Golden Curse

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

"I thought we'd agreed you wouldn't use your magic," Viktor Basile growled as he sliced through the vines spreading rapidly across the forest floor.

Etta circled him. "You've said yourself that the people we'll have to fight won't be playing by the rules. Why should I?"

His hand shot out, and he grabbed a fistful of her shirt. “Carelessness will get you killed.” He released her and she stumbled back. “You’re soon going to take a place inside the palace of Gaule where magic will tie the noose. Don’t forget that.”

“How could I forget my life is not my own?”

His voice hardened on his next words as he took up his fighting stance again. “If La Dame comes for you, are you going to hesitate? Are you going to fall back and let her take everything you have? Everything you are?”

Etta let the vines still and dodged the path of her father’s staff. “No.”

“What?” he yelled.

“No!”

The sorceress who’d controlled her family for generations wouldn’t have her.

“La Dame won’t control me,” she growled.

Her father shook his head, regret flashing in his eyes. “Then you have already lost, my daughter. Because she does control you. She does own you. She already has everything you are. That’s what it means to be cursed.”

“We can fight back.”

“No. That’s the point. You cannot fight her. If you do, she will own your death as well. I must prepare you to take up the curse and the hardest part is learning not to fight it. Learning to accept that we must serve our enemies.”

He came at her again.

Hate. It drove her, begging to be released on her opponent as she jumped, using the toe of her boot to kick off a tree. Only after she spun and landed in a defensive crouch did she raise her eyes once again to her father. No. She couldn't unleash her hate on him no matter the words that left his mouth or the burning inside of her they caused.

She should have seen it coming, but her eyes were so focused on her his blazing stare that she didn't notice his arm jerk to the side seconds before the staff snapped against her back. She crumpled to the ground face first, groaning into the dirt.

"Get up." Viktor Basile's voice was hard, commanding. The voice of a man who was once the crown's protector.

Persinette shifted her hands beneath her chest and pushed up. It wasn't pain or exhaustion that slowed her movements, only annoyance.

Her father clucked his tongue. She glared at him, knowing she could beat him if he didn't rely on petty tricks.

"Etta," he barked. "Stance."

She bent to retrieve her staff and felt the air move to make way for another surprise strike. Spinning out of the way, she twirled her staff and closed her eyes to listen with her magic to the sounds in the earth. Each attempted blow followed a tiny whistling as the wood sailed through the air. Each shift of feet accompanied a change in the earth.

He jabbed at her legs and she jumped, catching her father's weapon between her feet on the way down. His hands lost their grip on it and looked to the ground.

The grass grew over his worn boots. Etta grinned as he tried to break free. They held him firmly in place.

"You have your tricks, Father. I have mine." She jabbed his chest lightly. "Do you concede?"

"Pull your magic back, Persinette.” His face reddened.

She stepped back to lean against a tree with her arms crossed over her chest.

The silence between them was almost as vast as the forest surrounding them. The Black Forrest struck fear in the hearts of many people. They believed a danger lurked among the trees. Magic. Evil. For Etta, the danger sat in the castle beyond the Northern edge of the woods.

Finally, her father spoke in his low, dangerous way. "Because using magic will get you killed."

"You say that, but they do not dare come for us here."

He took a knife from the leather sheath on his belt and bent to cut the grasses entombing his feet. When he was finally free, he looked up at her once more. "Soon you won't have the protection of the legends." He started to walk toward the one-room cabin they called home.

She ran after him. “I don’t need legends to protect me.”

He spun, and she stopped to avoid running into him. “From the crown, maybe. But what about when she comes for you?”

“La Dame can’t cross the wards as long as magic runs in her blood.”

He shook his head. “Have I taught you nothing? You can’t rely on forever. Magic does not stretch into eternity. Those wards may not always protect you.”

“Then I will fight her. I am a Basile. It’s what I’m supposed to do.”

“And La Dame is a queen!” His shriek scared a bird from a tree and in the stillness that followed, the flap of its wings were deafening. He breathed out slowly, gathering his control like it was an unraveled rope. “She has ruled Dracon for generations. She can’t be destroyed. Her power is unmatched.” He put a hand on Etta's shoulder. “Enemies are everywhere, my precious girl. The time for me to protect you is almost past. The best you can do now is follow the path that lies before you. La Dame holds the strings and our family has danced to her rhythm for years. It has been many generations since she destroyed our ancestors and created our curse.”

He turned and began walking again. Without looking back, he called, "I'm heading to town for some supplies. You are not to leave these woods. Not like last time."

Etta shivered. Last time she'd journeyed to the market of Gaule, she'd been caught stealing. Two burly men carrying jagged axes had chased her all the way to the edge of the woods. They hadn’t dared to follow her into the trees though. No one did.

La Dame would. Etta doubted anything frightened the sorceress queen of Dracon.

The Black Forrest was said to be haunted. Those were the legends Etta’s father claimed protected her. The few townsfolk brave enough to venture into the woods, returned with reports of strange sounds—when they returned at all. The forest held many secrets. Chief among them pertained to the last remaining magic in the kingdom. When the great army came all those years ago to destroy any who possessed it, the woods and the protection of her father's wards there had been the only place for many of the magic folk to go.

Her father had shielding magic. The magic he wielded allowed him to craft strong wards to keep people safe, to keep a kingdom safe. That gave him power and made him valuable to the king. And it was why the king tried to kill him. He just hadn’t realized killing him would have brought down the wards surrounding Gaule. Wards that kept magic folk both in and out of the kingdom since none could cross the border.

Etta strolled to the river until her pace grew steady and she began to run. The warm summer wind brushed against her cheeks, lifting her long, braided hair off the back of her neck. The clearing came into view and a grin stretched across her face as the sight before her became clear. Vérité stood on the bank with his head dipped low and his mane covering his eyes as he drank.

"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 f*******n 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.