Page 10 of The Obsidian Curse

Within a few seconds, the steam cleared. My jaw hung open. Before me was a man, no longer a beast. A large man, to be sure, with deep, mahogany brown skin and thick fiery-colored locs hanging past his shoulders. The subtle echo of fiery wings flashed behind him in their retracted state. He was pure beauty, with full lips framed by a neat dark mustache and goatee, a regal nose, and dark brown eyes. Those eyes had just a hint of fire behind them and were watching me carefully.

9

keeran

Her eyes are so wideand round they resemble moons. But instead of fear wafting from her like acrid mist, I sense wonder. Excitement, even. Something deep within my chest loosens. She has not rejected me yet.

Now that the intense pain of the collar is gone, I take several deep breaths. The enchantment mimicked the power that had trapped me in that form. It is nice to be in my own skin again.

Questions dance in her eyes and I know I need to answer them, but I take another moment to breathe with my own lungs and feel the night air on my natural skin.

I sense the guard behind me. His even breathing lets me know he's fallen asleep standing up. Niara and I have time to talk for a bit.

She casts her gaze around and begins to gather herself,straightening her shoulders.What... what are you?she asks in my mind.

My name is Keeran. I am the youngest son of the Ember Fae King. The form I took before is a result of the Obsidian Curse.

You're an Ember Fae prince?Her mental voice is shocked. Dismayed.

Which part of that bothers you more?My mouth pulls into a smile—an unfamiliar feeling.

All of it.She waves her hand vaguely.Why were you cursed?

I lean forward, breathing in her scent. My cursed form has a relatively poor sense of smell, but Ember Fae senses are extremely heightened. Niara smells of ginger and cinnamon, with hints of the salt of the sea. The scent calls to me in a way nothing else has, and I let it wash over me before I begin my tale.

Generations ago, an Ember Fae king desired to be blessed by the fire moon Ignis. My ancestor vowed devotion, promising that his youngest child would always serve as the Moon Child, channeling Ignis's magic into obsidian and using these powerful talismans to ensure prosperity and good fortune for the kingdom. This lasted for many solars, and we were blessed. But my grandfather was greedy, and instead of accepting the gift of the blessing, asked his Moon Child son to steal the power of Ignis.

How would he do that?she asks.

Limits were placed onto how much of Ignis's power could be channeled. My grandfather sought to have his son, my uncle, funnel enough magic from the moon to fill the entire Obsidian Oculus. The entire chamber would have become a talisman giving its wielder near unlimited power.

Her lips round to form an “O.”

Exactly. It was right after the Oculus Accords were signed, and my grandfather, though he signed the treaty, had no real wish to share the holy site with your people.

My uncle did as he was instructed and attempted to channel a massive amount of power into the Oculus. Of course, Ignis was not pleased at this faithlessness. In retaliation, our great moon cursed the bloodline. Each youngest child, when we come of age, must be sacrificed to the volcano and transformed into the creature you saw.

She presses both hands against her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. My arms twitch, wanting to reach out and comfort her, but I cannot. Not yet.

My father had seen what had befallen his beloved youngest brother and hoped he could spare me. He tried to bargain with Ignis to no avail. On my twentieth solar, I transformed into the beast.

The memory of that first painful transformation comes over me and I wince. I had rampaged through the castle grounds, not quite believing what was happening to me. It had taken a dozen kings guards to subdue me, and then my family tearfully transported me to the Oculus.

Deep within the volcano, I exist in a sort of hibernated state. I'm aware of the passage of time, but...Tears drip down her face. It's agonizing not to be able to wipe them away for her.

But what?she asks.

But I am not in pain.

She sniffles and scrubs her cheeks with her palm.How long have you been in the volcano?

Ten solars. During our rituals, I'm able to speak with my family and learn some of the events of the day. You do not need to cry for me.

She shakes her head, and her multitude of braids tinkle, the little glass beads on their ends like chimes.What made you come out during the Day One ritual?she asks.

The warmth within me at being near to her, at seeing all of her little reactions, cools. I look down at the ground, my hands tightening into fists.I was summoned,I tell her.One of your people somehow got hold of an ancient ritual and brought me out of my sleep.

Her body grows rigid. Astonishment is quickly followed by anger—an intense rage that I did not believe Water Mages could access. Their entire society is based on following the principles of Morros: introspection, adaptability, calm, and balance. The historical cause of conflict between our two peoples has been rooted in the Water Mages’ lack of intensity. For Ember Fae, passion is the point of existence. Morros is meant to temper the heat of Ignis, but we, Ignis’s children, were meant to burn.

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