Thanks to Green Kneesocks for reviewing chapter five.

Chapter Ten: A Conflict of Interests

Gary hoped Tracey was able to look after the tavern whilst he was absent. As much as he would've preferred to be at the tavern, Bugsy's threat wasn't one he could ignore. He needed to find the damned sceptre and hide it somewhere safe. Only then would the eccentric boy leave him alone.

He was standing at the main city gates waiting for one of the guards to arrive. Bugsy lived on the outer walls of the city in the farmlands so at least he didn't have to wait for him. He certainly didn't need the guards asking him why he was leaving the city with the so-called local idiot. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long. Hearing footsteps approaching, Gary spun around and spotted Brock. Good. Brock was one of the more lenient guards.

Brock looked at him. "Gary Oak? What are you doing out here at night all alone?"

"Tracey is watching over the tavern, but we're running low on some essentials. I thought I'd gather some stuff up."

"At night?" Brock replied with a frown.

Gary nodded. "Yeah. At night."

"That doesn't seem like a wise decision, Oak. It's dangerous in the dark. You can't see properly. Your grandfather would be most upset if he heard you were planning on heading outside after dark to gather ingredients… Besides, shouldn't you have done that during the daylight hours?"

All good questions. He wasn't sure if he even had the right answers to convince Brock going out at night was the smartest decision. If it came down it, he'd have to pay up to keep him quiet. Any guard would keep their mouth shut if offered enough money. "I'm not going into the forest, Brock. I just to head outside near the farmlands."

"I should come with you."

That was the last thing he wanted. "You've got your job, Brock. Being the gatekeeper. Look. It won't even take that long. Besides. Tracey needs to learn how work a tavern alone. What if I get sick or something? It's good training for him." Excuses, excuses, that's all he had to offer. They weren't even good excuses. "You know what would look suspicious? A soldier leaving the walls to escort the tavern owner into the farmlands. People would be asking… What is that soldier doing? You look more suspicious than me."

"…I suppose you have a point."

"You're a gatekeeper, remember? Besides. I can walk anywhere I want if I don't stray too far from the castle. It really isn't any of your business to know what I'm doing out here." Most other guards would continue to pester him until he provided them with money, but Brock wasn't stern enough to be a guard. He was too soft and kind. He wasn't even sure how the man even passed the trials to become a guard in the first place. There wasn't really a violent bone in that man's body.

"…Point raised. Well. I won't say anything. Just… Stay safe out there."

Gary rolled his eyes. "What's the worse that is going to happen? Chickens?" He scoffed. He didn't want to think of the potential threats in the crypt. Some people believed in ghosts. He knew there were dangerous animals in the wilderness and goblins on the mountains, but he wasn't a believer in ghosts. "Why did you become a guard? It's not like you seem to enjoy this job."

"Why did you become a tavern owner?"

"I asked you first."

Brock sighed. "I needed to support my family, Gary. Twelve brothers and sisters all varying ages. This is the only job I could get to help cover the costs of raising twelve siblings. The older ones help on the farms, but they pay isn't great. I worked hard to get here, Gary. Not all of us are lucky to be born into wealth."

Although the Oaks did not possess half the wealth the Blackthorns had, they were certainly in a much better position than the rest of the population. "I wanted this life. I didn't want to be holed up in some castle room working on creating potions and deciphering old texts for the remainder of my life. At least working in a tavern, I get to socialize and be around fun people."

Brock didn't argue. "You didn't want to be a soldier."

"And do what? Wave a sword around in the air? I was never a fighter. Grandfather would've wanted me to become one of the knights, but living a chaste life? That's not me. It's not a look that suits me." He gestured towards the portcullis. "If you would kindly please open the gates so I can do my job?"

Brock nodded and headed inside the fortification to rotate the winch to pull the chains up. He dropped down to his stomach and crawled through – he didn't need the gate opened fully. The sound of chains would attract attention. He wanted to be as discreet as possible. Dropping to the ground, he crawled through to the other side then clambered to his feet and carried on with his journey.

Lance hadn't intended to leave Lyra alone to find her way back to the castle, but her findings had left him unsettled. The past week had introduced him to troubling information about himself and there was only one person who would have answers – his grandfather. He was immune to elemental spells. He was allergic to some potion of Samuel's. And now he discovered he had some strange marking on the back of his neck that had never been brought to his attention before.

He was planning on visiting Samuel to question him more about his past, but he found Clair standing outside looking at the castle's main garden. Samuel could wait. Changing course, he headed towards Clair instead. She was holding a ceramic cup. "The plants aren't going to take care of themselves."

The garden was Edward's pride and joy. The man spent countless hours down here walking along the cobblestone path, studying the large diversity of flowers that were planted in eight separate garden beds. Although the garden was no larger than his own room, the man proclaimed the flowers calmed his nerves. Sometimes, his grandfather could be found trimming the hedges.

Clair glanced over shoulder. "I don't like flowers."

"Yet here you are admiring them." He drew her attention to a red rose, prompting her to roll her eyes in response. "You know women like flowers."

"I'm not like most women. Most women would love to be married to a foreign prince."

Ah, of course. The reason for her stress. The upcoming marriage. That's why she had come to the garden. To hopefully distract her mind. "Grandfather only wants want is best for us, Clair."

She turned to her face him brows furrowed in anger. "For political means, Lance. Grandfather doesn't do things for me out of love. He does it because it's a means of cementing his power. Unova would make a powerful ally, and he knows this and that's why he wants to marry me off to a man I've never met once." She kicked the path then winced.

"You'll have power and wealth," Lance tried to reason.

She gave him a cold stare. "Do you really believe I'll be in a better off position there than here? It'll be so much worse, and the man's much older than I! And he's boring, Lance!" she whined, throwing her hands up in the air from frustration. "He likes to read. He likes to write. He's interested in philosophy. He doesn't like gossip, and he's hardly interested in warfare. He's going to bore me death!" With a cry of frustration, Clair threw the cup across the garden, shattering it against a wall. The liquid splattered and ran down the tiles, filling the garden with its bitter scent.

"I will come and visit you as often as I am allowed."

Clair drew in a deep breath. Troubled and confused she said, "I can't do anything in this life without grandfather's approval. I wish I was a commoner, sometimes. Karen can do whatever she pleases."

"And that woman is vile and beneath your company," Lance remarked wearing a frown of his own.

"She shows me how to have fun," Clair replied bitterly. "Benga will put me to sleep on my feet. I've heard his flesh is as pale as death itself. I'm repulsed at the thought of having to spend a single evening with that foul man." She turned to him again.

"I have no influence over our grandfather's mind, Clair. He does as he pleases."

"Do you ever question him?"

"I'm in no position too, Clair. He has just as much power over me as he does over you."

She made a sardonic laugh. "Except he's not forcing you to marry an ugly boring person and live in a foreign land. I've heard the stories. The Unovans have different customs from us. They welcome magic."

Lance raked a hand through his hair, trying to think of something that would put Clair's mind at ease, but words failed him. Clair had a wild and reckless spirit – Benga was stable and mature. He supposed Edward thought such a man would encourage Clair to settle down and behave like a typical domestic wife. "Would you prefer to be outside with a sword in your hand deciding who lives and dies?"

"It would be far more exciting than Prince Benga." She fell silent, regaining her composure, holding the tears at bay. Her hands moved to the amulet around her neck as if it brought her comfort. "I want to live life, Lance. I don't want to be stuck in some castle tending to my husband's every need. There's a whole world beyond these walls I want to explore, but I don't get that chance. The only time I'll get to venture outside is when I depart for Unova."

"The life I live isn't so glamorous, Clair. Sometimes, I could be out in the wild for days caught out in the rain with no warm bed to sleep on at night. Sometimes, I'm forced to wear the same armour for days with no clean water in sight. Every time I venture outside these walls, I don't know if I'm going to return home," he explained, his thoughts shifting to Brawley and Yellow once more. They both lived in the wild. Forced to live in a hostile environment because of his grandfather.

"Do you think we are in danger?" she said softly, her hands still clutching at the amulet.

That caught Lance by surprise. He raised an eyebrow. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because why would he marry me off now? Why not last year? Why not when I was younger? Most women marry when they turn thirteen. Sometimes even younger. I'm twenty. Why would he wait so long? There are other noble lords in this world, I'm sure, but he's specifically arranged a marriage with the most powerful family outside our own."

The corpses of the mother and her children appeared in his mind. Signs of necromancy, but no one wanted to believe him. Clair's eyes were wide, uncertain, and seeking comfort. He could lie to her, but she'd find out later and blame him for lying and hiding secrets. "We live in a dangerous world."

"Necromancers."

"You've heard."

"I've read the stories."

After a moment's pause, he said, "They exist, yes."

"You've seen something," she said, the fear in her eyes fading, replaced with renewed curiosity.

Clair had warrior's heart but had the body of a woman. If she were a man, she would be the bravest of them all. "Yes, I shouldn't speak much of it. I don't have much evidence to work with yet. Besides, shouldn't you be with Lyra and teaching her things? She's your servant."

"I didn't need a personal servant."

"She'll be good for you."

"And someone else I need to waste my time with. I've already got Benga to deal with, and now a slave girl too? What exactly can she do for me that I can't do myself?"

"I think you'll find her quite interesting. She's quite perceptive and knows quite a fair bit about this world from her mother's books. If she wasn't a slave, she'd make any man happy with her skill set," Lance said, reflecting on their brief time in the baths. A slave who knew how to read and write, but cook and clean, as well as chop wood. "Keep her close, Clair. She could save your life. I have to leave now and visit Samuel about something, but I'll try to see you before the wedding, okay?"

She nodded. "Benga's supposed to arrive tomorrow. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll die and escape him," she muttered.

He could only chuckle in response. "I think you'll find this marriage not to be as bad as you believe it to be. I promise, I'll visit you often, okay? I'll bring you gifts." His eyes shifted to the amulet. "…Not as old as that one, but I'll try my best."

A smile spread across her face, and she threw her arms around him. A rare gesture of appreciation from her. "How am I ever going to manage without you around?" She pulled back.

"You will because you're not weak."

"I guess."

Lance gave Clair a hug. She hugged him back tightly. "You're not weak, Clair. If I could, I would teach you how to fight. But I must leave you now. I will see you again at the wedding." He pulled back then turned around to leave.

.

It was a fine morning. The city was stirring with the excitement of a royal wedding approaching, but Blaine was more interested in selling his slaves to make coin rather than the matters of the royals. It wasn't as if the royals cared much about his life.

"Ah, Surge, have you dropped by to examine the slaves?" Blaine said, casting Alan aside into the arms of his guards. Alan had reached his end. Blackthorn had no use for weaklings. The guards took Alan away from the slave camp. The man would become food for the dogs.

Surge drew out his sword and advanced towards the slaves. He pretended to hit one of the slaves with his sword and laughed loudly as the slave jumped backwards. "Pathetic," he said, a smirk on his face. "Greetings yourself Blaine."

Clasping his hands together, Blaine said, "Are you looking to purchase a slave?"

Surge nodded. "Indeed. My last slave died of some odd disease. Couldn't fathom how she could've caught it. Heard the king bought himself a nice slave. Shame. She looked like a nice one to tame."

"You like young girls, do you? How about this one 'ere?" Blaine shifted his gaze towards Jasmine. She had her arms wrapped around herself, as if keeping warm from a cold wind. She's a pretty one."

Surge looked at the pale girl. "That indeed."

"You like the look of her? You can have her if you want. She's a vicious one. Tried to fight me off earlier."

"That's how I like them. Fierce." The corners of Surge's mouth curved into a grin. "She's not bad on the eyes Blaine, but she is terribly weak. Look at how frail she is." He pointed the sword at her highlighting the bruises and cuts on her arms. "She does not look like she will last more than a day out here."

Blaine revealed the underside of his arm to Surge. Teeth marks lined his skin. "I wish to get rid of her as soon as possible. The little devil bit me earlier." He glared at Jasmine only to receive a glare in response. "See how she looks at me?"

"You're scared of a mere slave girl?" Surge said, clapping Blaine on the shoulder. "Fine. I'll purchase her just to get her off your hands."

Blaine sighed with relief. "That will be one thousand gold coins."

Surge's eyebrows arched in response. "That is expensive Blaine. She is not worth more than a gold coin for sure!"

"With proper care Jasmine will become healthy." Although he didn't want the girl in prime condition, he didn't want her under his care either. There was something about the way she looked at him that sent a cold shudder of concern down his spine. It was ridiculous! Fear of a slave. He was a slave master! He could easily end her miserable life, but something held him back.

"I'm not going to purchase a slave for a thousand gold coins," Surge said, "I'd rather spend my hard-earned coin at the Pidgeotto's Nest."

"But you always spend your hard-earned coin at the tavern," Blaine replied, "and every night I have to take you back to your home because you can't find it."

Surge glared at the slave master. He didn't like being reminded. "Surely you can lower the price for your friend?"

Blaine sighed. "All right... seven hundred gold coins."

"Five hundred."

"Four hundred and fifty."

"Two hundred and fifty."

"Two hundred and nothing less."

Surge smirked. "Pleasure doing business with you Blaine." He dug into his pocket and handed Blaine the coin.

Blaine mumbled under his breath. "I hope she bites you..." He walked to the shade and picked up a rope. "If the slave is disobedient simply tie this around her. You'll have control this way and she won't be able to escape." He handed the rope to Surge and grabbed a whip. "And take this whip just in case she tries to bite you. You have to discipline these slaves and show them who is in control."

Surge took the whip and rope from Blaine and marched over to Jasmine "I'm Surge. You're coming with me now." He held out his hand for her to take. Jasmine didn't move; only glared up at him. Surge frowned. "I'm not a slave master. I'm a soldier responsible for saving your lives from bandits," he said.

"What are you planning to do with her?" Silver said.

Juan pointed the tip of his sword at the red-headed slave. "Who is this rat?" He turned his nose up in disgust.

"You don't remember him?" Blaine turned to face him. "That's Silver, one of the bandits. We found him abandoned in the forest, wounded. It seems like he was rejected by his own people, so he was captured and taken here. He's a loyal slave this one. Tough. Mean. There's a fire burning in his eyes and I like that."

"Are you going to sell him?" Surge said looking at Blaine.

Blaine shook his head. "Don't bother trying to make a deal for this one Surge. He's a rare slave; I doubt I'll ever find one like this again."

Surge placed the tip of his sword on Silver's shoulder. "If you don't look after him better, he's going to die. If he's as rare as you say I think I'd take better care of him." He pulled the sword away and turned his attention back on Jasmine. "Come on girl, you are to come with me. That's an order from your new owner."

Jasmine took Surge's hand and helped herself up from the ground.

"Thanks again Blaine."

"I still need a favour." Blaine looked at Silver again. The boy was still staring. He snapped his fingers. "Get back to work, boy!" Obedient as always, Silver returned to his task of loading stone onto oxen carts.

"And what would that be? I'm sure you didn't ask me to come here to purchase a slave."

"I'm thinking of hosting another Slave Pits fight. You know the locals love it. I'll need some weapons of course if you have anything to spare."

Surge raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure I can do something," he repeated.

"I have been toying with the idea of slave racing. It would have to take place in the Pits of course… King won't like animals running wild in the streets."

"Slave racing?

Blaine nodded. He rubbed his hands together gleefully. "The slaves will line up and we will release the wild animals into the pits! The slaves will get chased around in the circles and the soldiers place bets on which slave will survive the longest." If some slaves were lost it was no big deal. He would find new slaves to replace the fallen.

"You wish to put slaves in a blood sport to entertain the people?"

"I know it sounds violent, but they are just slaves. Their lives are meaningless, it doesn't matter if one dies," Blaine reasoned. "As long as people can continue breeding, there will always be slaves for us to claim. That is the cycle of life."

Surge chuckled. "I don't have an issue with it. Just why didn't you think of it earlier?"

With a grin, Blaine said, "Excellent. I expect the camels by sunset."

Surge responded with another nod then grabbed Jasmine's hand to lead her away.

Blaine turned his attention back to Silver. The boy had listened to every word. Not that it mattered. It wasn't as if the boy was smart enough to try anything. The boy was loyal. Silver always obeyed without complaint. Why would he try to leave? "You. Boy. Come with me. You're going to help me prepare for the slave racing."

Silver just nodded. The boy rarely spoke. Sometimes he wondered if the boy was even capable of forming coherent sentences. Perhaps that was why he kept his mouth silent most of the time. He wasn't complaining. A quiet obedient slave was a good slave. How he disliked having to deal with talkative slaves who thought they had power here. Blaine didn't speak further – what else was there needed to be said? Silver followed him in silence. The real festivities would commence after the wedding.

.

Bugsy was waiting exactly where he said he would be – outside the cave that was home to the ancient priests. The man had claimed the bugs and spiders had led him there, and Gary could see a trail of ants heading inside. He wasn't sure why the insects were attracted; it wasn't as if there'd be any meat left over to feed on, but perhaps they were drawn to the old magic.

"Did you have any problems?"

Gary shook his head and walked up to the cave entrance. "No. So why hasn't anyone come in here before? You'd think those treasure hunter people would come looking."

"They have… But they can't pass through the door. That's why I know the sceptre is hidden down here. If you have something important to hide, you'd do everything in your power to ensure it was kept hidden right? That's why the insects and spiders are drawn here. There is powerful old magic here." Bugsy headed inside.

Gary looked over his shoulder to ensure no one else was about, then followed him inside. "How do we open this door?"

Bugsy looked at him. "Your blood. You're a descendant of Nathaniel Oak. He used the sceptre to seal things of importance… to prevent other people from breaking in. Blood is power, Gary. I was able to decode the text outside on the door. You'll see it when we get there." He continued moving down a dark pathway until they reached an iron door painted red.

There were strange symbols on the surface - pictures instead of letters. He had seen similar symbols before in the books his grandfather liked to read, but he paid little attention to their meanings. "Right. My blood. Great."

"Your ancestors were priests, Gary – the first of the mages. It only makes sense that your blood unlocks the door."

Necromancy - to use blood to strengthen your own power at the expense of other life. It made him uneasy. He was always told not to trifle with magic. If Edward found out the truth, he'd be sentenced to death. Gary dug a hand into a pocket, his fingers brushing up against the hilt of a small cutting knife. Pulling the knife out, he placed it against his wrist and drew in a deep breath. "I really hope this works…" Foolishness. Was this even real? "How do you even know that it does? How do you know this stuff?"

"My mother was a mage," Bugsy said. "Magic runs through my blood. Just as it runs through yours. I've been watching you for a long time and I've been digging around for information. I learned about you."

Gary raised an eyebrow. A mage? He never would have even guessed. He supposed that is why the boy kept his distance in case people found out the truth and had him executed before a mob. Bugsy often spoke about his friends. Now it made sense to Gary. His friends were nature itself. The bugs. Creatures small enough to sneak into any room undetected. "You never said anything before."

"I wasn't sure how you would react," he said slowly. "But I trust you. You haven't turned me away. You've listened to me when no one else would. I had my reservations about you… But the insects brought me here and I saw your name. Well, your family name here and I knew you could be trusted. You belong to the bloodline of the first mages, Gary."

"They don't mean anything to me. Never cared for magic and I don't see why I should start caring now just because of my ancestry." He still didn't understand why it was so important to take the sceptre and hide it elsewhere. If the crypt itself was protected by a blood barrier then would it not have been best to leave it as is? Or did Bugsy think someone would find Gary and bring him here to open the door?

"Regardless of your feelings towards magic, you can't deny your importance."

Gary sighed again and glanced down at the knife in his hands. If his grandfather knew about this… then he'd never be allowed to work in the tavern again. He'd have to stay under his grandfather's nose where the old man could watch over him. Drawing in a deep breath, he raised his left arm, his wrist facing upwards. He brought the knife to the exposed wrist then gently pressed the blade against the skin. He applied extra pressure until the blade pierced the flesh, biting down hard on his lower lip to stop himself from making a sound. Crimson blood seeped out of the wound. "This had better work…" he murmured, pressing his bleeding wrist against the door.

At first, there was nothing. But then the symbols on the door started to glow. He pulled back his arm and pressed his right hand against the wound as if it would stop the blood flow. "Step back from the door," Bugsy said, taking a few steps back. "We don't know what's hiding behind it."

Gary obeyed. Aside from the small knife he was carrying, it wasn't as if they were armed. He watched the door slowly crumble. The walls of the cave trembled, and bits and pieces of soil fell onto the ground as the door collapsed. "…Well I guess this crypt isn't protected anymore," Gary murmured. He waited for the dust to clear before stepping inside. Not surprisingly, it was cold, damp and dark. Bugsy ripped a piece of cloth from his shirt and wrapped it around a stick. He pressed a hand against it, said a few words Gary didn't understand, and the cloth was set alight. "…Magic," Gary muttered.

"It has its uses," Bugsy replied, leading the way inside. The crypt itself was small. It was smaller than the tavern and surprisingly the three coffins were open. The coffins themselves were engraved with strange symbols – each of the coffins had a symbol of a tortoise in the stone. The Blastoise. The family heirloom symbol said to protect the wearer from evil. But wasn't blood magic a type of evil power?

Gary walked over to the middle coffin and peered down. Although the corpse was centuries old, it still looked recent. The power of blood magic had obviously kept the body in mint condition. "Strange really… These people are supposed to be my ancestors, yet I hardly know anything about them." The priest's hands were resting on stomach, his fingers curled around the sceptre. The sceptre itself was golden in colour and it had six red horns curved upwards on its head around a red orb.

"You'll have to pick it up."

"You want me to touch a dead body?"

Bugsy frowned. "Are you scared?"

Gary snorted. "No." Scared wasn't the word. Repulsed was far more fitting. He made a face and looked down at the sceptre again. So much work involved for a powerful weapon and he was the only one besides his grandfather that could retrieve it from the priests. He reached a hand down, his fingers brushing up against the cold skin of the priest. "I can't believe I am doing this…" he murmured, gently prying the fingers from the sceptre. He was worried the fingers would snap off, but they didn't. Still, he cringed every time he heard them crack.

"It'll be worth it."

"Will it? Wouldn't it have been better to keep this weapon in here?"

Bugsy shook his head. "The necromancers exist, Gary. They will come looking for you… And if they find you or your grandfather, they will bring you here and they'd take the weapon. Better you keep it within the castle where it will be far better protected," he explained.

Gary wasn't convinced. If the necromancers invaded the castle, then they could still just take him and drag him to the crypt against his will to remove the barrier, but he kept his thoughts to himself. "What's so special about it anyway?"

"That sceptre was created with powerful magic, Gary," Bugsy said, looking at the weapon. "A powerful mage could channel that magic into something else... Resurrect the fallen. With that weapon you are holding, the necromancers would have the power to raise an army of the dead. Well, one of three holy relics."

Gary raised an eyebrow. "So why the hell can't I just keep it trapped in here?"

"You're not the only person in your family with the surname Oak."

Right. His sister whom he hadn't seen in years. "My sister. I don't even know where she is."

"And if they found her, and used her blood to open this tomb, then we'd all be in trouble."

Gary sighed. "Even if you are right… How do we even know the necromancers are still around? You said you had seen signs… But why has no one else noticed anything odd?"

"Because I'm a mage, Oak. I can sense what normal folk can't. You should be able to as well if you focused your mind well enough. You can feel it. It's like a dark cloud hanging over your head everywhere you go, a sense of impending doom that will come if we don't act," he said, tone laced with a sudden urgency. "I could teach you magic. The king will not act for he does not believe, but we can."

Gary took a step back, rubbing his hands on his pants, as if they were covered in dirt. "I'm not going to partake in performing magic tricks, Bugsy. I might be a descendant of the priests, but I'm nothing like them." He forced a dry laugh. "I'm not like you. I'm not going to reveal your identity, but we're done here. That's it. I'll take the sceptre back and hide it, but I'm not going to join you." Bugsy had known about his connections to magic. He supposed that's why the boy was always seeking him out.

The man frowned. "I thought you wanted this, Gary. You always talked to me. You let me in. I thought we were friends."

Gary shook his head. "We're not friends, Bugsy. We never were. I listened because that's what I do. It's my job to listen. But it's not my job to enter crypts and retrieve magical items and get involved in blood magic. I don't know what you think I am, but I'm not the guy you were hoping I was. I'm only doing this because you promised you'd leave me alone." He laid the sceptre on the floor and removed his shirt then picked up the item again after wrapping it up. Although the chances of being spotted were low, he didn't want to explain how he had come to find it. "We're done, okay? You don't contact me again. You don't come near me. I'm not like you." Before Bugsy could protest, Gary turned his back and sauntered off, not daring to look back.

.

Lance headed towards Samuel's room, paying little interest to the guards or servants. He wasn't interest in making conversation with anyone but his grandfather. Talking to Clair was supposed to have eased his mind, but nothing had changed. A marking on the back of his neck. Why had no one mentioned it to him?

"Ah, Lance, there you are."

Samuel Oak's voice. Lance came to an abrupt halt and turned around. "Samuel, how can I help you?"

The old man approached him. "Your grandfather has been searching for you. You know Clair's wedding is fast approaching? Where have you been?"

Lance looked away for a moment then turned back. "I had to clear my mind. The past two weeks have been… strange."

The man frowned. "Side effects from the potion you've been taking? I know I increased the dosage, but I hadn't expected such a strong reaction. How have you been feeling? I should be able to make some adjustments to lessen the symptoms."

"You have a lot of explaining to do, Samuel. We're heading to your room."

Although there were currently no other servants or guards in sight, he didn't want to take the chance. A guard or servant could walk through the door at the wrong moment and overhear information they weren't meant to here. Samuel sighed and nodded, retreating to his room. Lance followed swiftly, eager to solve the mystery behind his odd symptoms. His grandfather would have answers, but Samuel was a close friend of Edward and any information he knew would be helpful. Once they reached the room, Lance closed the door and stood in front of it, blocking the exit path.

"You have questions I presume?"

Lance nodded, folding his arms. "Several. I talked to Pryce. What are you hiding from me?"

The man sighed. "So, you've heard."

"Why am I resistant to magic? Am I cursed?"

Samuel looked hesitant to speak, refusing to meet Lance's eyes. "I've known ever since you were born, Lance. Your mother died during childbirth and you almost died yourself, but your grandfather made one last desperate move to keep you alive. A powerful curse was placed on you and I was asked to treat the symptoms as best as I could."

His grandfather had lied. But why? Lance frowned. "So that's why magic doesn't work on me." Curses were said to be more powerful than standard forms of magic. It would explain why Yellow's elemental spell failed to work. But what explained the mark on the back of his neck? Was that just the mark of the curse?

"It's why you heal faster than the standard person."

"Grandfather despises magic, yet he allowed it to be used on me."

Samuel nodded. "You would've died, Lance. Your father had disappeared, and your mother had died. He couldn't lose you too. He wouldn't survive your death. For once, he put aside his hatred of magic to save your life."

"And why would he keep this hidden from me? All my life I've been told to hate magic. To distrust it. Yet he uses it on me without my knowledge." Keep your friends close. Keep your enemies closer his grandfather had often said. Now he was only starting to make sense of it.

"He wanted you to a soldier, Lance. To be the military leader he could not be because of age."

Lance moved away from the door, deep in thought. Fear magic. Hate magic. Execute mages. "What is wrong with me? Is moon sickness even a thing?" He paced back and forth, unable to stand still.

"You were born sick, Lance," Samuel started slowly. "Pale. Ragged breathing. Even your heartbeat was weak. But Agatha… She saved your life. Cast a spell on you to protect you so you could become the man your grandfather wanted you to be."

Raising an arm, Lance moved a hand to the back of his neck. "Is that what this mark is supposed to be? A symbol I have been cursed? Almost every day I suffer, Samuel." Lance stopped moving and glared at the older man. "Some days are worse than others. Is this the life he envisioned? You know the people would never accept a weak leader."

"I understand you are upset, but he couldn't lose you."

Lance forced a dry laugh. "I've spent my entire life admiring him… Following his commands and I never even questioned one. Up until now. I had to learn about my condition from a mage and a wolf you know. Don't look so surprised. Peace never lasts." He made a fist and slammed it into the wall. Any pain faded fast. "What happens to me when these potions lose their effectiveness altogether?"

"I don't know."

"Am I the only person with this problem?"

Samuel nodded. "That we know of, yes. You should talk to your grandfather," he said, his features tense, as if he had shared too much information.

Again, he gave a bitter laugh. "He won't talk to me about this. He doesn't like talking about my parents, especially my father." Falling silent, he thought hard. What sort of sickness did he gave that was so bad it had to be hidden at all costs? "Did… Did you know him well?"

"Your father? I met him once or twice. Interesting character."

Lance studied his features. Still, the man did not want to meet his gaze, as if the conversation made him uneasy. "I was told he was a mercenary and that he left before I was even born. He didn't care, did he? He just left." An uneasy feeling gripped his stomach. "Is he even alive? Does he have what I have?"

"If he did, he hid it well. And if he's alive… Well, he is a fighter. A survivor. He'd be out there somewhere in the wild, honing his craft. Don't go looking for him, Lance. He abandoned you and your mother. He's only trouble you don't want to deal with."

Edward always told him the man was dead. It was his way of avoiding discussing the topic further. For once in his life, he wanted to disobey the king. "He's my father," he replied, through clenched teeth. "Edward's been keeping secrets from me. Even you. My father for all his flaws might be the only person who is willing to tell me the entire truth that no one else seems to be wanting to share."

"Lance…"

"What?" he said heatedly, feeling a surge of anger rise within. A wave of embarrassment followed. Emotions cloud your judgement. A lesson his grandfather liked to reinforce. "I have some … disease that no one seems to understand fully, and I've just learned from you a curse was placed on me. My entire life I've been led to hate magic, yet magic is what has kept me alive all these years."

His shoulders slumped. Once this castle had been a place where he felt most safe at and now it had become something else. A place of lies and secrecy by the people he trusted and admired the most. What was to become of his life now? How could he be loyal to the crown? Sweat broke out on his forehead.

"You would've died, Lance."

"And maybe death would've better than the lie I'm living now!" Lance retorted, a sharp pain imploding in his head. He winced, squeezed his eyes shut then reopened them again, willing the pain to fade. "I just want answers, Samuel! Up until recently, I've been living inside a room with locked doors. Now they're all opening for me, and I need to know what this is before I die to this sickness."

Samuel sighed. "I would advise against it., but I know I can't stop you."

His anger subsided. "I need to know who I am." Before Samuel could respond, Lance turned his back and walked out the door, drawing in a deep breath. There was no reason to stay. Samuel would probably tell his grandfather, but what could the old man do?

He never left the city without a direct order from the king, but his trust had been shaken. Now he had to serve his own interests before that of the kingdom's if he ever hoped to learn the truth.

Clair would've much preferred Lance's company, but the man was busy. Benga was due to be arriving today, and Clair was forbidden from leaving the castle, as if Edward thought she would try to run away from the kingdom. The only person she had for company was her new slave, Lyra. The girl had put on a bit of weight, and colour had returned to her cheeks. She still didn't see the need for the girl, but at least she had someone who could share the burden of married life.

"Where are you from?" Clair said. They were in her room awaiting the summons from the king. Rather than sit in silence, Clair decided she had to know something about the girl. After all, Lyra was now her personal maid. She needed someone who she felt familiar with in the Unovan castle.

"New Bark Town," Lyra replied softly, carefully combing Clair's hair.

"Never heard of that place before."

"It is a small town."

Clair rolled her eyes. "Obviously. I do know that bandits raided your home. That must have been exciting." Not that she had an interest in Lyra. It just helped to pass the time. "Nothing happens in this city. Not for me anyway." Even the commoners had a more exciting life. At least they had some freedom.

"Better it stays that way, my lady. Best you have peaceful nights." Lyra continued to comb her hair, her movements slow, carefully trying to avoid any knots.

The girl was clearly referring to nightmares. Another thing Clair didn't experience. What was there to be frightened of within the castle walls? "I want to live life to the fullest. To see the world. But I won't get chance. Even you, a slave, has seen more of the world than I have," she said, her tone laced with bitterness. "Now I am to be married off to a boring man."

"Marriage is a wonderful union."

Clair snorted. "What would you know? You are a slave, and you can't be married to another person. Not that anyone would want to marry you. You have nothing to offer to a man." Batting Lyra's arm aside, Clair climbed to her feet. "Why couldn't I marry Prince Steven instead, the prince from Hoenn? At least I've heard he is more exciting. Grandfather must want me to die of boredom." She made an exasperated sigh.

Lyra put the comb down and removed it of hair. "He does what he thinks is best for you."

"Not you too. Lance said the same thing. But of course, you could never understand. You're not a princess. People think my life is all about wealth and power, yet they don't understand my freedom is even less than a peasant. I'm a prisoner inside my own home." She sat down on the edge of the bed and drew in a deep breath. Once again, she raised her hands to the amulet around her neck, seeking its warmth. Oddly, her muscles relaxed. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said, glancing down. She turned to face Lyra so the slave could see it better.

"Yes, it is."

Clair beamed her a smile. "I am the only woman who could afford such an item. One benefit of being a princess. It's supposed to have belonged to the priests who used these to ward off evil spirits. Silly beliefs of course. But there's something beautiful about something so old." She tucked it under the dress then stood up once more.

"I can think of no finer jewelry for you."

Clair nodded. "A treasure that matches my beauty. A rare thing."

I need you to visit the stables and tend to my mare's pen. The last servant boy made a mess of the job. As my personal maid, I expect you to handle your responsibilities with utmost care. The stable will be empty for cleaning. I will later have Ethan tell you how to clean a horse." She gave Lyra a dismissive wave. "You are dismissed. Leave me be. Return to me the following morning."

Lyra bowed. An odd gesture. Ladies did not bow. They curtsied. Clearly, such customs were not practiced in her town. That would need to change or risk having the slave make a fool of her. The girl left the room and once again Clair was on her own. Even Lyra had more freedom than her. A simple peasant girl.