A Curse So Dark and Lonely (The Cursebreaker Series Book 1)

We return to Ironrose by mid-morning. A part of me wants to resist, but I can’t stay at the inn with everyone thinking I’m part of a royal engagement—and the events of the past twenty-four hours have convinced me that I’m a long way from finding a telephone.

Once we’re back in the castle, Rhen leads me past the spread of food and music in the entrance hall—slow and somber today—to the same bedroom.

I refuse to go in. “If you think I’m letting you lock me in there again, you’ve got another think coming.”

His eyes are tired, but he pulls the key from the lock and holds it out. “The midday meal will be served in a few hours. Can I trust that you will not climb down the trellis in that time?”

My joints are already stiffening to a point where walking hurts. I won’t be climbing down the trellis anytime soon. I take the key from his hand. “I won’t need to.”

His expression is not amused. “I will send Grey to guard this door.”

“I think Grey needs a chance to sleep.”

“Indeed. Should I guard your room?”

His eyes are dark and intense, lending weight to the words. I think of his breath on my neck at the inn, when he spoke a warning against my skin. He has this uncanny ability to make his words a veiled threat and a whispered promise at the same time.

I tuck a loose lock of hair behind my ear and glance away. “You don’t need to guard my room.” I turn to move through the door.

Then I stop short.

The bed is freshly made, with the pillows fluffed. A fire roars in the fireplace. The marks of dirt and dust I left on the bed coverings yesterday are gone without a trace. A new vase sits on the side table, spilling over with white flowers. The scents of jasmine and honeysuckle hang heavy in the air.

Rhen speaks behind me. “As with the music and the food, the castle follows a predetermined order of events. You will find your room set to order daily.”

I turn and look at him. “What if I trash it?” My voice is dark with sarcasm—but I’m also genuinely curious.

He doesn’t play. “Try it and see.”

I approach the flowers, leaning in to inhale. Each petal is perfect. There’s not even a dead leaf. “These are beautiful.”

He nods. “Arabella loved flowers. You’ll find a new arrangement often.” His voice is even, without a hint of emotion.

“Arabella?”

“My elder sister.”

I freeze. I don’t want to feel sympathy—but standing in this room, surrounded by his dead sister’s things, I can’t ignore it. For the first time, I wonder what it must be like to live in a place that resets over and over again—minus his family.

Rhen hasn’t moved. I don’t know what to say. It’s one thing to feel sympathy—quite another to extend it.

He spares me the uncomfortable silence. “I will leave you to your rest,” he says.

“Thank you.”

He hesitates before the door closes, and for a breath of time, I expect him to trick me and lock it somehow, or to wrestle the key away from me. But maybe this is his version of extending a measure of trust. The door clicks closed, unlocked. And then he’s gone.

I’m relieved. I need a break. Prisoner or not, I don’t need to be filthy. I get in the bathtub.

The water is the perfect temperature, soaking the pain out of my muscles and slicking the blood and dirt from my hands. Various jars and bottles sit on a mirrored tray near the window. I have no idea what’s what, but it all smells good, so I pick one and dump it into the water. Once I have suds, I go under and scrub at my hair. Twice, because it just feels so gross. Then I lie there in the warmth and stare at the ceiling.

When I was young and I’d wake with nightmares, my mother always used to say, All you have to do is think of me, and I’ll appear in your dreams. I’ll help you chase the nightmares away.

That story always worked. Too well, really. I used to think I could summon my mother by thought until I was way too old to keep believing such things.

Right now, I would give anything to be able to summon her.

I get out of the tub before emotion chokes out of me.

I don’t want to borrow more clothes from a dead girl, especially Rhen’s sister, but practicality takes over. I can’t walk around naked. Today’s doeskin breeches are black, and pair comfortably with a looser red top with leather laces up the sides. Without any product, my curly hair is wild, so I let it air-dry and weave it into a thick, loose braid that hangs over my shoulder. A dozen different pairs of boots line the floor under the dresses, and they fit better than the pair I swiped from the stable, so I choose a black pair that go all the way up to my knees. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I look like a roughed-up warrior princess, right down to the faint mottled blue-and-yellow skin along the left side of my face. No swelling or pain, though. I owe Evalyn for that.

I flop down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Thoughts of Jake and my mother flicker in my brain, spinning with worry until I can’t take it.

I need to do something. I need action.

Rhen didn’t say I had to stay in the room. I open the door, fully expecting him to have posted Grey outside, but I’m pleased to find the hallway empty. The violin melody from below makes it impossible to hear anything at all, and I ease into the hallway.

I peek into the open rooms as I pass. Each is more lavish than the last, with velvet wall hangings, fur rugs, silver trays with crystal glasses. Wine sits out in some of the rooms, along with small trays of food.

The end of the hallway offers a wide staircase—and a choice. I can travel down into darkness, or upward into light.

Up I go.

The rooms on the third floor are larger than the ones I just left, each more of an apartment than a room. Every door stands open, leading to a sitting room first, then a set of double doors, with lushly adorned beds and magnificent wall hangings. Along this hall, a wide opening is set into the wall opposite each doorway, though no furniture occupies these spaces. Weird.

Then I figure it out. It’s a space for a guard. If there were guards to stand. If there were people who needed guarding.

By the fourth room, I’m beginning to tire of all the rich elegance. It’s like exploring a museum without placards.

I look in the fifth door.

All I see is blood.

It takes my brain a second to catch up—and it’s a second longer than it takes my nose to inhale the scent of copper. Blood streaks the walls everywhere, in every shade of red: dark slashes on the white walls, rust streaks on the bedclothes, large viscous pools of crimson on the marble floor.

Blood isn’t all there is. There are thicker things lying in the pools. Darker things. Visceral things.

I stagger and grab the door frame. I can’t breathe. My vision spins.

No one could lose that much blood and live. No one could lose that much … tissue.

I’m screaming. I don’t know how long I’ve been doing it, but my throat suddenly feels raw.

The scent keeps hitting me, wet copper with an undercurrent of something more bitter. An old penny on my tongue. I gag. My vision swims again. I’m going to pitch forward and pass out in a pool of blood.

Arms close around me from behind, dragging me back. “Harper.”

Rhen’s voice. His arms, tight around mine. A solid chest at my back.

Blood still fills my vision. My screams have dissolved into a thin keening.

“Harper, look at me.” Rhen jerks me around, the movement forceful. He gives me a little shake. “Look at me.”

I look at him.

Rhen. Alone.

My chest feels like it wants to collapse. If he weren’t holding me up, I don’t think I’d be on my feet. “Grey?” My voice cracks. “Is that Grey?”

“No. Commander Grey is unharmed.” His voice is urgent, yet not without compassion. “Calm yourself.”

I inhale—and catch the scent of blood again. It’s so thick in the air. My throat closes up and I nearly double over.

The world spins again. Everything turns upside down and then right-side up. I’m passing out.

But no—I’m not. I’m moving down the hallway, wrapped in warmth. The room of horror is shrinking, becoming nothing more than a doorway.

I force my head to swivel up to look at him. It puts my face against bare shoulder, which takes me by surprise. His jacket and shirt are gone, and he wears something snug and white and sleeveless, like a heavy undershirt. The neckline is damp, as is the lower half of his jaw. He’s warm and smells like mint, and I spot a thin white line of cream.

He was shaving.

It’s so normal, so disarming. I could close my eyes and pretend I’m a little girl again, before our lives turned to crap, swept up in my father’s arms, inhaling his scent just like this.

But I’m not.

And this is Rhen.

I swipe a trembling hand across my face. A pleasant memory of my father is less welcome than the carnage in that room. “Put me down.”

I expect him to refuse, but he stops and eases my legs to the ground. We’re at the top of the stairwell, and he doesn’t move away. His calmness is reassuring and terrifying at the same time.

“Better?” he says quietly.

I have no idea. “Is that blood real?”

“Quite real.” His expression darkens. “Perhaps you recall saying a guard was unnecessary?”

“Trust me, I’m totally regretting it.” I’m still worried I’m going to be sick all over the velvet carpeting. “You knew that was there?”

“Of course.” A pause. “I usually have Grey bar the doors, but we’ve been somewhat preoccupied since you arrived.”

That’s a pointed comment, but my thoughts tumble along, trying to find a way to make sense of this. That blood was fresh and real and vivid. “Is someone hurt?”

“No, my lady. Not in the way you mean.”

I stare at him. “What other way is there?”

There is no give to his expression. “This floor is no place for the weak of stomach. Can you walk?”

“I can walk.” I take hold of the banister and step down. My fingers shake from leftover adrenaline, and I feel twitchy and unstable.

Rhen walks beside me, his manner completely unconcerned.

He’s so relaxed that it’s starting to mess with me, making me feel like I imagined it all.

We reach the landing and I turn, ready to head to my room, but Rhen continues around the corner. “Come,” he says, gesturing with a hand. “There is nothing frightening in the kitchens.”

I don’t have a shred of an appetite after seeing the carnage in that room, but I follow him anyway. He can eat. I want information. “Is it the monster?” I ask in a hushed voice. “Is the monster here?”

“No. The blood in that room is unfortunate to look at, but is ultimately of no real concern.” He continues down into darkness, leaving me to follow.

I do my best to scurry after him. At the bottom of the staircase, light flickers along the shadowed hallway and warm scents of flour and yeast reach my nose. I should have chosen this path to begin with.

“Is the blood part of the curse?” I whisper.

He turns and gestures around, his expression incredulous. “All you see is part of the curse.”

I hesitate, thinking of his dead family, though I can’t make wet blood match up with people who’ve been dead for numerous seasons.

I shouldn’t have worried, because his voice remains casual and unbothered. “Do you care for some wine? I can fetch a bottle from the cellar.”

“No. Rhen—” I swallow, and my voice goes husky. Grey told me about the hundreds of girls—some who made it out alive, and some who didn’t. “Who died in that room?”

“No one.”

“That’s not possible.” I pause and wonder if I should try to run from here again. I edge toward the doorway. “Was it—was it from the last girl here? Did she die in there?”

“No. She returned home when the season reset. If not wine, do you prefer mead, or possibly—”

“I don’t care what we have to drink!” I stop in front of him. My pulse is a roar in my ears and I’m sure my expression is fierce. “How can you talk about lunch when you’ve got a room full of blood upstairs?” I slap my hand against the stone wall. “Stop evading my questions.”

He gives me a level look. Light from the oil lamps flickers across his eyes. “I have answered quite directly. If you feel otherwise, you are asking the wrong questions. What is it you want to know?”

“Whose blood is that?”

The first hint of anger slides into his voice—but it’s backed by resignation. “The blood you saw was mine.”