Page 77 of Daughter of the Dark

Solana placed a hand on his arm to steady his frantic fidgeting. “Just start with me,” she said softly.

Masimu mumbled and sat back on his heels, and then shifted further so that his back was against the bed and his legs were bent in front of him. Solana crossed her legs underneath her and settled in for a story like she had so many times as a child.

“I wanted you to be carefree and happy, and I wanted to solve everything before it fell to you. I came so close. Our bloodline carries a mutation that gives us similarities to the dead. Our ancestors believed it was so that we could better slay the demons that haunt us. Formidable fighters, nearly impervious to death. We can even call on each other in times of distress. But as time went on, there were less of us willing to fight. Until there was only me, and then you.”

And King Killian had plucked her off the streets, replaced Slayer with Hunter, thrown ilyas at her, and Solana had been more than willing to cooperate. If anyone was the traitor, it was her. “So we have demon blood? In our blood? My blood?” she said, placing a hand to her chest. When he had said, we do share their blood, she thought he had been joking. Or partially insane, at the very least.

It would explain the darkness she always felt. The absolute failure of Reyes using her blood to heal that boy and instead, killing him faster. The way her body fought Reyes’s gift so vehemently.

“More like the curse is in us even during life.” Masimu shifted and held out his hands. “The curse is a perversion of death. It manifests in death. But in us, it lives alongside our souls and turns us into … this,” he said, gesturing to his body. “You were three when I knew something was different. The things you could do … I worried that you were more demon than mortal, but I was wrong. Our ancestors were wrong.”

A gentle hand landed on Solana’s forearm. “Let me show you,” Masimu said.

Images burst to life behind her eyes like paint on a canvas. Vibrant colors and hazy sunshine and bell-like giggles. Solana was walking down the hall, but it wasn’t her eyes she saw through. They were Masimu’s, and he was in the castle, quietly padding down a carpeted hallway toward a familiar room. The door was cracked open a sliver, and he stopped outside of it and peered through with one eye closed.

A small girl with wild, curly hair sat on the floor with an array of toys spread before her. There was a doll with curly hair just like hers. A set of blocks arranged in a replica of a house. Several books opened to random pages and tossed half underneath the bed, as if she had gotten bored with them and decided to act out the illustrations instead.

Masimu smiled fondly at her and was just about to push the door open so he could join her when the girl spoke.

“What does that word mean?” she said, her head tilted up, eyes pinned to the side of the room Masimu couldn’t see. “We’re going to have to teach you other words like father taught me.”

A surge of dread rose in Masimu’s belly. Someone was in the room with his daughter. He shoved the door open with one hand and released his sword with the other. Solana startled and knocked over the house of blocks. But it was the creature she shoved her body in front of.

“Don’t hurt her,” Solana begged. “She’s my friend.”

Masimu redirected the tip of his sword so that it was nowhere near his daughter’s body. The small muki stood eerily still, its head tilted like a curious cat’s. It was about the same height as his daughter, with limbs that were strangely long and a belly that protruded abnormally. It was only a child, but its talons were razor-sharp, nonetheless. It could have killed Solana with a single swipe across her throat.

“Solana, honey, why don’t you go find your mother. She said it’s time for a bath.”

“Can she come too?” Solana’s eyes lit up. “She’s tired and hungry.”

While they spoke, Masimu had very slowly, very carefully extended his left hand toward Solana, ready to snatch the collar of her dress and drag her behind him. “How about she can meet us there if she wants to? We’ll go first.”

Head tilted, Solana tapped a finger to her lips. “Okay!” she said brightly, sliding her hand into Masimu’s and skipping away. Masimu walked backward to the door, never taking his eyes off the small muki that only watched them with unseeing eyes.

Once in the hallway, with the door closed tightly behind him, he scooped up Solana into his arms and held her tight. “How did she get in, Solana?” he asked, trying hard to keep the fear from his voice.

“I asked her to come, silly,” she said. She squirmed in his arms and pulled her head back to look him in the eyes. “What does ñakapana mean?”

Masimu put her down and dropped to a knee, both of her hands squeezed tightly in his. “Was it speaking to you?”

“She was.” Solana nodded happily. “But she only knows one word. You could teach her more! And then we can talk all the time!”

“Come,” he said, his tone matching hers despite the terror in the depths of his soul. “Let’s find your mother together.”

The memory shifted like a cloud racing across the sky. The colors darkened and the air thickened with tension. Solana could hear voices before she could see the picture clearly, and she leaned forward in her own mind, desperate to see the face the voice belonged to.

“Are you sure, Masimu? The gods’ tongue is archaic; it hasn’t been used in centuries. Perhaps you—”

“Lucia. Please.” Masimu was bent over a table in their room, several books spread open in front of him. Lucia was pacing the floor beside him. “Come look for yourself.”

When he turned his head to find her eyes, Solana finally saw the face of her mother for the first time in fourteen years. She was ashamed to admit that she had forgotten so much of her, and that while she looked very similar to her father, there were parts of her that were solely Lucia. The stubborn set of her mouth. The wide bridge of her nose. The refusal to accept what was right in front of her.

“Ñakapana,” Masimu said aloud, his finger following the words on the page. “Destroyer of the curse. A daughter to save them all.”

“No,” she whispered mournfully. “That’s—that’s too much. She can’t—she’s just a child. How—”

Masimu strode forward and pulled Lucia into his arms. Her shoulders were shaking and she pressed her face into Masimu’s chest, her hands fisted tight in his shirt. “I’m going to fix this,” he promised her. “She’ll never know the weight of this responsibility.”