Page 141 of Promise of Darkness
The Morai draw back with a collective hiss, their shadows painted large upon the walls. Sweat drips down my forehead as I step forward, the flames dancing in circles around my feet. They like weak prey and easy meat, but they’re cowards at heart, Thiago told me, and will retreat if I’m bold.
“Give it,” one hisses, retreating halfway up the wall.
“And we’ll grant thee answers three.”
“But mind you ask carefully.”
I hurl the flask, and they fight over it, splashing my blood across their faces and lips, greedily sucking it from their pincers.
“There is a curse upon me,” I tell them very carefully, “that steals my memories every time I return to my mother. I need to know if it can be broken.”
The Shadowbinder plucks at the threads on her web, halfheartedly spinning something into life. “All curses can be broken.”
“All contracts can be voided,” says the Threadcutter.
“All magic can be undone.”
I’d thought so. There’s always a loophole, and yet it’s a relief to hear it spoken. “How do I break the curse?”
“End yourself and you end the curse.”
“Kill the one who cast it.”
“Seek one who is more powerful to break it.”
Two of those options are worth exploring. “Who cast the curse?”
Silence.
One of them smiles. “The Queen of Thorns.”
It’s a breathless feeling to hear it spoken aloud. “My mother doesn’t work blood magic. It’s Unseelie magic. It’s forbidden.”
It’s old, powerful magic that blackens your soul. Every working you perform slowly corrupts you, untilyou’rethe monster in the forest or the witch who needs to be burned.
“Do you call us liars?” one of the Morai hisses.
Whatever you do, do not insult them,Thiago had warned.
“Of course not.” I bow my head, but my mind is reeling. “I spoke from surprise. I would never…. I can’t believe she….”
But the shock is wearing off. When I think of what Thiago’s told me of our past, I can paint my mother into those memories only too well. I know her heart. I know her soul. Betrayed by her daughter? With her enemy gaining the upper hand upon her? Of course, she’d do it.
She wouldn’t even flinch.
“How did my mother learn this sort of curse magic?”
They quiver and sway.
“You asked for answers three, and we have given them,” one of the Morai says slyly.
“I believe I asked two questions,” I say carefully. “The first was a statement of fact. Not a question. I said, ‘I need to know if it can be broken.’ You volunteered the answers.”
There’s a collective hiss.
“It’s a tricksy little beast,” says the Shadowbinder. “It had best mind its tongue, that we don’t find it delicious to eat.”
“How did my mother learn this sort of curse magic?” I repeat.
