The Crown of Oaths and Curses (The Mortal Fates #1)

by J. Bree

My hands fold in my lap and I attempt to look as docile as I can, feeling compelled to behave well due to the naïvety of the princess.

Her small offer of kindness and friendship must have really galled the male for him to scare her like that.

She may wear the color of the regent, but there's a bit of reverent admiration within her for the true heir to the throne, a worship of him that feels almost invasive to witness.

She ignores the maid in her employ even as she radiates love toward the female, and laughs with her guard despite the terror clawing at her perfectly blue eyes every time the male's gaze turns her way. She’s a walking embodiment of contradictions.

If you’re choosing sides, princess, make sure you’re on the right one.”

I offer her one last parting gift. One small piece of knowledge for speaking to me without any of the vitriol I’ve become accustomed to and for the olive branch she extended.

Falling asleep with the pain in my feet is difficult, but I manage it, my back pressed against the stone, and my magic carelessly leaking out everywhere.

The blackening of their marks is the result of turning away from our purpose. A grave warning that was drummed into me as I grew up in the forest, the consequences of defying the way of the witches and the purpose of our kind within the kingdom. I thought it was nothing more than a cautionary tale told to scare children until I learned better from the witches of the Sol Army.

I almost choke on his name, the sound of it covered in barbs as it slips from between my teeth. After centuries of holding his name inside my chest like an ache, to be forced to prod at that wound like this hurts me more than I would ever like to admit.

I take one last deep breath before I blurt it out. “The curse has come to Yregar. Princess Airlie is in danger. If you don't bring Prince Soren down here to speak to me, the baby's life will be forfeit.” He freezes in place, the taut lines of his shoulders turning to stone, and I find myself wishing that it was his brother here and not him.

Tyton hates me as much as they all do, there's no question of that. He isn’t a witch sympathizer. But there's a balance in him that is lacking in Tauron, and I don't have to wait for this prince to turn back to me to know that my explanation has only enraged him further.

Should I risk my life and my fate to fight with this male over a female who loathes me? Should I risk it all for her unborn child, completely innocent of any of this mess?

I could bring it up with Tyton, could push it further, and the healer in me desperately wants to, but the high fae don't want my help. They don't want me breathing, so I settle into my seat and wait for the tragedy to unfold in the castle above.

“I’ll admit you’re better than I thought you’d be. All of that sitting and watching came in handy to figure out when you would attempt your first blow, but whatever magic you’ve been pouring into the earth, it's not working.”

“You guessed that Airlie would be the weakest link, the easiest way to burrow into my good graces, but you’re wrong.” My eyes stay fixed on his, never wavering because I need him to believe me if I want to give that child the chance at life.

The curse is filling the castle, how can none of you feel it? She needs a healer and protection, immediately. Call for one, you must know someone who can assist her!”

The weight of the curse presses on my chest, as ugly and grotesque as any act of war I’ve ever seen. To go after the most vulnerable of the high fae in such a cruel way might be a clever tactic to cripple a race notoriously stronger and far more resilient than the witches have ever been, but it's disgraceful.

As I expected, the witch’s words were an attempt to goad me into letting her out of the cell with promises of her experience as a healer.

The handful of witches I met in my early faeling days before the war started were more like my Fates-cursed mate in temperament. Calm, reasonable, and with a quiet power in the way that they held themselves.

I’d almost forgotten that it was possible to speak to them, to understand them, and, worse of all, to be fooled by their calm and passive demeanors.

The moment I show her weakness, bare my throat for even a moment, she’ll go in for the kill.

Those cursed stones lead up to the temple that once held the Seer who gave me my fate. She left the Southern Lands for her own safety shortly after my last visit, walking all the way to Port Asmyr and sailing to the Northern Lands, where the Fates War is over and witches are treated with less violence and suspicion.

The way she tenses and leans toward the left, I would guess that she’s hiding a wound from us all.

Loath as I am to admit it, I find that I’m jealous of the witch’s ability to observe more than the usual naked eye, her searing gaze never missing a thing.

There’s never been a doubt in my mind that she listens to every word spoken within her earshot. Her attempt to use Airlie against us was fumbling at best, but proof of that.

I wonder how long it’s been since a high-fae baby was taken by it. By the hunger within the magic, the glee of the evil around me, it must have been years, if not decades.

The curse aches for life the same as the earth does, though for unnatural and unconscionable reasons.

The words that were spoken to me repeat again in my mind, and the Fates begin to play wildly under my scar once more. Saving the kingdom could mean that I pour my magic into the earth to give back to it…and it could also mean breaking the curse laid over the high fae.

My treatment here in the castle says I should stay here and leave them to figure it out on their own.

“Soren will kill you for doing this to her, Fates be damned,” Tyton spits at me, his face a vicious replica of his surly brother’s, but whether I want to admit it or not, I’ve made up my mind. His raw magic might be strong by high-fae standards but it’s nothing compared to mine.

I push into his mind in a rush, breaking past the barriers he’s so feebly erected there, and put him into a deep sleep, as simple as blowing out a candle. A net of power catches his body as he slumps, easing him onto the ground and positioning him to be sure he won’t do something stupid and inconvenient for me like choke on his own tongue while I’m busy upstairs.

The princess may still refuse my help. My guess is she will, but I was raised in the Ravenswyrd Forest as the Maiden of the coven, to someday be the Mother, and to give help to any who need it, selflessly and without ever asking for payment.

This is the most vulnerable state a female can find herself in. Is it wrong of me to barge in there and demand to help her, even if I’m the only one who can? If she would never have agreed before the labor began, is it wrong to ask to help her now while she’s in such pain? Is the child’s life worth the invasion of privacy?

The smell of incense and herbs is strong in the air, but they’re the wrong types, fragrant and pleasant but achieving nothing toward a healthy birth or pain management.

None of them have magic, at least not enough to feel when I reach out to the princess and wedge my power between her and the curse. It’s not enough to save the baby’s life, but it will buy me some time to convince them I mean them both no harm.

I have no doubt that she will step in if at any point she thinks I’m endangering the princess, but I’m also aware that I’ll knock her out if that moment comes.

Her lip trembles, her composure wavering for just a moment, but then she says in a small voice, “Him?” I nod. “I can feel him there. He’s healthy, and he’s fighting to get out and be here with you. Are you going to fight for him as well? I will fight at your side. I’ll help you break this curse once and for all.” Firna gasps, but I ignore her, my eyes trained on the princess.

She stares back at me, afraid and strong in the way that only mothers can truly be. To feel all of the possible futures in their hearts and to grasp at the best one for their child, holding on tight with everything they have.

The baby is a lucky child to have such a mother f...

I doubt there’ve been any sacrifices since the last baby Airlie lost, and before that baby, many centuries may have passed. The grips of the magic feel desperate, the clawing vicious as it digs to claim the baby. If I get the baby out alive, I can break the curse.

Shields have always been my greatest gift. I build a wall around that little boy, pouring every drop of power the earth has been sharing with me into it until I’ve woven together an impenetrable cocoon to hold him.

The curse fights me; it’s older than I am and a malevolent thing as it claws at me, but I’ve fought off far worse than this. If I can travel to the Northern Lands, become a soldier there and fight the Ureen for centuries of heartache, if I can take the little girl from the forest ...

I’m sick of watching everyone ar...

Princess, look at me and hear the truth in my words. I will do everything else, you just focus on getting him out.”

Even as my vision blurs, I hold true. The princess fought hard for her son, and she’s won. The curse shatters around us.

Blinking away the last of the stars from my eyes, the pain disappearing in an instant but my body struggling to catch up to its absence, I grasp the baby’s slippery form firmly in my hands.

He’s small and a little limp with exhaustion, but alive. I move him quickly onto the bed to clear his airways, rubbing his back and then giving him a quick breath to get his lungs working the way they need to. He’s so small, maybe a little early in his arrival, but his arms ar...

The princess collapses onto the bed with a sob, her entire body overtaken by grief as she mourns her son. But ...

With one last breath from my lungs into his, he sputters out a cough and then makes the most beautiful sound a mother could wish fo...

It's better to leave Tauron to his furious ranting than to reason with him, to point out to him that my death toll is a mountain of the strongest witches, whereas the soldiers we brought merely picked off the weaker ones who broke away from the rest.