Assassin of Curses: (The Coren Hart Chronicles Book 3) Jessie Eaker (best reads txt) 📖

“Die... you must be punished....”

The queen gave a sad shake of her head. “Your crimes are obvious. You should be put to death.”

I nodded. I picked up my sword and turned the blade so the point rested just under my rib cage.

“Die... you must die....”

I took a sobbing breath.

And then an angel spoke. “Don’t listen to her, Coren.”

It was Zofie’s voice, a flash of brilliance within my darkened heart. I shook my head. I must be imagining it.

“Hurry, Princess. I can’t hold it.” That was Abe.

“Hang on, my dearest knight.” Zofie spoke again. “Help is coming. Just remember who you are. And know that I will always love you.”

I shook my head again. There is no way Zofie could love someone like me. Someone so evil. I had to be punished for my crimes. I tensed to press the blade into my chest.

I suddenly felt arms around me. Hugging me close. Real arms. Real fingers pushed the sword away, and I turned my head to face her. “Stupid brother,” said Docila. “What do you think you’re doing?”

And suddenly, the spell broke. The bracelet on my wrist was searing hot, but immediately began to cool.

I looked up into Docila’s concerned face and then to the chamber walls around me. The mural was as it had been, with all the figures returned to their original places. “How...?” I croaked.

“I got worried about you when you didn’t come back. Then I just got this feeling I needed to find you.”

Realization struck me. I had nearly killed myself. I wrapped my arms around Docila and gave her a fierce hug. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

Embarrassed, she pulled away. “Yeah, yeah. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

We stood, and I faced the image of the queen. “You failed. I have committed no crimes. Yes, my curse can change luck, but certainly not with the intent of hurting others.”

The queen leaped from her chair. “And now, we will have to take her too. Yet another innocent killed in an attempt to save yourself.”

The bracelet flashed hot again, and I took reassurance from it.

“No!” I yelled. “I won’t let you.”

I looked around the room, and my eyes froze on the empty spot along the wall. What had Zofie’s voice said? Remember who you are?

In sudden inspiration, I grabbed Docila’s hand and pulled her with me toward the empty section of wall.

“What are you doing?” demanded the queen. “Admitting your guilt and trying to run?”

“Guilty...” the chant began to rise around me again. I could feel the guilt starting to grow in me once more. Only this time, Zofie’s words warmed me. Know that I will always love you. Leaving the guilt with no power.

I examined the wall.

“Coren?” asked Docila, concern on her face.

I released her hand and then slapped the wall as hard as I could. “I am the Thief of Curses. And in the name of Princess Zophia Xernow, I command this chamber to open.”

And suddenly, a new picture appeared on the wall. I staggered back in surprise. It was a man dressed in plain clothes and giving me a one-sided grin. “Let him pass,” he announced loudly.

My eyes went wide. While I did not recognize the face, I knew the voice. It was Dughall from the same vision I’d had when I saw Evelend. The original Thief of Curses.

The one that had betrayed her.

To my surprise, the figures on the mural vanished, leaving only the circular wall with its paint cracked and peeling. A moment later, the section of wall I faced disappeared, and I found myself in front of another arched entrance.

Beyond was again nothing but darkness. I reached behind me and took Docila’s hand before stepping inside.

A single light snapped on just ahead of us and provided enough light that I could make out another chamber about the same size as the previous one. A single cone of light illuminated a raised platform—just a step above the floor, roughly oval in shape, and carved out of the same stone as the walls. In the very center of the platform, a slender, cylindrical pedestal rose from the floor—almost a high table—made of highly polished white marble and elegantly carved in an intricate weaving pattern. I gasped. It was identical to the pedestal that held the Mirror of Bygone Tears.

We moved cautiously forward, kicking up dust from the floor with every move. On the stand, resting in a shallow impression, was a silver cylinder about a foot long and a fingerbreadth thick.

Is that the key? I wondered to myself.

“What is it?” Docila asked.

I shook my head. “I’m not sure. But I know we can’t touch it yet.”

I moved to the side furthest from the door and had my suspicions confirmed. The pedestal had another part on the back, not readily visible from the front. A small square of marble extended out from it with the imprint of a life-sized hand carved from the stone. It looked as if someone had pressed it into the marble. But the real surprise was on the wrist of the impression. It was a symbol I knew quite well.

“That’s your curse!” Docila exclaimed.

I nodded. I pulled back the sleeve on my left arm, baring it to the elbow. “Stand back,” I said. “Last time I did this, it set off a trap.”

Docila prudently moved closer to the door before turning to watch me. I aligned my hand and wrist with the impression and pressed down. The stone was cool to my skin and had a gritty feel from all the dust.

Suddenly, my world changed. I was standing in a place of all gray: everything around me, as far as the eye could see, was a dull color—like a thick fog on a brightly lit morning. And