remove all memories of the day. Her father had beaten her too many times. She was better than that. If they'd been sparring with knives instead of poles, he wouldn't have stood a chance.

  She stepped from the water and climbed up the bank, wringing out her hair as she went. It had gotten long again, reaching past her waist, but sometimes it was the only thing that made her feel like a real person. Every time her father made her cut it short, she lost a part of herself. The women in town didn't wear their hair short.

  It wasn't the first time she realized her father should have had a son. She was the first female forced to take up the curse since it was laid on her ancestors.

  She pulled her clothes on over her damp skin and stood beside Vérité. "Feel like a ride?"

  Vérité lowered his nose to her shoulder and nudged.

  She laughed. Gripping a handful of his mane, she hauled herself onto his bare back. He knew exactly what she wanted without direction. They galloped through the woods. They passed a few houses, and she waved at the magic folk she saw. The people of the forest mostly kept to themselves in the years since escaping among the trees.

  Etta closed her eyes, trusting the horse. She remembered that night that brought them here. Eight years ago. The night they'd been forced to flee the castle and run for their lives. The night her mother died. She shook her head and opened her eyes as Vérité slowed. They'd arrived at their favorite place. Every time her father went to town, she escaped to this tapestry of flowers laid out before her. Reds and yellows and blues dotted the landscape as far as she could see.

  If outsiders knew the kind of gems the Black Forest offered, they'd never fear it. They'd want it for themselves. Outside people were selfish. She'd seen it first-hand. People living in the streets with no one to help them. Children without families. Armies who would hunt down anyone blessed with the gift of magic.

  But the thing only Vérité knew was Etta made this place. While the king called her power evil, she made flowers bloom. While he was only death, she was life.

  Yet the hate she held for them filled her with emptiness. The magnificence of this place had no effect on her because even as her magic begged for beauty, she trained for darkness.

  She patted Vérité's neck and slid down. "The first born of every generation will be given to the enemy to be their protector. In the shadows or in the light, they will serve day and night." She looked into the wide, chocolate eyes of the beast beside her. "In seven nights I’ll be eighteen, my friend, and I must find a way to fulfill the edict of the curse. Only then shall I discover its destruction."

  He snorted as if he understood and she sat down among the flowers, drawing warmth from the air into her frozen heart.

  Young Etta perched atop the outer wall of the palace, lost in the sounds of daily life. Her father hadn't been home in days and she was anxious to see him ride through the gates. He rarely left the king's side and that meant many journeys throughout the kingdom.

  She’s gotten in trouble in lessons for telling stories of La Dame.

  To most of the children, the sorceress was nothing more than a dark figure used to scare the children. Yet none of them knew the things Etta understood. That La Dame would come for them. She was the most powerful woman in the world, not a simple bedtime story.

  But none of the other children had magic. They hadn’t grown up with the legends of Bela as they were forbidden in most households of Gaule.

  Etta scanned the streets of the outer castle.

  She stood from her crouch and ran along the wall. Her mother would be furious if she saw. Arms flung out to her sides, Etta balanced perfectly, pride puffing out her chest as she looked down on the rooftops along the wall. Small houses lined the outer edges of the castle.

  The jangling and stomping of many armored boots sounded against the cobblestone street below and she froze, trying to think if she’d stolen anything in the past few days. No. They couldn't be there for her. She peered down as they yanked a man from his house along the wall. His nightgown clung to his legs as the soldiers hauled him further from his waiting bed. Terrified wailing sounded from inside the house and Etta couldn't take it any longer. She ran the length of the wall and jumped onto the corner roof that belonged to her family. Sliding down the angled tiles, she gripped the edge and jumped down onto the crates that held their chickens.

  A loaded wagon sat by the door.

  Father must be home. He'd want to hear what she’d just seen.

  The wooden front door swung open on rusted hinges and Etta stopped moving, her mouth hanging open. A metallic scent hung in the air, so thick she could taste it. A guard stood near the roaring fire, warming his blood-soaked hands. Waiting. Just waiting.

  Etta silently scanned the room, immediately finding the deep red blood as it soaked into the wooden floorboards. It moved and swirled like it was a living thing. But how could it be living when the woman it came from was so obviously dead?

  The body on the floor couldn't have been her mother. She didn't have her mother's kind smile. The iciness in her eyes wasn't right. The woman had been the warmth in their house.

  Etta held in a sob as the floor creaked beneath her. The guard didn't turn.

  "I know you're there," he said. "And I know you possess an even greater magic than her." He glanced sideways and nudged the body with his toe.

  Power tingled in Etta’s fingertips. If they were outside, she'd have him flat on the ground already. But there was no living earth to manipulate inside.

  A horse neighed outside and fear sparked through her. More guards? She knew she should run, but her eyes stared into her mother's empty gaze and she couldn't move.

  The guard finally turned to
her. He opened his mouth to speak again but shut it as his eyes widened.

  "Leave her alone," a high-pitched, but strong voice commanded behind her.

  Tears dripped down Etta's cheeks as she turned to the newcomer and ran to him. He caught her in a hug.

  "Are you okay?" Alex, the Crown Prince of Gaule, asked her softly.

  She sobbed against his chest.

  Alex was a few years older than her, but they'd been friends since she was born.

  Another figure appeared behind Alex and lunged at the guard. He'd been too stunned by the prince's presence that he hadn't been ready for an attack.

  Etta watched without emotion as her father ran his sword through the man's neck. The guard dropped and her father didn't bother to clean the dripping blade before shoving it into its sheath and marching toward her.

  "I came to warn you," Alex said. “My father is coming for magic folk.”

  Her father's face was frigid as he ripped her like a ragdoll from the prince's grip. "We don't need a warning from you," he spat, looking back at his dead wife. "I save the kingdom and your father betrays me." He pointed one long finger. "There will come a day, Alexandre Durand, when my family will be the death of yours."

  The threat sat heavy in the air as Etta's father lifted her into the wagon. She wept as she looked back at the place where they were forced to leave her mother. As she met the prince's gaze, he too had tears in his eyes.

  * * *

  Etta woke gasping for air. She wiped at her damp face and sat up. Darkness enveloped the woods around her. It was the time most people locked themselves inside, away from roaming spirits. For her, she reveled in the silence of the stars that could be seen through gaps in the trees, glittering like rare gems. She liked to believe her mother was among them.

  They hadn't traveled far from the castle the night of her death. Her family's curse tied her father to the king, as it would soon tie her to Alex, meaning they had to stay close, lest the invisible tie tighten around her father's neck like a noose.

  Alex was the boy born into the wrong family. He'd been too good for them, but he'd been a child. Now, with older eyes, she saw him as no different from the rest of his cruel family.

  The night of their escape, her father told her everything about the curse.

  La Dame set out to ruin Bela and its rulers in the cruelest possible way.

  She knew her future led to Prince Alexandre. She would protect him. She would fight for him. But he was the prince of the kingdom that killed her mother and continued to hunt her people, so her trust, her friendship, was something he would never have again.

  Chapter Three

  The taut string of the bow quivered against Etta's fingers as she lined up her shot and tracked her target. She pulled her arm back, feeling the soft feathers of the arrow against her skin. Loosing the arrow, she cursed when it flew wide of the fox. The animal ran off, probably to harass someone else. She'd been tracking it for hours, because it had been causing havoc for a few of the families nearby.

  She threw the bow down in frustration. It was a skill she'd never been able to master. A stick snapped to her right, and she caught sight of a deer, its head bent, lost in its own hunger.

  Etta slid a knife from her belt and flipped it once in her hand. With the stealth of a thief, she stalked toward it unseen. Only the soft crunch beneath her feet told of her presence.

  The deer snapped its head up, but before it could run, Etta flicked her wrist and sent the knife flying end over end. It struck the deer in the chest. The deer ran and Etta chased it for a few paces before gripping the second knife and throwing it as hard as the first.

  There was no satisfaction as there would have been with the fox. The deer did not mean any harm, but resources were scarce and this meat might fetch a price at market. Etta knelt beside the dying creature and told the grasses to rise up to create a softer bed for it to die on. She stroked it between the eyes and a quiver ran through him before his chest failed to rise.

  He wasn't a sizable deer so Etta was able to heft it up across her shoulders, grunting from the effort. She trudged the short distance to her cabin and by the time she arrived, her shoulders screamed from the strain. She dropped the deer on the ground outside the door and shook out her arms. The deer’s eyes bore into her but there was no life behind them.

  Her father hadn't returned. Sometimes he would leave for many days at a time, needing to be close to the castle to soothe the strain of the curse. He tried to hide it, but even the short distance from the king pained him. Would she feel the same crushing agony every time she left Alexandre’s side?

  She pulled at the collar of her shirt as her breaths thickened. She had to get out of the forest if for no other reason than for the distraction. Her destiny rushed towards her faster than she could stop it and she wasn’t ready.

  * * *

  Her eyes flicked back to the deer. She hasn’t expected to find one and as much as she wanted to climb on Verite and ride away, she couldn’t leave the meat to spoil.

  She raised her hand to brush her hair back and paused, the corners of her mouth tipping up and a plan forming. The meat would fetch a fair price at market if she made the journey to the village.

  It had been too long since she left the forest. She’d barely spoken to anyone other than her father or Vérité. Her father would be furious until she dropped the money from her sale into his hands.

  Wanting to get moving, she clutched her knife. Without her father’s help, she couldn’t hang the deer, and she was too anxious to get on the road to let it age. No, she’d have to do this the bloodier way.

  She didn't enjoy butchering, but she preferred to get it done quickly. Some things were just necessary for survival. Her father taught her that blood was nothing to be scared of. One day, she'd be asked to spill a lot of it.

  It was well into the afternoon when she finished and wrapped the meat in paper. The market would be closing in a few hours. She'd never make it in time so she'd need to leave in the morning.

  As she got to her feet and shook out her stiff legs, she looked down at her shirt and trousers, both covered with blood. With a sigh, she headed off toward the river.

  Etta woke early and donned a simple dress that would make her blend in rather than stand out. It was a commoner’s dress. The merchants would think her a farmer or merely a hunter's wife. No one would ever guess the true line she was descended from, the kingdom crushed by a curse.

  Outside, Etta whistled a single high note and waited. Vérité appeared in no time. He never roamed far. "I'm sorry, my friend," she said. "We cannot stand out. As I must wear this ridiculous dress today, you must dress the part as well."

  She took a saddle from its hook on the wall. Vérité snorted but offered no further resistance. He was smarter than most people she'd known.

  Placing her wares for the market in the saddle bags, Etta climbed on and squeezed her legs against the horse's sides. They communicated through subtle shifts and slight kicks, but for the most part, the horse understood what she wanted. Theirs was a special bond. He was a wild horse, untamed. She'd had the wildness trained out of her. She was lethal, but Vérité was understanding. Together, they were complete.

  They rode for hours before leaving the safety of the woods behind and cantered down the path toward town.

  Rows and rows of stone and wood structures stretched out before her. The dirt path gave way to smooth brick roads. Shops were plentiful. While magic folk were hidden away in the forest, the people of Gaule thrived. She shook her head and urged Vérité forward. Disgust twisted in her belly for these people. Every time she ventured among them, it was the same. Their ancestors had destroyed her family's kingdom generations ago and now they'd destroyed her people.

  Pushing it away, she pasted a pleasant look on her face, not the look of a thief or trained fighter. Just a girl enjoying a ride on her horse. She came to a stop in the middle of the market square. Merchants busied themselves setting up booths for the day. She could
take it directly to the butcher shop, but he'd most likely try to underpay her. His people working the booth were easier to manipulate.

  A woman lifted her gaze up from where she set out a display of dried and salted meat as Etta slid down from Vérité’s back. She was the butcher's wife, but no more pleasant than him.

  They were too near the cobbler she'd been caught stealing from last time she came to town for her comfort. Her shoes were once again worn to the point of discomfort, but they were better than the ones she'd had that day.

  Poverty didn't bother her. She wasn't on this earth to live in comfort. Her training and hard circumstances were meant to prepare her. She was only born to fulfill the curse.

  Silently, Etta unhooked the bag from Vérité’s saddle and walked forward.

  The butcher's wife eyed her suspiciously and opened the bag.

  "Steal this, hmmm?" Her voice cracked as she wheezed.

  "What?" Etta leaned forward to begin taking the packed meat out. Her braid fell over one shoulder. "I made the kill with my own hands."

  "You always say that, Darlin', but that don't make it so." She picked up a pack and sniffed at it. "This don't smell so fresh."

  "That's bull. I butchered it yesterday."

  "Probably did a hack job on it."

  Etta gripped the edge of the booth in fury.

  The butcher's wife continued. "Where you find it? We don't get much venison around here. Sometimes the hunters find deer in that meadow east of town."

  She was testing her. The meadow east of town held nothing more than a patch of grass. No hunter would bother with it.

  Etta narrowed her eyes. "The Black Forest."