Wicked is the Curse.

40 | Silver

Her breathing had pinched.

The boy's mouth had set into a thin line.

Aire watched the memory but continued to speak, the words falling from her like a spell. The memory continued to play out. Aire watched her younger self, stand before the boy with moonflower in his hair; her face was like thunder, her disapproval obvious. She wore a flowing gown, her sleeves and neckline capped with lace. She still remembered how it itched.

The boy gave her a small smile – one that quickly wilted and rotted as he beheld her stony expression.

"It is not like you are going to your death." The boy cut under his breath.

"I will live with you in Vespith." Young Aire hissed. "I cannot imagine a worse fate."

His jaw had tightened. The memory continued. Aire's voice hushed. The memory pulsed around them. The smell of the sea – the sharp sting of salt wind and the cold of evening-time. The Druid was speaking about commitment. Alliance. Age-old friends and neighbours. Young Aire scoffed at that under her breath. "Vespith and Cearna will never be friendly. Even if I am to be your whore."

The boy with the salt-wind ruffling his hair had cut her an incredulous look. "Who taught you that word?"

Aire snorted at her younger self. Because she had no clue what that had truly meant. She had heard it in a whispered argument between a lord and his friend, sneaking around when she shouldn't have been.

"You are to be my wife."

"Do not remind me."

Her hands had been quaking when she set them on the boy's and he had held them fast, to steady that shake. A small kindness that made her feel guilty for her dislike. Until he said, "You train everyday with the Aether and your hands are as soft as petals."

Ribbon was wound around their hands and wrists, binding them. A promise that when they came of age, they would be wed. An alliance to bring Vespith and Cearna closer together.

"You were engaged to the Bloodbound?" Ferdia's voice brought her back from the memory and she blinked, trying to settle herself.

"A ceremony of promise." Aire said dully, staring at the boy in the memory. Dark, wild hair. Eyes as blue green as the seas beyond the cliff-edge. Cheeks unmarked by the crescent moon. She had settled on fighting for Cearna with blade and body if she couldn't give a Wield, but the political marriage had been a slap in the face. She had disliked him before, because he had just been another Vespith brat thrown into the palace to try and ease relations between Vespith and Cearna. After that, she had hated him.

"Who is he then?"

"A prince," Aire leaned forward, reaching for the memory. It eddied under her fingers, growing muddy. Frustration bit at her throat and she felt like she would cry. Her father. Her mother. Her brothers and sisters. The prince she hated until the moment he hauled her from the palace and sacrificed himself for her in the burning city.

"A prince." Ferdia said slowly. Carefully.

"He is the second son of the Vespith King. Promised to a daughter of Cearna. Cadán Lír Suanach."

Ferdia hummed. "I remember there being whispers of the intent to marry a child from each court to ally the countries. If anything, the Suanach and Aryshalin families adored their children."

"It was a punishment." Aire stared at the boy. Roark. No. Cadán. "I was Wieldless and thought that they had foisted me off to marry the second prince because it was the only way I would truly be of worth. I had trained hard to be something other than the Wieldless daughter and this had felt like a betrayal."