Chapter LXVII

"We have a problem."

Lucian paced the throne room, his boots muffled by the thick rug beneath him. Aaron and Flint watched him, all standing around him, their backs leaning against the pillars. The throne bare before them all.

"What?" Aaron asked.

"November wants to continue."

"That sounds like a you problem, Lucian."

Lucian glanced up, scowling at the green-haired man. "What?"

"We've all fought her." Aaron shrugged. "It's your turn."

"She'll kill me."

Aaron rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. You're smarter than that. It doesn't have to be a spar."

"Flint? What do you say?"

They both turned towards the man by the corner, whose face was ashen, a bandage stretched across his head. He didn't even face them, he just folded his arms and stared down at his feet.

"Volkner isn't talking to him," Aaron explained. "He's moping—"

Flint hissed at that. "Shut up."

"Why would I shut up when Volkner is doing that already for me—"

"You bastard—"

Flint was tightening his fist, moving towards Aaron, but Lucian cut him off, raising his hand and shaking his head.

"Enough, you two. We have plenty of problems as it is."

The two other men went silent, watching him.

"At any moment," Lucian continued slowly, "November can walk out and tell everyone that Cynthia is dead. Then, Sinnoh revolts."

"She won't," Aaron cut in. "I still have the Clefable."

"I wouldn't put it past her to forget about a bloody Clefable."

Aaron threw up his hands. "Just agree to any sort of duel! Kill her. Easy. No one will have to know what happened. Do it in the castle. Where no one will see. Behind closed doors."

Lucian froze, nodding thoughtfully.

Behind closed doors.

"I want it in front of all of Sinnoh."

The way November said it made Lucian consider reaching out then and there, in the middle of the dining chambers of the castle, and hurling her out the window.

Legionaries were seated around him on the grand table, exchanging glances and fingering the red velvet cloth lining the edges.

It was the first time many of them had faced him after Barry's death, and even then, Flint had refused to come out of his chambers – his face had paled completely once he had heard Volkner's voice echoing down the hall. Meanwhile, Lucian had hoped to announce his agreement with November, a final spar between them, held in the castle with only few people watching.

But bloody November was standing up, staring at him from across the table, one hand propped on her hip and the other lightly interlaced with Riley's hand on the table.

Finally, Lucian sighed. "What?"

"You heard me," Nova repeated. "I want people to be watching."

"Why?"

"That is not a question you want me answering right now, Lucian."

She said his name with icy malice. With a bite. No playful smirk on her lips, no rebellious fire in her eyes – just curt and cold.

Lucian.

Addressing him with no title.

The legionaries had caught it, too. Wake was giving Riley an alarmed glance, one that seemed so cautious and careful – so unlike the pirate. Candice was grinning, elbows propped on the table, looking onward with interest. Even Volkner's eyes were dancing across the room, from November's steel-like gaze to Riley's tired eyes to the bandages wrapped around his grandmother to the empty chair that Flint would be sitting on. Fantina just picked away at her bread.

"There is nowhere to do it," Lucian pointed out. "Unless Stark Mountain…"

…where your best friend was killed.

He almost smiled at how quickly her body changed – just as he had hoped, a shudder rippled through her body.

"No," she hissed. "Not there."

"Then where?" Lucian retorted. "Your father's arena?"

Your father who you trapped in this Distortion World?

"No—"

"What about Maylene's arena?"

Maylene, who died in your arms?

Nova seemed to falter for a moment, her shoulders lowering ever so slightly.

"We can—"

"You destroyed the Regigigas Temple," Lucian cut in. "And I refuse to do my trial on a pirate ship. Where else is there to go, November? It will have to be in the castle."

Privately.

Where he could get rid of her. For good—

"She can use my ballroom."

They all turned to Fantina, who was leaning back on her chair, shrugging.

"Fantina?" Lucian managed to mumble. "It just got repaired recently, did it not?"

She smiled. "Aye, so it's in perfect shape. It won't be able to fit as many people as the Veilstone arena, but it should be enough to have quite the crowd for November."

"That is not necessary, Fantina. You do not have to—"

"No, I don't. I know that." Fantina smiled gently at him – one that he had even seen on November's face before. The cunning smile. The fuck you smile. "But I'd like to. She's my niece, after all."

Lucian opened his mouth to protest. To argue.

But, from the corner of his eye, he saw Aaron shake his head.

They couldn't argue. Not without everyone becoming too suspicious.

"Then it's settled," Lucian finally said. "Fantina's ballroom. Next week."

The second supper had finished and everyone began filtering through the halls, November grabbed Fantina by the hand. Only Riley remained behind her, and she was too tired and, frankly, too bewildered to care about lowering her voice.

"Why?"

No polite thank you, no gentle embrace. Just a hard, pointed question.

"Why?"

Fantina looked down at her, shaking her head. "Don't you worry. It's not pity. I know I'd hate that, too."

"Then what is it?"

"I didn't like the way he said Maylene's name."

Nova released her aunt's wrist. Nodded. "Thank you, then."

Her aunt didn't even say anything back. She just reached out, patted November's cheek, and turned. Her heels clipped through the hair, thrumming in time to Nova's heart, leaving the gladiator alone with the knight.

His arm brushed against hers, almost as if by accident. That was what a lot of their touches had become whenever they were outside their chambers – accidental. Like they were too fragile and scared of breaking in front of everyone to see.

No, not everyone. Nova knew they didn't give a damn if some common farmer from Eterna saw either of them cry.

But Lucian.

She could not – would not – give him that satisfaction.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Riley asked her softly.

Nova leaned her head against his shoulder. "Of course not. This is a bloody awful idea."

"But that's never really stopped you before."

"Aye. And it's not going to stop me now."

Lucian had only given her one rule.

Darkrai must stay out of the ballroom. He must stay in the castle, watched by Bertha.

Away from Nova, away from her shadow. Perhaps he was worried that she would somehow cheat her way out of death, as she had multiple times with the Darkrai lurking behind her every step.

Somehow, though, she suspected it was because he wanted her to feel the fear in her belly as she stood in the ballroom, Tric by her side.

Of course, Fantina made a huge deal about the reopening of her ball – the railings were decked in ribbons and streamers, and those who had come to watch were all donned in silken suits and chiffon gowns, the men's hair slicked back and the women's hair woven through with garlands of pink. The colour of Maylene's hair. The colour of Barry's scarf.

Looks like hope. Feels like a kiss.

Nova felt the pain gnawing at her insides, especially as people turned to stare at her. She was the only one looking out of place – no skirt sweeping over her legs or hips, no glitter on her face. Just armour, muscle and bone.

Even Lucian, who lingered by the stairs, was glowing in a velvet suit. As if they weren't just about to spar for their bloody lives.

"You ready?" Riley asked beside her.

If he noticed the heat singeing her neck and face, or heard her uneven heartbeat, he showed nothing. He just held her hand tighter as they moved towards Lucian.

Table after table of food had been lined up along upper floor, and music echoed down from there, too. Fiddles and drums and merry instruments that had the people tapping their feet against the tiles. Light and joyous and open, mirthful despite all the bloodshed to come.

Nova couldn't work it out. Was Fantina mocking her with this set up? Warning her?

Or was she trying to make it a pleasant evening, in case it was her niece's last?

Either way, Nova glanced up at the ceiling – an eddy of molten amethyst, sapphire and ruby, all bleeding into a final pool of onyx. She listened to the tempo increase, wanting to ride its speed and weave between the notes.

Then, she locked gazes with Lucian. Parted her lips to mouth a single word.

Now.

Then, with a clap of his hands, he led her to her final spar.

He led her to the centre of the floor, as Riley and Fantina and all the legionaries and people that had come to watch were strung up the stairs. She could see their faces hovering by the railing, each smiling face or concerned frown there to unnerve her.

And it was working. Not even staring at Riley could calm her.

Nova clenched her hands at her sides. Nodded briefly at Tric.

"Well, you never did ask what my trial would entail." Lucian sounded so smug – so sure. He crossed his arms and propped his hand on his chin. "Bronzong."

It wasn't even a second – if it had been, she would have been able to do something.

The air shuddered, and Nova found her knees wobbling, felt the tiles sinking and yet raising as she swung her arms to keep upright. There was a low, metallic screech, another yelp and—

Her breath caught in her throat. "Tric?"

When she looked up, her Infernape was in the centre of the room. Completely unharmed, but behind a shimmering blur – a type of glass wall?

Nova ran to it. Slammed her hands into it. From every angle, kicking up at it, scraping her nails to claw it.

But no, it was as if he was trapped in some invisible box – big enough to contain a whole person. The psychic shield itself seemed to ripple icy blue we she threw her fist into it one last time. The large Pokémon Lucian had summoned was watching her, its round red eyes and square teeth glaring into her.

The people above her began murmuring, her armour clinking as she stepped back. In the crowd, purple hair gleamed, and her spine stiffened as she caught Fantina's ashen face.

"It's simple, really," Lucian said, snapping his fingers. "I don't want to fight you or hurt you. I just want you to do a simple task that anyone should be able to do if they want to challenge the queen for her throne."

There was a groan, a clanging from the Bronzong, as something moved behind her.

"So all you have to do," continued Lucian, "is read me the words beneath this painting."

She saw it, then, the painting floating towards her. The wooden frame, the splatters of paint of candles and dancers and a glowing beige gown. Dark hair by the shoulders, the golden shimmer of her eyes in the light.

It was the painting of her mother – the one that had been in the Art Colonnade in Jubilife.

And the words beneath it…

"And while you work it out…"

Nova whirled to Lucian, to her Infernape. And she watched as the Bronzong's arms leaked blue light, as the box surrounding Tric suddenly gleamed and shrunk that little bit smaller—

Tric shrieked, the fire on his head brighter than ever.

Nova felt her heart wrench.

It was going to keep shrinking.

And it would not be a clean death.

Nova turned towards the words carved along the smooth wood.

She was already shaking. There were only basic words she could recognise – useless ones like the and of. Everything else was a blur of letters she didn't know, letters she'd have to slowly sound out or yell for help to understand.

And it was then she understood why she had been forced to leave her shadow in the castle.

From the corner of her eye, she could see that blue box getting smaller. Tric's flame was flickering against the top, sweat starting to bead at his temples.

Nova felt her own sweat falling into her eyes.

This was her fault. She knew it. She could hear her own stupid, pitiful words from the other night – words she had spat so confidently at Lucian.

I'm not signing it. I can't read or write, anyways.

Stupid, stupid, stupid—

Nova's throat closed up, and she read and read and read, but no words came. The air was thick and stank of fear – burning, unforgivable fear creeping into her mouth, inch by inch.

Tric screeched, his voice hitched. Nova's eyes stung. It was just a blur of letters, mocking her with their turns and shapes.

Her Infernape's nails were scraping against the smooth shield, and the whispers above her were growing frenzied. She heard Lucian chuckle. And her face was so hot, unbearably hot.

It would hurt him. It would be so slow, coldly pressing into his body.

Sweat slid down her neck as she stared at the letters that had somehow become her Infernape's lifeline.

He was panting. Lucian was sneering. And the damned words-

La… Lady… Lady V… Lady Vernia?

The box wasn't stopping. Tric was howling now. Crying. She was, too. Riley was screaming something, but his words became muffled – like someone had clamped their hand over his mouth.

…in… her… de… deb… debo… deboote… debut… dank…

Knowing very well that each word was costing a final breath of her Infernape. A last beat of his heart.

"Just say something!" someone was crying out.

Sweat dripped down her brow, stinging her eyes. Tric was silent, and when she turned, she couldn't see his arms or legs or head. It was all just crumpled in a horrific amalgamation of fur and flame.

Pain paralysed Nova's fingers. She felt frozen in place. Watching as it shrunk yet again, as Lucian nodded his head and his Bronzong's light continued to burn cruelly.

Tric made a sound. A choking sound. He was flailing to breathe, but he couldn't move. There was no air – by Arceus, there was no air—

Give up.

That was her last option. Give up. Lose it all here. Fail to read in front of everyone.

And lose the fight she had promised so many people that she could and would win.

Nova shook so much that she could barely stand.

It was an easy decision.

"I forfe—"

"What in the good fucking name of Arceus is going on here?"

The voice froze everyone. The Bronzong turned still, the box unmoving. Still too small for Tric, but—

Nova caught Lucian's face. The paleness of it. The wide-eyed, silent gasp on his lips.

She couldn't bring herself to tear her gaze too far away from Tric. Whoever the voice was, they would have to piss off until her Infernape was safe and breathing and—

"Release the Infernape, Lucian. That is an order."

Nova could breathe again as the box disappeared. As Infernape sank into the ground, his limbs stretching out, she ran to him. Held him tighter than the box could have possibly sunken into him. They were both sobbing, both barely managing to breathe, that neither heard the murmurs of absolute disbelief as a woman stormed into the room.

Tric was mumbling something, and Nova just held him.

She couldn't read, and it had almost killed him. Tears were burning in her eyes and pain was searing in her heart as she thought of Bebe, who had tried to teach her, of Barry, who had tried to help her, and the agony of it all was shooting through her bones—

Looks like hope.

Feels like a kiss.

The words clung to her. And she stopped herself short.

Focus.

She wouldn't let Lucian see her like this. Tric was looking into her eyes. And for a moment, it was like she could hear what he was trying to say as he moved his hand to his side and gestured at her.

Hands on your side. Stand up.

But she couldn't. She couldn't move.

But Tric's gaze was relentless. His hand tightened around her.

Stand. Don't let him see you break.

Her knees and spine, with whatever she had left of her will, forced her upright. And when the ground at last stopped moving, Nova looked at Lucian with tearless eyes.

It had been a stare dangerous enough to kill. Cold and vast and full of ancient malice, hiding the sobs thundering inside her chest.

But Lucian wasn't looking at her. He was looking past her, looking as if he had seen a ghost.

"Well, Lucian? Do you care to explain to me what was going on here?"

A familiar, yet unfamiliar voice. And the words that had been spoken not long ago finally made their way into Nova's head.

That is an order.

No one has any power to order Lucian around.

No one except—

Nova glanced up.

There stood a woman, a black cloak tucked under her arm. Unlike every other woman in the room, she was in a suit; pants swept down the floor, long golden hair reaching down to the waist. Tall and lean, scars along the back of her hands, and eyes as grey and pale as Nova's armour.

Armour that she had bought from that same woman.

Not an old crone, with wrinkles along her hands and hunched back.

But…

"I declare November the winner of this… whatever it was supposed to be," the woman said.

But…

Lucian was stepping back, scowling. "No, she forfeited—"

"I heard it all. She absolutely did not forfeit just yet. Perhaps she was about to. But I didn't hear her finish her sentence."

"That is—"

But...

The woman smiled coolly at him. "You heard me, Lucian. November has defeated you. And that is a declaration made by the queen."

But Queen Cynthia.

Y'all knew this was it, I think it became extremely apparent in the past few chapters! Or, at least, I hoped so. I tried to make it obvious.

Sorry for the long disappearance! Exam block is… a pain up the arse, if I'm brutally honest.

Meanwhile, has anyone gotten into Eurovision? I am big fan. Obsessed, even. Very happy with the outcome, too!