Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked Book 2)

“No. I refuse.” My voice was steel this time. “You said I always have a choice.”

Frost coated his expression. “From recent actions, I was starting to think you’d forgotten that conversation.”

“You want to discuss what happened back in the cave now?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“We’re going to have to eventually—we might as well do it now.”

“Fine.” He crossed his arms against his chest. “You may start by explaining your decision.”

He spoke as if I actually had a choice, his voice tinged with barely suppressed anger. I was so surprised, I stepped back, examining him carefully. A muscle flickered in his jaw and his gaze was hard enough to make diamonds jealous. Wrath wasn’t just angry, he was incensed. I could practically feel the heat of his fury radiating in the space between us.

Clarity washed over me. “You wanted me to refuse Pride.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” For once, his emotions were written all over his face. My shock quickly gave way to annoyance. If only he’d confided in me that night, things would be so much different. We could have come up with a new plan. Together. Anger unleashed my tongue. “Tell me why. I demand to know why you wanted me to refuse him.”

“Stop pushing, Emilia. This conversation is done.”

“No, it’s really not. Will he hurt me?”

The shelves nearest us vibrated. “Do you believe I’d permit that?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I don’t know what’s real or fantasy or part of your newest scheme. You brought me here, to this realm, to marry your brother.”

“Do not confuse your choices with my actions.”

As if I had any good options. “Was I supposed to stay home and watch demons tear my world apart? Murder or torture my family and friends and continue ripping hearts from witches? You keep alluding to the fact I had a choice, but I didn’t.”

“You always have choice.”

“Not with the clock ticking down and the gates cracking. Signing the contract with Pride was my best option to stop the carnage. I made a decision with the information I had. If I made a mistake or if you’re not pleased—for whatever reason—maybe you should have actually talked to me that night. Instead you stood there, cold and furious, and didn’t say a word!”

His gold eyes narrowed. “Has it occurred to you that I couldn’t?”

“Couldn’t what? Talk to me?”

“Interfere.”

“Through magic or a demon edict?” I searched his face, but he’d replaced his annoyance with that emotionless mask he wore so well. I reined in my temper, not wanting to fight. “I thought the devil was the only one who’s cursed. Are you implying that’s not true? Is there something I need to know about you?”

His hands flexed at his sides. He looked like he wanted to rush away to a sparring ring and work off his frustration. “Perhaps that’s a question you should have asked your mortal family. They certainly seem to have selective gaps in their storytelling. Have you ever wondered why, witch?”

“How dare you speak of my family—”

He magicked himself away in a cloud of smoke, leaving me reeling with confusion. My family wasn’t keeping any secrets. Nonna shared stories all of our lives about the Wicked and their lies and manipulations. She warned against the dark arts and the payments demanded from that type of magic. All of that was true.

I paced the aisle of books. Wrath was wrong or he was lying or omitting more truth. Nonna told us about the blood debt between the First Witch—La Prima Strega—and the devil, about how he demanded a blood sacrifice for something that was stolen from him.

The Horn of Hades, the two amulets my sister and I had been given at birth, turned out to be those objects. His horns. Wrath collected them the night he brought me Pride’s contract. He’d used them to lock the gates of Hell, just as he’d promised, then hidden them from me.

Fury rose in me but quickly gave way to confusion. Nonna had known about Star Witches and the devil’s horns and she hadn’t told us.

I’d found out about the horns through my sister’s diary, and Star Witches from Wrath and Envy, though that wasn’t the name they’d used. Envy had called me a Shadow Witch.

Nonna didn’t admit to knowing about either right away when I’d confronted her.

Which made me wonder how many other things she hadn’t been forthcoming about. We learned the bare minimum of earth magic; how to cast simple spells aided with herbs and objects of intent. Charms of protection. Sleep spells and harmless spells that manipulated the dew on a glass to slide it across a surface. Things that hardly required much skill.

A Latin phrase or word here, a pinch of this there and a spell was cast, aided with our magical blood. What else was there about the curse that I didn’t know?

Or our magic, for that matter.

I walked in an agitated circle. Now that I was questioning things, I couldn’t stop finding more gaps in our lives. Nonna spent so much time teaching us the ways of demons, only to stunt our education regarding our own abilities. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a reason for that. Nonna was much too smart to have forgotten valuable lessons.

Surely offensive magic was just as important as our defensive spells of protection. But she never taught us those kinds of bold spells. In fact, she seemed determined to keep that magic from us at all costs. Was there something dangerous about us using it?

Vittoria and I were told to listen to her, to obey and follow the rules or suffer the consequences. I’d never wanted to anger Nonna or cause harm.

But Vittoria always pushed the limits, unafraid of the consequences.

Wrath’s sharp comment carved deep, infected me. Like it was designed to do. His weaponry was not limited to steel or bullets or sly grins and heady kisses. His words were just as deadly when aimed and fired at a target. I couldn’t escape the gnawing feeling that maybe he was right.

There were holes in my education I couldn’t ignore.

Some spells came easily as if through body memory. Some I had to learn and almost always forgot. I couldn’t recall where or how I’d discovered the truth spell, only that one day I wanted truth and out came a spell that stole away free will. Nonna had been furious when I told her. Instead of being rewarded for using that level of power, I was punished.

I marched to the end of the shelves and found a plush, oversized chair to sit in. A thought I couldn’t run from followed me there. Maybe Wrath wasn’t referring only to Nonna.

My sister had found the first book of spells, used demon magic to lock her diary, and had brought Greed and the shape-shifters together for reasons I didn’t fully understand, given the fact shape-shifters and demons were natural enemies.

I stared down at my finger, startled to see I still wore the olive branch ring Wrath had given me. I absently twisted the gold band around my finger. I wondered what else Vittoria might have discovered before her death. Was it the full truth of the devil’s curse and the blood debt? Maybe that knowledge, more than anything else, was why she’d really been killed.

Something buried deep in my memory stirred, then floated away. A wisp of smoke I couldn’t grasp. I had the strangest impression that maybe the devil hadn’t been cursed at all.

If that was true… then perhaps the witch murders had nothing to do with his finding a bride, and everything I thought I knew had been fabricated from deception. Nonna. Vittoria. The seven princes of Hell. At least one of them had been lying.

And I was more determined than ever to find out why.

It took a few frustrating hours, but I finally found what I’d been searching for. I pulled a grimoire on beginning magic and plopped into a chair near a darkened corner. I swept my gaze around the space; there were no sounds or indications anyone else was in the library. Not that it would seem odd if a witch was studying magic. Still, I didn’t want anyone to realize how much my education lacked. I cracked the worn leather spine and began reading.

According to the witch who authored this book, our magic was similar to a muscle that needed to be exercised. If ignored too long, it atrophied. She also described it as “Source”: a place within us readily available to draw from, like an endless well in our core.

The wise Spinners of Fate say our power is a gift bestowed from the goddesses and therefore has a tendency to mimic their abilities to some degree. Some bloodlines will notice an affinity for certain spells, especially those using the four elements. It is an indication of which goddess a witch should pray to in order to enhance that magic. The lesser spoken of fifth element, aether, is thought to be the rarest, but that may not be true in this context.

I stopped reading and allowed that information to sink in. And with it another emotion I’d rather not examine closely. Not quite suspicion, nor anger, but something related to both. Nonna had never explained where our power came from or how it worked. It was possible my grandmother didn’t exactly know, but I couldn’t quite believe that.

This was also the first time I’d ever heard of the Spinners of Fate and praying to one goddess. We’d always been taught to pray to them all. I searched my memory for any altars Nonna made for any one goddess and could think of none. Perhaps our magic wasn’t closely aligned with any of the elements.

I leafed through the grimoire, searching for more information on the Spinners of Fate, but there were no further mentions. I flipped back to the beginning, concentrating on Source.

Anger at Nonna and my own lack of questioning our education distracted me.

“Focus.”

Skeptical of my abilities, I closed my eyes, cleared my thoughts, and tried to sense that inner source of power. At first there wasn’t anything unusual, then the world quickly faded around me. It grew darker in my mind. I knew nothing, was nothing. I became nothing.

It was almost a void inside me, yawning open into endless darkness. I had the strangest impression that it had been waiting for me to tap into it, and once I acknowledged its existence, I was immediately drawn in. Now I felt everything. I tunneled down, down, down into my very center, near my wildly beating heart, and paused. My magic slumbered here. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I did. I brought my consciousness around the magic, trying to get a better sense of it. Something ancient and powerful and spitting mad cracked an eye, furious at being awoken.

I withdrew from that place with a gasp.

“Holy goddess above… what was that?”

I flipped through the pages of the grimoire, but there was no mention of a power like the one I’d just experienced. It certainly didn’t fit into earth, air, fire, water, or aether. It was massive, all-knowing, powerful in a way that worried me. Its rage burned with an intensity that obliterated reason. If I could summon that force at will… I could destroy this realm.

Not that I wanted to do that. I only wanted vengeance against my twin’s murderer. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, ready to try again.

“Oh, pardon me.”

I glanced up from my spell work, my education abandoned, and closed the grimoire with a loud clap. A young woman—with curly jet-black hair, rich sepia-colored eyes, and brown skin—gave me a polite curtsy. Little animal skulls were fastened in her long hair, similar to the way I pinned flowers in mine. A deep russet-copper dress hugged each of her generous curves. She held a book on arboriculture, a surprising but interesting choice.

“You must be Emilia. The whole court is vastly intrigued by you. I’m Fauna.”

I gave her a tentative smile. I’d been counting on the fact that gossip would be as widely used here as it had been in the marketplace back home. “What kind of nasty rumors are circulating?”

“The usual. Your hair is made of serpents, your tongue of fire, and when you’re angry, you spit flames like the mighty ice dragons of Merciless Reach.” She grinned at my look of surprise. “Teasing. They’re too smart to start rumors while Prince Wrath is in residence. As his personal guest, you’re off limits. He’s made that very clear. Lord or lady of the Royal Demon Court, if your name is on anyone’s tongue, he will rip it out.”

“More like he’ll glare at them until they wither and die if they impede his mission.”

She gave me a curious look. “Actually, he was quite literal in his threat. Lord Makaden’s lucky he escaped with his intact. The prince promised the next time he speaks ill of you, his tongue will be spiked outside the throne room and stay there until it rots. Makaden’s prominent standing in the court is likely the only reason he’s not maimed now.”

I had to mentally remind myself to keep breathing as that image took shape. “Truly? Wrath threatened to rip out someone’s tongue?”

“It’s no idle threat. It was a warning to be heeded. His highness is not merciful with those who challenge him. This morning he brought a mountain down on Domitius, his lieutenant general.” Fauna’s smile faded. “They’re still searching through the rubble.”

I was at a loss for words. Anir only said he’d taken a mountain down. He didn’t mention anyone being crushed by it. Wrath was a prince of Hell. A general of war. One of the feared and mighty Seven. This news shouldn’t be surprising. I’d seen his violence before.

Still, it served as a reminder of who I was dealing with and where I was. I would need to play my game expertly when I went to any other courts.

The fact that Wrath had harmed a high-ranking officer shouldn’t have come as a shock. He’d probably taken his dark mood out on him after our fight this morning. If that was what he did after a small argument, I worried about who might feel his legendary wrath after our latest disagreement. Guilt sank its claws in deep, though logically I knew I had nothing to feel guilty about. He was solely responsible for his actions.

“Do you know why Wrath attacked him?”

“I believe Domitius suggested serving your still-beating heart to the soldiers. Though others claim he made lewd comments about your physical attributes. Something about tasting you to see if you were as sweet as your ‘ripe bosom’ suggested.”

“And the other? What did he say?”

“Lord Makaden inquired about his highness having any other rules governing tongues and how they applied to you.” She hesitated. “Neither one of them are considered to be very… humorous. His majesty was right to act swiftly. One rotten demonberry spoils the whole bushel.”

Charming. It was a delicate way of saying the demons would have acted on their statements. Or at least tried to. I might not be well versed with weapons or combat, but I did have some skill with a blade, thanks to time spent in the kitchen, breaking down carcasses. I knew vital areas to aim for and wouldn’t hesitate to stick someone who meant me harm.

I’d request a weapon the next time I saw Wrath. Surely he would grant me some means of protection. I did not want to rely on him or anyone else for my safety.

“Were either of them your lover?”

“Devils, no.” Fauna snorted. “You’ll meet the object of my pining soon enough. Tomorrow night, in fact.”

Suspicion pooled inside me along with dread. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

“Nothing too scandalous or terrifying. Only dinner with the most elite House Wrath members.” Her smile was full and bright. “Don’t be worried. Prince Wrath forbade ‘guttings at gatherings’ at least a century ago. Now the only blades we arm ourselves with are our sharp glares. We stare daggers over our wine and dream of sticking our enemies in flesh. Consider it practice for the upcoming feast.”

“I heard a fear is torn from the guest of honor. Can someone offer to stand in?” If so, I’d bargain with Wrath or the devil himself if I had to. “Any upper nobility, perhaps?”

“Even if it were allowed, which it may well be, no one would volunteer.” Fauna gave me a pitying look. “Definitely no prince of this realm. It would give the other royals too much power.” She held her book tightly. “You’re staying in the Crystal Wing, correct?”

“Maybe?” I lifted a shoulder. “There’s a lot of crystal in my chamber.”

“Wonderful. I’ll meet you before dinner and escort you down.”

Before I could agree or ask questions, she hurried out of the library.

I shook my head. My first day in House Wrath had been a disaster. Arriving with hypothermia, an enchanted skull, arguments with the prince, secrets my family might be keeping about my magic, a maimed member of Wrath’s army, and the new threat of the Feast of the Wolf looming above it all.

The last thing in the world I wanted was to offer up my worst fear to a realm that would torture me with it. But perhaps if I learned how to harness my power, I could solve Vittoria’s murder and be back home in the mortal world well before that happened.

I collected the grimoire, pushed myself up, and retreated back to my rooms, needing to prepare for tomorrow. Given the information regarding the felled mountain, I had little doubt dinner would be its own sort of wicked battle. One I’d be lucky to escape from unscathed.

I didn’t end up back in the Crystal Wing. Curiosity got the better of me and I decided to investigate Wrath’s version of Hell. Know thy enemy… and his reading habits.

I found a circular staircase near the back of the rainbow library and carefully descended into the darkness yawning below. My initial guess of ebony, gold, and leather wasn’t that far off from the reality of his personal library. Dark, butter-soft worn leather chairs were placed before a fireplace that took up a wall made of stacked stone. I could easily stand upright in the opening and stretch my arms above my head and still not reach the top of it. Several rugs in various shades of charcoal and black with gold thread details were tastefully laid around the room.

Here, the shelves were obsidian gemstone, the books all bound with dark shades of leather. A circular chandelier with thin iron arms hung from exposed beams and cast an enticing glow over the room. It was the perfect place to curl up and read in front of a crackling fire. There was even a plush throw blanket tossed casually across the back of a reading chair.

In an alcove off the main reading space a set of manacled chains hung from the wall. Wrath hadn’t been teasing. My mouth went dry and I quickly averted my gaze.

Torture wasn’t the first thing that had sprung to mind. And I did not want this realm working its devious magic on any more fleeting emotions. I moved through the rest of the space, devouring as much as I could.

Books and journals on war strategy, history—both demon and human—witch rituals, grimoires, and even a few handwritten notes were placed in neat stacks on a large, imposing desk. Latin and a language I couldn’t read. Nothing incriminating or useful. Nothing of goddesses or their magic, or demon fables about the Maiden, Mother, or Crone. No spells on reanimating skulls or other bones.

Just pens and pots of ink. A rough stone I imagined was used to sharpen a blade.

On a shelf behind the desk were seven volumes of journals dedicated to each demon House. Eight journals, actually, if the pattern in the dust was any indication. Perhaps one House was so prolific it had taken more than one book to get all the information down. Whatever the case, the text was missing now.

Apparently, the titles were the only things written in Latin. I thumbed through a few but couldn’t read the language within. Frustration built behind my breastbone as I shoved the journals back in place. Nothing was ever easy.

A decanter partially filled with lavender liquid and a matching crystal glass caught my attention. Curious about what Wrath indulged in, I splashed some liquor into the glass and sniffed. Notes of citrus and botanicals blended together. I took a careful sip and hissed through my teeth at the burn. It was strong. Almost like human brandy but with a sweeter, vanilla undertone. If I smoothed it out with some cream and ice it would be divine.

And might help get me through tomorrow evening. I’d send for a glass before the meal.

I set the liquor aside and sat at the desk, rattling the drawers. Locked, naturally. Tucked below a copper serpent sculpture I assumed was used as a paperweight, was an envelope with elegant script. Not feeling guilty at all, I read the message.

Brother,

They have been found.

VIII

G

I read it over again, not that it helped decipher the single line. I imagined the G stood for Greed. But it could also be Gluttony. They have been found. VIII. Envy and Greed had both been after the Horn of Hades, but Wrath never showed much interest in the amulets. Not to mention, he was now in possession of them until Pride allowed us into his territory.

“So what, then, were you searching for, dearest, secretive, Wrath?”

I picked up the serpent paperweight and rolled it between my palms. “Ouch.”

I turned it over; little sharp ridges in a geometric design poked out from the bottom. It was a wax seal, not a paperweight. Or maybe it was both. I set it aside and scanned the note again. Something stood out this time. It didn’t address anyone by name. Which meant there was no way to know if Wrath was the intended recipient, or if he’d intercepted it.

Maybe this message was meant for the devil—to let him know his horns had been recovered. Maybe the G symbolized Wrath’s true name and he was the one sending out the correspondence. Or maybe there wasn’t anything important about this at all and I was so desperate to find clues, I was inventing them.

It was also missing a date, so there was no way to know if this was recent news or ancient history. Unless that was what the VIII portion meant. I had no idea how the demons tabulated time. It was the late nineteenth century on earth, but it could be eight eons here. Or maybe it was indicating the missing eighth journal. I could spend eternity guessing.

I put the useless note away, commandeered a pot of ink, pen, and some parchment, retrieved the grimoire on beginning magic, and headed back to my chamber, more frustrated and lost than I’d felt before. Tomorrow, I had to hope, would bring some clarity, even if it came in the form of watching how the demons interacted and learning how they moved through court.

Given my working-class standing, I had not associated with wealthy circles back home, so tomorrow would be a test of how well I could blend in. My path to vengeance would be a slow burn, not a raging inferno. By the time I invaded House Pride, I would be well versed in proper deception.

When the demon responsible for Vittoria’s death finally felt the flames of my fury, I’d hopefully have burned his House of Sin to ash.