Wicked is the Curse.

38 | Chamber

Chapter 38 | Chamber 

She could not remember.

How could she not remember? The Bloodbound knew her. Knew her from her Wield and yet, she had no memory of this Wield as a girl. She was choked with memories of Cearna, of her family. She could remember a path perfectly once walked, but Valherin had opened up the gaps in her memories. Gaps that she never knew existed.

The Bloodbound was perfectly docile in front of the crowd. On either side of him, Levrna and Zehla stood to attention. Levrna's expression was tight, as if standing so close to the Bloodbound pained her. Zehla had a hand resting casually on the cloth covered hilt of her short-blade, her expression flat.

"Do you swear your allegiance to the crown of Cearna?" the Pretender poised the blade over his skin.

His eyes were dark and heavy. "I promise."

Aire could feel the salt-wind on her skin. The pride that echoed all the years later. Her father, with his eyes warm on hers. "Do you promise, Éalaire, to swear your allegiance to the people of Cearna?"

Her breathing quickened. Nyeth, beside her, cast her a quick look. Aire could not mask her growing disquiet. The mark on his palm was long healed. Cut by a blade of Lunar steel. A promise made when her father was still alive. Why would a Vespith boy make a promise to the Cearnain High-King?

It had to be some kind of trick.

The Pretender continued to speak, her words right and yet it was all wrong. There could be no blood promise made like this, just to invoke loyalty. The blood promise was made by those who held authority in Cearna or would. Her mother had made such a promise when she wed into Cearnain royalty under the Samhain full-moon, silver bleeding into her dark hair.

Aire stared hard at the Bloodbound. Who are you? Who are you? As if her thoughts rang clear, his gaze shifted to her. The Pretender cut into his skin, ignorant to the old scar. A true Aryshalin would realise what that represented.

"Do you promise to protect Cearna and her interests and to protect the crown of Cearna from harm?"

His gaze was on Aire's. His reply was swift. "I do."

Who are you?

Her father had cut into her palm, and she had been proud – so proud – to let the land of Cearna soak in her blood. As if in that moment, the very earth had trembled beneath her, such power sweeping through her veins as moonflowers burst into colour around her ...

No.

Her memories shifted. No. Her father had cut her palm. She had made her promise and he had told her he was proud of her. Nothing more.

Shaking her head, Aire took a swift step back. She couldn't stay here and watch this farce. She couldn't watch as the Bloodbound made a promise that couldn't be kept, as the moon was not silver, and his blood did not soak Cearnain soil. It was all wrong.

Geala floated amongst the crowd, her form bathed in red.

Someone gripped her wrist tight as she made to turn and leave. Nyeth. Her grip was bruising, her nails digging into Aire's skin. Lowly, she said, "I do not know what is wrong with you Aire, but you need to calm. There are eyes on you."

"Sloane?"

Nyeth glanced down at her briefly. Aire forced herself to relax, taking a slow breath. The thrumming inside of her slowed. Thorns pricked at the underside of her skin. "That woman takes her eyes off of you, only to gawk at Brice."