The Curse of Saints

by Kate Dramis

It was as if his darkness had called to hers, and she hadn’t been able to resist responding. And for that, she hated him.

Death wasn’t a stranger, but that didn’t make it a friend.

Fear masks all senses—it renders one dead before a blow is even struck. It

A cautious soul, her mother had once whispered as she tucked her into her side. But with a burning flame of love saved for those who warrant it. But whatever flame she had sensed in Aya had been doused as soon as her own had been extinguished on the waves of the Anath Sea. And Aya had buried her fear, her pain, her guilt, and leaned instead into the only things that made sense. Control. Discipline. Distance. She had found her place in shadows and darkness, in cold alleyways and dilapidated bars, in the smooth handle of a dagger and sharp steel of a blade.

If the gods had chosen her, they had chosen wrong.

Aya felt too much. The pain, the rage, the guilt…it would burn her from the inside out. And then it would burn the world.

“I can’t always settle. It’s like there’s this constant energy and it’s trying to claw its way out. It’s not just my power. It’s my mind. My thoughts race and I just…” Her voice trailed off as she picked at a piece of dirt on her leathers. “The training settles me. It helps me feel in control.” The prince held her gaze, his face open and earnest. “You always seem so steady.” Aya pressed her lips together in grim agreement. “I have to.” And the way he was looking at her…it was as if he understood.

He hoped that one day the title would fade entirely, that respect would be earned not from fear, but from truth. He hoped one day simply his name would be enough. That he would be enough.