Bound to the Cursed Phoenix King

AVELINE

The dust in the attic above Storm’s Antiquities & Elixirs is thick enough to choke on, swirling like amber flakes in the low beam of late-afternoon sunlight filtering through the grimy window.

"Aveline, this is stupid. Why are we even doing this?"

Cora flops onto a dusty trunk with a dramatically heavy sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. At thirteen, she’s mastered the art of making every minor inconvenience feel like an end-of-the-world tragedy. She swings her legs against the wood, sending another cloud of dust into the air as I ignore her.

"The shop’s been closed for an hour, Ave. My hands are black with grime, and it smells like dead spiders."

I pause, hissing with irritation as I wipe a sweat-dampened lock of my red hair out of my face with the back of my forearm. My long, wavy hair is tied back in a loose, messy braid, but half of it has escaped.

"Because it needs to be done," I say, keeping my voice steady as I stack a row of leather-bound ledgers onto a dusty shelf. "We haven't touched the attic since... well, since Mom and Dad died two years ago. I’m just trying to keep inventory."

Cora narrows her blue eyes, eyes so like mine, though mine have a strange habit of turning nearly violet when the sunlight hits them just right, or when my heart races. "An inventory check of trash?" she scoffs, tugging at the sleeve of her oversized tunic. "No one comes up here. Nobody’s going to buy a rusted lantern or a stack of rotten paper."

I pause, a heavy iron balance scale in my hands. I look at her, so small, still wearing the slightly frayed hem of a dress she’s fast outgrowing. The truth tastes bitter, but keeping secrets from her won't pay the bills.

"If I can't make up the rest of the rent by the end of the month, Mr. Ethelgard is going to lock our cottage up," I admit softly, my throat tightening. "Cora, rent is due in three days and we don’t have a sliver of money. We might have to move our cots up here and live in the attic of the shop for a while. At least we own the shop."

Cora’s chest heaves in a sharp intake of breath, her defiance wavering into sudden worry.

What I don't tell her, what I barely dare admit to myself, is that I’m secretly praying to find something tucked away in these shadowy rafters. A mislaid pouch of silver coins, a forgotten family trinket, anything valuable enough to sell so we don't lose the only home we've ever known. This attic is incredibly small, and I really do not want us to have to live here.

Cora turns away, brushing off her skirt with unnecessary aggression. She kicks lightly at a pile of discarded oak crates near the dark sloping corner of the roof. "It’s not fair," she mutters.

"I know, Corrie. I know."

"Wait..." Cora stoops down, reaching deep into the dark space between two iron-bound trunks. "What's this?"

"Cora, don't go pulling random…"

She pulls out a heavy, leather-bound book. But it isn't covered in dust like everything else in this attic. The cover is a deep, bruised shade of midnight velvet, bound with silver clasp that seems to hum. And beneath her small fingers, a faint, pulsing crimson glow leaks from the seam of the pages, shimmering like liquid starlight against the shadow-dappled floorboards.

My pulse leaps into my throat.

"Look at it," Cora breathes, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and mischievous thrill. She begins to pry the heavy silver clasp open.

Every story my father ever whispered to us by the fireplace, tales of hidden magic, cursed kings, ancient enchantments, and sorcery, floats back to me in a single, terrifying heartbeat. I always believed him, even when the town cursed his name as a dreamer. Cora always laughed those stories off as silly fairy tales, but looking at that book... my skin pricks with cold electricity.

"Cora, stop!" I rush toward her, my hand outstretched, apprehension tightening like a knot in my chest. "Drop it. Don't open it!"

Cora looks up, a playful, taunting grin spreading across her lips as she holds the glowing book just out of my reach. "Oh, come on, Ave! Don't tell me you're actually afraid of a book? It’s just an old prop Dad probably kept around to scare people."

"It's not a prop," I say, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Look at the light coming from it. Drop it, Cora. I'm serious."

"Maybe I shouldn't," she says, her eyes glittering with bratty delight as she flips open the heavy cover. A puff of sweet air fills the space between us. "Maybe there's a spell in here! Something to make everyone in town feel irresistibly drawn to our shop so they spend all their gold. Or... oh! A spell that makes everyone just sick enough that they have to buy our potions!"

"Cora, that isn't funny…"

"Look!" She traces a finger along the parchment. The words on the page aren't written in ink; they look like burning embers sewn into the fiber of the paper. "This one looks easy. It’s just a few lines. We just have to say them together. I wonder what it might do though."

I step closer, my heart hammering against my ribs. A dangerous spark of curiosity catches fire in my mind. What if... what if it is real? What if magic isn't just a bedtime story? The thought is as intoxicating as it is terrifying.

"No," I say, though my voice lacks conviction. "We don't know what those words mean. I... I don't even know if we can pronounce them right. If this book is real, magic isn't something you play with, Cora!"

"You're just scared because you’re a little day-dreamer who still believes in silly little fairytales, Ave," Cora says, taking a step back and holding the book firmly in both hands. "Come on… this will be fun."

"Cora, please, give it to me…"

Before I can reach her, Cora clears her throat and speaks.

The words that spill from her mouth are strange, sharp, and ancient, like glass snapping underfoot, mixed with the hiss of open flames. She stumbles over the words, twisting the harsh syllables in her rush to finish before I can snatch the book away.

"Cora, no…!"

The moment the last butchered word leaves her lips, the air in the attic turns freezing cold.

The crimson glow from the book flares into a blinding, suffocating light. A terrible, deafening crack echoes through the room, like thunder tearing through a glass house. A shockwave of heat blasts outward from the open pages, knocking me backward onto the wooden floorboards.

"Ave?"

"Cora!"

The light bursts outward, consuming the dark rafters, the dusty bottles, and my sister's small frame. And then, as suddenly as it shattered the night, the light collapses back into the book with a violent snap.

Silence crashes down upon the attic.

"Cora?" I scramble to my hands and knees, my heart thrashing wildly against my ribs, my vision swimming with violent purple spots.

Cora lies motionless on the dusty floor, the dark book lying open next to her, its pages now completely blank and dead.