A Heart So Fierce and Broken (The Cursebreaker Series Book 2)
A Heart So Fierce and Broken: Chapter 24

Rhen himself could have dropped from the trees and I’d be less surprised.

The scraver appears larger than it did at Worwick’s, though the cage was small and I never saw it stand upright. Or clothed, for that matter; it’s found black trousers somewhere, held up by a length of leather, leaving its broad chest bare. The garment makes the scraver seem more human—yet somehow less human at the same time.

Those claws still look just as sharp.

Beside me, Tycho stirs and runs a hand across his face. “What—what’s—” His eyes settle on the scraver, and he goes still. “Am I dreaming?”

“You’re awake.” Noah and Jacob are asleep a little farther away, so the noise hasn’t woken them yet. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing.

“I thought the scravers were trapped in Iishellasa,” says Lia Mara, and her voice is a curious mix of fear and wonder.

The creature’s glittering black eyes shift to her. “Not all.”

When he speaks, his voice is low and clear, but I can feel each word against my skin, like a breath of icy wind. It’s unnatural, and unnerving, and I shift my grip on the sword. Rhen is not the only one who has a bad history with magic.

“If I meant you harm, I would not have announced myself.” The scraver nudges the goose with one clawed foot. “For now, I wish to help you survive.”

Beside me, Tycho shivers despite the summer warmth, and I know he feels it, too. He’s the first to shake off the awe, though, and he levers himself to his knees. With a wince, he crawls forward to grab the goose by the neck. He sits on his heels by the fire and begins yanking feathers free.

“The boy has some sense,” says the creature.

“The boy is starving,” says Tycho.

“Where did you come from, scraver?” My hand hasn’t left my sword hilt.

“You know where I came from. You yourself cut the ropes, Your Highness.”

“Stop calling me Your Highness.”

“Then stop calling me scraver.” He overemphasizes the word, with a C pulled from his throat and an R that ends in a low growl. This time I shiver as if ice brushed against my skin, and I’m no less inclined to take my hand off my weapon.

Beside me, Lia Mara is still and intent. “What shall we call you?” she says.

“My name is Iisak.” The way he says his name is both sibilant and not, like taking the word ice and dragging it to a hard stop.

“Iisak,” says Lia Mara. “Thank you for the goose.”

I’m not ready to see Iisak as our savior yet. “You’ve been following us.”

“I watched them take you prisoner,” he says. “I watched them drag you into that castle in chains.” He pauses. “I watched them torture you and the boy.”

Tycho frowns and keeps his eyes on the bird, but I do not look away. “Why?”

“You freed me. I owe you a debt.”

“I freed you as a distraction. You owe me nothing.”

“Perhaps, but you gave me the means to escape. You told me where to go.”

I cannot decide if this creature is toying with me or if he’s being genuine. I glance at Tycho, who’s removed the larger feathers and is now struggling with the light downy ones underneath.

Unbidden, a memory comes to me. I must have been twelve or thirteen, the summer my father—the man I thought to be my father—was injured. My younger brother Cade was trying, and failing, to pluck a goose for us to take to the market. He was desperate to help. Half our crops hadn’t been harvested, and we had little to sell. We were all so hungry and worried and uncertain of what our future would hold.

Much like right now.

I shake off the memory. “Hold it into the fire,” I say to Tycho. “Singe them a bit. They’ll be easier to pull free.” I look back at Iisak. “Am I to believe you followed me all this way because I opened your cage door?”

“I followed you because you are so clearly a magesmith, yet you use none of the powers available to you. I followed you because you are the rightful heir to the throne of this cursed country, yet you make no claim.” He pauses, his black eyes narrowing. “I followed you because you travel with a daughter of Karis Luran, and I cannot reach Iishellasa by myself.”

“The ice forests?” says Lia Mara. “No one can cross the Frozen River.”

Iisak flares his wings, making the fire flicker. “I can.” His expression darkens as his wings fold back into place. “Though perhaps not yet. I have spent months in a cage.” These words bring a bitter wind that ruffles leaves overhead.

“Perhaps not ever,” says Lia Mara, “if my mother discovers your existence. The scravers have been treaty-bound to stay out of Syhl Shallow since before I was born.”

“So you see why I thought we might help each other.”

The day has been long and exhausting and full of too many questions. I have no idea what the right decisions are. “We are traveling slowly now,” I say. “But tomorrow we will find horses and weapons and cover ground more quickly.”

“You will find an arrow in your back.” His eyes narrow, and that low growl rolls into his voice again. “I see much from above. The cities are full of guardsmen, searching for you both.”

I go still. I knew Harper wouldn’t be able to force his hand. Rhen organized guards and enforcers quicker than I expected. The thought of fleeing again right now is almost too much to bear. Even if I could manage it, I doubt Tycho could.

Tycho turns from the fire. The feathers lie in a pile at his feet. “I’d kill for a dagger. Lend me the sword?”

I begin to draw the weapon, but Iisak steps forward, plucks the carcass from Tycho’s hands, and, with two swipes of his claws, drops the bird in pieces at the boy’s feet.

Tycho stares at the carcass, then peers up at Iisak. “Ah … thank you.” He gingerly shifts to lay the meat on rocks that he set in the fire.

Iisak licks the blood from his claws.

I’ve seen enough monstrous creatures and done enough monstrous things that I don’t flinch at the sight, but I expect Lia Mara to grimace. Instead, she looks intrigued. “How did you get out of Iishellasa without breaking the treaty?”

The creature smiles. “I didn’t.”

“So you hope I will intercede for you with my mother.”

“If I only cared for myself, I would attempt to sneak through Syhl Shallow alone.” He pauses. “I believe your mother has something of great value to me. I am willing to risk punishment for breaking the treaty to acquire it.”

“What is it?” I say.

“That is between me and the queen.”

Lia Mara studies him. “If we allow you to travel with us, what do you offer?”

Tycho glances over. “Did you see what he just did to this goose? How are you going to stop him from traveling with us?”

Iisak smiles, but his fangs make it more frightening than reassuring. “I can see what you cannot, from the air. I can scout the cities for guards and enforcers before you attempt trade.” His eyes level with mine. “Until then, I can feed your people, Your Highness.”

They’re not my people, but my pride takes a blow anyway. “Stop calling me that.”

“I can help you find your magic.”

I shiver as another unnaturally cold breeze slides across my back, making the lash marks sting. “How?”

“We are both creatures of magic. The magesmiths were once allies with my people.” Iisak steps forward, and I tense, putting my hand on the sword again. Tycho wasn’t wrong. I’ve already seen the damage Iisak can do.

The scraver stops, dropping to a crouch in the leaves in front of me. “If you knew how to use your magic, you would not fear me at all.”

I swallow. His eyes are level with mine, and I wonder how I ever missed the keen intelligence there. Nonetheless, it’s like meeting the gaze of a predator. Lia Mara has gone absolutely still beside me.

Iisak holds out a hand. “Your wrist, Your Highness?”

I remember what happened the day Worwick had me yank the canvas off the scraver’s cage, how I tried to feed him water and he sank those fangs into my arm. There’s a glint of challenge in his eyes now, and I’m distantly aware of Tycho and Lia Mara waiting with held breath.

I let go of the sword and hold out my hand.

I expect his touch to be icy, the way his words feel, but his fingers are warm as he turns my arm over to bare the underside.

He drags a razor-sharp claw along the jagged scar left by his teeth, and I fight to keep still. “You could have healed this.”

“You could’ve not bitten me.”

He ignores my tone. “Your blood is full of magic,” he says. “I would wager that you call upon it without knowing. Have you ever survived an injury that would’ve killed another?”

“No. Never.”

But then I stop. Think.

The first season, when Rhen was cursed to become a monster, he terrorized the castle and killed nearly everyone. I was injured—we all were—but I was one of few guardsmen who survived.

After the second season, I was the only guardsman to survive.

I’ve always attributed that to skill and luck.

“You could likely heal your injuries now,” says Iisak. “The boy’s as well.”

“How?” says Tycho.

Iisak’s eyes do not leave mine. “How do you learn to walk on two legs?”

I frown. “Balance?”

“Necessity.” His claws sink into my forearm.

I swear and jerk back. Iisak holds fast, and I drag him with me. I try to swing at him with my free hand, but despite his size, he’s lighter and quicker than I expect, especially when he uses my forearm as leverage and swings around to kick me in the throat.

I go down on my back, momentum shoving me through the dirt and rocks of our campsite and tearing open the wounds on my back. Pain explodes through my body. I need to think, to find the sword, to scream for help. He must have severed muscle and tendon because I can no longer move my fingers. Blood streams down my arm, but my eyes see stars and darkness.

“Focus, Your Highness.” He’s kneeling on my chest. One hand still grips my arm, holding it up. Three long slashes run the length of my forearm. Blood seems to be everywhere. I can taste it.

“Focus,” he says again.

I squeeze my eyes shut, then open. I can’t breathe. Dirt and leaves grind into my back. This pain is a living, biting thing, pulling noises from my throat. Voices are yelling, wild shouts that I can’t make sense of.

Iisak leans down close, until I see nothing but his eyes.

“You’ve done it before,” he says, his voice more of a growl than a whisper. I feel frost on my skin where his breath touches. “Do it again.”

My thoughts twist and spiral loose as more stars fill my vision. Everyone is shouting. Someone is dragging at me, but Iisak growls and holds fast, his claws buried in my arm. I can’t think. I can’t see. My throat is burning, my lungs screaming for oxygen, but the pain is so absolute that I can’t remember how to breathe.

An eternity at Prince Rhen’s side, surviving his monster, surviving Lilith, surviving as a guardsman, and I’m going to die in the leaves beside a campfire because I was stupid.

Suddenly everyone is silent. Soft fingers touch my face. “Grey.” Lia Mara’s voice. Her breath is sweet and warm on my cheek. She must be kneeling in the leaves. “You survived what Prince Rhen did to you. You can survive this.”

My body feels weightless, as if it’s not tethered to earth. Stars aren’t just in my vision. They fill my veins and flare with every beat of my heart. Each pulse steals a bit of agony, until I feel as though I must be dead, because there was so much pain, and now there’s none.

Lia Mara’s voice seems to come from a great distance. “Grey … breathe. You need to breathe.” She sounds breathless herself.

“You feel the magic now,” says Iisak, and he sounds triumphant.

I inhale, and those stars scatter, flickering down to almost nothing. But they’re there, tiny points of light throughout my body.

“Open your eyes,” says Lia Mara.

I blink and find her right above me. Her eyes are wide, gold in the firelight, her hair a shining curtain that hangs down over her shoulder.

Iisak still kneels on my chest, and he draws my arm into my vision. “As you see, Your Highness.”

The blood is gone. The wound is gone. All that remains is the scar that existed before.

“Necessity,” says Iisak.

Behind him are Tycho, Noah, and Jacob, all wide-eyed, their expressions frozen between panic and anger and relief.

I look at the smooth skin of my arm, then at Iisak. I can’t find my voice.

Then I realize my back doesn’t hurt either.

“What just happened?” says Jacob. “What the hell is this thing?” His hand twitches, and I realize he’s clutching the sword.

Iisak growls, and his wings flare slightly. Jacob lifts the weapon.

“No,” I say, my voice a rough croak, like I’ve been screaming. Now that I’m aware of the stars in my bloodstream, they seem to flicker everywhere. I look up at Iisak. “Let me go.”

He withdraws, moving to my side to watch the others more warily.

I sit up gingerly, expecting my body to protest each movement, but it does not. Any ache and burn from the wounds on my back are gone. So is the pain in my thigh.

I take a long breath and look at my forearm again.

Blood speckles the leaves at my feet. My blood.

“Jacob,” I say slowly, “this is Iisak.”

“Iisak,” echoes Noah.

“A friend,” says Lia Mara.

Iisak straightens. “I have earned a place with you then?”

I flex my knee, then touch a hand to my lower back carefully. I feel no pain.

“Yes,” I say, and I can’t help the wonder in my voice. “Yes, you have.”

After a day with nothing but stream water, the roasted goose tastes better than anything I’ve ever eaten. I all but tear the meat apart with my fingers. If Jodi could see me now, she’d make no comparison to noblemen. Tycho offers a piece to Iisak, but the creature makes a face, then says, “I will bring more.”

His wings beat and catch the air, and then he’s lost to the darkness.

Across the fire, Noah pulls meat from a bone and glances up. “Just when I think I have a handle on this place, something drops out of the sky to turn that on its head.”

I give a humorless laugh.

“Everything feels fully healed?” he says.

I nod and pick every last morsel from my own bone.

“May I see?” I go still, and he adds, “You had stitches. If the skin healed over them …”

I nod, and he moves around the fire to kneel behind me. I lift my shirt, and a moment later, his cool fingers touch my back.

“The stitches are gone,” he says, his tone thoughtful. “This looks like six weeks of healing.” He hesitates.

I crane my head around to look at him. “What?”

“I don’t know how your magic works”—he says magic like it’s profane—“but it didn’t undo what he did. The lash marks left scars.”

When I say nothing, Noah tugs the shirt down and shifts to face me. “I can help you feel the worst of them, if you want to.”

I don’t want to. I toss the stripped bones from my meal into the fire. “I have seen the back of a beaten man.”

We aren’t speaking loudly, but the rest of our camping party has grown quiet, and I know their attention has fallen on me. I was already a spectacle in the courtyard. I do not like the thought of being one again. Especially not for this.

Noah must sense this, because he eases away, returning to his spot beside Jacob.

Without fanfare, another dead goose flops into the dirt, scattering leaves and making the fire flutter. Iisak descends more slowly, but he keeps his distance from the fire.

Tycho moves to take the goose again, but I wave him back to his food and take the carcass myself. I need action.

My fingers begin plucking, a long-forgotten skill that returns to my hands without effort. I focus on the sparks that seem to flow under my skin. Jacob was right—Rhen has nothing to fear from me. I do not want his throne. I do not want to harm him.

But for the first time, I feel capable of offering something more than pain and torment and fear. “I can use this magic to heal Tycho?” I say to Iisak.

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

“You wish me to lay his arm open to the bone?”

Across the fire, Tycho goes still. I can’t tell if Iisak is teasing, but his fingers flex, which makes me think he might not be. “No,” I say.

“You are exhausted. Give your power time to recover,” Iisak says. “Try tomorrow night, perhaps.”

I am exhausted—but a bit energized, too. I almost want to ask him to lay my own arm open again, just to feel the rush and swell of magic.

“If we can spare another day to walking,” I say, “we should continue heading northwest without trying to secure horses. If soldiers are already searching the town here, a slow pace will work to our benefit. Rhen would expect me to find horses and weapons and move quickly, especially if he suspects Lia Mara is with me and our destination is Syhl Shallow.” I glance across the fire, and her gaze meets mine.

“How much do you think Princess Harper would tell him?” she asks.

“If soldiers are searching in this direction? Everything.”

“No,” says Jacob. “She knows I’m with you. She wouldn’t let him come after me.”

I jerk feathers from the goose’s neck. “She may have no choice.”

Jacob rolls to his knees. “Are you saying you think he’d hurt her?” His tone is vicious, and he doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’m going back. Right now. We should have made her come with us—”

“No. I do not think he’ll hurt her.” A dark part of my brain whispers that I never would have expected him to do what he did to me, either. “Even if we are found, his guards will not harm you. He loves her. She loves him. Rhen is afraid, but we are all safer if she is within the walls of Ironrose. If she had come with us … I do not like to think of what Rhen might have done to come after her.”

They go silent. I continue pulling feathers.

After a moment, Tycho says, “What is he afraid of?”

“Magic.” I pause and wonder how much to keep secret—but surely it makes no difference now. “Rhen was cursed before. He suffered much, and Emberfall was nearly driven to ruin. He fears being cursed again.” I glance up. “He fears me.”

“He knows you,” says Jacob. “You’re not Lilith.”

Noah is studying me. “It might not matter.” He pauses, and his voice is grave. “Getting free of the curse—then learning someone else might be able to hurt him again, someone he once trusted …”

I swallow.

You trusted me once. What have I done to lose it?

You left.

Perhaps I lost before I even began.

“Harper told me a little about what you went through,” says Noah. “And she was only here for a short while.” He glances at Jacob. “Rhen’s been tough to live with over the last few months.”

Jacob snorts. “Yeah, because he’s an arrogant jerk.”

Noah doesn’t smile. “Or because he has PTSD.” Before I can ask, he says, “Post-traumatic stress disorder. It happens when you’ve been exposed to something terrifying. I used to see it a lot in soldiers. Or abused kids. It’s like your brain can’t turn off the fear.”

I glance at Tycho and think of how he shied away from those soldiers in Jodi’s tavern. Rhen has always been cool and composed, the pinnacle of control. But I keep remembering the shadows in his expression in the courtyard and wonder how much of that hid what he was truly feeling. For the first time I wonder if he’s truly trying to protect his people—or if he’s trying to protect himself.

Either way, he wants me dead. It shouldn’t matter.

I look back at the goose in my lap. I hold the bird as close to the flames as I can, letting it singe the feathers dry. Once those are also stripped from the body, I stand, but Iisak is already there. He makes quick work of the poultry, and I lay the meat across the stones.

He’s licking the blood from his claws again, and I try to stop myself from wondering if he did the same with mine. It’s unsettling to think that he was trapped in that cage for so long, having conscious awareness of everything that was done to him. Kantor jabbed his sword into the cage that day, for nothing more than a bit of sport. It’s not the same kind of humiliation as what Rhen did to me—but it’s not altogether different either.

“If you have magic,” I say to him, my voice low, “how were you kept in a cage for so long?”

“My magic is not the same as yours,” he says. “Yours comes from within, while mine comes from the wind and the sky. I can breathe frost and borrow snow from the clouds.” He holds out a hand and blows air across his palm. Frost collects on his skin—but only for a moment. It melts almost instantly, and he shakes the water into the leaves.

“But it’s summer,” I say, understanding. He was nearly dead when Worwick rolled him into the tourney. I thought it was because of the canvas covering, but maybe it was more.

“Yes, Your Highness. Here, it is summer.”

Motion catches my eye, and I find Lia Mara has moved forward to turn the meat on the stones in the fire. For the daughter of a queen, she doesn’t seem to flinch from anything—not even the prospect of work. Her hair is lit with a red glow, her curves in silhouette.

She must sense my gaze, because she looks up, so I quickly avert my eyes back to Iisak. “Did you know what I was, when we were at Worwick’s?”

“I knew you were a magesmith the instant I tasted your blood.”

The words bring a cool wind, and I shiver.

“You so fearlessly put your hand in the cage,” he continues, “so I thought you knew, that your surprise was a farce for that foolish man. Our people were once great allies, as I said. I thought you would free me once night fell.”

“And then I didn’t.”

He smiles, teeth glittering. “You did eventually.”

“I freed you to free myself,” I say to him.

“And I would have cut your throat if it meant the cage would open.” Leaves rustle in the trees above us, and his wings snap open. He launches off the ground in search of new prey, his voice carrying back to me. “Do not fault yourself for choices you believed were right in the moment. It is not princely.”

I grunt and stare after him. “I’m not a prince,” I mutter under my breath. I drop my gaze to find the fire, but instead I find Lia Mara watching me.

“You are a prince,” she says quietly.

Maybe it’s the stars in my blood, or maybe it’s the lack of pain in my back or my leg. Maybe it’s the fact that I feel as though I finally did something right.

I don’t know if I’ll follow her into Syhl Shallow. I don’t even know if I’ll survive the next few days. But for the first time, the word prince doesn’t make me flinch.

And for the first time, I don’t say a word to correct her.

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