Bròn began visiting Namir, Asad, and I in the throne room more often over the coming the weeks after Hala’s mishap. It was like he was trying to cheer Namir up, carrying out jovial banter with him and forcing him to leave the palace for horseback rides. One afternoon, he’d insisted on taking us all hunting. I was intrigued by the notion, never having seen Bròn take interest in such sport.

We prepared our bows early the next morning, long before sunrise. Each of us brought quivers containing plenty of arrows and sought out our preferred horses for the east’s jungles. There were plenty of panthers in southeastern Mahsul, and Namir had been itching to hunt, anyways. The ride only took about six hours, and we reached their territory just as the sky began tinting orange. Twilight hours were always so quiet in those jungles—that was when the panthers were awakening to find their food for the day. We trotted in silence, until Bròn spoke up.

“If ya smell smoke like that of a fireplace or bonfire when you see one of them panthers, don’t shoot it.” He stated.

Asad and I looked at each other, before looking to Namir. He was already looking at the immortal with intrigue.

“I can feel one of ‘em. They’re in these wilds.”

“One of who?” Namir asked.

“A Cursed One.” Bròn replied.

I blinked, steeling my resolve by squaring my shoulders. Riah had come along for the ride, and I eased the pressure I had around her torso, lightly pulling the reins to slow her trot in order to err on the side of caution.

“Which Cursed One is it?” I asked.

“I don’t know ‘em all—but I’m just sayin’ one of ‘em smells like fire smoke.” He spat, insulted by my assumption.

“Just how many of you are there?” Namir further asked.

“There’s a new one each month.” Bròn replied. “It ain’t your concern so long as ya don’t cross ‘em.”

“I’m sure I could handle whatever comes our way.” Namir chuckled.

“Words like that’ll get ya killed.” Bròn said sharply, cutting his eyes at Namir. I hand’t heard Bròn use that tone on His Highness yet—only with me when I’d made the wrong judgement by not telling Hala about Shahin.

“You’ve yet to see me fight, Bròn, don’t go thinking I’m incapable of such feats.”

“You’ll be a sorry sonnova bitch if ya keep thinkin’ like that—“

“Watch your tongue.” Asad interjected, glaring at Bròn.

“Nay. I won’t. The other Cursed Ones don’t give a shite about yer title, King. They’re good enough at what they do to put you under a glamour—and it ain’t just you. Some of ‘em are able to glamour a hundred people at once; an entire Kingdom, even.” Bròn retorted, looking from Asad to Namir.

As quickly as the men were bickering, they fell silent. We all smelled it—firewood burning. It was so strong, my chest began hurting. I felt my heart beat quicken, tightening the grip on Riah’s reins and making sure I didn’t squeeze her with my thighs. We looked at each other, now, wide-eyed save for Bròn. The jungle had once begun to bustle with lemurs chattering and early morning birds twittering—now they had fallen silent.

“Bodies…” The voice of what sounded to be a tired old man crooned out, hoarse and dry. “I crave them…”

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“Well that’s too bad, innit?” Bròn scoffed, waving his hand. The smell vanished, though the voice he was speaking to was still audible.

“What are you…?” The voice droned.

“The Child of Calamity. Your keeper.” Bròn began, his body slowly shifting to a gaseous, black mist. The dissonant voices I’d forced myself to become accustomed to took priority over his usual voice; their crying and cackling created a horrible atmosphere to the encounter. I had no idea what we were about to see, but my hand traveled to the dagger I’d brought to skin our game.

“Reveal yourself, or fuel my power.” Bròn threatened.

“Halluma Inaa…” Asad murmured.

A lanky, pathetic looking panther came slinking out from the brush; its shoulder blades more prominent than what was healthy. Its ribs jutted out in odd ways—as if broken and healed incorrectly. The mangey fur on its snout added to its freakish appearance, making me tighten the hand on the grip of the dagger.

“Reveal your true self, miserable creature.” The voices commanded.

“Give me….bodies…make me…a deal.” The panther croaked. I’d never seen anything like it. My entire body went rigid for a breath’s time.

“I do not make deals with the Lesser Cursed. You will adhere to your superior.”

The panther snarled its teeth, and then it began shifting. Each rib, each bone, began to contort and mangle as if there was something bubbling within it. As if something were trying to break free from within its flesh. All I heard was a raspy, rattling breath from the panther’s mouth as its once round, green eyes became more humanlike. Its paws cracked as each digit left its sockets, growing longer until they became clawed hands. What once were front legs became arms, as its chest shifted in a similar way from fur to skin with unnerving, wet pops where its sternum would be. A ruddy brown—just like the abnormal fur the panther once had. Clothes materialized over his body somehow—it was a male, whatever it was. His head was the last to shift, making squelching cracking sounds as each vertebrate shifted from feline to mortal. Once I saw his face, I cringed. Although handsome, he had a gruesome scar on his nose. His hands. He still had claws. I ogled the sharp keratin, at least three inches long on each finger—straight until the end, where they curved slightly.

“A Council Member?” The man drawled, his voice less haunting now. It was naturally gravely, as if he were a heavy smoker, and higher in pitch.

Bròn shifted back to his mortal self again, adjusting the cuffs of his robe.

“The most powerful Council Member, I’ll have ya know.” He replied casually. “The hell are you? How were you born?”

“I was birthed from the Fates of Travesty, M’Liege—are your powers incapable of telling that much?” He grinned a smile of pure fangs.

“I can tell that you’re still in yer first century of existence, by how shite yer manners are.” Bròn insulted. “Also by how ignorant ya act.”

“Enough of the quarreling.” Asad said as he began to take his sword out from his sheath. “What does it want?”

“‘It’?” The Cursed One asked with feigned disappointment. “Child of Calamity—do you truly find good company in mortals who see us as ‘it’s?”

“These mortals are off-limits, cretan. Why do you stalk these jungles?”

“The hunters here are wonderful victims of tragedy, Brother.” The entity drawled. “Their bodies feed my Cursed form well.”

Bròn sucked his teeth, annoyed by the being’s casual tone with him. I eyed the other Cursed One with baited breath, before my eyes met Bròn’s.

“He’s what your people call Fiid. The Otlakian’s call ‘em Fae. I call ‘em pieces of shite.” He said. “Nothin’ more than horseflies that need to be swatted away.”

In an instant, Bròn made a shooing motion and the Fiid disappeared into the shadows, still present from dawn’s arrival barely making its presence known. The birds began chirping again, and the lemurs clicked and chittered to each other.

“This is what you’ve been taking care of further north?” I asked Bròn.

“Aye. There’s been more poppin’ up recently. Has me thinkin’ someone’s up to something.” He said cryptically.

I didn’t dare ask another question when he waved his hand once more, and the horses began trotting down the pathways. The hunting trip went on without many words spoken after the encounter. I’m pretty sure it was because Namir, Asad, and I had just been shown an inkling of power—and gotten ahold of information that no other living mortal had attained or seen. We came back with a couple of good pelts, choosing to bring the meats to the butchering district and donate the pelts to the local blacksmiths to use as adornment for armors. I was thankful that the Lesser Cursed One hadn’t scared off the other panthers in the area—considering how it had managed to scare the wildlife in its immediate vicinity severely enough to leave the entire jungle silent.