Clair returned to the castle and headed to her room. Fortunately, she still had some privacy – for now at least. Benga wasn't allowed to enter her room uninvited. This was her grandfather's castle after all, and the man had to respect that. At the base of the door, she noticed a small jar. The potion. Good. Her servant was able to prove herself useful after all. Perhaps she had given the woman little credit. It seemed like some servants had a brain between their ears. She picked it up and tucked it under her arm then pushed the door open. It was unlocked.
She entered the room and placed the jar on the table next to her bed. Would Benga be suspicious of it? Probably. The smart thing to do would be to hide the potion from his sight. She would then apply the poison whilst he was asleep. She hoped he was a deep sleeper otherwise it would make her task that much more difficult. Dropping to her knees, she placed the jar under the bed hiding it behind a couple of shoes.
Moments later there was a knock on the door. "Clair?" The prince. Not Lance, but Benga.
She drew in a deep breath and opened the door. Soon it would all be over, she told herself. Just do as he asks. She mustered up a smile. "Hello."
He looked her up and down then fixated his gaze on her face again with a frown. "Hoping to hide your face from the common folk?"
Oh. Right. Her plain dress and snood. She grimaced. "Yes. When I take a walk through the markets, I don't need all the peasants surrounding me trying to get a glimpse."
"You don't need to hide yourself around me," he said, strolling up towards her, his hands moving to her head. He removed the snood, her long royal blue hair falling down her back. "You are far too beautiful to be covered up." He placed the snood on the bedside table.
She knew what he wanted. They had come to that stage now. The wedding might have announced them as husband and wife, but their bond was sealed with an act of love. It was expected of married woman to fall pregnant within the first month after marriage. If not, then people would assume the couple were infertile. A couple perceived as infertile were regarded as unfit to rule.
It didn't matter that she came from a royal background – her purpose was no different to any other woman. Her life was simply to have and raise children until she could bear no more. It was a life she did not want to have, but gender roles had already determined her path. She knew plenty of women died during childbirth. Lance's mother had been one of those victims. Her own mother had died after birth several weeks later because of complications from an infection. She didn't want to have children. But she had no power. Even within her own kingdom, Benga, a foreigner, had more power than she did.
He brought a hand to her face, running a hand through her hair. "I truly am fortunate to have you."
She forced a smile. "Likewise."
He gestured to the bed. "I know this makes you uncomfortable, and I'd rather wait myself, but we must not delay. My grandfather is not a patient man and I doubt yours is just as impatient as mine." His eyes lingered on her slender body, moving down then up again, fixing on her chest. "I want you to get on all fours."
Clair moved to the bed. As she walked, she removed her clothes letting the garments fall to the floor. She could feel his hungry gaze watch her every move. Fighting down the urge to gag, Clair climbed onto the bed and got onto all fours, pushing her buttocks out and arching her back slightly, feeling demoralized as if she were a dog. It was a situation that made her feel powerless and foolish; she didn't love Benga, but love had no meaning in an arranged marriage.
She felt Benga's presence join her side and heard him remove his clothes. He placed his arms around her waist then pulled her back closer to him. She could feel his manhood brush against her buttocks, already aroused and hard. His fingers moved upwards towards her breasts, his hands gripping them firmly. She tightened her jaw and braced herself for the next movement. His thumb strummed over her opening. Turning her head around, she beamed him a smile. Best to make him feel like she was enjoying it.
Spreading her legs apart and arching her back, she held her butt higher in the air, exposing more of herself to Benga. Once again, he placed his hands on her buttocks then spread them as wide as possible. He inserted a finger in, stroking the inside then slipped in two more repeating the same motion. She bit down hard on her lip; almost hard enough to draw blood but remained quiet and motionless. Feeling ready, Benga pushed the tip of his member against her bottom and forced it deeply inside her. Grabbing both her sides for support, he forced himself in further, inch by inch. Clair winced, but remained quiet. His gentle demeanour had slipped; he once seemed so polite and friendly, but that had faded replaced by strong sexual desire. He started to thrust his hips, gaining speed with each stroke.
Clair groaned unable to remain silent. She gripped onto her sheets as if her life depended on it, feeling her breasts bounce every time he thrust into her. This wasn't how she imagined it to be. Karen's stories used to be about pleasure and enjoyment, but she felt nothing of the sort. All she felt was a cold emptiness inside. How could anyone enjoy this? Had Karen been exaggerating the stories? Benga quickened his pace as he slammed into her harder and faster with each passing second, his balls slapping against her. Arching her back, Clair squeezed herself around him as hard as she could and grinded herself against his sweaty body. With sweat running down his chest and dripping onto Clair's exposed back, he continued to thrust his hips, hard and deep, satisfied grunts leaving his mouth.
The same thrusting motion continued for several moments, as his body began to tense. She felt him throbbing inside her then felt his warm semen filling her. Knowing it was best to remain silent, Clair waited until the deed was done. After a couple of moments, she felt him withdraw as semen oozed out of her in a thick stream onto the bed. But it wasn't over. He pushed her onto her back and hovered above her. Clair didn't dare to look down. She kept her eyes on his face.
"You are so beautiful…" he murmured, gazing down at her full breasts, taking them in with his hands. He observed her for moments longer seemingly in a trance before grabbing her legs and pushing them to the sides as far apart as he could.
She wanted to pull her legs back together feeling awfully exposed and vulnerable, but Benga had already placed his member before her entrance. He didn't even wait. He pushed himself in and Clair immediately yelped at the sudden intrusion, her hands gripping his shoulders.
"I'm sorry, it'll all be over soon, I promise," he said softly, tenderly brushing her cheek.
Clair whimpered. This was love? "Arceus, I hope so," she said through clenched teeth, wrapping her legs around him, finding it to be more comfortable in that position.
He started to thrust into her again, slowly at first, but gradually quickening the pace.
She wasn't sure what else to do but lie still and let him do as he pleased. If she was supposed to do something else, he didn't say. He didn't seem bothered by her lack of movement. This continued for a while longer until she felt him tense. Moments later, she felt semen entering her once more.
He withdrew, tucking his member away and laid down next to her, drawing in heavy breaths. They lay in silence for a few moments longer, breathing heavily, allowing their bodies to recover, until he spoke up again. "You've exhausted me," he said tenderly, stifling a yawn with his hand.
"Would you like a drink to help you sleep better?" Clair said, covering her chest with her arm. Not that it really made much of a difference. He had already seen her, but it brought her some comfort. "It's something the servants make for undisturbed sleep."
He smiled. "That would be lovely."
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she climbed off then dropped to the ground. Reaching out underneath the bed, she grabbed the jar then returned to Benga's side. All her feelings of emptiness had gone, replaced by a sense of determination. She would be free of him. She was not going to end up alone and abandoned in a foreign city. She removed the lid and held it before him, once more covering her chest with her free arm.
Taking the jar from her, he moved into an upright position and brought the rim to his mouth. "It doesn't smell appetizing," he said, pulling his face back.
"Yes, it's a strong scent. But it works."
"Will you not have some?"
She shook her head. "It could affect my chances of falling pregnant. I don't want to risk that," she lied. She didn't know if the potion would affect her reproductive organs.
Fortunately, Benga seemed to believe her. He placed the rim on the edge of his lips then tilted his head back, allowing the contents of the potion pour down his throat. He continued to drink until the entire contents of the jar had been consumed.
Committed, Clair thought. "How do you feel?"
He wiped his mouth clean. "The smell was off-putting, but the taste itself isn't half bad. I can taste the honey and ale. There's something else in there too – something sweet – but I can't put my finger on it." He stifled a yawn again lowering his back down onto the bed once more. "I will sleep now."
Nothing was happening. Nothing yet. She supposed it was a slow acting poison, but she didn't want to leave his side just in case it didn't work. What if he started choking in his sleep? The potion wasn't designed to kill him. "Sleep well, Benga," Clair said, looking down at him. "I hope you dream of your home because you will be returning sooner than you thought without me at your side."
.
"Freedom. Right," Silver mustered, glancing down at the copper bracelet around his wrist. What did freedom mean? Was anyone free or was this part of a sick and twisted game from Blaine? The man had claimed he was a favourite so why would he release him from service? It didn't make sense unless Blaine thought Silver would return to Blackthorn. He didn't have a home outside these walls. Blackthorn was his home.
He supposed that was Blaine's intention. He wanted the boy to escape only for his men to find him again and bring him back. It was some sort of sport. But it was worth trying. A brief taste of freedom was better than nothing at all. Perhaps he'd be able to find Giovanni. Then he could rest in peace. He was the man who had thrown him into this life.
He walked through the streets, heading towards the slums of Blackthorn. Entering this part of the city was like entering an entirely new city. Streets in this part of the kingdom were twisted and unclean; citizens dumped their rubbish here and it became a home to the rats. People figured their trash needed to be stored someplace and decided the slums would be fitting. Sometimes pigs roamed the streets to clean up waste. If the rubbish couldn't be given to animals, it would be taken to a remote area outside the city walls via a wagon and burned.
Housing of poor people consisted of two small rooms made of mud and stone with a thatched roof. They had small windows without glass and an open fireplace, and the rooms had dirt floors because they couldn't afford proper flooring. The entire family would sleep in one room whilst the other room was used for dining purposes. Silver was one of the fortunate people – he might've been slave, but even his housing quarters were better than this. It was one of the few benefits of being Blaine's personal servant. The man was not wealthy, but he still lived a comfortable life.
He continued walking down the street, making sure not to come to close to the garbage. He saw broken pieces of furniture and pottery, but also some rotten food scraps. The peasants would try and reuse broken pieces if possible – they didn't like bits and pieces going to waste if possible – and the pigs would eat the food. People would try and find a use for everything – even human urine found a use in clothes dye. The law required people to dispose only a certain amount of trash each month. It was supposed to encourage people to think carefully about their trash.
The sound of whimpering caught his ear. Silver never paid much attention to the plight of other slaves – it wasn't as if he could've helped them – but now as a free man, he was in a better position. A slightly better position. His coin was his own now and he was free to spend it however he wished. He could even choose his own food to consume. The newfound benefits freedom had given him weren't much, but at least he had some control over his life.
As a slave, he had to ignore the suffering of others. But as a free man, he could choose to answer that person's cry for help. He chose the latter. Drawn to the sounds of whimpering, Silver approached the door and knocked. The whimpering ceased immediately – perhaps the slave had thought their master had returned? Clearing his throat, Silver said, "Hello?"
"…Silver?"
Feminine voice. He recognized it. Jasmine. He had met her once that day they were both loading stones onto oxen carts. That had been Jasmine's first day as a slave. He didn't know who her master was, but judging by the house's location, it was probably someone low ranking. "Yeah, it's me. I'm a free man now. I earned it in the pits."
She probably didn't even know what that was. The door opened. Silver's eyebrows arched up. The girl's condition had deteriorated rapidly since they had last met. Her clothes were dirty. There were bruises and scratches on her body. There were even some marks on her face. He doubted these marks were gained from labour.
"You're free," Jasmine murmured.
He nodded. "Yes. I can leave this place."
"Can you never truly be free?"
It was a question he had asked himself numerous times. He didn't have an answer. "It depends on what you define as freedom. For me, simply being free of this place is enough."
"And they will find you again. What then of your freedom?"
"All I need to do is find my father. If I die after that, fine. But I'm not dying alone."
She looked at him with a frown. He wasn't sure if that was a look of pity or something else. "Why did you come?"
"Because I heard you inside. I heard a whimpering. I thought I'd check."
She forced a laugh. "One look at me and you can tell what has been happening. Surge… is not a kind man. He complains that Blaine has not been paying, but he spends on his money on other means instead of saving. He plans to use me to make money from the soldiers." She started to sob.
Prostitution, a desperate measure. But Surge? He would've thought the blacksmith would've been on a decent wage. Better than the other commonfolk, but the man was living in the slums. He had probably already used Jasmine for his own means. No wonder the girl looked so dispirited. He couldn't ease her pain; he couldn't reverse it either; but perhaps he could still help her… If she even wanted to be saved.
"I can get you out of this city."
Wiping her tears away, she said, "Why would you do that?"
Good point. What made her different from any other slave? "I can free you all," he said, correcting himself. "We don't have to live this life anymore. We can overthrow our masters and make new lives for ourselves in their places. What say you?"
"And why would I believe that? You're but one man with no influence or power here."
Her spirit had been crushed. He wasn't even sure if freeing her would help. She had seemingly decided the battle was already over, but he wasn't so keen to give up the fight. "I've lived here for a lot longer than you have and I never gave up on hope. I've seen and witnessed things you could only dream of, but I'm still here. Because I know what I'm fighting for. That gives me strength. You can give up the fight if you want. You can choose to be weak if that's what you desire. But I'm going to save us all whether you want it or not." He pulled away from her, disappointed.
"You can't save me. You're not even truly free yourself."
She had lost her will to live. She would perish within Blackthorn's walls. It had been a waste of time coming to this part of town. Why had he even felt compelled to visit here? Out of pity? To remind himself what he would be leaving behind? Or to remind himself of a life he did not want to return to? Either way, he was free of these chains and he intended to make the most of his new life however temporary it may be.
.
Gary Oak had the sceptre. Now he had to find a way to obtain that sceptre without drawing attention, but how was he going to enter the man's private bedroom to steal it? The tavern was the liveliest place in the city. He hadn't even spoken to Gary so it wasn't as if he could just walk in.
"Are you okay? You look a bit tense," Falkner said.
Morty glanced over at his roommate. "Just been thinking, that's all." The golden sword lay beneath his bed. No one had asked any questions and just presumed it was a relic of some sort. "I should talk to Chuck. See if he will allow us to keep the blade as a reward for our efforts." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his soldier attire clothing sitting on his bedside dresser. The slaves had taken care to give him some clean clothes for the day. Falkner was already dressed.
"What are you planning to do today?"
"Brock needs someone to watch over the gates. Someone is sick in his family."
"Right. Well, you should head on down and get some breakfast, and I'll talk with Chuck. I'll let you know if he wants us to do anything dangerous." Which was likely. It must've be so easy sitting behind a desk all day and giving orders to people.
Falkner nodded. "Best of luck with Chuck." He stood up and exited the room.
The boy was surprisingly obedient. He would've thought that Falkner would've tried to assert more authority seeing as he had been a soldier longer, but he seemed happy with allowing Morty to make the decisions. Morty closed the door, lessening the volume of the chatter from the dining room elbow. Soldiers were gathering for their breakfast and exchange of gossip. What did they even have to gossip out?
He retrieved the golden sword from beneath his bed and left the room, heading downstairs to find Chuck. As expected, the dining area was packed with soldiers waiting for their breakfast. He found Falkner sitting at one of the tables to the eastern side of the room. Morty ignored him and searched for Chuck. The man was at the back of the room at a table by himself, studying what appeared to be a small map. Morty approached him.
Chuck heard footsteps approaching and looked up from the map. "I was beginning to wonder if you had died out there in the wild."
"You almost sound disappointed."
Chuck chuckled. "It would make things more interesting around here, but every soldier is needed. What have you got to report?"
"Quite a few things of interest. On the way to the ruins, we confronted a man who intended to assassinate the king," Morty explained, intentionally leaving out Zuki's name. "We then reached the ruins and found a mage guarding some old crypt."
Chuck lifted his thick brows. "A mage? Scouts have not reported any people around that place."
"Maybe she's been in hiding."
"I've been to that place myself and found nothing," Chuck replied.
Morty shrugged. "I don't know to explain it. But she was a mage. She threw fireballs at us. But we were able to defeat her, and when she died, her blood caused a doorway to open beneath the altar. I climbed down the ladder and found this in a coffin." He pulled out the golden sword and laid it down on the table.
"…The Scale of Arceus," Chuck murmured, running his hand across the steel. "The man was buried away from the city because he was deemed a traitor to the people. He was blamed for many things including the war against the mages, and some even insisted he started the plague." He pulled his hand away from the sword. "This blade was said to have been enhanced with faerie magic."
"Faerie magic?"
Chuck nodded. "Yes. I was a young boy at the time of Henry's rule, but stories had been shared about faeries – divine beings who represent Arceus here on our land. His name was Joseph Hart. He had crafted this sword with his power, given to Henry as a gift." He furrowed his brows, still examining the blade. "Half a century has passed since this blade was last used. Its power is gone."
Faeries. Naoko had never mentioned that before. Did she even know about them? If she did, why hadn't she mentioned it before? She would've known about the sword. "So, it's just a fancy blade now."
Chuck nodded. "And you should have it. For now. Perhaps it'll guide you in your next task." He pushed the sword aside and pointed at the map, drawing Morty's attention to the mountain ranges. "You and Falkner will visit the mountains. We've received reports that some of our soldiers went missing a week ago. They were supposed to visit the mountains to find a relic lost to us during the war."
"What sort of relic?"
"A ring. It belonged to one of the founders."
One of the three relics Naoko wanted him to find. He leaned forward elbows resting on the table. "Tell me more."
"It was lost in the mountains. We think it had been eaten by an animal."
"And now you want someone to find it."
Chuck nodded. "You've proven yourself capable by finding this old sword."
"It hadn't been that difficult."
Chuck shrugged. "Yet you found it."
"What should I expect?"
"No one can say for certain, but we do know there are creatures known as impidimp that call the mountain home. Tiny creatures, but highly intelligent. There may be other foul beasts lurking in the shadows however, but I trust you're capable of looking after yourself." He gestured to the sword. "You can take it for now, but I do expect the blade to be returned at some point."
"So, this ring… How can I tell if it's the right one?"
"It was said if the ring was worn, it would turn red."
Morty sighed. "I suppose it's something."
"You'll need more than just swords. Take a crossbow."
"I guess I should prepare then." A journey deep into the mountains to find one of the three relics. The other one was with Gary. The whereabouts of the third was unknown. Maybe Chuck would know something if he earned enough favour from the man.
"I wish you all the best."
Morty didn't reply, preferring to remain silent.
.
Much time had passed since Benga had taken the potion. Even though the man was still fast asleep, she could see the potion was starting to influence him. His breathing had become ragged and his body restless. His legs and eyelids started to twitch, and pained gasps exited his mouth. He was awakening. Clair lay down on the bed pretending to sleep.
"…Clair?" the man murmured. She felt a hand grab her shoulder.
She acted startled. "Oh, you're awake."
He groaned, both hands coming to the sides of his head. "…Something isn't right. I don't feel so good… That drink you gave me…" Before he could finish his sentence, he lurched upright and vomited on the sheets.
Clair bolted upright and brought her hands to her mouth to muffle her scream. "…Oh my Arceus…"
He lay back down on the bed, sweat beads forming on his forehead. "…This drink…. Must've been poisoned…" he murmured, suppressing a deep groan.
She pressed a hand against his forehead, drawing her hand back immediately. Burning hot. No wonder he was sweating profusely. She watched him lurch forward again, this time leaning over the side of the bed to vomit. Pinching her nose, Clair peered over and gasped. Blood and what looked to be bits of flesh.
The man groaned again, reaching a hand towards her after wiping his mouth with it, as if touching her would help him. She slapped his hand away, discomforted. Unable to look at his suffering, Clair grabbed one of the pillows and moved away.
Benga kept murmuring her name, but she covered her ears with the pillow over her head. His weakened desperate pleas would remain in her head for life, haunting her in her sleep. His groaning would eventually attract the attention of some passing slave.
She had to silence him. Put him out of his misery once and for all. Drawing in a deep breath, she turned back to face Benga. He was still reaching a hand towards her, calling her name. Yesterday he was in peak condition. Today he was nothing but a broken man. She came to his side and peered down at him, still refusing to take his hand.
"You weren't supposed to die," she said softly, pressing a hand against his right cheek. "That was never my intention. But I guess the poison was stronger than I thought. I can't save you… and even if I could, I wouldn't. I don't need you. I never wanted you. You're going to die unwanted and alone."
She straddled his waist then placed the pillow on his face. His eyes widened, but the poison had drained him of much needed strength, he could barely lift his hand. She applied pressure on the pillow, pushing down hard on his face, blocking off his oxygen. His legs twitched, and he tried to push her off, but he was far too weak. She closed her eyes, but maintained the pressure, trying to shut out the muffled cries for help. She didn't open her eyes again until she heard his groans cease. Only then did she pull the pillow away.
Clair was never the one to shed tears. Many lives had been lost throughout her lifetime, but she had no attachment to any of them and therefore their passing had no impact on her. But Benga's death was different. Biting down on her bottom lip, she peered down at the man she had just killed, tears rolling down her cheeks. She had never loved him. Never had a chance to. Perhaps she might've grown to love him if she had stayed.
"I did what needed to be done," she told herself in between deep controlled breaths. "I've seen the future. I would've died within foreign walls otherwise. You weren't there to protect me. I have to protect myself," she whispered. Edward never should have arranged their marriage with the king of Unova. They had both paid for their foolishness. None of this was her fault. It was the fault of men and their pride and it cost them the life of a young prince.
She dropped on the pillow on the floor then turned her attention to the bedside drawer. The amulet. She needed to see how her future changed with the death of the prince. Rolling off Benga, she reached for the drawer and pulled it open, feeling a warm sensation spread throughout her body as her fingertips brushed the surface of the amulet.
"He's dead. The prince is dead. I'm not going to end up a victim myself in Unova."
She was free, right? She wouldn't have to go Unova now and she'd find a way to kill any children inside her. Karen would know what to do. She always knew. There was nothing to be concerned about. Placing the amulet around her neck, she sat cross-legged on the floor and closed her eyes, waiting for another vision to appear.
"The future has changed."
When she reopened her eyes, she found herself standing in the royal chambers of her grandfather. The sheets were red. The pillow was red. Even the curtains and carpet were a shade of red. Foreshadowing? Her grandfather was standing at the window, peering down at the world below. Hearing her footsteps, he turned around, but there was no smile on his face. For once, her presence didn't make him smile.
"You murdered the future king of Unova," the man said slowly.
"He had to die," Clair heard herself say. "I had to protect myself. I had to protect this kingdom."
"You took a life that was not yours to take! You do not understand what the consequences will be!"
She folded her arms and glared. "Consequences? I was a prisoner in my own castle! I had to live my life according to your rules! I wasn't allowed to be happy if you weren't! Did you ever stop to think about my feelings, or did they not matter to you at all?" she retorted, unable to control herself.
He walked forward and grabbed her shoulders. She yelped, surprised by the strength in his hands. "This isn't about you, Clair! It's about our kingdom's future! And your selfish pride damned us all! Why couldn't you just follow orders and be an obedient granddaughter? Why must you rebel against me? I wanted to secure our future, but now we won't have one!" He released her shoulders then slapped her in face. Hard. "You're staying in the dungeon."
Tears welled up in her eyes. He had never struck her before. Clair removed the amulet, drawing in deep ragged breaths. Her own grandfather had struck her. He was intending to put her in the dungeon where she would undoubtedly be punished. And where was Lance in all of this? He probably didn't even care. He was always pretending to listen to her concerns, but at the end of the day, he still carried out orders given to him without question. None of the men in her life cared. The people she loved. The people she respected. They weren't there to support her. She was just a tool to be used for their purposes.
All men must die. At least the men in her life had to. Her grandfather. Even Lance. It wasn't as if he ever truly helped her. He was just there to listen to her complaints, but he never acted to solve them. He could've done something. Anything. But he chose not to. He wasn't even here to comfort her and check on her marriage. Did anyone care about her? "I have to stop taking orders," she murmured. "I have to take control of my life. It's mine to live and not theirs to dictate."
She had to fight for her freedom. Blood would be shed for freedom. She would become queen, and only then could she enact new laws that saw women take power from the men who sought to control them. A new era. A queen instead of a king. First, she had to pretend to mourn Benga's passing and then she would accuse Lyra for the crime of murder. After that, she would remove her grandfather from the throne and send Lance away. He would try to intervene and control her like their grandfather.
She looked at Benga again. "Poor fool," she murmured.
Putting the amulet away back in the drawer, she carefully returned her pillows in their rightful position then screamed. That would grab the attention of her grandfather. Even the slaves and castle guards would come running. They would see Prince. The bells would be rung to warn the people. The entire city would be on edge. Excellent. They would doubt her grandfather's leadership. Under his watch, someone had died within protected walls. People would lose their belief in him that he could protect them from harm. She opened the door and screamed again, dropping to her knees, burying her face in her hands. The takeover had begun.
.
Morty exited the barracks, having lost the appetite to eat. Sitting in a hall of gossiping soldiers wasn't something he wanted to endure, especially since they had seen him talking to Chuck. No doubt they would have questions for him. He stepped outside, enjoying a gentle breeze of cold wind, a brief reprise from the humid air.
Rain was on the way. He could see the thick, dark clouds billowing near the mountain range. The same place Chuck wanted him to investigate. "I hope the mountains don't flood," he mumbled. He shifted his attention from the mountains, and looked around, trying to decide what to do next. Clair had suggested visiting the archives. It would give him a chance to learn more about the city and the supernatural. To reach the archives he would have to walk through the marketplace.
There was already a small crowd gathering as people flocked to the stalls to find something cheap to spend their coin on. He counted at least ten stalls, each one offering something different from the other. Some sold plants. Some sold strange herbal remedies. Others even claimed to have goods that could cure anything. But the one that caught his interest was a stall that advertised rare treasures.
"How can I interest you?" a woman spoke, curling a lock of brown hair around a finger.
"It says you advertise rare treasures." He looked down at the table. All she had on display was a necklace made of copper, a twisted dagger, and what appeared to be an old steel helm. "But these do not like rare treasures to me, but ordinary items that have been worn. You're a fraud." Preying on the foolish and the ill-informed.
She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. "A fraud? My goods are legit. The dagger was found off a dying warrior, the steel helm came from an old battle, and the necklace had been given to a bride who later died of an infection."
"And you call them rare treasures?"
She shrugged. "How many people do you know have these items in their possession?"
He sighed. "Point made. You must know something about true rare treasures. I'm talking about old relics lost after the great war. Magical items. You wouldn't happen to know anything, would you?"
A slow smile spread across her face. "I sold an old amulet many weeks ago."
"What old amulet?"
She grinned. "One of magical power."
"And how did you come into its possession?"
"I'm from a long line of treasure hunters. I'm called Gardenia."
Just like Bugsy. Was this woman a mage too? "Did you know someone called Bugsy?"
She shook her head, loose bangs falling around her eyes. She batted them away. "No."
"Right, because he claimed to be a treasure hunter too. He was interested in some sceptre."
Her eyes widened. "I've heard about it. Locked away in some tomb."
"That's the one." He frowned. "So, this amulet – what does it do?"
She folded her arms. "You have to buy something in exchange for information."
Of course. Bartering. Withholding a sigh, he dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out a few silver coins, placing them on the table. "Take this then and tell me what you know."
She took the coins. "The amulet speaks to the wearer. It feeds off your fears. Tells you a future that you're most afraid of. Do you fear being alone? Your future would be bleak, and you would be alone and unloved."
"Doesn't sound like something useful to have."
"It's hard to resist wearing something so beautiful with such power." She drew his attention to the goods on the table. "But I don't have all day to talk about an old amulet. Are you going to buy something or just stand here and ask questions?"
"Who did you sell it too?"
She raised a brow. "The princess, Clair."
He almost brought a fist down on the table. The last of the three relics in the hands of Clair. How was he ever going to get close enough to take that from her? Unless he could some earn her favour by bringing her back a worthy gift from the mountains? She seemed vain and tempted by pretty things.
"You didn't think to warn her about the amulet's powers?"
Gardenia smiled. "I'll sell anything to anyone willing to pay." Her smile faded. "I'm going to ask you again – are you going to buy anything?'
He shook his head. "I'm willing to purchase information instead."
"What sort of information?"
"Do you know much about some lost soldiers in the Blackthorn Mountains?"
She looked up at the sky, and stroked her chin, then looked at him once more. "Perhaps."
Damned woman, he cursed inwardly. He reached into his pocket for some more coin and placed them on the table. "There. More coin." That was all he had. The rest of it remained in a drawer in his room. A few silver coins a week. Not the best way to live a glamorous life, but still it was more coin than any common peasant could boast about.
"Yes, I've heard of stories." She pocketed the coin. "A small group of soldiers. I couldn't tell you where their allegiances were, but they were equipped. A group of four men and a female with them too. They headed into the mountains just over a week ago. People are always heading into the deep caverns, hoping to find the dragon's lair."
"Dragon's lair?"
She nodded. "Rumour has it that tyrantrum live deep within the mountains."
So, he had to fight off against a dragon. He supposed that's why Chuck had suggested bringing a crossbow along. It would be difficult to penetrate a dragon's scale with a sword, but a piercing bolt could break through. Chuck clearly hadn't told him the full story. "Right. Tyrantrum."
"No one can say for certain what they look like, but one bard claimed it walked on two legs."
That wasn't helpful at all, he thought wryly. "And dragons hoard items."
"That's what the bardic tales say. It was said a couple of mages had fled into the caverns to hide, and they were buried alive when the floods came. Adventurers like to go inside and search for their loot, but many do not live to tell the tale. Several of them walk away at the entrance, their courage gone."
Was Chuck trying to get him killed? It would explain why only the soldiers were sent to investigate and never in big groups. Soldiers were replaceable, especially the low-ranking ones. But a knight would never be sent to explore. Lance would never investigate. "A fascinating tale."
"Now, are you going to buy anything?"
"I'm not interested in your goods. You've got nothing worthy."
"What a disappointment. I have no interest in talking to you further."
"Likewise." He turned away from the stall, making way for a couple of interested buyers, failing to understand why people would want to spend their hard-earned coin on rubbish. Plants bearing fruits he could understand, but what would a person do a twisted dagger and a steel helm? But she had described the amulet well. A magical item that hinted at a possible future. A dangerous item to have in the wrong hands or someone with a weak mind.