Curse of fire & blood

Curse of fire & blood

Prologue - a game of survival

The forest watched her. Not with eyes, but with the patient hunger of the one she’d stolen from. Catherine pushed through the undergrowth, breath sharp in her throat. Branches snatched at her cloak. The moss swallowed her footsteps, as if trying to stop her from running. She wasn’t fleeing death, she was chasing the last chance to defy it.

Catherine stumbled through the tangled growth, roots reaching up to stop her. Barely holding on to the vial, she tripped as a root caught her ankle. She fell hard. Cold moss slammed against her hands. She couldn’t stop. Her nails clawed at the damp earth. She desperately dragged herself forward, breath tore at her ribs. The ground started to shake behind her, boots struck the ground. Fast. Relentless. Merciless.

She had stolen their poison, the vial was meant to kill the king, and now the forest itself seemed to turn against her. Hunters of the night court had been sent after her - The last court to join the king, the first to want him dead. In Idôra, the courts ruled everything. The night court with its shadows, the blood court with its warriors, and the lesser clans that bent the knee to whichever power kept them alive. She forced herself upright. The vial almost slipped from her grasp. She clutched it tighter.

She broke through the trees into the clearing where her house stood. The windows were dark, the door ajar, as if waiting for her. Ivy claws at her house, almost burying it beneath its green vines. For a moment she remembered Dain’s laughter in the fields, and the promise they’d buried beneath the flowers, a promise sealed with the compass he carried, the one that would always point to her. A deal sealed in blood.

Inside, silence pressed close. She pressed her back against the door, listening intensely. It had gone quiet outside, almost too quiet. Her fingers tightened around the vial. The liquid glowed faintly, swirling like trapped tar and fire. It made her insides turn, just by the sight of it. This very poison was the only of which could kill an immortal fae.

A thud broke the silence, echoing through the house. Something rolled across the floorboards and tapped against her boot. A compass. Small flowers cut around its edges, a snake hiding beneath them in gold. Dain’s. Blood glinted under the faint green glow. Her stomach twisted. He didn’t make it.

A shadow appeared in the doorway. No face. Only the outline of a man wrapped in darkness, the air reeked of iron and old blood. “You run,” he said, voice low and almost amused. “But you don’t hide, not very well.”

Catherine lifted her gaze. “What did you do to him?” The compass warmed in her palm, its faint green glow seeping through her fingers.. The man’s attention flicked to it, and for a heartbeat, his calm facade cracked.

“You should worry about yourself.” He murmured. She felt the pulse of magic stir beneath her skin, flames gathering around her fingertips. “You killed him to find me,” she said, voice trembling but fierce. “You used his compass.”

He stepped forward, shadows curling around his boots. “He was loyal to a thief and a murderer,” he said. “You stole what was meant for a king, and now you’ll pay for it.” The flames flared brighter. “You won’t bury the truth,” she whispered. “Not this time.”

“Truth,” he said, drawing his crooked sword, “Is a luxury for the living.” Darkness surged from the blade, smothering her fire like water to flame. The blade slid from the darkness, quicker than lightning, leaving her no time to react. Her knees buckled. The compass slipped from her grasp, hitting the floor with a hollow sound.

For a moment, its glow cast them both in an eerie green light, leaving her defiance, and his victory in a scary light.

Catherine reached out, her hand barely lifting from the floorboards. “You can’t take him from me…” she whispered, though he already had, and the vial was all that remained of her defiance. The man paused, just long enough for her to see that her words meant nothing. The compass trembled once, as if refusing to let her go, before falling still.

A lesson

Hoofbeats thunder behind me as we tear through the forest. I glance over my shoulder, wind whipping my hair into my mouth. Five riders follow on their horses, glowing like ghosts, marked with white paint. I tighten my grip on Valente's reign, as if sheer willpower can keep my doubt at bay. This is more than a test. It’s my last chance to prove I’m worthy of my father’s seat. His second. His heir.

Low-hanging branches whip past overhead, and I duck instinctively. Valente charges forward through the woods. My black stallion is not the fastest, but definitely not the slowest horse in Idôra. The cold air drains all warmth from my cheeks, leaving them prickling.

At my hip, the sword sheath clinks with every jolt. My cloak flutters wildly around me, as if trying to escape. With one hand, I loosen the clasp, and the cloak flies off in a snap. Better to lose it than be ripped from his back if it catches on a branch. There are far worse ways to die in Idôra, than to a low-hanging branch.

In Idôra, half-bloods don’t survive by mercy. They survive by power. If I earn his respect, I earn my place, and maybe my safety. Father may serve the blood court, feared across the realm, but even his power can’t shield me from the night court, the king’s newest allies, who hunt half-bloods like me.

The forest tightens around us, the darkness growing thicker, heavier. Even with my enhanced sight, it’s becoming hard to see. Branches scrape my arms. The air tastes of iron and rain. Doubt begins to gnaw at the back of my mind. We haven’t passed the blood oak yet. Too far from the estate. Too far from safety. Too far from proving I belong amongst their ranks.

Valente stumbles over a root and slips, but I manage to swing off before he falls and traps me underneath. I hit the ground hard, my knee scraping against the ground and brambles. Glowing eyes appear between the trees. They follow me with intent. The thought makes me shiver. I’ve always feared them, and the way they’re never fully hidden, even in the dark. They don’t need to be. It’s a trait of both the night- and blood court, one of their defining features.

A trait I know Mavis and I didn’t inherit from our father. They see me as mortal. A girl born of a mortal woman, with no regard for my inheritance from being a daughter of the blood court. Maybe they’re right, but I have something they don’t have. Magic.

Today is important, too important to lose. This isn’t just a chase and lesson, it’s my chance to earn his respect and maybe if I’m lucky, a seat at his table. Maybe they’d see me as more than just a mortal. Someone to fear, to respect. I’ve fought too hard not to be seen.

I raise my sword, ready to strike. “Come on!” I shout into the woods, my voice returning as an echo. I look around at them frantically, as they circle me. My chest burns, rising and falling in short bursts. I won’t be caught off guard, so I plant my foot back and brace my shoulders. The first one lunges. I parry with ease.

Their attacks are probing at first. They quickly grow fiercer, testing for any weakness. I must keep them at bay. I swing my sword at one of them. A clean hit. A victory, but not enough to shift the tide. They have the advantage - enhanced night vision and faster reflexes. Things a mortal can’t match. Things I struggle to match as a half blood.

One of them draws an axe that gleams in the moonlight. I reach for my knife, preparing to summon my magic. I feel the familiar hum in my fingers. The knife hovers above my palm. A pair of yellow eyes stops me cold, watching calmly but with a certain gravity. I understand his message: No magic. Not now. Not here. I swallow it. The knife slides silently back into its sheath.

Half-mortals weren’t supposed to wield magic. If anyone found out, they'd hunt me. Not for what I’ve done, but for what I am. Power is the only shield a half-mortal can wear. But only if you’ve got what it takes to claw yourself to power.

I could burn them with a single cut. But I mustn't. Instead, I dodge the axe as it buries itself in a tree behind me. I leap to my feet again. “Is that all you’ve got?” I shout at them. It feels less frightening knowing he’s here, but also more dangerous because he sees everything. Tests everything. On the other hand, the chance of serious injury is lower when father is present. They fear him. Who wouldn’t? The blood court’s fearsome general. I’m strong enough to win, I know that. But not strong enough to break his rules.

The sword grows heavier. Their movements are like shadows, fluid and unpredictable. I spin, trying to keep them all in sight. There’s no way out now. I’m like a cornered prey. I search for a weakness. Just one misstep. But it mustn’t be mine. Not today. Not in front of him.

I see an opening and lunge, but it’s a trap. I catch the cruel glint in their eyes, the smile revealing a set of needlesharp teeth. One slides in from the side and strikes me with the shaft of his axe. The blow sends me crashing to the ground. Air rushes from my lungs, and I gasp as pain explodes in my side.

I roll away, but it’s too late. A boot slams into my arm, and I hear a crack. I clench my teeth to keep myself from screaming. Blood pulses in my ears, and everything slows for a moment. I force myself to my knees, the sword dangling from my hand, but I refuse to let go. They’re still circling, keeping their distance. Waiting. Testing. Father remains in the shadows, and I know he sees it all. I know he already thinks that I’ve been defeated.

The fae are born of starlight and arrogance. Faster, stronger, nearly immortal. Mortals were their servants. Half-mortals, their mistakes. I refuse to let them win over me without me taking at least one of them down.

I turn towards the one who shattered my arm. That cruel glint still burns in his orange eyes. Rage bubbles in my chest, pushing some of the pain aside. I lunge at him, and he knocks the sword from my hand. I slip the knife out with my other hand and strike at his side like a snake.

The blade pierces straight through his armor. A rough cry escapes him. I ignore my burning arm and press the knife to his throat. I hold his head back. My gaze lands on my father. He looks straight at me. Silent, as he watches. I haven’t won, but I haven't lost either. That much I know.

Dad finally nods and turns away. The other riders drop their weapons, fastening them to their belts or horses instead. The lesson is over. I release the fae with a jerk. He hisses at me. A dark fae, defeated by a seventeen-year-old mortal girl - that’s enough to be disgraced. Even if she’s the general’s daughter.

I scoff at him. They think they’re better than me. They only won because I’m forbidden to use what I was born with. My hands are practically tied. I grab the sword with my good arm. A jolt of pain shoots through me.

I walk back to Valente, who stands breathing heavily, ears flicking. I press my forehead to his neck and close my eyes. I’m still here. But I know it’s not enough. Not in his eyes. If only I could use my magic. My sword slides back into its sheath. I had wasted maybe my only chance at earning his respect.

“Magic is only a last resort,” Father says, his voice low but cutting through the darkness like steel. I turn to meet his gaze. I brace for disappointment, but I don’t see it. Instead, I meet a serious look. “The day you must use it should only be when you see no other way.”

Irritation rises in my chest. What’s the point of having magic if I’m not allowed to use it? “Even then, what will they do?” I ask dryly. “I’ll burn them to crisps before they even lift their swords.” He doesn’t answer right away. I feel unease settle in my chest.

“There are people dedicated to hunting half-bloods.” I roll my eyes. It’s always the same answer. As if fear should be enough to hold me back, when they’re the ones who should fear me. As if I don’t already know who I am. What it costs. “How am I supposed to defend myself if I’m not even allowed to test my magic?” I mumble into Valente’s shoulder. “The day you’ve proven you can survive without relying on your magic.”

I place a foot in the stirrup and pull myself into the saddle. A jolt of pain shoots through me, but I swallow it. I won’t show weakness. Not now. Not in front of him. I know I’ve disappointed him. I’m not finished. I’m not ready. Yet. Whenever that day comes, I’ll prove to him that I'm worthy of the title.

I press my heels to my horse’s flanks. One day, it will be me they fear - because I’m his daughter, but because I’ve become what he made me. I can feel my heart beating faintly in my chest. If I become father’s second, no one will dare question my blood. Power is the only shield a half-mortal can wear in a kingdom as cursed as Idôra. I will make them remember me.

Sisters

We ride into the courtyard. I spot Mavis, sitting in the doorway, waiting. She jumps up and walks towards us. A stable boy takes Valentes’ reins, and I dismount. A sharp pain shoots through my arm. I have to clench my teeth to keep from making a sound. Mavis appears beside me.

Her red hair falls in waves over her shoulders. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t come back. How did it go?” she asks curiously, with a hint of anxiety in her voice. I shrug lightly - Enough for her to see it didn’t go well. I failed. I glance back at the other riders. The fae I injured stares straight at me. His finger slides across his throat like a knife, slowly. I know it’s a promise, not just a gesture.

I meet his gaze. We both know it’s an empty threat. But we also know that as long as my father lives, he can’t touch a hair on my head. Or… at least not kill me. I turn and walk toward the house with Mavis at my heels. She reaches for my arm. A flash of pain tears through me, and I gasp sharply. “Let go,” I hiss. Mavis pulls her hand back as if she had burned herself. She says nothing, but her eyes search mine for an explanation.

I loosen my shoulders when I see her hurt expression. I didn’t mean to wound her. I know Mavis only tries to help, but I don’t need her care. Not now. We enter the house and pass the posted guards. Silence falls between us.