Curse of Shadows and Thorns (The Broken Kingdoms, #1)

by L.J. Andrews

“Honestly, for you, everything beyond dreaming of a husband is rebellious,” Siv said. By the gods, she grinned. Kind of. I snorted a laugh because it was true, sad as it was.

Timoran culture was archaic.

Most dowry barters were overseen by fathers, but my father could hardly leave his bed chamber most days. It had been known for some time Zyben would oversee the Lysander daughters.

Timoran wives were given purses to spend at their leisure, they turned heads when their husbands took mistresses, kept silent over matters of state. A voice? No, thinking was better left to the men.

“A good heart,” her soft voice flowed from behind the veil. I was certain now, she was young. “Interesting.” “Excuse me?” I’d heard rumors of Zyben’s interest in seers and witches. Not exactly Night Folk, but if books were to be believed, more than fae carried fury in their blood. “Your heart does not live here,” she whispered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “There isn’t much time.” A desperate plea was buried underneath the soft hum of her voice. Pulse racing, palms sweaty, I bent closer. “Don’t fear the past, trust those undeserving of it⁠—”

A gasp escaped my throat when the masked girl gripped my wrist. A hum of warmth bled from her fingers. “When you see the beast within, let him in to let him go.”

“Are you injured?” Was I? Yes. I’d been stabbed, but the pain of the steel in my side was nothing to this burning knot in my chest. “I . . . killed him.” I had wanted to kill the man. A frenzy of desire to see him bleed at my feet had come so abruptly I hadn’t noticed until now. And I’d done it. I’d taken a life. A life someone, somewhere out there cared for. I’d ripped it from existence.

“You . . . need help.” “I’ll survive,” he said. “I always do.”

“Why do you come so close to me?” I swallowed past the stickiness in my throat. “Why do you . . . touch me the way you do?” With lips close to my ear, he said, “Would you like me to stop?” I spun into him, my eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

“I want to learn about you,” he said. “Learn of the things you truly want. Things we both know those crown chasers will never give you. You have so few choices they allow you to make, so I want to know—when I touch you like this . . .”

How could I think of anything else but the memory of what we’d done, what we hadn’t, and what I wished we would.

“A troubled heart,” she said. The room went silent. The girl stepped closer. “Release the past and trust those undeserving of it.”

“What your heart desires, there your fate lies.” She lowered her voice to a rough whisper. “When you see the beast within, let him in to let him go. Only then will he bring the change you seek.”

The nurse came for the girl, but before she left, once more as she did at my manor, the girl gripped my wrist. A steady thrum of heat pulsed along my skin. “The tomb. Open it. Change it all.”

“I was told once, each decision we wrestle in our minds, each consequence we weigh, is how we gain faith in our final choices. We take time to decide who we are and when we choose, as you said, we stand by those choices fiercely.”

“This,” he whispered, voice harsh, “this is what happens when you cross me, Elise. When you cross the king and his queen.” “Where are they?” the words burst out of my throat, raw and desperate. “Where are our serfs, our . . . people!” I felt Jarl smile against my cheek, felt his fingernails dig deeper into my back. “Dead.”

“You’re outnumbered, Wraith!” Jarl sounded pathetically weak. He backed up to the broken window, then signaled to the two remaining Ravenspire guards to raise their blades. They wrung their hands around their weapons nervously. Legion hardly paid them any mind and kept his eyes on Jarl. His voice was low, a rumble of darkness. Not the voice of Legion Grey. “Ah, you can count.”