Thanks to yonas813 for reviewing the first chapter!
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Chapter Twenty-Two: Changes
Upon his arrival at Blackthorn's main gate, Lance knew something was different about the city. There weren't usually people stationed on the walls overlooking the city's inhabitants. Scouts patrolled the outskirts and small groups of soldiers would venture into enemy territory if there was a problem that needed solving. But to see archers up on the walls… That meant his grandfather obviously felt the city was under threat.
"Open the gate!" Lance insisted, glancing up at the archers.
"It's Lance! You may open the gate!" one of the archers ordered.
Moments later, the gate started to move, and Lance was able to re-enter the city. He didn't even wait for the gate to be fully opened – as soon as he knew he could fit, he crouched and crawled under desperate to return to the castle as soon as possible. Once he had reached the other side, he climbed to his feet, dusted himself off and turned to one of the guards on duty. Brock.
"What is going on?" Lance demanded.
The gate was immediately lowered. There were more guards stationed around a single gate than usual. Normally, there'd only be a single guard, but today there was at least five. "Prince Benga has been found dead," Brock said. "A funeral will be held at dawn tomorrow."
"Dead? How?"
"They say it was poison."
Henry Blackthorn had died the same way. Poisoned. A coward's tactic. The man had only just married Clair a few days ago. How could a marriage spiral out of control so soon? "Dammit, Clair. What have you done?"
He pushed past the guards and headed straight towards the castle keep, ignoring the peasants who stopped in their tracks to look at him walk by. They had questions. Yet he had no answers to give. Although night had now fallen, peasants were still lingering on the streets. He would've thought they would be at home or at the tavern indulging in gossip. He supposed they hoped to obtain information from the soldiers by eavesdropping.
There was a legion of guards stationed outside the castle's gates. There was no sign of Benga's guard. Perhaps they were in the castle preparing the body for an early morning funeral or boarding the ship preparing for the long journey back home. Normally, the guards would step aside to grant him entrance, but much to his surprise, they would not move.
"Stand aside," Lance ordered.
"You must be checked before you are granted entrance. New law issued by the king during your absence," one of the knights explained. Siebold. His least favourite.
"Checked?" Lance said, perplexed. "Am I deemed a threat now?"
"You must understand, my lord, but these are simply precautionary measures. Clair is in mourning and she is afraid the attacker might still be within these walls. The king has insisted everyone must be checked before entering the castle – no exceptions, not even for his grandson."
Lance glared. The man's stance did not shift. "I do not take orders from knights," Lance replied through clenched teeth. This was not how he had imagined his return. Three days absent and even his own knights didn't trust him. "You dare to refuse me entrance? I am the king's grandson. I am your commander, or do you need a reminder of your place? Now stand aside or you will find yourself searching for a new king to serve," he threatened. He had no intentions of these knights checking him. What if they discovered the wolf mark on the back of his neck?
A muscle jerked in the man's jaw. "As you command, my lord." He bowed.
The other guards stepped aside to grant him entrance. He shook his head murmuring to himself about foreigners lacking respect as he approached the castle doors. He pushed them open and stepped inside. For once, there were no servants within the castle walls. The hallway was silent. Most of the candles were unlit. The only source of light available was a torch brazier on the other side of the hallway leading to the throne room. He strode down the hall towards the light then grabbed the torch. Most people would find their hand immediately burn up, but to a wolf fire did little harm.
He could hear voices above. Clair and his grandfather. They were arguing about something, but he couldn't make out the words clearly. He stormed up the narrow spiral staircase and headed towards the throne room. Although Blackthorn was his place of birth, it no longer felt like home. The lack of candles being lit represented him well. He had been left in the dark for most of his life. He couldn't even trust his own family.
He heard footsteps retreating and the arguing died down. Someone had left. Probably his grandfather. The best way to deal with an emotional Clair was to leave her alone until she had calmed down. He entered the room and found Clair sitting down on the throne in a silent room. The only source of her light came from the few candles around the throne.
"Where have you been?" she said. Her face was puffy, her cheeks swollen, and her eyes were red from tears.
"I've been busy," Lance replied approaching her cautiously. "What happened here?"
"Prince Benga was poisoned."
"So, I heard. How did that even happen?"
Clair furrowed her brows. "I woke up next to him yesterday morning and found him dead." She bit down on her bottom lip. "He had died during the night in his sleep."
He raised a brow. "And you hadn't noticed?"
"I was fast asleep, Lance. He was fine when we went to bed."
He wanted to believe her, but his trust had been shaken. Edward had lied to him. Clair was probably lying too. She had been so determined to avoid marriage. "How was he even poisoned? Why now?"
"The servants, Lance."
"And why would servants want to poison Prince Benga? What would their motivation be?" Her story made no sense. He couldn't understand why a servant would want to harm the prince. He didn't mean anything to them. Besides, he would've been returning to Unova so what incentive would there be for a local servant to kill him? "Clair. Don't lie to me. I can see right through you."
Her expression darkened, her fear fading. "It was that new slave girl! Lyra! I asked her to brew up something to settle a sick stomach because Benga was unwell. So, Lyra made something and came back with some poison instead. She killed him, Lance. She knows how to make potions. Her mother was some healer lady or something. Probably a witch," she blurted out.
Lance shook his head. "You're blaming Benga's death on a servant."
Clair nodded. "What? Are you suggesting that I killed him? Those damn servants are stupid. They're always screwing things up all the time. What do we even know about her? She's educated for a villager, Lance. She's a spy. An assassin. And we let her into our lives. She can't be trusted," she spat. "She didn't even clean my stable."
"I was there when she cleaned your stable."
"And why were you there? She's my servant."
A muscle jerked in Lance's jaw. "Have you got a problem with that? Someone has to ensure your servant is doing the right job seeing as you clearly do not care otherwise you would've been there to guide her properly," he replied sternly, his own temper flaring. Clair could act like a child sometimes.
Clair snorted. "So, you spend more time with my servant than you do with me?"
"I'm a knight, Clair. I have responsibilities outside these castle walls."
"But you find her interesting, don't you? I saw you with her that night at my wedding. I wonder what words could've been exchanged."
A muscle jerked in his jaw. "She was being harassed."
"She's a slave, Lance."
"And it's your job to protect her from harm."
Clair gave a sardonic laugh. "You like her, don't you? What. Did you take a good look at her at the baths when you took her there? Liked what you saw, did you? Were you hoping to take advantage of her? Can you even get it up? I've heard stories about the knights."
Clair was more temperamental than usual. She tended to say some outlandish things, but accusing him of wanting to take advantage of a servant and mocking the knights? That was something new. Her heightened emotional state only further reinforced the theory she had something to do with Benga's death. "Insult me if you wish, Clair, but you're just trying to divert attention away from the issue of Benga's death."
He needed to speak with Lyra and learn her side of the story. Even if Clair were being honest, Lyra would be executed. She wouldn't be entitled to a trial – servants had no rights after all. As a servant, she was always guilty of a crime regardless. Even if Clair had murdered Benga, she would use Lyra as a scapegoat for her crime.
"Even if I did murder Benga, which I didn't, Lyra would still be blamed for it. She's the newest castle servant. She came from a small village. Her life means nothing."
So, why did he care? What did a servant's life matter? Clair was right. Lyra didn't matter. She shouldn't. But she did. "Her life matters, Clair. Every life does regardless of your personal feelings. Have you not thought about how Unova will react?" he demanded. He took a step towards her. "A prince has died, and their people will want answers."
"And we can tell them it was a slave girl and give her over to them if needed."
Lance shook his head. "I am not giving her up. We all have the right to a fair trial. She is innocent until proven guilty." Not that anyone would believe she wasn't guilty, but it would give the girl extra time.
"And it's my husband that was killed."
"You didn't love him."
Clair glared. "What do you even know of love?"
He tightened his jaw, his mind struggling to find a response. Again, she was right. What did he know about love, a feeling he wasn't allowed to experience? Knights were married to the crown. Sworn to serve until they could serve no longer. "I have love for the people in this city. Their lives matter." But it wasn't the love she was speaking about.
Clair gave him a smug look. "Including slaves, it seems or a specific one. Didn't think you would stoop so low to become interested in my slave. If any other slave had done it, would you care?"
"My duty is to the people of the city. I wouldn't expect you to understand."
"What? Because I'm not a knight?" She folded her arms. "We need to be on the same side, Lance. We've always been together. Don't choose to side against me now. I need you, Lance," she said in an almost pleading manner.
Clair was demanding. Petulant. But she never begged. "I will find the truth, Clair. You can't hide it from me. I will see your room for myself." He turned to move, but Clair grabbed his arm.
"No! Don't! It's a mess!"
He gave her a hard stare. "Tell me what happened, Clair. I can't support you if you don't tell me what happened. But if you choose to go ahead and accuse Lyra of committing a crime then know I will not support you."
Clair's eyebrows raised. "You don't get to choose, Lance. I don't get to choose my path. Neither do you. Our grandfather controls us both and he's not going to let you walk away from your duty. You swore an oath to serve until death."
"Oaths can be broken," Lance replied.
"Breaking an oath makes you a traitor to the kingdom."
His jaw tightened. He should've been here watching Clair and ensuring she was settling in with Prince Benga. Instead, he had put his own needs and wants above family to seek out the wolves. His other family. If he had been around the man would still be alive. Clair was always on good behaviour when he was present. It was as if she feared losing his support. "You've changed," he observed.
"Having your husband die in your bed changes you," she retorted.
"I came back to see you. But I can see coming here was a waste of time." One of the candles blew out. A symbolic moment representing the growing fractures within the Blackthorn family? "Where is grandfather?"
"He's in his room resting. He's a bit unwell. All this drama hasn't done much for his heart."
The man was old, but he hadn't shown any signs of weakness. Perhaps he was simply good at hiding it and it wasn't as if Lance were always around to watch him carefully. If the man was under immense stress, then it was possible his heart could stop beating. If he died, then Clair would ascend to the throne and become Queen of Blackthorn. A king could not lead the army and rule at the same time. It was considered too much of a risk.
The city would descend into chaos. Clair wasn't a natural leader. How many people would respect her? He looked at her noting how comfortable she looked on the throne. The seat of power and it would eventually become hers. A temporary queen.
His thoughts shifted to Brawley's words. The man wanted him to ascend the throne. Only a king had the authority to issue the command to prepare the city for war. Somehow, he doubted Clair would listen to his words.
"Someone has to take the fall for Prince Benga's death. His people will ask questions."
"Then perhaps you should've considered that first before poisoning him!" Lance retorted.
Clair surged to her feet, bristling with anger. He could see the hatred burning in her eyes. "You don't have any proof that I poisoned him. Fancy that, accusing your own family of a heinous crime. Maybe it'll be better if you leave this city. You spend more time with my servant than you do with your own family. Shows what your priorities are. Perhaps I should put you on trial for accusing me of murder."
Clair had changed for the worse, but this change was too extreme. Yes, Clair had always been erratic, but this vehemence in her tone wasn't something he would typically associate with her. He had seen the worst of her tantrums – this was something else. She shifted in her seat and that's when he saw it. Her new position allowed the light of the candles to reveal an amulet around her neck. He hadn't seen it before. This golden amulet had a blood-coloured ruby – none of her other jewellery had such a thing. He knew there were ancient artefacts out there in the world that were said to be filled with great magical power. Corrupted magical items that slowly poisoned the wearer's mind overtime.
"That amulet. Where did you get it?"
She looked down at it. "This old thing? I bought it. It's mine," she snapped, looking up.
"Give it to me." He held an arm out.
She shook her head. "No."
"Clair. We should get it checked by Agatha. Or even Samuel."
She glared, shielding the amulet protectively, as if she thought he'd take it from her by force. "I bought it. It's not yours to take."
He raised his hands in a sign of submission. "I'm just saying cursed objects exist."
"And this isn't one of them."
Hands still clutching the amulet, she added, "You're just like everyone else. You want to control me."
"That isn't true. I am not our grandfather." Lowering his hands, he added, "I do not wish to fight; we are family, but if you keep walking down this path then I can't stand by you. It goes against everything I believed in. You'll end up dying alone and unloved."
That seemed to touch a nerve. She sat down on her throne, her anger subsiding. "I never intended to murder Benga. I asked the servant girl Lyra to concoct a potion that would leave him with a stomach-ache. Grandfather would not want me heading to Unova with a sick man. If I die, then grandfather's plans would also die with me. I am our future, and he knew it. He wanted me to marry Prince Benga to forge an alliance between our two kingdoms. We don't have the numbers to deal with an outside threat – this marriage would secure an extra army. But the potion killed him. And I silenced him." Her lower lip trembled, and she bit down on it to steady herself.
Lyra had made the potion. He knew her mother had extensive knowledge about potion brewing. According to Lyra, her mother had an entire book filled with notes on how to treat illnesses and other injuries. That would include knowledge of poisons too. But Lyra would've been given ingredients and she didn't seem like the type to want to intentionally cause harm. But what if it was just a façade? What if she really was an assassin? But why murder Prince Benga? Why not Clair? Or himself? Or even the king? That didn't make any sense. She was not motivated.
"I had to do it, Lance," she said slowly, vulnerable once more. "I didn't want to move to some foreign city and live by their customs and live as they lived. Would you? Would you be happy if you were forced to live in another place married to a person you did not love?" Her right hand moved to the amulet around her neck, her fingers running along the surface as if seeking comfort.
"Grandfather-"
She interrupted him raising a hand. "Don't even talk to me about him. He ruined me. He ruined you. He divided our family in pursuit of his own protection to preserve his name. I'm taking control of my life Lance and I'm not going to be told how to live it. Benga wasn't supposed to die - only become temporarily ill and maybe grandfather would see him as an unfit husband. But Lyra intervened and added to much poison."
"And what motivation would she have?"
Clair shrugged. "Never trust a slave, Lance."
He couldn't trust family either. "What are you going to do?"
"Convict Lyra of the crime. She'll be hanged at dawn after the funeral. I encourage you to watch. I will be Queen, and I won't grant her a fair trial. She will take the fall, and I can rule."
Never had he harboured so much distaste towards his cousin until now. Prince Benga's would not solve anything but make matters worse. Eventually, his people would want answers. Clair's selfishness had damned them all, and now even his grandfather was at risk. All this because she wanted to remain here and eventually take power for herself.
"The guards are already checking each of the buildings searching for evidence of poison. Anyone found with possession of suspicions items will be hanged. Once this city is purged of its unruly folk, I will rule in grandfather's place. The death of Prince Benga could be the final nail in the coffin. I doubt he'll live much longer." Her tone was devoid of any emotion. All part of a plan. History was repeating itself. Yet another royal had died of poison within their walls.
He was running out of time. The guards were already on the move and they would find Lyra. He had to find her first otherwise he'd never have the chance to save her. His own cousin. A murderer and she didn't even seem guilty about it. A cold heart with a wicked tongue. "The road to the chasm is paved with good intentions, Clair. I assume you've heard of that concept before." The clerics believed in another realm known as the chasm. It was said all sinners would end up here with the dark god Giratina watching over them. "And I'm not going to follow you there."
"Lance-"
He turned his back. "I won't be part of this."
"If you walk out that door, I will proclaim you to be a traitor."
Could Clair be saved? Was he giving up on her too soon? He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. His grandfather's treatment of her had pushed her down this path. Lance had done nothing to help her. He was just as guilty. He listened to her complaints, but he hadn't done anything to resolve them. Could he have done anything? He was just a knight sworn to serve the crown. Glancing over his shoulder one last time, he spat, "So deem me as a traitor then. I did what I could. I gave what I had to this city. Perhaps I could've done better. I wished I had tried harder to help you, but I failed in that regard. You walk this path alone, Clair."
At the end of the day, he was just as powerless as Clair. Clair planned to take control of her own life - he had to do the same. Without saying another word, he walked out the door, ignoring Clair's desperate cries for him to return. Blackthorn's fate was out of his hands.
Lance was gone. The traitor had turned his back and left her in the dark. She wanted to run after him and call the guards to bring him down to the dungeons, but a part of her wanted to believe he would return. Surely, he'd see sense and return to her side. He was upset. She was in mourning. He would understand. Right? The doors didn't open again. Silence. Wiping her eyes, she stood up from the iron throne and headed towards her grandfather's master bedroom.
Unlike the other rooms in the castle, this one was well lit and furnished. She had placed candles all around his bed to ensure she could see his face clearly and he could see hers. The fireplace helped to keep the room somewhat warm and provided an extra source of light. It was also used to burn any evidence that could be used against the family. On the walls there were paintings of former kings and queens and there was even one of his wife. Edward only spoke of his wife when trying to teach Clair the roles of a royal woman.
Much like her own bed, Edward's one had a red curtain around it. The curtains were supposed to stop pesky flies and other insects. Only the wealthy could afford such a luxury. She heard peasants had to deal with all sorts of troubles including poor bedding and no sheets. A lot of coin had gone into the furnishing of his room. The floors were made of standard timber, but the bed was laid upon a pattered carpet of alternating red roses and green vines. The walls were painted brown and white triangles whilst the ceiling was plain white with real golden trimmings on the edges.
Clair pulled up a chair besides her grandfather's bed and placed a hand against his forehead checking his temperature. He was burning up. She could see the sweat beads clinging to his face. Stroking his cheek tenderly like a mother would to a child, she smiled down at him. "You do not look well at all, grandfather," she said with mock disdain.
"…Clair…" he breathed heavily, moving his left upwards, trying to grab her arm.
She pulled away. "How does it feel grandfather to feel your life slipping away and being powerless to stop it?" He hadn't died yet. But she doubted he would recover from this. The stress of recent events had placed a great strain on his aging heart. Not even the best potions could save the man now and unlike Prince Benga, she wasn't going to intervene. The man was going to die slowly, and she was going to watch him deteriorate. "You made my life a miserable existence. It's only fair that you suffer the same fate in your final days."
"…Help me…" he murmured, drawing in another ragged breath.
"Help you?' she jeered. "No. Why should I help a man who never helped me in return? You married me off to the Unovan prince without even considering my feelings on the matter and you did it for matters outside love. You're no different to the other men. I was just a tool for your game of politics." Her jaw tightened and she drew in a deep breath to steady herself before continuing. "There was a time when I loved you… When I admired you… But I was a foolish naive girl who thought her grandfather was everything. But that little girl has long since gone."
The man coughed. His other hand moved to his chest as if that would somehow lessen his suffering. "…I wanted what was best for you… Clair… please…"
"You wanted what was best for you!" she hissed, grabbing his arm, and digging her fingernails into the skin. "Never did you say that you loved me and not even on your deathbed can you utter those three words. This marriage was a foolish idea and Arceus himself casts his judgement upon you." She withdrew her hand, noticing her nails had dug deep enough to draw blood.
"…I wanted… to secure our legacy…"
She slapped him in the face. He winced in pain. "It always comes back to self-preservation! You're damned legacy!" Again, she drew in a breath to regain her composure. Tears were threatening to spill from her eyes, but she somehow found the strength to hold them at bay. "But there isn't going to be a future for us because you've pushed me away in the name of pride. I am not like your wife. I will not bear children, but I'm sure you already knew that. You knew that the Blackthorn legacy had reached its end. Your hope had already diminished. Your flame for life had died. Like a flickering candle in the dark that meets it ends during a storm."
He coughed once more. Not once, but several times, each cough becoming more violent than the previous. "I wanted to protect you, Clair… From what is to come… The dead… They will rise again… They will come for revenge."
Her mind recalled Agatha's words regarding her family keeping a secret. Was this the secret she had been referring to? He didn't have the numbers for a large army to protect the city, so he used her in a marriage to gain the alliance of another king's forces. What was he so afraid of that he thought it was best to use her like a tool? "The dead?" she repeated.
"…There are things… that I've kept from you… Both you and Lance…"
"Tell me these secrets."
He coughed again, this time flecks of blood spraying out onto the white sheets. "…This war between the mages and our people… It was all because of a forbidden love and the child." A single tear rolled down his right cheek. "Our daughter fell in love with a mercenary. We already had arranged for her to marry someone else. A wealthy fellow from another land. But she defied us and conceived a child with this man. The child was called Lance. His eyes were yellow. We knew then he wasn't human."
Lance. He was one of the wolves her grandfather had deemed a great threat to the kingdom? Impossible. She had known him her entire life and he had never displayed any sort of aggression that was typically associated with the wolves. "…You're lying."
"…I couldn't kill him. I wanted to… I should have… But he was still my grandson. A reminder of my daughter. I asked Agatha to cast a spell on him to suppress his werewolf side and make it dormant. My daughter died during Lance's birth. I blamed her death on magic. Magic made wolves. My logic became scrambled through grief. I ordered all mages to leave or be executed. Agatha said… the boy had to live." He squeezed his eyes shut and wept.
Clair wanted to speak, but words failed to form. "Agatha," she repeated, finding her voice.
He wiped his eyes. "She said it was part of a prophecy," he spluttered. "The moon and the sun."
Lance was supposed to be the successor to the throne, but his wolf heritage would bring shame upon the family name. But even so, he was still important because of some prophecy. Clair scowled, making a fist with both hands, feeling a swell of anger rise within. It always came back to Lance. Once again, her life was of lesser importance to the men around her. This conflict between mages, wolves and their kingdom were because of men. All because of Lance.
"And you didn't think to ever tell anyone?"
"I couldn't do it…"
"You said something about the dead earlier. What do you mean?"
"The Times of Trouble saw conflict between a faction of mages and the humans. These mages were known as the necromancers and they planned to claim this kingdom as their own… Blackthorn is where the priesthood began. Magic is strong here. Their leader Ghetsis had succumbed to disease and the rest of them ran," the man explained, coughing yet again more blood spraying out onto his hands. "The mages want their kingdom back… We can't allow that."
That was one thing she could agree with her grandfather on - preventing the mages from retaking Blackthorn. The city hadn't been theirs for decades. She had no interest in returning the city to the mages. The mages would probably turn them all into slaves and that wasn't a life she wanted for herself. "I won't let them take the city." He coughed again. More blood. She wondered how much time the man had left. Not that she cared. It wasn't as if he cared about her.
"Goodbye grandfather."
Throwing one final glance at her grandfather, she surged to her feet then exited the room. He would die alone.
Perhapshe wasmaking a mistake in walking away from Clair, but she had chosen to walk down a path he couldn't follow her on. Not when there was so much more at stake than family issues. Lyra was the only one who knew the truth behind the poisoning – he had to find her before anyone else did. If the guards found her, she'd be taken before a mob and executed without a chance to defend herself. He hoped he wasn't too late.
Guards were moving from building-to-building entering homes. Sometimes they would exit with a person bound in rope. How could everything spiral out of control so quickly? He tried to think of where Lyra would be hiding, but he had no idea where to even start looking. She could be anywhere in the city. She could already be on her way to the cells. Right now, he wished he knew magic. Something that would allow him to track her down easily. But he wasn't a mage. Just a wolf who couldn't turn. But could he track Lyra down from scent alone?
The curse prevented him from turning into a wolf on a full moon, but did that mean his wolf side was completely inaccessible? He was able to heal faster. He was resistant to elemental magic. He was naturally stronger than other men even if some of them were bigger. Brawley had mentioned using his enhanced senses to track. Maybe it would in finding Lyra too.
"I hope this works," he murmured, turning down a quiet street away from the guards. Could he smell magic? He hadn't tried it before; but surely a wolf's heightened sense of smell would be able to detect it? Brawley had said it was easy to track down magic. Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep breath and tried to focus on his surroundings. He had no clue on what he was supposed to do or if it would even work, but he hoped he'd be able to detect unfamiliar scent if he focused hard enough.
At first, he noticed nothing from the ordinary. His nose picked up on the usual senses – the smell of dirt on the paths, the scent of food from the markets, and the smell of people. His ears picked up on the chatter of peasants, the footsteps of the heavy boots belonging to the guards and the sounds of nature. "I need to focus harder. Think of Lyra," he told himself. "Focus on her. Her scent. Her eyes. Her voice."
He tried to filter out the background noise and focus on more unfamiliar sounds and scents, sniffing the air every couple of moments hoping to detect something foreign. More sounds and scents were picked up; the smell of animal faeces on the shoes of the peasants, the smell of sweat clinging to people's skin, and he even detected the scent of fire from within the castle keep. But where was Lyra? He focused on the sound of her voice, recalling the words she had spoken to him. He even focused on her touch, hoping it would help narrow his concentration.
"Where are you, Lyra?" he murmured, his eyes still closed. He had almost given up hope – there were so many scents and sounds it was hard to differentiate which was what – but then he heard her voice. A whimper and a plea to Arceus. He also caught the strong scent of horse manure which meant Lyra was at the stables. Her voice sounded close. She was at the public stables which were only a short walk down the street he was currently on. A brief grin spread across his face. It had worked.
Before following the path, he made sure to check his surroundings and ensure there were no guards around. The guards would be tempted to follow him. Fortunately, they were preoccupied with an elderly couple. It didn't take him long to reach the stables. Carefully pushing the doors open, he crept inside and gently closed the doors so they would not make a creaking noise. Lyra was sitting before some haystacks, her knees close to her chest, hands wrapped around them.
"Lyra?"
Startled, she released her hands from her knees and immediately surged to feet. "Oh Arceus… You're here to arrest me, aren't you?" For the first time since meeting her, her eyes were filled with fear. How was it that someone from a powerful bloodline could be so helpless and vulnerable? She didn't even try to defend herself. The girl had already resigned herself to her fate.
He walked towards her, both hands raised as if that would bring her some comfort. "I'm not here to arrest you, Lyra."
"But the guards are coming, aren't they?" She turned towards the door, as if expecting the guards to come barging through, but seemed surprised the doors remained closed. "I didn't do it. I didn't murder Prince Benga."
He was within arm's reach now. Without thinking, he grabbed her arms. That caused her to panic. She kicked him below the right knee. With the armour protecting his legs, her kick did little harm. She had probably hurt herself more. Tightening his grip on her arms, he crossed them over to keep them closer together and said, "Lyra. Listen to me," he started his voice low. "I know you didn't kill Prince Benga. You need to calm down or you will attract the attention of the guards. Can do you that for me?"
Biting her lower lip, she drew in a deep breath, and nodded. "I can."
He released his grip on her arms. Her arms dropped to her sides. "Clair intends to have executed at dawn, but I'm not going to allow that to happen. There is a way out of this city where you will not be seen. A secret passageway through the sewers. I can take you there. We can leave together."
"This is your home, Lance. You can't betray your people."
His people. They never really were his people. He forced a dry laugh. "My people? No, I have nothing in common with the people here." Lyra's back was pressed against the wall. She was still tense, cautious. He hadn't earned her trust yet. That bothered him. She viewed him as a potential threat and not as a friend. He supposed he looked intimidating with the armour and sword hanging off the right of his hip. "Lyra, please. I bring you no harm."
Lyra trembled, still shaken from the events. "…I killed him. I killed a prince. It was supposed to be a poison for rats she said. I had help. A soldier helped me gather the poison ivy and the milkweed from the forest and Gary helped me with the remainder of the ingredients. He even helped me brew the potion. He didn't add anything to it, I swear. I was there," she stammered.
Lance frowned. Gary had helped her? But why? He wouldn't have a reason to poison Prince Benga. But what of this mysterious soldier Lyra referred to?
"Who was this soldier?"
"He called himself Morty. Blond hair. Skinny. Dark eyes. He said he was a mercenary. I told him about my parents… I don't know why I did. He just seemed friendly enough unlike the other soldiers who didn't even offer to help me carry out Clair's wishes. He said magic wasn't something to be feared." She brought her a hand to her mouth, gnawing on one of her fingers. A clear sign of nerves. "He helped me find the right herbs… At least, I thought so."
So, Morty had changed the ingredients. "An assassin," Lance murmured. "He's been spying on us the entire time… He knew who you were. Or at least you confirmed his suspicions when you told him your back story."
Lyra looked to be on the brink of tears. "I didn't know, I swear!"
He felt compelled to comfort her, but he worried any sort of contact between them would only unsettle her further. "No one is blaming you."
"Everyone will. I'm not worth anything. Arceus, I'm such a fool. I never should've told him so much about me."
"You didn't know, Lyra. Don't blame yourself."
Unfortunately, Clair would not listen to this story. She needed to lay the blame on someone, and Lyra was the perfect scapegoat. He couldn't risk bringing Lyra to Clair to explain. Clair would have to find someone else to blame. Gary Oak seemed like the next best target. Surely, someone would've seen Lyra with Gary. He'd become a suspect too.
"But you know you can't stay here. Clair won't listen to reason. Not when she played her own part in Benga's death." Lyra had brewed the potion. Gary had aided her in creating it. Morty had helped her find the ingredients and Clair had suffocated Benga with her own hands. Four suspects. One was the temporary queen. The second was a necromancer. The third was the king's advisor's grandson. And the fourth a personal servant. What a mess.
"How did you even find me?"
"I just knew you would be here."
"But how?"
"That doesn't matter."
Silence then, "Why would he target me?"
He debated with himself whether to tell Lyra the whole truth. About the wolves. About the necromancer threat. How would Lyra handle it? She was obviously shaken. But she had to know before someone else told her first.
"Because he could, Lyra."
Her shoulders slumped. "Because I'm just a slave."
"Morty is an assassin, and he didn't want you to leave Blackthorn with Clair, so he acted to keep you in the city by killing Prince Benga." He searched her eyes. She looked away. "You're not going to die here."
A tear rolled down her cheek. "Why do you care?"
He raised a hand and brought it to her face, catching the tear with his finger. She looked at him. He pulled his hand away. "Because you didn't do it. You were used."
Lyra frowned. "You're willing to risk your life to save mine?"
"I swore to protect the people of this city. All people regardless of their status. You aren't just some person, Lyra. You're a survivor." He stopped himself short of telling her more. The woman had been attacked by wolves. How would she react if he told her what he was? "And you were right about me. The mark on my neck. It is a curse sign. I never would've known if you hadn't told me."
"It was just a mark. It could mean anything."
"You were right. It is a curse mark. It might be difficult to understand, but you saved my life," Lance added. She had opened his eyes to the truth – his grandfather's lies and manipulations and his werewolf origins.
"How? I didn't do anything."
"You did more than you think." It was worth the risk. He needed to be honest with her unlike the rest of his family. "I was cursed when I was born. A binding spell like you said." He needed to focus on getting Lyra out of the city, not waste time talking about his life, but he wasn't ready to leave just yet.
She looked at him expectantly. "What sort of binding spell?"
"My father… was a werewolf. My grandfather was displeased, and he asked Agatha to prevent it from happening. So, she made a curse and I've been carrying it ever since."
"You're a werewolf," she repeated, her eyes widening. There it was. A glimpse of fear in her dark eyes.
"Yes and no," he replied, taking a step back to give her some personal space, to show he wasn't a threat. "That curse prevents me from… being a werewolf. I'm not a danger to you, Lyra. I know it's a lot to ask, but you must trust me. I am trying to help you."
That did little to convince her. "Wolves attacked us on the way to Blackthorn," she said slowly, trying to conceal the edge in her tone. "I saw them kill people. I watched them die and I couldn't do anything."
Of course. She still remembered that night. How could anyone forget something like that, especially a person who wasn't a soldier. He had brought those nightmares back. Had he made the distance wider between them? Had Brawley been one of those wolves? "I'm sorry you had to go through that, but you can't stay here. You will die. Please. Let me help you."
Lyra didn't move seemingly frozen in place. "Why do you want to help me? You'd be turning your back on your own family. And don't tell me it's because our lives matter, otherwise you'd be helping your own family first."
"That's perceptive of you," he replied. The girl's mind was sharp. Her mother had taught her well. He raised his hands, and kept his gaze focused on Lyra's eyes. "I'm willing to risk everything for you. I haven't known you for long. Just over a month. But you helped me find the truth about myself. If it weren't for you, I'd be standing at Clair's now supporting her. The baths… the stables… the conversations after… They helped me understand what I am. They opened my eyes to seek the truth. For my entire life, I've lived a lie. I used to think I was noble man; but I'm a betrayer of my own kind." Saying the words out aloud only served to make the truth hurt more.
Lyra's expression remained tense. "You're not a traitor, Lance."
"But I am. I've killed wolves and now I'm turning my back on the other half of my family. Is that not the definition of a traitor? I don't… I don't know where to go from here. Life inside these walls is all I've ever known. I've just blindly followed every order. And now… I must think for myself. I know I said I'd come with you, but I can't leave just yet. I need to find Morty. Learn what I can." He placed a hand on hers. "You don't trust me. I understand. But let me return the favour and help you escape."
"But the guards… How are we going to avoid them all?"
"I can… smell and hear them if I focus hard enough. That's how I found you. Now come on. You're leaving this city." He grabbed her arm and helped her to feet then guided her towards the stable door. He checked to make sure no one was following then led Lyra outside keeping her close, never releasing his firm grip on her arm. "We're heading to the royal stables. The secret entrance is where my horse is."
She nodded. "What are you going to do about this curse of yours?"
"Find a way to remove it."
With her eyebrows raised, she said, "Why would you want to do that? You know what happens with werewolves. They turn into rabid beasts. I've seen them kill," she blurted.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Because it's killing me slowly," he remarked quietly.
"What do you mean?"
"Potions lose their effectiveness overtime. Eventually, they'll stop working and the symptoms I experience will only worsen until this curse is lifted," he explained. "Arceus works in mysterious ways. I've never been a strong believer, but I do think you were brought here for a reason, Lyra," he added, continuing to lead the way towards the stables.
"Right."
He could see torches in the near distance. Guards were still visiting every home in the city. They weren't going to stop until every place had been checked. Fortunately, he was able to sense them coming from miles away and knew which paths to take to avoid them. "You're going to Mahogany Town. There's a man called Pryce who lives there. He's a friend and he'll keep you safe. When you reach the place, send the messenger towards the Sevii Islands and ask for a man called Bruno. Tell him he's been summoned by me. It'll take him a few days to reach the village, but he will come."
Lance moved to the next building, Lyra tagging along right behind him. He poked his head around the corner and found a black dog with a stump for a tail guarding the path towards the royal stables. A dog could cause a lot of commotion.
"You could try talking to it?" Lyra whispered.
He had been so busy focusing on the guards that he hadn't paid any attention to other animals roaming in the streets. "Talking to a dog?"
"Well… I don't know. You're both canines."
"I don't think it works like that."
"We need to get through."
He sighed. She was right. Feeling a little foolish, Lance crouched and cautiously moved closer to the dog, his arms stretched out for balance purposes. The dog's ears stood erect as it slowly climbed to its feet. A low growl started to emanate from its throat. "I don't bring you any harm. We just need to pass. Sit down." He extended his arm towards the canine. The dog opened its mouth, exposing its sharp teeth, but didn't attack. His fingers gently touched the dog's head. Much to his surprise, the canine's eyes closed as it sunk back down into a sleeping position, resting its head between its front paws. "…I can't believe that worked."
Lance moved away from the sleeping dog. "Must be a canine thing," Lyra said.
"Let's keep moving." He continued leading the way through the streets, bypassing the guards and other roaming peasants, until they reached the stables. Lance walked over to his horse's pen then moved the water tray to the side revealing a secret door. He grabbed the handle and lifted it up.
Lyra peered down at the ladder. "How many secret exits are there?"
"This is one of two. The other is in the dungeon but obviously we can't go there."
"And it leads outside the walls?"
He nodded. "Yes. It'll take you to into the farmlands actually and you'll appear at the base of a hill with a single dead tree on it. There'll be a path that will take you to Mahogany Town. It's the road the merchants take. You won't miss it. I will see you there in three days and from there we'll work out a plan for the future."
"…I'm worried, Lance. About you. What if-"
"I'll be fine, I promise."
"…Can you be certain?"
No. He couldn't. He didn't know how much longer his grandfather would have. He was old and tired. His grip on the throne was slipping. Blackthorn would descend into chaos and there was nothing he could do about it. Why save a city that was a home of lies? It was best to leave it behind and watch the entire city become a ruin. Her dark eyes remained on his face, searching his own eyes for assurance. "…I promise you, Lyra. We will meet again." He grabbed her right hand and lowered his head towards it, placing a brief kiss against her skin.
"…But-" She was trembling.
"Get out of here while you have the chance."
She drew in a mouthful of air and nodded, exhaling deeply. Without saying another word, she climbed down onto the ladder and descended into the darkness. Once she had left, he focused his efforts on trying to locate Agatha, and hoped she could be found.
.
Her skin was delicate, her hands having shown no signs of callous like so many other peasants had. There was an innocent charm to her and a natural beauty as well. Most women in Blackthorn found ways to enhance their beauty using natural resources such as berries, nuts, and roots whilst others turned to more obscure measures involving blood of animals. Even the servants dabbled in cosmetics. But Lyra chose not to. It was one of the many things had come to like about her.
"Lance?"
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening. An elderly woman dressed in black stood at the doorway, one arm hanging at her side, the other resting against the doorframe. Her face was slightly obscured by a black veil, but not even that could conceal her identity from him. He had little to do with her – Edward had warned him stating the woman had ill intentions and could not be trusted, but the old man couldn't be believed anymore.
"Agatha," he acknowledged with a tilt forwards of his head.
She looked around, suspicious. "What are you doing here?"
"I want to talk. Please. I mean you no harm. I come here of my own free will seeking advice."
She looked hesitant. He couldn't blame her. After years of silence, it must've been unnerving for her to find a royal knight on her doorstep asking for help. "It's not like I have a choice…" She stepped aside allowing him to enter then closed the door quickly behind him. "Sit down," she said, gesturing towards an empty chair before a fireplace.
He sat down. "I hear you're an expert when it comes to potions."
"You've heard correctly."
"Does your knowledge extend to curses?"
She raised an eyebrow. "And why do you want to know that?"
He tilted his head forward then pointed a finger at the back of his neck. "This. Look for yourself." She walked over to stand behind him, peering down at the mark. "I've been cursed. I was hoping you could reverse it."
She didn't seem surprised. "You've learned the truth then."
He looked up brows furrowed. "You've been waiting for me."
"For many long years now." She walked around the chair and moved towards the fireplace, her back turned to him, her gaze fixated on the flickering flames. "He asked me for help in placing a curse on you to prevent you from triggering your wolf nature. I agreed to help, but for a price. I would be able to come and go as I pleased, and I would be protected. Your grandfather agreed, but he labelled me as a witch. He didn't want you seeking the truth."
Lance surged to his feet. "Then you know how to reverse it."
She turned around and gave him a withering look. "Why would you want to do that, Lance? The werewolf curse is not something to be proud of. I was doing you a favour preventing you from having to endure that life. Why would you want to be a fool and reverse it?" The vehemence in her tone surprised him.
"Because I'll die, and I think you know this. You're testing me. I'm not afraid."
"You'd be a fool not to be afraid." Her expression remained hard, but her tone softened. "Every full moon you'll feel every bone in your body break for the remainder of your life. Why would you want this for yourself?"
Lance stepped in front of her. "There's a war coming, Agatha. The necromancers."
She turned her head sharply to face him. "You know about that too."
"I found corpses with suspicious markings, and the wolves have told me they are planning something. To raise an army of the dead. Grandfather refuses to speak of it, but they have attacked before, and they will do so again. They need to be stopped. People say I'm blessed by Arceus. Grandfather should've had me killed, but I'm here. He had a change of heart."
The woman drew in a deep breath. "You've heard of the prophecy."
"What prophecy?"
"He hasn't told you. Of course. He thought he could defy it."
Lance threw his arms to the sides. "What are you talking about?"
"The sun and the moon prophecy. My mother saw it decades ago. A man born under the light of a full moon would wield the blade that can defeat the shadow. A woman born under the light of the sun would empower the blade with divine energy only a faerie has. The Lightbringer." She walked over to the fireplace and stood before it although there was no fire burning. "Henry Blackthorn won the war with the help of a faerie."
"A faerie?" Lance repeated. Sounded like something out of one of those stories.
"People with divine blood," the woman responded. "The faeries have the power to fight off the shadow. The darkness that will devour your homeland if not stopped. Their magic can turn weapons holy."
He frowned. "So why haven't you told me any of this earlier? If I'm supposed to be part of this prophecy, why hide this information?"
"You weren't ready," she said tonelessly, looking him up and down, unimpressed.
Lance's gaze hardened. "I was never going to be ready. The only reason I'm here now is because of Lyra. She found this mark on the back of my neck and told me it was the mark of a curse. If she had never arrived…" Then they would be unprepared for an attack from the necromancers and the city would fall.
"Everything happens for a reason, Lance. Arceus watches us over. We are part of his plan. Do you really think he would allow the world he created to become undone?" She shook her head. "Lyra, the girl. Her arriving in Blackthorn was always going to happen. Arceus has made his choices."
He frowned, reflecting on Agatha's words. Arceus's plan. The balance of light and darkness. Lyra arriving in Blackthorn. Bringing truth. The light. The Lightbringer. "She's a faerie, isn't she?" Which would explain how she was the sole survivor of her village's attack. How she survived the wolf attack. And now this. Maybe that's why he was drawn to her. Her magic.
"You're smarter than you look."
Lance stepped towards her feeling the warmth of the flames against his skin and frowned ignoring her comment. "I met my father as well. Why did he leave? Did you make him? Was that part of the plan too? Did my mother have to die?"
"Edward blamed Jacob for the death of Tahlia. She was supposed to marry a nobleman, but her affair with a mercenary tainted her. Edward made everyone believe Jacob had raped your mother," Agatha explained, thrusting her hands forward. The sticks burst into flame. She turned back around. "Jacob had turned into a wolf that night to escape death."
All part of some divine plan from Arceus to be used as soldiers in a war against darkness. The cycle of life and death. "Why? Why does it have to be me?"
The woman grabbed his arms then grasped his hands firmly. Her gaze never drifted from his eyes. "No one can ever know the answer to that. We can only interpret the visions Arceus sends us. There will always be darkness in this world, Lance. And there will always be people to fight it and keep the world healthy. Sacrifices will always be made."
"Innocent people are going to die."
"Innocent people will always die, Lance. That is the price of war."
He tore his hands away from her and gave her a scathing look of disgust. "And their lives mean nothing to you."
"That is the balance of the world. We must keep the balance. Upset it and incur Arceus's wrath." She turned to the fire again holding her hands before the flames. "The crown is a poisoned chalice for those who are not worthy of it, but you are the rightful king, Lance. This is your destiny. Hold back the darkness."
"And what if I don't want the throne? I've seen what it does to people." His grandfather had become paranoid. His cousin's desire for power led her to poisoning Benga. "I've no interest in being a king."
"We don't get to choose how we're born, Lance." She turned back to him again. "You have a king's sword. You have royal blood in your veins. You have the strength of a wolf. People respect you. You will succeed because you must. I can remove this curse on you, but my services do not come cheaply."
He frowned. "You want coin? I can give you that."
"My services will not be purchased with coin, Lance."
"Then what do you want?"
She gave him a brief smile. "Claim the throne of Blackthorn and allow magic within the city once more. Your firstborn child will become mine to teach. I will not live forever, and I would like my knowledge passed down before my time ends."
He lifted a brow. "Return magic to the city after several decades of hating it? The people will find that hard to accept, especially when the enemy arrives with their magic." He then frowned, reflecting on the latter half of her words. "My firstborn? My mother died because of me."
"Because she was just a human."
"How am I going to…" He stopped and thought of Lyra. She was a faerie. "Lyra."
"She is the other half of the prophecy."
"But we're not even…"
She placed a finger on his lips. "Every king needs a queen at his side."
He pushed her hand away, frowning. "…You have odd demands."
She grinned. "Reversing the wolf curse does not come cheaply." For someone who looked quite frail, the woman certainly was bold with her demands. She poked him in the chest. "Are you willing to make the sacrifice?"
War always came at a cost. That's what his grandfather had often stated. He tried to avoid wars for this very reason. Wars cost a lot of gold, but lives were also lost, and they could not be replaced. Recovery was slow, and some kingdoms never returned to their former glory. He thought about Agatha's demand. If he didn't agree he'd die before they even had a chance to win. "Fine. I agree to your terms."
"Then I agree to lift the curse." She walked away into the kitchen and returned moments later with a curved dagger stained with blood. He needed the blade had some strange symbols on the steel, but he couldn't make sense of them. "This is cursed dagger forged with dark magic. I used it on you to seal the curse. Now I will take it away. I will stab you with it, but you will not die, however you will feel pain. Close your eyes and leave them closed until I tell you otherwise."
He eyed the dagger warily. Could he trust Agatha not to kill him? It wasn't every day someone offered to stab you with a weapon that could easily kill. "Just get on with it." He drew in a deep breath and braced himself for pain, squeezing his eyes shut as requested. At first, there was nothing then there was a sharp implosion of pain as the tip of the dagger plunged into his chest. He wanted to open his eyes and look, but Agatha had told him not to. Not wanting to risk interrupting the spell, Lance kept his eyes closed, tightening his jaw as the pain spread throughout his entire body. The pain was short-lived; intense even.
"Brace yourself. The curse is about to be lifted."
Lance wasn't sure what to expect. Pain was to be expected. After all, she had just stabbed him with a dagger. The pain was tolerable at the most and he thought the worst had passed, but then he felt a sudden implosion of pain in his lower spine that caused him to topple over onto the ground. He threw his hands forward to prevent his face from contacting the hard surface and uttered a cry of pain when he felt a slow burn spread throughout his body. Every muscle ached. His head throbbed. He felt like he had been stabbed multiple times in different parts yet despise this there was no blood. Fortunately, the pain was short lived.
"And it's done," Agatha said, peering down at him. "You won't feel much different from what you did before, but you will notice a difference on the day of a full moon. Five days remain."
Bringing a hand to his chest, he pressed his fingers in the area Agatha had stabbed him and was surprised to find there was no trace of a wound. He looked down. No blood. No scar. "Nothing."
"I told you there would be nothing."
Lance climbed to his feet. "It's just… Odd. I could feel the blade."
"It's called magic, Lance. Possibilities are endless with magic. We're done here now. Don't return. I'll come and speak with you again when the time is right."
She ushered him towards the exit. He wondered how old the woman really was. Although she had the appearance of an old woman, she movements were swift, and her mind remained sharp. He supposed it was the benefit of being a daughter of an oracle. Perhaps she had found a way to extend her lifespan. Once he was outside, she slammed the door in his face and locked it. He walked away from her home then arched his neck back, gazing up at the sky, his eyes turning to the moon. In a few short days everything would change.