Cursed By His Touch

The rain came down like a shroud, cloaking the village of Elderglow in a veil of silver and secrets.

Auren Lyselle stood behind the warped oak counter of the Rusty Lantern, her fingers tracing the grain of the wood as if it could anchor her to this fleeting moment of peace.

The tavern was a heartbeat tonight, pulsing with the low hum of drunken laughter and the clink of tankards. Firelight danced in the hearth, casting shadows that flickered like ghosts across the stone walls.

Auren's amber eyes-sharp as polished citrine-scanned the room, catching every glance, every whisper. She'd learned to read a crowd the way a sailor reads the stars. Survival demanded it."Another round, love?" slurred a farmer, his beard flecked with foam.

He leaned too close, his breath sour with ale.Auren's smile was a blade, soft but cutting. "Only if you've got coin to match your thirst, Thom." Her voice carried the lilt of the Southern Realms, warm as honey but laced with a warning. She slid a mug across the counter, her movements fluid, practiced. The farmer grumbled but dug into his pocket, and Auren turned away, her heart thudding harder than it should.She wasn't just a barmaid. Not really. Beneath the faded apron and the braid that swung like a pendulum down her back, she was a healer-a runaway with soul magic she barely understood and a past that clung to her like damp rot.

Three years ago, she'd fled the golden South, leaving behind a lover's grave and a name that no longer fit. Now, under the alias "Lia," she poured drinks and mended broken bones in secret, hoping the rumors of her power would stay buried.

But Elderglow was a small village, and whispers spread faster than wildfire."Careful, lass," muttered Old Mara, hunched over her cider in the corner. Her rheumy eyes glinted with knowing. "Storm like this brings trouble. Mark my words."Auren forced a laugh, light as a sparrow's wing. "Trouble's always knocking, Mara. Doesn't mean I let it in." But her fingers tightened around the rag she was using to wipe the counter, and a chill slithered down her spine. She'd felt it all day-a prickle at the nape of her neck, like unseen eyes watching from the fog.

Her magic stirred, unbidden, a soft hum in her veins that made her skin itch. She shoved it down, deep where it couldn't betray her.The door slammed open, and the tavern fell silent, as if the storm itself had paused to listen. A gust of wind carried the scent of wet earth and something darker-iron, maybe, or blood. A man stood in the doorway, cloaked in black, his hood casting his face in shadow. Water dripped from his boots, pooling like ink on the floor. Behind him, the outline of a carriage loomed in the rain, its horses snorting steam into the night.

Auren's breath caught, her magic flaring like a spark in dry grass. Whoever this was, he wasn't local. And he wasn't here for ale."Evening," the stranger said, his voice low, smooth as polished obsidian. He stepped forward, and the crowd parted like sheep before a wolf. His cloak fell open, revealing a leather jerkin and a sword at his hip, its hilt worn but gleaming. "I seek a healer."Auren's heart stuttered, but she kept her face neutral, a mask she'd perfected. "You're in a tavern, not a sickhouse," she said, tossing the rag over her shoulder. "Try the apothecary down the lane."The stranger's head tilted, and though she couldn't see his eyes, she felt them-piercing, unyielding, like a blade pressed to her throat. "The apothecary can't help my lord," he said. "But you can, Auren Lyselle."Her name hit like a slap, stripping her bare. The room spun, and for a moment, she was back in the South, her hands glowing with magic, her lover's scream echoing as her touch turned his heart to ash. She gripped the counter, her knuckles white, and forced her voice steady.

"You've got the wrong woman. I'm Lia.""Lies don't suit you," the stranger said, stepping closer. The firelight caught his face now-a jagged scar across his cheek, eyes like chipped flint. "My lord is dying. He needs a healer with... uncommon gifts. Come with me to Thornvale Manor, and you'll be paid well. Refuse, and..." He let the threat hang, heavy as the storm outside.The villagers' eyes bored into her, a mix of fear and suspicion. Auren's pulse raced, her magic coiling like a snake ready to strike.

She wanted to run, to vanish into the night as she had before. But the weight of her empty coin purse-and the ghost of her guilt-kept her rooted. Redemption, she'd told herself, was why she stayed in Elderglow. Maybe this was her chance to prove it."What's the pay?" she asked, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.The stranger's lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Ten gold crowns. More if you succeed."A murmur rippled through the tavern. Ten crowns was a fortune-enough to buy her freedom, to start over somewhere no one knew her name. Auren's resolve hardened, though her stomach twisted like a wrung cloth. "I'll need to see him first," she said. "No promises."The stranger nodded, gesturing to the door.

"The carriage waits."Auren untied her apron, her hands trembling despite her bravado. Old Mara grabbed her wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. "Don't go, lass," she whispered, her voice a hiss. "The Cursed Lord of the North don't take kindly to strangers. His touch is death."Auren's blood ran cold, but she pulled free, forcing a grin. "Good thing I'm not here to hold hands, then." She grabbed her cloak from a hook, its green wool frayed but warm, and followed the stranger into the storm.

The carriage was a beast of black wood and iron, its horses pawing the mud like creatures born of nightmare. Auren climbed inside, the leather seats cold against her thighs. The stranger sat opposite, silent, as the carriage lurched forward, the village fading into the fog. Rain battered the roof, a relentless drumbeat that matched her racing heart."Who's your lord?" Auren asked, her voice barely audible over the storm.The stranger's eyes glinted in the dark. "Kael Thorne.

The last of his line."The name struck a chord, though she couldn't place why. "And this curse?" she pressed, leaning forward. "What am I walking into?"He didn't answer, only turned to the window, his silence louder than the thunder. Auren's magic hummed, sharper now, whispering of danger and something else-something alive, waiting in the shadows of Thornvale Manor. She thought of Mara's warning, of the rumors that swirled like leaves in the wind: the Cursed Lord, a man whose touch brought death, whose manor was a tomb for the living. Her fingers brushed the scar on her palm, a reminder of her own lethal touch. Maybe she and this Kael Thorne weren't so different.The carriage slowed, and the forest closed in, its gnarled trees clawing at the sky. Through the window, Auren glimpsed Thornvale Manor-a sprawl of stone and spires, its windows glowing like the eyes of a beast.

The air grew heavy, pressing against her chest, and her magic surged, unbidden, painting visions in her mind: a man's hand reaching for her, his touch warm, then cold as a grave. She gasped, the image fading, but the ache in her chest lingered, sharp as a lover's betrayal.The carriage stopped, and the stranger opened the door, rain lashing his face.

"Welcome to Thornvale," he said, his voice a warning. "Mind your step, healer. Not everyone leaves this place alive."Auren stepped into the mud, her cloak billowing like a sail in the wind. The manor loomed before her, its doors yawning wide, and for the first time in years, she felt the weight of her magic not as a curse, but as a shield. Whatever waited inside-Kael Thorne, his curse, or her own ghosts-she'd face it. She had to.Because some debts could only be paid in blood.