Cursed

Chapter One

Stormhellion Castle

Eighteen Years Later

"Cane? Are you in here?"

The graunch of metal rings scraping across the curtain rail filled the room at the same time as a bright, warm light shone against Canaar's closed lids. His sister had snatched open the library drapes without a thought or care for his comfort. He let out a protracted groan. "Give me peace, Winnie. It is not time to rise."

"It is almost midday...oh for heaven's sake, Cane. What if Mother had come in, or Ertha?"

"No one uses the library but Morg, and I paid him to stay away." Unmoved by Winifred's exasperated tone, Canaar stretched and yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with balled fists, then gently shook the slumbering, naked form prostrated across his chest.

"It is not time to wake, my lord," the stable hand mumbled into his neck in protest.

"Your future queen decrees otherwise." The prince shook him again. When he refused to move Canaar brushed the ruffled fringe from his face to make sure he understood him. "Tibald, the hearth is cold. The time has come for me to leave."

The young man squeezed his eyes shut. "No, I do not allow it. Oh!"

Winifred's patience had run out. Seizing the lad by the wrist she hauled him from the sheepskin pelt on the floor in front of the dead hearth and with a sharp slap on his pale, bare rump pushed him towards the library door. "Go on, you've had your fill of him. Leave a morsel for his family."

"My clothes!" the slender boy exclaimed, cupping his crotch.

Spying the creased shirt and breeches spilling over the arm of a chair, Winifred snatched them up and tossed them to him. "Such modesty would have been better applied last night. Now get out."

Tibald cast Winifred a sour glance and slouched out of the chamber with his clothes pressed to his groin.

"Heartless," Canaar remarked without feeling, sitting up with his arms slung around his raised knees.

"On the contrary," Winifred responded, casting her brother's shirt at him. "I just saved you thinking of an excuse to get rid of him. I know how contemplation drains you."

Canaar caught the wad of linen before it hit him in the face, and dropped it in his lap. He rubbed the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw. "It pains me you think so little of your favourite brother."

"I love you, as well you know, but Mother is going out of her mind making sure every detail of your departure is organised. The twins are feral enough as it is----if you turn up late she'll have kittens. And god knows what Ertha thinks of you."

"My wife is untroubled by thoughts or feelings of me."

"How can you claim to know her thoughts when you spend most of your free time wrestling on the floor with boys rather than talking to her?"

"Winnie..." Canaar warned. "We can't all be as fortunate as you to marry for love."

"My husband was chosen for me, as your wife was chosen for you."

"Are you denying you love Garig?"

"Of course not, but our happiness didn't just happen over night. It took effort. If you put more effort into getting to know Ertha and less into seducing your servants, you might find yourself in love too."

"Love comes from the seed of a man growing in a woman's womb, as grows in yours. I will never know that, and so I will never know love."

"Don't be ridiculous. Many people love without bearing children." With a faint smile she smoothed a hand over her slightly swelling belly. "It is an added bonus if the gods bless the union with children. You haven't even given Ertha a chance. She's a very nice girl. You do like girls, don't you?"

Canaar gave a noncommitted grunt. Casting his gaze to the narrow window Winifred had exposed, he tilted his head to the side, bird-like, assessing the light. "I wish you'd let me sleep another hour."

Winifred crossed her arms over her bodice and glared at him. "If you don't get up now I'll send Garig in to rouse you. He'll be far less gentle."

"All right, all right." Grimacing, Canaar got up and tugged his shirt over his head. "Are you going to watch me take a piss as well?" came the muffled question.

"I ought to, but no, I have better things to do with my time. Just have a care and ready yourself. Mother and Father have prepared a farewell breakfast for you." She regarded him with open curiosity. "I thought you were excited to go? You've made all our ears bleed yammering on about your blessed commission for long enough."

"I am. But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy my last moments at home. It will be a long time before I have my creature comforts again."

Winifred shook her fair head in disapproval and pointed at the door. "Go on. Get to your chamber and dress."

"Do you order poor Garig around like this?" Canaar asked, pulling on his breeches.

"Poor Garig is a man, not a child. He doesn't need to be ordered around."

Canaar caught her outstretched hand, pressing it with ironical chivalry to his lips. "When I'm far from home I shall miss the tender love of my sister most of all."

"Save your charm. I'm impervious to it. Oh!"

Canaar had grabbed her about the waist and begun tickling her.

Winifred doubled over. "Stop!" Crying and laughing she tried to push him away. "Stop it!"

"Tell me you'll miss me," he ordered, continuing his assault.

"I'll be glad to see the back of you. Argh! All right! I give in! I'll miss you!"

He pulled away laughing. "The ticklish heir of Anteran. I hope your enemies don't learn of your weakness. It would save them a fortune on ammunition."

Winifred swiped at him and missed as he darted out of reach and jumped on a chair. "Pig. I hope the dragons take you."

He bounced up and down on the chair and held his hands wide. "If they do I'll tell them my sister is the Winifred the Great of Anteran, the fiercest dragonlady in all the realm, and not to be trifled with. They'll worship me."

She snorted on her way out the door. "They'll find you as ridiculous as I do and roast you on the spot."

Canaar staggered from the chair and collapsed dramatically on the floor. "It burns! It burns!"

Winifred hesitated in the doorway and shook her head, not quite able to suppress a smile. "Fool."

"You'll miss me!" he called to her.

* * * * *

Lena couldn't believe her fortune. Junen was smiling on her today! Her heart beat faster as she gazed at the old buck a few yards upwind. The magnificent brute stood at least fifteen hands high. The rest of the band couldn't help but admire her for bringing him down. No more campfire teasing that she'd have trouble catching a cold.

Her fist tightened on her spear and the six-inch iron tip quivered in sympathy. She couldn't bring him back to camp on her own, but at least Eula was nearby, and one or two of the other women. Between them they would manage. Her scalp prickled with anticipation as she slowly raised the spear.

"Help."

The stag's shoulders tensed, the thicket of antlers lifted and his flanks shivered and then the behemoth was gone, crashing through the undergrowth.

"Bloody moons," Lena muttered, then winced and looked sheepishly skyward. "Sorry."

As the sound of thrashing branches and snapping twigs diminished into the distance she slowly lowered her arm, unsure whether to feel relieved or vexed. She knew at the crux of it she didn't want to deliver the great beast to his maker, but at the very least she felt baffled. Was that really a man's voice calling out?

Cocking her head, she listened, but only the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves came back to her. A shiver rippled up her spine and snagged between her shoulder blades. She made the sign of Junen in superstition. This part of the forest was neither close to local villages, nor was it a thoroughfare for strangers, but she couldn't help feeling she was being watched.

Just when she thought her ears were playing tricks on her the cry came again, fainter this time. Still, there was no mistaking the pain and fear in the tone.

Reacting at once she waded into the bracken off the boar track she'd been following when she happened across the stag. Tiny, unseen creatures skittered away into the leaf litter. Using her spear to scythe through vines and thick undergrowth, she stumbled abruptly into a clearing at the centre of which stood a band of men. Her heart gave a squeeze of shock and began to thud.

They were Faerie-men; she knew that by their pointed ears. They were dressed in varied shades of green and brown suede, wearing a diverse range of weapons----from longbows to spears to hunting knives. They stood gathered around another lying prostrated on a circle of flattened ferns. Dark-haired, bare-chested and soaked in blood, she knew at once the man on the ground was not one of the flaxen-haired band. That he was considerably out-numbered stirred her sense of decency. "Hie there!" she called without thinking. "What goes here?"

The Faeries all looked around at Lena, cold-eyed and disdainful.

Something about them brought goose bumps rising over her skin and she shivered. She had seen such folk before when she was a small girl and they had passed through Caldey, but such a sight was rare. They mostly kept to the ley lines hidden in the forests, avoiding contact with people.

They were all fine-faced, and lean. As she got closer she saw the workmanship of the embroidery on their tunics was second to none. "What mischief is this?" she demanded.

The one she took to be their leader regarded her with a curl of his lip. He was a little taller, a little more handsome, and his bearing was a little more noble than the others.

Her vulnerability was suddenly visited upon her when he took a step closer. The others regrouped behind him with their weapons aimed directly at her. She swallowed hard and clutched her spear more tightly. Though her knees were nearly knocking together she drew herself up to her full height, at least a foot shorter than him, trying to ignore all the stories she'd heard about their magical weaponry. Their arrowheads were said to cause insanity-inducing pain in the unlucky recipient. "You shouldn't be here."

A blonde brow arched. Eyes the colour of a mountain stream flecked with gold penetrated her confidence. "On the contrary, mistress of Junen, it is you who is misplaced." He pointed the tip of his bow over Lena's shoulder.

She looked slowly around and her heart sank to see several yards behind her the trunk of the Great Oak, which marked the boundary between her territory and theirs. She hadn't even noticed it in her hurry to attend the source of the cry for help. When she looked back at the Faerie she tried to mask her fear by puffing herself up as much as she could. "It will not go well for you if your mischief is discovered. This man is not so far inside your territory as to warrant a death sentence."

To her embarrassment the Faerie burst out laughing, joined by the rest of his band.

Her cheeks burned but she squared her chin and remained silently steadfast.

At length the laughter dried up. "Brave heart," he announced with a rueful smile, "we had no part in his demise. We found him like this."

"Demise? He's not dead is he?" She peered around the Faerie to see the wounded one was no longer awake. He looked as though most of his blood was staining the crushed bracken upon which he sprawled.

Her alarm must have shown for the Faerie put a hand on her arm. "He breathes yet, but his time in this world draws to a rapid conclusion."

"Bloody moons!" Lena pulled her arm from his disturbing grip and brushed past him, dropped her spear and bag and sank down next to the man on the ground----habit overcoming caution as she examined him, her deft fingers running over his head and chest, his arms and legs. The scent of death and decay overcame that of the crushed plants he lay upon. There were countless cuts and grazes on his naked torso----crusted and oozing----a terrible lump on the back of his head, he was dehydrated, and exhausted. But the worst of it was a broken arrow jutting out of his thigh, bandaged with a bloody, twisted tourniquet. She gently patted his bearded cheek. "Can you hear me, sir?"

Dark-fringed eyelids fluttered open, as though with great effort, and his pained gaze zeroed in on her.

Lena almost flinched back. She'd been so busy assessing his wounds she hadn't thought twice about touching him, but now she felt a shiver of apprehension. She'd never seen such vibrant blue eyes before, even more vivid in contrast with his grimy, hairy face and matted, black hair.

He stared, and for a moment she felt transparent, naked, with no place to hide. "You look bad, sir." She didn't know what else to say after the shock of coming across him and her altercation with...Lena glanced over her shoulder to find the small clearing empty. She looked back at the man on the ground. The nape of her neck tingled. She hadn't heard them leave but she didn't for one moment believe they had vanished entirely.

"Drink," the man rasped.

Lena reached at once for her pouch. Pouring a little water into her palm, she trickled some against the chapped corners of his mouth. "Who did this mischief to you, sir? Are they abroad?" Being so near the border she often heard talk of skirmishes between Anterani and Cathasian soldiers, but none this close to home.

His tongue flickered out and caught at the beads of moisture and he groaned----whether in relief or agony Lena couldn't be sure. She gradually wet his lips again and again until he was capable of taking in more fluid; but the closer to consciousness he drew, the more aware he became of his pain, and the discomfort was soon etched deep in the lines on his face. She'd seen people near death before, eaten up from the inside by diseases of old age, or contagions, but he was in the worst state she'd ever seen a person who in every other respect should have been hail and hearty. Her every instinct cried out to help him, but to do that she would have to move him back to the camp and what would the others say if she did? Any time would have been bad, but Moontime?

He groaned again and his jaw trembled as though he were cold.

Shrugging out of her tunic, she draped it over his bare chest hoping the warmth imbued in it from her own body might stave off a chill. Without realising she'd made it, her decision was clear. "I have to leave you for a short time," she told him, lightly touching his arm.

His eyes flickered open registering alarm. He tried to speak but in his haste only managed a harsh grunt of protest. He gripped her wrist, but with the strength of a kitten.

A little jolt of static tingled up Lena's arm. She snatched her hand back and curled it into a fist, resisting the urge to rub it. Assuming his concern was for the band of Faeries, she sent another quick glance around but saw only trees and vines. Then again, she sensed if they didn't want to be seen she would have no hope of spying them. "I doubt they'll return. I can't carry you on my own. I must get help. I'll be quick." Before the haunting helplessness in his eyes could detain her she scrambled to her feet and set off, not pausing to collect her belongings.

It wasn't long before she found Eula filling a water pouch at a brook. "Thank Junen," she exclaimed. "Is anyone else near?"

"Karina and Merryl, I think." Eula's eyes narrowed at Lena's appearance, wearing only her thin vest and breeches, now stained with blood. "You're not hurt are you? Or have you brought something down? Where's your kit?"

Lena waved a hand. "I'll explain later. Show me where the others are."

They found the other two women in a clearing bent over the eviscerated carcass of a fallen deer. Giving them only enough time to wave the gathering flies away and drape the animal across Merryl's broad shoulders, Lena led the curious party back through the woods.

Merryl stopped short next to the Great Oak. "I'm not going in there," she said, nodding to where the trees grew closer together casting longer, deeper shadows. "That's Faerie-land."

"Please, it's not far," Lena begged. "I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."

Karina shivered. "It's creepy. Don't you feel like someone's watching us?"

Lena fired a desperate look at Eula.

Eula gave Karina a nudge. "Come on, how often does Lena ask anyone for anything? And we're always going to her with our gripes and sicknesses. She said it's not far and I trust her."

After a few seconds the other woman grumbled something under her breath, but moved on, which seemed to prompt Merryl to go along as well.

When they arrived in the clearing Merryl heaved the deer onto the ground with a thud and looked in amazement as Lena crouched down next to her patient. "Is that a man?"

"Please," Lena urged, "he's very badly hurt. We have to move him."

"Move him?" Karina echoed exchanging a dubious sideways glance with Merryl. "Where?"

"Back to camp so I can treat his wounds."

"Camp?" Karina repeated, staring at her. "Are you mad?"

"If we don't he'll die," Lena said, with increasing impatience.

"So?" Karina fired back. "He's obviously got into a fight with a Faerie and come off second-best. What's one less man in the world?"

"You sound just like Nerris. Remember without men none of us would be here," Lena retorted. "Now, give me whatever you have to make binds."

Karina's eyes widened. "What's got your goat? You don't know him, do you?"

"Of course not," Lena muttered, focusing her attention on finding suitable branches to build a stretcher. "I just don't like seeing anyone in pain----man or woman."

"You'll be the one in pain if you bring a man back to camp," Karina warned. "We all will."

Lena took Karina by the arm and led her a few yards away. "Kari," she began, keeping her voice low, "remember when you came to me sick from eating too many goja berries and I gave you medicine to help you feel better? Did I tell on you for taking more than your share?"

Karina coloured and her expression grew sullen. "No."

"Don't we abhor greed in the Priory?" Lena pressed. "If the Elders found out, you'd be mucking out the animals for a month."

"Fine," Karina grated through gritted teeth, "we'll help, but if there's any trouble----and there will be----you're on your own."

Merryl opened her mouth to protest but was silenced by a gesture from Karina. She groaned and set about helping gather wood.

Between the four women----Merryl strong and capable carrying the deer and her share of the stretcher as if she was out for an afternoon stroll----were able to lift the man free of the bracken. Despite Lena splinting the leg it shifted and he cried out and lost consciousness. Lena made no effort to bring him round, reckoning he'd be better off asleep for the jolting, half hour journey back to camp.

With the swift descent of the sun the woods grew dark and cool around them, but even in her vest Lena hardly noticed. The thought of what she was doing was enough to bring a flush of nervous anticipation to her skin. She was just relieved to be back in mortal territory.

By the time they arrived at camp, the pale sky above the clearing was streaked with pink and violet in the west, and the encroaching indigo of night and flickering stars in the east.

Their entrance caused an immediate buzz. Soon

surrounded and fending off demands for explanation, Lena refused to stop until she could lay the stretcher as close to the central fire as she dared. It hadn't long been stoked and fresh logs cracked and spat boiling sap.

Lena kept silent until approached by her mentor, Josta, who wore an expression of intense disquiet----her greying brows knitted together.

She drew Lena aside and bent her head close to the younger woman's ear. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I found him," Lena replied, keeping her shoulders back and her spine as rigid as possible in the face of the hostile regard directed upon her from nearly every other woman in camp. "He's wounded. He needs help."