A Vow So Bold and Deadly (Cursebreakers, #3)(42)

She dusts herself off. “I suck at this.”

“You are chasing her blade again, my lady.”

She fetches her weapon from where it landed. “Come show me.”

I stare down at her, at the way curls have pulled free of her braids and the wind has painted pink along her cheekbones. Weeks ago we stood just like this, and I was worried she hated me. Now I’m worried she pities me.

“Of course,” I say.

By the time I make it to the courtyard, Zo has vanished. A week ago, I saw her frequent retreats as a weakness. Something worthy of disdain.

Since the moment Harper struck Lilith with a dagger, I have regretted those thoughts.

Dustan and three other guardsmen have trailed me to the courtyard, but they take up positions along the wall. I bite back a shiver and wish I’d thought to grab a cloak.

Harper lifts her sword, so I draw mine, but I’m struck by the realization that we haven’t faced each other like this in months—not since before Grey was dragged back to the castle in chains. Her stance is better than I remember, more balanced, which I know is a constant struggle for her. Something else to be grateful to Zo for, I suppose, because Harper does not spar with anyone else.

I begin with a simple attack from above, and she blocks it easily to counterattack. Her movements are precise but practiced, though I’m impressed at her speed. But when she blocks again and I withdraw to regroup, she follows the motion.

It puts her off balance, and I snap the blade right out of her hand.

“Ugh,” she says as she reclaims the weapon.

“You do not need to chase your opponent,” I say. “If someone is truly your enemy, they will come back to you.”

She stops and stares at me, and I realize what I’ve said. I wonder if she’s thinking of Grey—who didn’t try to come after me.

I’m thinking of Lilith, whom I can’t shake loose.

Harper’s eyes flash with challenge as she steels herself. “I’m not very patient.”

“As if you need to tell me.” Her conviction is one of the very first things I ever admired about her. I lift my blade.

We do it again. And again. By the eighth time, a bloom of sweat glints on her brow, but her expression is fiercely determined. She worries about her balance, about her left side weakness, but her footwork is almost flawless. It must be the result of careful practice and repetition, because it’s not something that would come naturally to her. It’s impressive, but it also tugs at chords of sadness in my chest.

I taught her how to hold a bow, how to dance, how to station an army. But when it came to swordplay, she first learned from Grey.

I don’t know if I’m distracted or if she finally convinces herself to wait, but she doesn’t come after me when I disengage. I’m not ready for it, so when I attack, she’s prepared, and she hooks my blade with her guard. Metal scrapes against metal, then locks into place, all but pinning us together. Our breath makes quick clouds between us in the chilled air.

Her eyes are wide and surprised, so I smile. “Well done.”

Her cheeks turn pink. “Did you let me do that?”

“My lady.” I feign hurt. “You wound me.”

That pink on her cheeks turns into a true blush. We’re so close together, blades crossed between us, but there’s no strain, no tension.

I wish I had something I could give her. Something that would steal away the sting of all my wrongs. I know I can’t undo what I’ve done or erase the mistakes I’ve made. Forgiveness can’t be bought, but I’m not entirely sure how I could earn it either.

She wets her lips, then unlocks her sword from mine. “Thank you for the lesson.”

I lift a hand to brush a tendril of hair from her cheek, and when she leans into my touch, I let my hand linger, my thumb stroking the very edge of her lip. I want very badly to lean in and kiss her, but even this feels precarious. With Harper, everything must be earned. Patience is rewarded.

I kiss her on the forehead instead. “You should dress for our journey to Silvermoon,” I say, and my voice is rough.

“Freya already laid out a gown.” Her gaze searches mine again. “I won’t take long.”

Dustan holds the door for her when she approaches, but none of my guards follow her into the castle. They won’t unless I order it. They’re sworn to protect me, not her. There are so many rumors about Disi’s failures, about the true heir to the throne, not to mention the very real threats from Lilith, that even if I ordered them to keep her safe, I’m not entirely sure anyone would risk their life on her behalf. The only one of my guards who ever did is now preparing to wage war against me.

As I turn to head into the castle myself, I realize that’s not true.



The Royal Guard quarters sit along the lowest level of the castle, lining the rear hallway to the training arena, on the opposite side from the kitchens and the servant quarters, and the closest to the stables. I have little occasion to be down here, and in fact I cannot remember the last time I was. When Grey and I were trapped by the curse, he selected chambers near my own, because there was little sense in my sole guardsman being out of earshot.

When I turn down the shadowed hallway, a long-buried memory rises to the surface. I must have been six or seven, old enough that I’d learned how to escape the watchful eyes of my nurse or my tutors. Young enough that I was curious about spaces in the castle that I was not allowed to frequent. In my memory, I was seeking the dungeons, because my sister Arabella insisted they were haunted, but I found myself in this hallway, wide-eyed when I realized that the loud, angry voices I’d heard from the stairwell were not from ghosts or prisoners, but instead guardsmen having a heated argument.