There was one last thing Lance needed to do befoThanks to everyone who continues to support this story.

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Chapter Fourteen: The Edge of Darkness

There was one last thing Lance needed to do before leaving Blackthorn. He had to go and see Lyra. Presumably, Lyra would be at the servant's quarters on the castle ground. Most likely Sheila had already issued the tasks for the day. Every time he saw her, she was always working. Even in her old age, she didn't seem to slow down at all. Eventually, the woman would have to retire, but who would take over? He wasn't sure if any of the current servants could take on such a demanding role.

The door opened. Sheila emerged. "Lance? What brings you here?"

"I just came by to check on things. Everything okay?"

She nodded. "Of course. Everyone is in good spirits. What's on your mind?"

He leaned to the side and looked past her shoulder. Ethan was at the table eating breakfast, but he didn't see Lyra. Had Clair summoned her already? His stomach muscles twisted, a surge of disappointment rising within. Discomforting. He had only known her for a short period of time. Why would he even care about her? Because she's your cousin's personal slave, he told himself. Which meant Lyra was also in his best interests. "I'm here to see Lyra."

"Oh, she's in the kitchen sweeping the floors. Has she done something?"

Lance shook his head. "No, of course not. But I'd very much like to speak with her."

The woman stepped aside, granting him entrance. "Please, step inside. Make yourself at home. You're always welcome here, Lance." She stepped aside allowing him to enter.

He thanked her then entered the humble home as Ethan surged to his feet, but Lance waved his hand, motioning for the boy to sit down. "You do not need to bow in my presence. I am not the king."

"Oh. Right," he stammered, his cheeks turning red slightly.

Lance raised an eyebrow. Was this a common reaction to his presence? He wasn't sure. He didn't spend much time with the commoners. "And even if I were, I wouldn't want anyone bowing for me. Regardless of our social background, the same blood runs through my veins as does yours."

"I'll let her know," Sheila said, walking into the kitchen.

Lance sat down at the table opposite to Ethan. The man seemed to be eating rabbit stew. A strange choice for breakfast, but again it was no different to what the soldiers had. A typical diet of the peasants and soldiers consisted of rabbit, nuts, fruit, milk, and rye whilst the wealthy were treated to a diverse range of fish, poultry, lamb, manchet bread, beef, fruits, nuts, vegetables, honey, milk, and spices.

"Lyra's from my hometown," Ethan said.

He lifted a brow. "How close were you?"

"We were childhood friends. Nothing more than that. I knew her father before he disappeared. A few of us grouped up together to try and find him, but he ran into some bandits instead. They were killed… slaughtered like animals." He paused, seemingly disturbed by something then continued. "…I survived. Arceus knows why I deserved to, but I did."

People seemed to be thankful of Arceus for many things. Lance wasn't a believer. He believed that men made their own paths and not because of some unseen god had laid down a road for every person to take. "What was her father like? And her mother?" He hadn't known Lyra for long, but he knew she was well educated, a rarity for a villager.

"They kept to themselves mostly. They lived in a cottage just by the riverbed. I don't recall her father talking to anyone else in the village, and even her mother rarely communicated with us. I guess they were afraid of making connections. I had to meet Lyra in secret after dark when the adults were asleep."

So, her parents had something to hide then. Weren't villagers usually close? He had heard many stories in books about villagers having strong tight knit communities. But what were they hiding? "So, they were recluse then. What else can you tell me? She seems rather educated. That is a bit strange for a villager and for a woman."

"Her mother was the local witch doctor," Ethan said. "That's what we called her anyway. She always knew how to treat wounds and illnesses. She had this big book. It was an old dusty tome full of recipes to treat illnesses and injuries that she had gotten from her mother." After a pause, he added, "She's not a mage if that is what you're thinking. I never saw her mother casting any elemental spells."

"Mages can heal too," Lance responded slowly.

"And even if she was a mage, she's no harm to any of us. She doesn't even know how to brew the potions in the book," Ethan added, as if desperate to prove Lyra wasn't a mage. "Innocent until proven guilty."

"No harm will come to Lyra."

"She might be different, but she's not a mage."

It would be foolish to commit Lyra of a crime without any evidence. For her own sake, he hoped her mother was just a witch doctor and not something else. If Lyra were found to be a mage, he wouldn't be able to protect her from the law of his grandfather. Before he could ask further questions, Sheila returned with Lyra. The girl had dirt stains on clothing probably obtained from kneeling down on the ground. He stood up.

"Lyra. Forgive me for interrupting you, but we must talk."

He motioned for her to follow him outside. She cast a weary glance at Ethan and Sheila before following him. Once outside, she looked at him, her hands clasped together. "Have I done something wrong?"

Lance closed the door. "No. Nothing of the sort. I'm just… I'm leaving for a few days. I've got something that needs to be done and I don't know if I'll be back in time to see Clair and you leave. I just… The people of Unova are not like us. Their customs and beliefs are different. Clair… will have trouble adjusting. I just…"

"You want her to be safe."

He wasn't even sure why he was even confiding in her. She was just a servant girl. But he felt like he had known her for several years instead of just days. He couldn't quite label what the word was, but she was someone he could trust. "She's the only family I have left aside from grandfather. He's old, and I know he doesn't have much longer for this world. If something were to happen to Clair…" he trailed off, preferring not to finish the sentence.

She reached out to touch his arm as if to provide comfort. Unaccustomed to the gesture, he pulled his arm back upon contact. As if embarrassed, Lyra took a step back, her eyes cast at the ground. "Sorry. I didn't mean to… It's just something my mother used to do when I was young and anxious."

"I should be apologizing," Lance said, an unsettling chill racing down his spine. She didn't look up. An uncomfortable feeling gripped his stomach. Why did her feelings matter so much? She was a servant. His cousin's servant. Her feelings shouldn't matter. Clair would've struck her in the face if she had been touched without permission, but he wasn't Clair. "What you did… I'm not er… accustomed to such gestures." It wasn't that he didn't like it; that strange tingly feeling was just foreign to him. But it was… pleasant?

She still refused to meet his gaze, embarrassed. "I should never have even touched you. It was just instinct. I was out of place."

"Look at me," he said. She slowly lifted her head. Clair had called her plain. Ugly even. But that wasn't the case. With a proper diet, comfortable sleeping quarters and access to a private bathroom, Lyra's overall appearance had improved. Her hair had grown a little past her shoulders and the girl had put on some weight improving her muscle tone. "I'm not insulted or bothered by it at all. It was just unexpected."

"I take it you didn't come here just to tell me to look out for Clair."

He raked a hand through his hair. "…Just… Be careful. Clair is a free spirit; she's addicted to trouble. Even now she's probably scheming of a plan to ensure Benga returns to Unova alone. She listens to me, but I can't be around her all the time to fix up her messes. I can't be that voice of reason nor can I intervene with her marriage to the prince. This is a political marriage; I believe grandfather thinks we're under threat so he's hoping this union will mean reinforcements will arrive should our city come under siege." He hoped he wasn't making her uncomfortable. He seemed to be excelling in that department of the late.

Lyra frowned. "I'll do what I can."

"Then that's all I can ask for." His gaze lingered on her for a few moments longer before he realized he was staring then cleared his throat. "I should be going. I do hope to return before Clair leaves. Do take care of yourselves."

"Of course."

Silence. She looked at him. He looked at her. "Right. I'll be going now." He turned his back and walked away before he embarrassed himself further. When did it suddenly become so difficult to talk to Lyra? He didn't have problems the first two times. She unsettled him. Perhaps it was because Lyra had seen what others had not. The mark on the back of his neck. "Focus, Lance. Stay focused on the task," he told himself. Meet with Bruno and rescue the hostages as quickly as possible then he could return home. He couldn't afford to be distracted by a servant.

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Much to Clair's surprise, Benga didn't demand sex. She knew it was tradition after the wedding the new married couple were to spend the night together to make the bond official. Every time someone was married, they'd be seen with a pregnant belly a few weeks later confirming her theory. Benga wasn't like the other men. Perhaps he was waiting for the moment back at home in his own sleeping chambers. That was fine by Clair. The longer she didn't have to sleep with him, the better.

The ride around the countryside had been pleasant, but it was no different to the one she had gone on earlier in the week. Benga still talked about his dreams of a peaceful world and Clair pretended to be interested. She didn't about his dreams; more about the knowledge he had about the necromancers and the druid. Now that was interesting. She supposed the man did a lot of reading in his spare time; at least he wasn't stupid like many of the soldiers were. Maybe he'd tell her more about it.

But for now, she was going to enjoy the last few days she had left in the city. With her newly purchased amulet around her neck, she headed towards Karen's home. Karen lived outside the city walls in the farmlands. Her mother was a dressmaker and her father looked after the cattle. Karen herself was a dressmaker, but she spent more time enjoying her life than working. Still, Karen was her only friend.

She marched across the grass, holding her white dress's hemline up so the edges wouldn't touch the ground. As she made her way across the farmland, she made note of the farmers working on the fields. Some of them were herding the sheep; others were collecting their fruits and vegetables from their gardens. She even saw some of the mill workers running across the field carrying bags of flour towards the bakery. Poor lads, she thought. It was usually children who worked at the mills carrying bags.

Clair approached the door. Karen's home was one of the typical huts made of wood with a roof made of dry hay. Fortunately, the house had a place for a chimney. The winter months were tough especially for the non-wealthy folk who couldn't afford warm clothing. She knocked on the door. Once. Twice. A third time. On the third knock the door swung open.

"Clair? I didn't think you'd be visiting today," Karen said.

"I needed a chance to breathe and clear my mind."

"Right, the aftermath of the wedding. Well. Spill. Juicy details please."

Clair entered the house. Karen closed the door. Her house wasn't anything special. There were just three rooms: a kitchen with a fireplace for cooking and a table with chairs for eating. The other two rooms were for sleeping: one for her parents and the other room for Karen. All the washing and cleaning was done near a small lake which was no bigger than the training yard of the barracks. "Nothing happened."

Karen folded her arms and pouted. "Seriously? Nothing at all? Wow. What a boring marriage that is going to be." She then placed her arms on Clair's shoulders. "Well. You're here now. I'm going to help you take your mind off this boring marriage stuff. We are going to the slave pits and we are going to watch them fight."

"That's what I was hoping to hear."

With a smile, Karen added, "Excellent. So, tell me. What's this Prince Benga like?"

"You weren't there at the wedding?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I should've been there, but mother needed help finishing off a job for someone. I couldn't say no to my own mother… but I'm sure you looked fantastic as always. So many women in Unova are going to be jealous of you. So many girls have those dreams of marrying a prince."

"I don't know about that. Benga isn't really attractive." He didn't have any remarkable features that stood out to her. She couldn't even quite remember his face. If he looked like Gary Oak, then she'd remember his appearance. "He's not even a soldier. Benga prefers to solve conflict with words, and he likes to read a lot."

Karen raised an eyebrow. "He reads and doesn't like to fight? Wow. That is odd. Looks like your man isn't one of action." She pretended to look disappointed.

"But enough about Benga. I just married the guy yesterday. I don't want to talk about him. I'm going to enjoy my last few days of freedom here before my life becomes a total bore." She wouldn't see grandfather again. Or Lance and Clair for that matter. The only people she cared about. Maybe she could convince Benga to return home every couple of months.

"It doesn't have to be that life," Karen said.

"Of course, it does. Are you suggesting that I try to run away?"

She shook her head. "No, I mean… Look. People die all the time. Benga could have an accident. He might be a prince but he's still mortal."

"I'm not a murderer, Karen."

"You could hire someone to slip some poison in his drink. It happens quite often though you wouldn't hear about that sorta thing in the castle walls. Henry Blackthorn was killed by poison, right? But it's common among the lower-class peasants and those forced marriages. I'm just saying… it's an idea. You could even make it look like a suicide."

Clair raised a hand. "We are not having this discussion. I am not killing anyone. Poison is an act of cowardice and I'm not going to shame myself by resorting to such an act." That wasn't to say she hated the idea – it was certainly tempting – but she was not some lowly peasant. She didn't want to become the first royal in history to poison a prince. Her family name would be permanently damaged.

"It's just a suggestion, that's all."

"Yeah, well, and it's one that won't become a reality."

Poison is a powerful tool.

The voice of the amulet again. How was it even able to speak? She did her best to ignore it. No time to allow the priest to get inside her head. Surely, it was just the effects of the ancient magic right? It wasn't as if there was anyone, she could speak to about it. They would think she was crazy. Maybe Benga might know a thing or two about amulets. But would he judge her for having one? Maybe she could just bring it up in a casual conversation. But he'd soon find out about the amulet. Everything she owned was now his after all.

"Clair? Hello?"

Karen waved a hand in her face. Clair frowned. "I'm listening. Just thinking that's all."

"Not about Benga I assume."

"Arceus, no. I don't want to make myself sick."

"Well, good. I don't want you being sick in my house. Anyway. The Slave Pits will be open tomorrow during the night hours. It's chaotic, and things do get a little tense, but it's all good fun. I would suggest making yourself look more like a peasant though. Maybe cover your hair. It's very distinguishable. But I will see you at the public baths. There's a man there that will take us to the underground path that leads to the Slave Pits."

Clearly, Karen had been several times before. "Right. I'll return home then and find something suitable for tomorrow's events." Perhaps she could even investigate the amulet even further. "Good day to you. Take care." She didn't say another word and let herself out of the house, returning to her home in the castle.

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Lance rode out towards the meeting place, leaving the mountain range behind him. As Bruno had promised, he was waiting under the tree, looking towards the horizon. Dark storm clouds billowed in the distance, a hint of dangerous events to come. He hoped not to get caught in the rain as there'd be nowhere to seek shelter until they reached the bandit camp at the docks.

"You seem a little distracted," Bruno said, looking at Lance with a frown. His chestnut brown stallion was a few metres away grazing in the fields eating grass. The man was leaning against the tree, his arms folded across his chest.

Lance shook his head, stopping by the tree on his white stallion. "I was just dealing with things back at the castle, that's all," he replied. His thoughts drifted back to the conversation he had with Ethan about Lyra's parents. Lyra's mother was a mage or at least practiced in the arts of healing. "If you learned that Lorelei was a mage, would that change your opinion of her?"

Bruno shook his head. "No, it wouldn't."

"How did you meet her? And how did you know she was perfect for you?"

He climbed onto his horse. "What has you so interested?"

"My cousin's wedding had me thinking."

"That was arranged."

"Still, some people have weddings freely."

Bruno shrugged. "I suppose, but it's rare. To answer your question, I knew her as a child before I came to Blackthorn. She was the one who taught me how to pick locks. But she's moved on from that life of thievery now and she wants a proper life. Her grandparents have a farm up north on an island."

"How did the pirates become involved in all of this?"

"I left Blackthorn and came to visit her in Violet City where we promised to meet, but I heard there was trouble from the Elder Li. A group of women had gone to visit the beach in Olivine City to collect some resources, but pirates had also landed. Lorelei would've been with them to help," Bruno explained.

Lance sighed. "My grandfather said there were stories of trouble between Violet and Olivine City. It seems he was right about something at least."

With a teasing grin, Bruno said, "Has someone caught your eye?"

"No," Lance replied abruptly. "What makes you think that?"

"It's just… Well. You've never asked me such a question before, and you've had plenty of opportunities. I know you're not allowed to marry until retirement, Lance, but that doesn't mean you can't love even if it's in secret. It's perfectly normal to feel something for someone that isn't yourself or family. Someone who can trust. Someone who makes you feel safe. Why do you think I wanted to leave Blackthorn?"

Lance shook his head. "Not possible."

"And why is that? Because of your grandfather? How's he ever going to know? Do you have someone in mind?" Bruno pulled on the reigns and urged his horse to start walking by squeezing his legs tightly behind the horse's girth.

So many questions yet he lacked answers. He preferred to call it mild curiosity. Was Lyra a mage herself? What about both her parents? Lance prompted his horse to move forward to follow behind Bruno. "Not in the way you think. My cousin has a new servant. Her name is Lyra and she's from New Bark Town. Well educated and she's not hesitant to get her hands dirty. Her mother was trained in healing all sorts of illnesses and injuries. Both parents were killed by bandits."

"Ah, so that's why you asked the question earlier about whether or not my feelings would change if Lorelei was a spell caster." He walked his horse down the gentle slope. Once on flat land, he urged his horse into a canter. "And I'll give you the same answer. No. I wouldn't care if she were a mage, a vampire, what have you not. We're no different, Lance. We're all still human. We breathe the same air. Not all mages are bad. Just like not all soldiers are good. You must decide that yourself. Believe in what others believe or make your own decisions based on what you feel is wrong and right."

The man raised a fair point. Good and evil, chaos and order, it didn't discriminate. Had he been wrong to blindly follow his grandfather's beliefs for all these years? But his grandfather had lived through the ordeals of the Times of Trouble. He had seen with his own eyes the power of the mages and the chaos it could cause if left uncontrolled. But what is he was wrong? What if it was simply his own fears that made him resent the mages so much, he thought they were an enemy? After all, wasn't it a mage who had kept him alive? Wasn't a mage responsible for helping Henry slay the dragonite?

"I just…" He hesitated. What did he want?

Bruno gestured ahead. There was nothing but a field of grass to cross. Many centuries ago, a battle had been fought here. They called it the Bloodied Fields. Hundreds of men had died on this very ground, fighting for kings and queens who didn't fight themselves. What was it all for? What exactly was he fighting for? Peace? He didn't know. Guilt poured through him. He was questioning the king, his grandfather.

"Just because he's the king it doesn't mean he's always right, Lance."

"He's not just the king. He's also my grandfather."

They rode across the grass, the gentle northerly breeze providing small relief from the rays of the sun. Blackthorn's climate was usually quite mild for most of the year, but some days were quite humid. Today was one of those days. He could feel beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. Wearing chainmail armour didn't help much to keep cool. Bruno fortunately had chosen to wear light armour made of animal hide. It didn't provide much protection, but it was lighter and cooler.

Bruno sighed. "I'm not going to repeat myself, Lance."

"Good. I didn't want to hear it anyway." He rode on ahead, seeing the clouds briefly light up. A faint rumble of thunder followed moments afterwards. The storm was moving fast. He urged his horse into a gallop. As if unsettled by the oncoming storm, his horse responded. "We're not going to accomplish much in this weather. We'll stay the night in Violet City."

"Can't argue with that." Bruno's stallion soon caught up and overtook the lead.

Bruno didn't say another word and Lance didn't speak up. There wasn't much else to be said. All he could do was reflect on Bruno's words about loyalty. Was he wrong to feel doubt and question his grandfather's motives?

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The prince was currently in a private conversation with her grandfather. Clair had no idea what the men were discussing but it was probably something to do with politics and economics. The usual topics men liked to talk about that women weren't to be involved in. Whilst the men busied themselves with political talk, she sat down on her bed with the amulet in her hands. Such a unique looking item, she thought.

The amulet was made of gold with a blood-coloured ruby. At first, she had thought the gem was a ruby, but upon closer investigation she noticed the stone was clear and it was filled with red liquid. Probably blood. She screwed up her nose in disgust, yet she didn't pull away. It was probably the blood of the priest who owned the item. Maybe it was a way of keeping him connected to the world of the living and now through ancient powerful magic he was trying to communicate with her.

She was curious to know why. Perhaps he had a message to share. But how could she contact the priest? People within Blackthorn feared magic thanks to her grandfather's teachings, but she was fascinated by it. Distrustful of it, yes, and a bit cautious, but it wouldn't stop her from pursuing it further. Perhaps the priest was trying to warn her of danger.

"Talk to me," Clair said, gazing down at the amulet.

No answer.

"How can I get you to communicate with me? Show me a sign." She shook the amulet.

Still nothing.

Maybe if she dropped it on the floor, she'd get a response. The amulet was made of magic or so the woman had claimed. She assumed it wouldn't break. Only one way to find out. She released the amulet. It landed before her feet and caused a mild tremor in her room. Fortunately, there were no cracks on the walls or the floor, nor did she hear any screams or yelling coming from the other rooms so no one else had noticed. It had been just her room. She bent over and picked it up again checking for damage. Nothing.

Who dares to disturb me?

There. A voice at last. A deep booming voice in her head. "I'm Clair," she said aloud, unsure of herself. Was she supposed to communicate out aloud or communicate with her mind? There was no answer. My name is Clair, she thought.

Clair? It has a woman's voice. Can it be? A woman speaking.

Although the priest couldn't see it, Clair glared. That's right, she thought. I'm a female. A royal princess. You should talk to me with respect.

Women do not talk. Women do not read. What world is this?

The priest's words made her thankful she hadn't been born in the time of the priests' circle. What a miserable life that would've been. A better world, she thought. Your amulet belongs to me. I want to know about it. Why did you make it?

Protection. Protect ourselves from the rising dead. I warned them. The dead will rise again. They did not believe me. Nathaniel. He trapped us in different tombstones. For our protection, he said. We were buried alive. He promised we would rise again, but the spell was interrupted. The only part of us that lives is within our relics.

And she was holding one of them now. How many relics are there?

Three. One lies with Nathaniel that grants the power to read memories of the fallen. My relic grants sight. And the third rests with the one they call the Master, the Betrayer. It takes life to give to another.

A relic that granted sight? Maybe the priest could grant her a vision of the life with Prince Benga. That would be useful to know. Grant me sight. I want to see the future. Prince Benga, she thought. The priest made a noise which she interpreted as one of annoyance. Most likely he wasn't accustomed to being given orders, but he didn't get a say. It seemed like since she was in possession, she was in control. He was her servant now; after all, he had answered her questions. If he had free will, he wouldn't be allowed to be ordered by a woman.

Grasp the amulet tightly and close your eyes. She did as commanded, squeezing her eyes shut. Her eyes did not remain closed for long when a sharp prick of pain imploded in both her hands, causing her to reopen her eyes. Casting her eyes downwards, she noticed blood seeping out of two dot size holes. Blood magic. He was using her blood to fuel his magic. A less brave person would pull away, but she wasn't afraid. She wanted knowledge. Obtaining knowledge required sacrifice. Knowledge gave way to power. She kept her hands on the amulet, closing her eyes shut once more.

She was running across a dusty winding path, one hand covering her mouth, whilst her other hand battling the smoke clouds away. The smell of fire was filling her nostrils, her eyes stinging from the smoke, but she had to keep moving. Plague had spread throughout the city and now thieves had run riot to loot coin off the corpses. Even the castle inhabitants had succumbed to the plague; only a small few had escaped the horrors of the illness. It started with a feeling of burning in the forehead followed then by intense nausea lasting a day. Blood would seep out of the ears, eyes and the mouth until the person bled to death.

She didn't want to be here. She needed to escape. But she wasn't familiar with the streets. She kept running aimlessly, hoping to find a haven someplace, but the thieves were everywhere. Vision limited, she stumbled through the smoke, fighting the urge to scream for help. That would only draw unnecessary attention. She kept running until her foot caught the tip of a corpse's foot. Tumbling forward, she threw her hands before her face to protect herself as she hit the ground. Unable to help herself, she uttered a cry of pain. Her right foot had landed on a poor angle. Now she was at the mercy of the thieves. There was no prince to help her.

The vision ended. Clair's eyes opened, her heart hammering in her chest. Plague would grip the city soon. No one could save her from that. She'd meet an early death in the streets to a group of ruffians. Why wasn't Prince Benga at her side? Had he already perished? Or had he fled? She didn't know. The vision was limited. One thing was certain. She wasn't going to die in a foreign city. Her thoughts drifted back to the conversation she had with Karen.

Poison. It was a coward's tool, but better to be a coward than be dead in a city where no one cared. She'd make a non-lethal dose for the prince. It would be just enough to send him back home, so his own people could look after him. She would stay in Blackthorn; her grandfather would not risk sending her away too. All she needed was a few ingredients. She only knew of one poison – it was used on the rats down in the cellars, but it wasn't lethal to humans.

A plan quickly formed. The ingredients could be easily obtained from the tavern as they were used in cooking recipes. The only ingredient not available at the tavern came from a bush beyond the castle walls. She'd send her servant to retrieve it from a rose bush with poisonous thorns. Then she'd brew a drink. The prince would take it then he'd feel a dull ache in his stomach for a few days. It would be followed by a fever, vomiting and a general weakness throughout the body. Rats died within a few days, but they were much smaller creatures. A human would recover after a week. That's what Karen had told her. The woman had seen it with her own eyes and Karen wouldn't lie to her.

Should anyone blame her for the poisoning of Benga, she'd point a finger at the servants namely Lyra. The girl was still relatively new and inexperienced; she would make the perfect scapegoat should the accusations come her way. She put the amulet down on the bedside table swapping it out for a note and a quill. She didn't know where Lyra was right now, but the message would reach her. Sitting down on the bed, she laid the paper on the table and wrote down a list of ingredients. The future wasn't so bleak after all.

.

"I can't recall the last time I had set foot within Violet City's walls," Lance remarked almost in a yell as he competed with the bucketing downpour of rain. "It's a shame the weather is unkind today." The city was infamous for its field of violet flowers, and people from all over Johto would travel just to witness the blossoming event.

The city itself was built around a clear blue lake, and the borders were made of trees. Cobblestone paths covered every inch of ground within the wall, and a single tower overlooked the city. It was not a defensive outpost, but rather a place of spirituality and healing overseen by Elder Li.

Night had almost fallen. Normally, he'd be able to catch the moon's reflection in the lake, but the thick grey clouds covered every inch of sky. Drenched from head to toe, Lance and Bruno entered through the city gates and travelled along the paths, doing their best to avoid all the puddles that were forming in the uneven ground.

The streets were mostly deserted. Most people were in the shelter of their houses, but he did spot a few stragglers walking around the city. Mostly children who found the rain a perfect opportunity to play outside and avoid work. He ignored them and followed Bruno along a short bridge towards the tower.

"We can tie our horses here," Bruno said, climbing off his horse. He grabbed the reigns and guided his horse towards a patch of grass beneath some trees behind the tower.

Lance followed, and guided his horse over another small bridge, the wood shaking slightly under the weight of two horses. He reached the other side and tied his horse to a tree, and grabbed a satchel of liquid from his horse, attaching it to his left thigh. The horse didn't even seem to mind the rain and started eating grass at his hooves. Once Bruno had secured his horse, Lance led the way to the tower. The door was already open.

It was warm inside, a stark contrast to the cool air outside. He bent down and removed his footwear and tipped them over to remove the water that had built up inside. Not a comfortable sensation.

"Prince Lance of Blackthorn?" A young male with bright blue eyes and unruly brown hair entered the room. The boy was dressed in simple white robes. "It is an honour to see you, my lord," the boy added and dropped to the ground on both knees to bow his head.

"You do not need to bow. That is unnecessary. On your feet."

The boy climbed to his feet and lifted his chin. "Elder Li is upstairs." He raised a hand and pointed to a wooden stairwell leading to the room above.

Lance led the way and ascended the stairs, each step causing the steps to creak. He grabbed onto the railings for support, as if that would somehow help. Up ahead, he noticed a few loose floorboards and a gaping hole. "This place could certainly do with a bit of maintenance," he murmured.

On the other side of the gaping hole, he found Elder Li sitting down cross-legged on a green circular carpet before a painting of the sun and the moon. Lance moved around the hole and walked slowly across the floor, as if he feared fast movement would make the floorboards beneath him collapse. Fortunately, the floor remained intact.

"Elder Li?"

The old man climbed to his feet and turned around. He too wore the same white robes the boy downstairs had been wearing, only this man had a golden sash around the waist. "Prince Lance of Blackthorn. A pleasure to have you grace my home with your presence." He then looked at Bruno and nodded.

"I've been told there's been trouble with pirates in the area."

Elder Li shook his head. "Not pirates. Not this time. Something else."

"What exactly happened?"

"A few of the women in the city decided to collect shells from the beach in Olivine. These shells are collected then used in jewellery to be sold at stalls later in the year. None of the women have returned. It's been three days since they went missing," the man explained. He walked over to an open window and peered outside looking towards the sky. "We've heard of strange happenings in the campsite near the lighthouse., but none of our people are well-equipped to investigate."

Lance looked at Bruno. Bruno looked back at him but said nothing. All he did was shrug his shoulders. "My friend and I will investigate this campsite as soon as the rain eases. We'll find these women and bring them home."

"I know you will succeed," Elder Li said. After a few moments of silence, the man added, "There's something else you should know. The locals have seen wolf prints in the forest nearby."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "Wolf prints?"

"Yes. A single wolf."

"Are you sure it's a wolf? It could be a wild dog."

"I have seen the prints myself and they belong to a wolf. I might be old, but I have not forgotten what a wolf's prints look like." He turned away from the window and looked at the painting. "When the full moon is out, the wolf is at its most dangerous."

An image of Brawley appeared in his mind. Had the man moved to this part of the region? If he was behind the kidnapping, what were his motives? To lure him back out into the open again? He failed to understand the man's motives. "I'm not afraid of any wolf."

"That is why I specifically asked for you to come. I sent a message to your grandfather." Elder Li looked towards Bruno. "I had expected you to come alone, but any help is appreciated."

"Bruno's a long-time friend and he's served Blackthorn well."

"I don't mean to interrupt, but what's the deal with the painting of the sun and the moon?" Bruno said, standing before the painting and looking up at it.

"Light and darkness," Elder Li replied. "The sun and the moon."

"Right, well, it's a nice painting."

"A woman called Agatha gave this painting to me."

Agatha. That was a name he recognized. The woman who had placed the curse upon him. "Agatha has been here?"

"Every few months she will stay here and help the healing of the wounded."

"What sort of afflictions?"

"The usual. Bug bites, infections from grazes, head colds… Nothing that can't be treated with the right herbs."

He considered telling Elder Li about the crescent moon mark on his neck but decided against it at the last moment. The man might assume he had been inflicted by some evil spirit and needed to stay here at the tower to be healed, and he didn't have time to waste. Every day spent away from the castle meant another day without seeing Clair. Lance poked his head out the window. The rain had eased. For now. "We'll head out in the morning."

"You may stay here the night and wait out the storm."

"Thank you," Lance said.

"My home is your home, Prince Lance of Blackthorn." The man bowed.

Bruno stifled a yawn then laid down on the ground. "I'll see you in the morning."

Lance didn't reply and made himself comfortable on the carpet instead. He closed his eyes and soon fell asleep.