The curse of sins, p.1
The Curse of Sins, page 1
Also by Kate Dramis
The Curse of Saints
Copyright © 2024 by Kate Dramis
Cover and internal design © 2024 by Sourcebooks
Cover design by Amanda Hudson/Faceout Studio
Cover images by tuk69tuk/Getty Images, Kozlik/Shutterstock
Map illustration © Sally Taylor represented by Artist Partners Ltd.
Internal artwork © Chloe Quinn/Astound US Inc.
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks
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Originally published in 2024 in the United Kingdom by Michael Joseph, an imprint of Penguin UK.
Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.
For those who are afraid to show their worst…and to the ones who dare to see it and love us anyway.
(And to Po, who always loved me despite mine.)
The Order of the Visya, as decreed by the Nine Divine and recorded in the Conoscenza, the Book of the Gods
The Order of the Corpsoma: Physical Affinities
Zeluus: Strength Affinity
Anima: Life and Death Affinity
The Order of the Dultra:Elemental Affinities
Incend: Fire Affinity
Caeli: Air Affinity
Terra: Earth Affinity
Auqin: Water Affinity
The Order of the Espri: Mind, Emotion, and Sensation Affinities
Sensainos: Sensation and Emotion Affinity
Persi: Persuasion Affinity
Saj: Studiers of Magic
There’s something about the sound of a blade tearing through flesh and bone. It lingers, its vibrations echoing in the mind long after the blood has finished seeping from the wound, like a dark symphony crescendoing toward madness.
It draws them all from sleep:
A reluctant saint.
A young king.
A treasonous enforcer.
United by blades and blood and the brewing of war.
Contents
Prologue
Part One: Deikosi
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
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Part Two: The Rotting of Flesh
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36
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47
Part Three: Consolation in Death
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Part Four: Deceiver. Usurper. Murderer.
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85
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90
91
Glossary
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
Mathias Denier was no stranger to the dark, dank crevices of Dunmeaden. He had made those corners his kingdom, the bars and brothels and seedy establishments he patronized his own royal court of sorts.
He was used to the brutality of his life, the bartering and the blood. Sometimes, he even found it quite beautiful.
Darkness was the King of the Crooks’s friend. Which is why he was…surprised…to find a cool shiver working up his spine as he surveyed the five Dyminara who waited on the docks where he stood.
He wasn’t fearful of Queen Gianna’s elite force. While most Visya—those blessed with one of nine gods-given affinities—used their powers in service to the kingdom, Gianna’s Dyminara had been trained to use theirs ruthlessly under the guise of protection of their queen and Tala’s citizens. For years, Mathias had taken credit for more of the Dyminara’s dirtier deeds than even he personally would have liked, but as such, his own unfavorable doings had gone unpunished.
They had a symbiotic relationship of sorts, he supposed.
Typically, the Dyminara prided themselves on remaining unseen.
To be here, so visible…
An inexplicable foreboding settled in Mathias’s stomach.
He had noticed the subtle changes in town. The increase in the Royal Guard’s presence in public spaces, the rumblings of the ongoing recruitment for Her Majesty’s forces. All preparations for a war that now seemed unavoidable.
“They’ve been here since the news broke, Boss,” a slick voice sounded from his left. Mathias tore his gaze away from the warriors standing sentinel and arched a brow at Dobbins. The stout man’s ruddy face reddened as he ran a hand over his wiry brown hair, betraying his nerves.
Horribly conspicuous, Dobbins was. But he didn’t mind getting his hands, quite literally, dirty, which was surprisingly hard for Mathias to find in a kingdom of warriors. Mathias supposed it had something to do with honor. A petty thing.
“Well, don’t keep me waiting with bated breath, Dobbins,” Mathias drawled, his tone conveying his boredom. “What news do you speak of?”
Likely something far from thrilling. Another pirate attack, perhaps.
“King Dominic is dead. Killed at the hands of his nephew for partnering with Kakos and capturing the Second Saint.”
Mathias felt his other brow rise, both now inching toward his slicked-back silver hair. A dead monarch was no small thing, yet he could hardly focus on that, not with Dobbins’s second piece of information.
“And what zealot shared this news with you?” Because truly, only the most devout would believe a saint walked among them. He knew of the prophecy. Utter hogwash.
Dobbins shook his head. “They say the news came from Zuri, the king’s advisor.”
Mathias barely contained his snort. A brilliant alibi, no doubt spun from Trahir to paint the rest of the court as innocents to avoid the wrath of the realm once news of their king’s treason broke.
And Gianna will let them prey on her piousness, Mathias thought.
Dobbins continued to prattle on about which brothel he’d been in when he’d heard the gossip in the early hours of the morning, but Mathias’s mind was already spinning toward plans of his own. Strings he could pull. Deals he could make. People he could exploit. Political upheaval was a prime time to reap reward if one was prepared for it.
“The general has been released,” Dobbins was saying.
That caught Mathias’s attention. Tova had been arrested months ago under suspicion of treason. She was reportedly found with orders for weapons—orders from the two tradesmen in Trahir who were killed for buying on behalf of Kakos. Such acts were illegal after an embargo had been placed on the ostracized southern kingdom for their experimentation with dark magic.
“They say she was framed by Kakos,” Dobbins continued. “Means the supplier is still out there. Interesting, ain’t it?”
Mathias rubbed a hand across his jaw as he watched the Dyminara. Interesting indeed. He’d never quite known what to make of the decades-old suspicions that Kakos wanted to resurrect the Decachiré—the forbidden practice that had Visya reaching to be gods by making their power limitless. It had supposedly been abolished by the War and outlawed by the gods.
But the Dyminara had captured a dark magic practitioner in Tala just months ago. A Diaforaté, the realm called them: a Visya who had siphoned magic from another to create corrupted raw power. They were found just after the Trahir tradesmen were caught trying to buy weapons for the southern kingdom.
Mathias hadn’t become the most notorious crook without learning how to watch for signs. Even he couldn’t ignore how everything was pointing toward Kakos preparing for war.
And with the supplier still on the loose, perhaps they’d gotten their weapons after all.
“
“They say it’s Gianna’s Third.”
Mathias couldn’t contain his scorn now. “Now I know this is no more than gambling gossip. There’s no way the gods would choose that…” Mathias didn’t even have the words to describe what the spymaster was. A pain in his ass would be a good start.
He’d had enough interactions with the young spymaster’s vitriol to know the woman was no saint. Her dagger had found enough precious parts of his body to prove it.
Dobbins shrugged. “Just what they’re saying, Boss. Apparently, the general took the fall for her first display of power. Was protecting her, she was. Either way, I imagine the queen will get to the bottom of it all. The saint and such. Quite dedicated to the faith, she is.”
Mathias muttered a noncommittal sound.
The entire bloody kingdom was dedicated to the gods. Even Mathias made it a point to attend the key services in the town’s main temple. Of course, the blessings he sought weren’t from any deities, but from the patrons whose secrets he could trade as easily as the delicacies from Trahir.
Mathias rolled his shoulders back as he tore his gaze away from the warriors. “Enough gossip, Dobbins. We’re late.”
The man spluttered his apologies as he scrambled into motion, leading the way toward the gambling den. Mathias was owed another delayed payment—the establishment’s second this quarter. It was exactly why he’d brought Dobbins along for this particular visit.
Mathias sighed, the day already weighing on him, and cast a glance back at the Dyminara as he strolled away.
They were clearly waiting for someone.
He hoped she was ready.
Part One
Deikosi
1
The chill of the marble floor was erased by the warmth of blood. It stained the surface red as it crept under her cheek and she slipped toward death.
She blinked, the edges of the bright room blurring further. Screams of terror echoed off the walls as she struggled to lift her chin, her eyes seeking that ever-present anchor. The room fell into a loose focus as she blinked again.
There. A slumped figure was on the floor beside her, his hand outstretched slightly, as if reaching for her.
No.
No.
No.
Denial pounded through her head, as loud as the screams that echoed off the walls.
He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be dead, because someone was still screaming, still roaring, still begging.
Her gaze settled on his face.
His gray eyes were lifeless.
The screams reached the pitch of the deepest sort of despair as a burning sensation ripped through her throat.
Only then did she recognize them as her own.
“A stubborn saint,” a voice murmured from above her. She dragged her eyes up, up, up, searching for the man responsible for her agony.
But a soft face stared down at her.
Golden hair. Brown eyes. A white gown.
The corners of the woman’s heart-shaped mouth were turned down in pity as she glanced at the lifeless body. Will’s hand was outstretched, still reaching, even in death.
“Perhaps now you’ll behave,” Gianna mused. “What do you think, Aya?”
Her name echoed across the room, a dull beat to the terror clawing at her chest.
Aya.
Aya.
AYA—
***
“AYA!”
Aya gasped, salt-tinged air searing her lungs as she sucked in a panicked breath. She barely registered the shadow of a figure above her before she was moving, her hand reaching for their throat.
I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her.
But warm fingers caught her wrist, pinning it by her head as a firm body pressed against her own.
Aya wrestled against the weight, but her other arm was pinned as well, and she couldn’t move, she couldn’t breathe, her mind too panicked for her to wrangle her power, and—
“It’s me,” a deep voice rasped, tension lining the baritone of it. “It’s me. You were dreaming.”
There was a note of familiarity just beneath the surface of her panic, but her adrenaline was still climbing, her fear a visceral thing that clawed up her throat and choked her breaths into shallow pants. The unmistakable presence of a Sensainos affinity slammed through her shattered shield, cool peace buffeting against the sharp edges of her panic. The affinity wrapped itself around the sensations inside and tugged, urging her pulse to slow and her lungs to open. It was enough to force the lingering visions from Aya’s nightmare out of her sight.
She blinked, and brown eyes became gray.
“Will.” His name was a whispered relief as his face came into focus, even as her breath stayed locked in her lungs.
“Breathe, love.”
Another wave of his affinity, gentler this time, brushed against her remaining panic. Aya felt her muscles relax into the mattress beneath her, her chest loosening slightly. Will’s thumb stroked the inside of her wrist, his head ducking as he brushed his lips across the space just below her ear.
A silent reassurance.
She could feel his own heart pounding against her chest, and he let out a shaky exhale as he murmured against her skin, “You’re safe.” Another brush of his lips, and he said it again—as if he needed to hear the words, too. “You’re safe.”
It took another moment for Aya to register the creaking of the ship. Her gaze darted around the small stateroom, her eyes adjusting to the darkness and aided by the moonlight streaming through a sizable porthole on the right. It cast flickering shadows across the tanned skin of Will’s chest as he carefully released his hold on her wrists and sat back on his heels.
Safe.
Aya sat up and braced her arms on her knees. She let her head hang as she forced another, deeper breath into her lungs. Will’s affinity brushed against her again, a mere caress, and that small feeling of peace settled further into her, as if his very essence curled around her bones. It helped to pull her heartbeat further from her throat, enough that she could mutter a soft thank-you, her voice raw from her screams.
Safe.
No.
They weren’t safe.
And it had been foolish to let herself pretend that they were anything close to it.
Five days. Five days at sea that Aya had spent distracting herself with training, gods, with Will, if only to bury the fear that crept into her dreams at night. It had been so simple to convince herself that they deserved a moment’s reprieve after everything that happened in Trahir.
Aya lifted her head, taking in his disheveled black hair, curled slightly from the humid sea air. His eyes were alert.
“You were awake.”
Will carded a hand through his strands. “I was.”
Just as he had been each night before when her dreams hauled her out of the few minutes of peace she’d found in sleep.
A full silence followed the admission. He never pushed her. Never forced her to talk about what drove her screaming from sleep, just as he didn’t share why he was awake when she did. It was as though they’d come to an unspoken agreement to bask in their stolen relief for as long as possible.
Gods knew it was going to be short-lived once they returned home to Tala.
Aya swallowed as she took in the exhaustion lining Will’s features—the exhaustion he pretended wasn’t there when they sparred on the main deck during the day, just like the pain in his side he ignored. Her gaze flitted to the scar now, the jagged line still an angry red from where King Dominic’s Second, Peter, had buried his knife in that godsforsaken throne room.
“You’ve hardly slept since we left,” she said softly.
Will gazed out the porthole for a long moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “I can’t,” he finally admitted, a heaviness brought on by far more than a lack of sleep thick in his voice.
It wasn’t just a confession.
It was a surrender.
And it was enough to have Aya moving, her legs straddling his as she settled into his lap, arms locking around his neck. Will’s hands found her hips as he tugged her closer to him, his grip warm through the fabric of her shirt—his shirt, that she had stolen to wear at night, letting his burnt-ember and spiced-honey scent wrap around her fully, just as his arms did now.
