Read parts One through Thirty here.

Dasha and I were an explosion of wind, leaves, and agitated shouts as we barreled into the cottage. Cyrus yelled in fright at our boisterous entrance. He doubled over, clutching his chest. Bottles crashed to the floor. Scraps of dried herbs flew from their perches.

“What in Magic’s name is going on here? Nox, where have you been?” Cyrus exclaimed as he attempted to clean up the disarray our appearance caused.

Dasha and I continued to speak over each other. We were a cacophony of concern and chaos.

“I went outside to look for him—”

“I needed some air—”

“He spent the whole night out there—”

“I didn’t mean to, I—”

“You slept outside?” Cyrus interjected.

“I didn’t mean to!” I answered back.

Our screaming match continued, a volley of chastisements and defenses vaulting back and forth. Cyrus stared at us, trying to keep up with our argument. After a few more barrages between us, he had enough.

“Stop this madness! You two ran in here as though an army of demons were chasing after you. What is going on here?” he demanded. His hands were full of the victims of our insanity.

Dasha opened her mouth to answer him, but then looked at me.

“Tell him,” she said, out of breath from our screaming match.

“It’s the Curse. I think I’ve figured it out,” I answered; my throat was dry from yelling.

“How? Curses are—”

“Deliberate attacks with specific intention, yes, I know.” I finished. Dasha and Cyrus stared at me. “Let’s sit. There is much to say.” We moved into the sitting room we congregated in last night. Cyrus discarded the destroyed remnants he had tried to save and sat next to Dasha. His face fell when she scooched further away from him. I sat across them. I stared at the small table between us and spoke to it. Don’t look at them. “My Magical education was… different. I was taught almost exclusively how to cast Curses. And much to my horror, I developed a talent for them.”

“Curses are difficult. Most Magical practitioners don’t master them until much later in life,” Cyrus said with shock and awe in his voice. “How could someone so young be well-versed in them?”

“When that ‘someone-so-young’ is forced to learn them,” I answered. My eyes were fixed on the table. I traced the patterns in the wood and followed the lines all over—anything to keep from looking at them. My body shook with fear and trembled with worry. “I was never meant to be a well-rounded sorcerer. I was being molded in the darker arts. It’s not what I wanted, and it didn’t come naturally to me. But I was good at it. And I hated that.”

“That’s why you became Afflicted,” Cyrus mused.

“Are either one of you going to explain what any of this means?” Dasha asked. She sounded annoyed but also concerned.

“The Magic in me is ill because it was forced to do things that were out of my nature or things I did not want to do.” I heard Dasha gasp. I dared to look up at her. Her hands were cupped over her mouth in shock, and her eyes were wide with fear. Cyrus looked angry but not surprised. “I don’t know when I Cursed, but I’m willing to bet it happened right around the time Linnea… when Linnea was… when she was killed.” Getting those last few words out hurt more than I anticipated.

“Who would do these things?” Dasha asked behind her hands. “And why?”

“He Cursed me so that no one could love me. It’s a Curse of the Abjured.

“Nox,” Cyrus said. His tone became somber. Horror and wrath rippled around him. “That’s a serious accusation. It’s forbidden.”

“Like love potions are?” Dasha snorted.

“Don’t joke,” he snapped at her. “That Curse is among the most evil in all Magic.”

“Why?” Dasha asked him, looking contrite.

“A Curse of the Abjured attacks the intended by making it so they are unworthy of affection.”

“That’s not true!” Dasha looked at me. “You have to know that.”

“You don’t understand, Dasha. It makes it so they cannot receive love or friendship. Their very soul will reject it.”

“How is something like that even done?” she cried. “That’s horrible!”

Cyrus’s gaze shifted away from her. He’d later tell me that he couldn’t bear to look at her while speaking of such vile things. His face was twisted with disgust, dread, and rage.

“To cast the Curse of Abjured requires the most depraved of intentions. The primary… ingredient is the premeditated murder of the target’s most cherished loved one. As vicious a murder as possible. The younger the Curse’s target, the more effective it is.”

As Cyrus explained it in detail, I couldn’t help but wonder how I didn’t realize it before.

Silence was thick between us as Dasha processed what was being said. Cyrus continued to look at the floor, and I felt the ire build in him.

“Who would do this?” Cyrus asked. His voice was low and dangerous—his anger threatening to become unhinged. Dasha’s eyes were alight with tears.

“So, we could care for you with all of our might, and you will never feel it?” she squeaked.

“Worse. I will feel it. And long for it. But I will know that I cannot have it. I will know that I am not worthy because I will only bring pain and destruction to those around me.”

“That’s not true!” Dasha screamed through her sobs. “This is the most horrid thing I have ever heard.”

“Who would do this?” Cyrus bellowed. He stood and crossed the room toward me. “Who did this to you? Who exists in this world that is so wicked that they would not only consider a Curse of the Abjured but actually cast it?” His voice rattled, and his eyes spilled thick, hot tears.

“Can you think of no one?”

Cyrus and Dasha stared at me. Their emotions were raw on their faces. I watched as they consider my question, and the realization began to dawn on them. Dasha’s hands flew to her face again as she stifled a strangled sob. Cyrus fell to his knees. Haven’s End was pampered in that they were able to forget about him. They were all sheltered from the nightmares lived by the rest of the kingdom—a sanctuary amidst the tempest. And here I was. I was the reminder they never wanted.

“Who are you?” Cyrus whispered.

“My family was massacred when I was young. He stole me and ventured to raise me as his successor.” I spoke fast while I had the courage to tell them my past once and for all. “There was a prophecy made by a great Seer and written in the First Book of Shadows.”

“Magic’s champions will find their guide at the end of this line,” Cyrus recited as though the words were forced into his memory.

“Yes. It was written by my family. I am the last Grimoire. He saved me as a final insult to Magic. He would mold me and then let the prophecy come true. As he eradicated the kingdom of all Magic, he would use me to find anyone who thought they could defeat him or dared to challenge him. And when I finally led Magic’s champions to him, I would be the one to end them. Thus, destroying all Magic. Except for him.”

“The… The King?” Dasha yelped. “That’s who did… all of this to you?”

“The trauma I sensed when I tried to heal you—”

“He is merciless. I disobeyed him. A lot. I was punished often.” It was becoming harder to look at them. The familiar feeling of dread began to seep its way into my blood, and it boiled in my veins. Pain prickled behind my eyes, and my vision began to blur. While under Calum’s care, I learned that any sort of intense emotion could trigger an Afflicted response. I wrestled with myself and tried to keep everything under control.

“The catalyst for the Curse…” Cyrus began.

“Remember when I mentioned that the last time I had a friend, she had her wings ripped off before my eyes and was crushed to death? It was her. It was Linnea. He used her to Curse me.” I pushed the words out. The air was thin and seared my throat as I tried to breathe.

Cyrus looked at me, a decision set in his mind. I could see as he willed the pity to recede. It grew smaller and smaller in his eyes. Dasha’s sobs also abated, and she wiped her tears away with angry and determined hands.

“I’ll get us something to eat,” she said. An unspoken promise crossed between us at that moment. I didn’t know what it was then. But it could come to cost us a lot.