Another chapter, but not like anyone actually cares anyway. But oh well.

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Chapter Twenty-Three: For Honour and Glory

Silver's dreams of leaving the city had come to an end – a temporary one for the city gates were closed to all citizens because of Prince Benga's death. Unfortunately, it meant he had to stay within Blackthorn for another or day before he could commence his journey and locate Giovanni and finally free himself from the man.

Whilst most of the peasants were gathering at the castle courtyard, Silver had chosen to walk through the slums one last time, reminding himself of the life he was leaving behind. Many of the slaves had attended the funeral. He didn't understand why – it wasn't as if the man cared about any of them, but he supposed time away from doing menial labour was better.

He walked down through the street, making a face as the scent of waste filled his nostrils. With the slave at the funeral there was no one currently available to clean the streets, but no one seemed to care. This was the slums after all. As he continued to walk through the street, he heard weeping from one of the rundown houses. The place was familiar. Jasmine's house. Curiosity awakened, he walked towards the building and approached one of the windows peering inside.

He witnessed a sight he never thought he would ever see. Surge, the blacksmith, was kneeling on the ground before a woman, holding her body in his hands. Jasmine. There was blood around her and some shattered glass. He didn't need to be inside to know what had happened. The girl had stupidly killed herself. He had given her a chance to escape with him and leave the city, but she had refused. Why had she refused his offer?

It was possible that Surge had killed the girl in a drunken blind rage. Maybe he had struck her, and she had fallen over and hit her head and now he was mourning her death. But would he care? How many people shed tears for their fallen slaves? Had Surge been in love with her? His body bristled with anger at both Surge and Jasmine. Jasmine had deserved better, but the girl had refused to run away with him. She had brought this end on herself. So why could he not walk away?

Jasmine didn't mean anything to him. She was just another unfortunate person caught in a bad situation. He should just walk away and leave, but his legs didn't want to move. The girl had suffered at the hands of Surge. It was because of Surge she had lost the will to fight. The damage had been done. He looked around to his right, his left then to his right again checking for any signs of guards or peasants. Nothing. He was alone.

Jasmine couldn't be brought back from the realm of the dead, but he could avenge her. Kill Surge. The man was larger than he was – but he was distracted by grief. That would be his undoing. He walked towards the door and placed a hand on it, carefully placing his hand on the door. The handle was shaped as a ring, but fortunately in his grief Surge hadn't closed the door properly. Perhaps Arceus had blessed Silver by keeping the door unlocked. It made sneaking into the house much easier.

He pushed it open gently as to not draw attention. The man was still focused on Jasmine's crumpled form. All it would take is a strong blow to the head and he could knock the man unconscious. He was so caught up in Jasmine's death that he hadn't even heard Silver enter the building. The only weapon he had on him was a small kitchen knife. But despite its size it could still silence the man forever.

Curling his fingers around the hilt of the blade, he crept closer to the grieving man. All it would take is a swift strike to the neck and the man would hopefully bleed out on the floor. But before Silver could take another step forward, Surge lowered Jasmine's body to the ground and wiped his tears away. He looked down at her corpse and said, "Stupid bitch. We could've had a better life," he spat.

Silver clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around the knife. Out of all the people Jasmine could've ended up serving it had to be Surge. Silver had never liked the man – there was something unsettling about him – but he had never thought he'd be one of the cruel masters. The man turned around. His eyes were red. "You killed her," Silver started.

Surge shook his head. "I recognize your face… You're the slave that won his freedom in the pits."

"And you're the blacksmith."

He gestured his head towards the girl then looked back at Silver. "Was she your friend? Is that why you're here now? You come looking for revenge?"

"No. But she didn't deserve this end." The slaves died and no one seemed to bat an eye, but when someone of a higher rank did, the entire kingdom mourned. The guilty go unpunished and the innocent die. "You took away her will to live."

"Why do you even care? You won your freedom." The man grabbed a bottle of ale off the table.

"Because I know what it is like to be slave. I know how it feels to have your dignity robbed from you. You took hers. She lost the will to live. That's what we are to you people. Just tools to use." Just like his father. The man didn't care about him at all nor about the men who served beneath him. "What makes you more deserving of life than us? You're nothing special. You live here in the slums."

A muscle jerked in Surge's jaw. He had touched a nerve. Good. "I could kill you, boy. You're nothing. No one will grieve for you when you're gone."

Silver gave a sardonic laugh. "You've been drinking. You'll trip over your own two feet. Killing you would be satisfying, but what would it do? You're dying inside already – why bring your end faster? Much better to have a slow death." He lowered his knife. Killing Surge would not achieve anything. Better to let the man die slowly. "Killing you would be a waste of my time and energy. I came here to say goodbye to someone I couldn't save. Now I realize you can't save anyone. Some people don't deserve to be saved and others don't want to. And others deserve to live so they can suffer. Death is just an easy way out of living."

He cast a glance at Jasmine once more then turned around to leave.

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"Falkner died a hero," Morty repeated aloud as he approached the imposing city gates of Blackthorn. No one needed to know the true circumstances of Falkner's death – all Chuck and the barracks had to know was that he gave up his life so Morty could live to fight another day. "Open up the gates!"

The gates creaked open. Brock rushed over to him. "You're back."

Morty stepped through. "Yes. What did I miss?"

"Prince Benga was found dead, poisoned. Can you believe that? Now the king has ordered that no one can leave the city until the culprit has been found. Chuck has given permission to all soldiers to check every building," Brock explained. "I am to remain at the gate here."

So, the prince had finally died. Far quicker than he had expected. Clair had acted quick. "Dead? Poisoned? How is that even possible?" he said, feigning disbelief.

Brock looked around, as if he were expecting trouble, then turned back to Morty. "I don't know, but they think it was one of the servants behind the poisoning. I mean, that's wild, right? The former king had died the same way and we can't say it was magic this time." He then scowled. "There are rumours that new girl was involved – Lyra. Clair's personal servant."

"I doubt it, Brock. What reason would she have?"

Brock shrugged. "Some people don't need a reason to commit evil."

Morty sighed. "Well, it's not really our concern." He tried to move past the gatekeeper, but Brock blocked his path. Suppressing another sigh, Morty said, "What is it?"

"You should check the tavern."

"I would've thought the others would've checked that place by now."

"People don't always see everything they need to on their first visit." He walked over to the lever to close the gate. "Wait. Wasn't Falkner with you? I swear he had left with you."

"He died a hero. I'd rather not talk about it. I have a tavern to check."

Before Brock could ask another question, Morty walked around him and headed towards the tavern. Now was the perfect opportunity to check inside and search for the sceptre. Once he obtained it, all he needed was the amulet from Clair and he could leave before someone connected the poisoning to himself.

The tavern was empty. What was usually a place of laughter and conversation, was now like a graveyard. The city was in lockdown, and it seemed no one could visit the tavern during this time. Perfect. It made things so much easier for him. He pushed open the door. Only Gary and Tracey were around cleaning up the tavern.

Tracey looked up. "We've already had a few soldiers come through. We're not hiding anything."

"I've been asked to check again. Someone might've missed something."

Tracey shrugged his shoulders. "All right. But you're wasting your time."

Morty headed towards the stairs leading to the upper floor. "I need to check the rooms."

"The other soldiers already have," Gary said.

Those who had something to hide were reluctant. "Well, if your room is clean then you don't have anything to worry about. It won't take long, I promise. Just a thorough check, that's all. You don't want to end up with a rope hanging around your neck, do you?"

Gary didn't say anything. His shoulders dropped in defeat.

"Excellent."

"But I'm coming with you. It's my bedroom."

"Not a problem." He followed Gary upstairs towards his room.

"What exactly are you hoping to find?"

"Something. Anything. I think it was that servant girl. What's her name again, Lyra? I accompanied her into the woods to find some milkweed and poison ivy. She was hoping to brew a poison potion of some sort… to kill the prince."

Gary shook his head. "And what motivation would a slave have in killing a foreign prince?"

Morty sighed. "Lyra's the personal servant of Clair. Consider this. Clair doesn't want to be in a forced marriage with a man she doesn't love. Who can blame her? I certainly wouldn't." He paused for dramatic effect then continued. "Problem solved. Just ask your personal servant to collect some ingredients to kill a man and then lay all the blame on your slave. Who is going to question the princess? No, the blame will fall on Lyra's shoulders. She was the one who collected the ingredients."

"You helped her with the ingredients."

"Because she told me she was collecting poison for rats. I'm a soldier. My duty is to serve."

Gary snorted. "Lyra's innocent."

Morty gave him a defiant look. "You helped her. That makes you guilty by association."

"I never said I was helping her."

"You're quick to defend her. Surely, you must have your reasons."

Gary glared. "She would never plot to kill the prince."

"And how do you know that? Can you really trust anyone? You don't know what darkness lies in their hearts, do you? Your friends could be your greatest foes."

They reached the door to Gary's room. He inserted a key then pushed the door open and stepped aside allowing Morty through.

Once he was inside, Gary closed the door behind them, folding his arms across his chest. "You don't really care, do you? About the death of the prince?"

"Am I really that transparent?" Gary's room wasn't much. There was a bedside drawer on the right of the bed and a lone cabinet. There was also the single bed itself. He supposed Gary didn't really need to store much aside from clothing since all the food and drink could be found downstairs in the storage area.

Morty headed over towards the bedside dresser and started opening the drawers searching for anything that looked like a sceptre. Nothing. Just neatly folded clothing. The second drawer had some old dusty books. He counted three in total. One was about cooking recipes. The second book about types of ale and the third was focused on plant life. He picked it up and showed Gary. "This could be used against you. Poison ivy and milkweed. I'm sure they're included in the book… But you're right. I don't care about finding the culprit." He put the book away and closed the drawer.

"So why are you here then?"

"Following orders," Morty replied, dropping down to his knees to open the third drawer. He peered inside and found soap and a scrubbing brush. Cleaning materials. How boring. He closed the drawer and rose to his feet then looked around the room again, his gaze focusing on the cabinet. Unlike the drawers, the cabinet had a keyhole. He had something to hide. "I'm a soldier. I don't have to agree with everything my superiors say, but I get paid well." He walked over to the cabinet.

"You'll need a key," Gary called out.

Morty stood before the cabinet then glanced over his shoulder at Gary. Holding out a hand, he said, "Well, you should probably give it to me… Or you could open the door yourself. Your choice." Gary was powerless. He couldn't do anything to prevent Morty from searching his room or risk being reported to the authorities. Never had he seen a man look so defeated.

Digging a hand into his pocket, Gary walked over and pulled out a small silver key. He inserted it into the keyhole, turned it clockwise until he heard a click then pulled the door open.

He stepped aside and Morty peered inside. Two shelves. The top shelf had some old paintings and broken decorations. The bottom shelf had more clothing. No sceptre. Unless… it was hidden under the layers of clothes.

"What are you doing? I don't think you're going to find evidence of any poison there."

Morty kneeled on the ground and started searching the clothes. "I'm not looking for that…" he murmured, continuing his search. It had to be in here. Where else could it be? People always kept their closest treasures close to home. He rummaged through the clothing further until his hands brushed up against something cold and metallic. That didn't feel like clothing. "The sceptre," he whispered.

"I'm sorry, the what?" Gary repeated.

He wrapped his fingers around the artefact and withdrew his arm. It was golden in colour with a small red and gold crown at the tip. He expected something more in terms of appearance, but this was the item Bugsy had spoken of. Climbing to his feet, he turned around and held the item towards Gary. "The sceptre," Morty repeated.

"What, that old thing? I bought it at the markets. It's nothing."

"And I know you're lying."

Gary furrowed his brows. "I'm not lying."

"Bugsy talked about you," he said, pointing the sceptre at him. "You could say he's a friend of mine. I know you have it, and I also know how dangerous this item is. You can't keep it here hiding it within these walls. Are you trying to draw attention from unwanted threats?"

"What? From people like you and Bugsy? He wanted me to have it."

Morty tucked it under his shirt. "You've done what you needed to do."

"What did he tell you?"

"I know it's too dangerous to keep here." He started heading towards the door, but Gary stepped in front of him, blocking the pathway. For a man who was unarmed and powerless, he certainly was quite the fool to try and stop an armed soldier. "You're a descendant of Nathaniel Oak, and that is why you were able to open the barrier. The sceptre might be a family heirloom to you, but it's so much more than that. You'll understand why."

"…You're well informed for a soldier."

"I was a mercenary before I came here. Step aside." He withdrew his sword and pointed the tip at Gary.

The boy paled and took a step back, his hands raised as if that would somehow protect him. "Are you in league with Ghetsis?"

"Ghetsis?" Morty repeated.

"The man in the sceptre. He was in Nathaniel's memories."

So, Gary had figured out how to unlock the relic's powers. "What did you see?"

"Ghetsis was dying of a disease and he wanted to cheat death to live. He did… terrible things… Nathaniel's child and wife killed… sacrificed for some nefarious purpose…." Gary shuddered. "Some time had passed… I guess Nathaniel married again and had another child, but he knew the sceptre was dangerous… So, he wanted himself sealed in a tomb so it could never be found again."

It was fascinating really watching Gary talk aloud to work out the mystery of the sceptre. The boy had more brains than a tavern owner should have. What a waste of potential. "You're figuring it out. Each of the founders had an artefact infused with magical power fuelled by blood. Their blood. They were all involved in blood magic – if Edward Blackthorn knew you had this in your possession, you could be accused of practicing magic."

Gary frowned. "Why do you care?"

"I don't really, but I don't want an army of angry necromancers on our doorstep."

"I didn't say anything about necromancers. How did you…"

He was slowly putting the pieces together. Morty sighed. "You would've made a great necromancer if you had chosen to commit to that path… Everyone can do blood magic… But to take full advantage of it, now that requires a sacrifice." He kept the sword raised to keep Gary in place.

"…I would never choose that path."

"A shame, really. You have such potential. But you won't be playing with the sceptre anymore. You've seen enough." Morty lowered his sword and pushed Gary out of the way before opening the door. Much to his surprise, the boy lunged at him. Perhaps all that time exploring memories had made him more feel more connected. Morty stepped aside then pointed the tip of his blade at him once more. "Don't be a fool, Oak. I don't want to have to kill you in your own room."

Gary recovered and glared. "Then do it. The whole city will hunt you down."

Morty lowered the blade. "I'll be long gone by then… Besides, report me if you want. No one is going to believe you. You're just a tavern boy. You really could've been someone great." He put his sword back then took a step towards Gary. "But you're just nobody. No one will grieve for you." Before Gary could react, Morty rammed into him and threw him down onto the ground, immediately pinning his arms and legs down. To prevent the man from calling for help, Morty placed a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound.

"….Mmph!" Gary cried out, trying to throw Morty off him.

"You really shouldn't play with magical artefacts, but thanks to you, your precious city will fall," Morty replied in a low hushed tone. "Maybe we'll sing your praises afterwards since it's you we have to thank. I'll be gone by the time you wake up." He drew back a fist and punched Gary in the face, knocking the boy unconscious.

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Lyra glanced over her shoulder, her eyes looking towards the mountains. In the distance, she could vaguely make out the castle keep of Blackthorn. Another life she had been forced to leave behind. Would she have to leave Mahogany as well? Mages were not seen as allies even to the village folk who had been taught to fear magic. But Lance had said she'd be safe here and she didn't have a reason to not trust him. If he wanted her dead, he could've just taken her to Clair. But what did they think of faeries?

Mahogany was a small town. It reminded her of her birthplace of New Bark. There were less than ten houses here. It was a pleasant change from the business of the city of Blackthorn. Everywhere you turned there would be people. There were no guards patrolling the streets here; all they had was a single outpost and a lone archer. If they town were to become attacked, the town's inhabitants would have no defence. Their only choice was to flee into the woods. For a town that provided fish for Blackthorn, she would've assumed there'd be more done to protect the place from raiders, but she supposed their close position to the woods made bandits afraid to come too close.

"Lance said to look for a man called Bruno," she said, walking towards the city centre. Most of the buildings here served as homes for the townsfolk, but every town had a tavern. Even New Bark had one although it was no larger than a common house and it was simply a place for the locals to gather under one roof.

The tavern of Mahogany was at least identifiable by a small wooden sign which read 'The Falcon's Nest'. She pushed open the door and walked inside, feeling the warmth of the fireplace which was a nice temporary respite from the cold outside. The weather was starting to change. Leaves on trees were starting to fall and the days were becoming shorter. Winter was approaching. In New Bark, the seasons never changed. It was warm all year round, but she was much closer to the north now and the seasonal impact of winter was felt far more strongly. She had heard the stories. The ground would turn white, and many crops would die. Diets changed to conserve food supplies. Different types of animals became active during the winter season. Fish were much harder to catch.

The tavern was much smaller than Blackthorns. She counted four circular tables with four stools each. The place wasn't even decorated unlike Blackthorn's tavern. There were no frames hanging on the walls or any colourful banners displaying the golden dragon. The only decoration worth noting was a black bear's head above the fireplace. The walls weren't even decorated. There were three people sitting down at the north western table. Two men and a woman. The woman had long, straight red hair and pale white skin. She was wearing a white dress with a golden sash around her waistline. She was sitting next to a burly man with broad shoulders and dark curly hair. The other man was an elderly fellow, evident by his white hair and the wrinkles on his skin.

She approached them. All three heads turned to face her. Feeling her stomach muscles tighten, Lyra drew in a deep breath to calm herself down. Lance knew them. They could be trusted. "Hi. I'm Lyra. Lance told me to find you."

The man with the dark hair spoke. "Oh, Lyra, yeah I know the name. I'm Bruno," he answered, extending a hand towards her. She accepted his handshake, wincing a bit from his firm hold. He chuckled at her reaction, withdrawing his hand, and motioned for her to take a seat next to the old man. "This is Pryce. And this is Lorelei," he said tilting his head at the woman.

Lorelei smiled. "Hello."

Pryce shook her hand. "I'm the mayor. My wife is Sheila. You would've been under her watch." Did Sheila notice she was missing? Did the woman care? What about Ethan? He must be worried.

Bruno grinned. "Lance eh? He mentioned you before. Clair's personal maid. He spoke of you fondly."

Her thoughts drifted back to a shared moment back in the stables before they parted. She had thought he was simply being nice – after all, he was a knight and trained in a certain way – but perhaps it was something more. It wasn't as if he was serving the crown anymore. "I don't think he would speak ill of anyone," she replied.

Smile fading, Bruno shrugged. "If that's what you want to believe. But he doesn't talk about people unless he sees something in them. He accepted me even if my past deeds were unsavoury because he thought I deserved a second chance. But if you're here then something must've happened. Is he okay?"

She nodded. "Prince Benga was murdered. Poisoned. Clair's taken over the city as Edward has fallen ill from this event. She's ordered all the guards to search every building for traces of poison." She left out the part about her being involved. What if these people would take her back? She didn't know much about them. Sure, Lance trusted them. But he wasn't around. "Lance says he'll be here soon. He just has to sort some things out first." She also left out the part about him being a werewolf. That should be left to Lance to explain.

"You're a faerie, aren't you? I can sense it," Lorelei said, looking at her with a frown.

Lyra frowned. "A faerie? No. I can't be."

"A mage can always sense magic in another," Lorelei said, a hand on her chin. "Faeries aren't quite the same as mages, but magic still flows through your veins. Unlike mages, faeries don't know they have magic. Your magic… isn't performed the same way."

"How can I even be a… faerie? I'm just a normal slave girl. There's nothing special about me." She looked down at her hands, as if she would find something different about them, but they looked ordinary.

"Most of the heroes in our time thought the same," Bruno added.

"I don't suppose you know much."

Lyra shook her head. "My mother had books about spells, but I didn't pay much attention to them."

"For good reason," she said.

The books were probably long gone now. The bandits would've burned the village to the ground and everything along with it. A shame. The books would've been useful now that she knew what she was. How much did Lorelei know and how had she learned?

"What sort of magic can faeries do?"

"Faeries were never known to be soldiers. Your magic is not designed to harm, but to bestow Arceus's blessing on items you decide to empower," Lorelei explained.

"And that's it?" Lyra said, disappointed.

Lorelei nodded. "You are not a true mage. I cannot teach you. It's something you must discover on your own."

Lyra leaned back in her chair, unable to conceal the disappointment on her face. Lance had spoken of the faeries as if they were powerful divine beings, but all she could do was give items her blessing. She didn't even know how, and she didn't imagine there was a book on how to perform her magic. What was known about faeries?"

"The last known faerie forged a sword for Henry Blackthorn," Lorelei said.

"And information about him is probably hidden somewhere in the king's library," Bruno pointed out. "Which you won't have access too. Speaking of Blackthorn, Clair can't be allowed to rule. Blackthorn will fall. We'll have to take back the city."

Pryce nodded. "I've known Clair since her birth. She's always been a troubled wild spirit."

"And how are you supposed to retake the city? You don't have an army," Lorelei said, her brows furrowed.

"We don't need an army. You got out of the city through a secret passage, right? Otherwise, you wouldn't be here. We can get back in the same way and sneak into the castle at nightfall. Lorelei can create quite the distraction. She'll take care of you. Lance will need my help," Bruno said. "Of course. We should wait until Lance arrives. He'll want to hear the plan. We didn't know you were coming so we didn't order food for you. Pryce can give you a free meal. Any friend of Lance is a friend of ours," he added.

Bruno seemed nice enough. Intimidating to look at, but friendly at least. "Right. I'll do that. Any recommendations?"

"This place is known for its fish. The most popular recipe? Tart de brymlent. It's a fish pie. It includes figs, raisins, apples, and pears with salmon and pitted damson plums under the top crust. Quite delicious," Bruno explained.

Lorelei rolled her eyes. "He had the same thing when we arrived a few days ago."

"Hey. We have to stick with what we know."

Pryce nodded. "I'll put another order through then," he said, excusing himself from the table. He stood up from his chair and walked to the kitchen area out the back of the tavern.

Lyra rested her arms on her knees, fingers clasped together. "What sort of magic do you know?"

Clearing her throat, she said, "The basics. I can set thatched roofs on fire. I can knock a bale of hay over with a gust of wind. I can make a water barrel implode and I can create small tremors to cause weak foundations to crack. It takes a lot of concentration and its tiring, but if you focus hard enough, you can control the elements with your mind. Magic flows through us. We must conjure an action in our mind to make the event happen. Watch."

Lorelei raised her hands above her head and closed her eyes, her fingers curling into fists. There was nothing at first. But then the table started to shake. Gently at first then it shook so violently Lyra surged to feet and backed away, startled. The shaking stopped shortly afterwards. "…Wow," she mused. "How do you make it happen?"

"Picture it in your mind. Think of the table. Now make it move in your head. If your will is strong enough, you will feel a warm glow spread throughout your body. This is your body and mind bonding with the laws of nature." She looked at the table again and made it shake once more.

"You have to be careful. Power comes at a cost," Pryce pointed out.

Bruno stifled a yawn. "And it can corrupt. Good soldiers turn bad in their pursuit for more power, gold, and glory. Noble kings and queens turn a blind eye to their people to protect their riches and family name and watch as their kingdom descends into chaos. And the necromancers use their powers to inflict pain and suffering by channelling the blood of their victims to fuel their power."

Her thoughts shifted to Morty. A necromancer in Blackthorn. He had used his magic to strengthen the poison in the option to kill Prince Benga. His reasoning? To keep Lyra within the city. Clair didn't matter. But Lyra did. Had he known she was a faerie? Or did he have some other motive?

"They will be stopped," Lyra said.

"Fighting words," Bruno replied. "You will need to keep practicing. If we are going to have any chance of retaking Blackthorn from Clair, we must get through unseen. As strong as we are, neither Lance nor I can take on an entire army."

That raised another question regarding Lance. He wanted to reverse the curse. How would that affect his ability to lead? Did wolves change personality wise when they triggered their curse? Did he have any idea what to do when the full moon came? Would he turn against them? How did a druid form a bond with a werewolf? How did Lorelei even know? So many questions. Every time she learned something new more questions would be raised.

Just as Lyra was about to ask a question, Pryce reappeared and approached the table. "The food is on its way. I will help them prepare. A helping hand makes the process faster and that way we can fill our stomachs. Lorelei can tell you more about your power in the cellars below. No one will interrupt you. You have my word." He turned away from the table heading back towards the kitchen area.

Bruno stretched his arms above his head. "But enough with all this doom and gloom talk. I've had enough for one day. I'm sure Lance will talk about it in detail when he arrives. I'm going to enjoy the fresh air for a while. Let me know when the food is ready."

He leaned over and kissed Lorelei on the cheek then stood up to leave. She smiled at him then turned her attention back to Lyra. "I might not be a faerie, but I can help you channel your power to enhance an item. You won't be on the frontline fighting. You'll probably be hiding actually, but you can still help Lance the same way the faerie did all those years ago with Henry Blackthorn."

Lyra nodded. "Then I'll learn what I can to help Lance."

"Do you like him?"

Did she? Was it real affection or simply a non-romantic love? She didn't know. "He's a royal."

"Doesn't matter. Love knows no boundaries. Clearly, he sees something in you."

"Didn't you say he was drawn to me because of what I am? Besides, he's just doing his duty," she replied, feeling her cheeks becoming flushed. "I'm sure he'd extend the same kindness towards someone else who was in dire need of help," she added. It had to be her divine blood. It wasn't as if he'd see anything else in her right?

The woman shrugged. "If that's what you want to believe. You like him."

"I didn't say that I did."

"But you didn't deny it either."

"Lance is just someone I owe my life to. He saved me when duty told him otherwise. He should've handed me over to Clair for punishment. He knew what I was. What my involvement was in the death of Prince Benga. But he chose to help me escape instead thus placing himself at odds against his own family," Lyra explained. He would become an enemy of his own people; a traitor to the kingdom for saving a criminal, a slave, nonetheless.

"And he risked everything to save you and I don't think it's because of what you are," Lorelei mused, the corners of her mouth curving upwards into a teasing grin. "He probably doesn't even know it himself or maybe he does, and the realization scares him. But I won't press the matter further. All I know is that Arceus has a plan for you both. I'm going to catch some fresh air myself. Performing magic always leaves me feeling light-headed afterwards," she added, climbing to her feet. The woman left the table and headed towards the exit leaving Lyra on her own to dwell on her thoughts.

What had Arceus planned for her?

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