The Burning Witch 3: A Humorous Romantic Fantasy

CHAPTER 20 LIKON’S LAMENT

Likon sat in the tavern, facing the door and tucked away in an inconspicuous corner with his hood drawn.

Thankfully, given that it was winter in Troivack and the tavern itself was quite drafty, no one thought him all that suspicious.

A half empty bottle of Troivackian moonshine sat on the table, its green glass gleaming in the pale light from the window near the door.

Even the fire in the hearth behind Likon struggled to stay lit in the chill.

This is like a Daxarian winter … Strange, he thought numbly.

It honestly reminded him of the winter his parents had passed away …

It had been horribly cold and dry. That year hadn’t been kind to the crops either, and so they had gone to sleep most nights hungry and awakened the next day weak and dizzy.

It was amongst the faded days that the fever had quietly come.

First his father, who stayed in bed while his mother with stiff fingers tried to finish enough mending for the local tailor to earn coin for food. Meanwhile, Dena would brush her hair incessantly, as she was desperately trying to catch the eye of the butcher’s son.

Likon had noticed his mother’s glassy eyes the day before he listened to his father’s death rattle.

His father was a man of few words, yet he’d always exuded a warm presence. His smile was forever burned in Likon’s mind … open and infectious. While slow in his steps, always steady … and yet, for all he meant to Likon, he had slipped away in a single breath that night. It was as though he were as inconsequential as a snowflake in the thick banks outside their house.

That had made the hurt inside Likon even worse.

That someone so important could leave as though it were nothing.

His mother was next … but she had seemed to have had a sense of what was in store after having buried her husband in frozen ground, placing a pauper’s grave marker above.

She had told her children the name of the tailor she worked for that very day. Explained to Dena that he should be able to take her on as an apprentice, and if they ever lost their home and needed a place to live, to speak to him. She insisted that the tailor would at the very least let them sleep in his shop foyer until the spring.

In the days following, with tears running down her flushed cheeks, she told them over and over how she loved them, held them close, whispered their favorite stories when she could force herself to remain awake … She even sobbed in her weakened state how she wished she could’ve done more for them.

A few days later, she had left in the same insultingly quiet way her husband had.

Likon cried endlessly. He raged endlessly too …

It was in the midst of their grief when Dena had grown too desperate and made a mistake with the butcher’s boy.

One that had her shunned from the tailor’s foyer and scorned by all their parents’ friends. Likon’s unquenchable anger didn’t help matters either.

Despite this, Dena remained strong, rummaging through waste piles for scraps and huddling in the corner at night with Likon in their rundown, cold house. Perhaps in two moons they’d have made it to spring and could travel to a new town to start over.

However, when Likon then came down with the fever, she wasted no time in going to Madam Nonata’s in Austice. She didn’t try to hold out or hope for something better.

She refused to risk letting her final family member go so easily.

In a week she was hired, primed, and presented to the customers.

Likon had recovered from his sickness thanks to the doctor she was able to afford after her first night of work, but he was never the same. While his sister was accepted with open arms into the brothel, Likon, on the other hand, for all his outbursts and defiance, was not. Perhaps if it had only been his grief that reared its head, then the women would’ve been more understanding …

In a year’s time, he decided he wanted a job. He would work and make his own way. He’d find a place where people wanted him around because he was useful, and where he could be as angry as he wanted all by himself.

But then …

A pair of stunning golden eyes had found him, and his life was filled with a warmth he hadn’t known since a time long before that awful winter where death’s carriage had come and gone two times too many.

“Kat …” he murmured presently, the lump in his throat returning yet again.

She was taking her warmth with her as she drifted toward her new life …

Fin had been right.

It was her choice, and one she had a right to make even if it was most likely a mistake.

But … even though Likon knew she loved him like a friend and the duke and duchess had been the parent figures he had desperately needed, he was starting to feel that same chill again. The comforting clamor that surrounded Kat was growing muffled, and it yet again brought forth that same rage he had felt all those years ago.

Rubbing his hand through his hair, Likon then pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing the tears to stay back.

“U-Unlce Likon?”

Looking up, Likon let out a small breath and managed a half smile. “Hey there, Tommy. How’ve you been?”

Thomas Julian, the prince’s assistant, fidgeted nervously and glanced around the tavern once before sliding into the booth across from his uncle.

“I can’t be long. I was only able to come out as His Highness had an errand for me.”

Likon’s grip on his cup’s stem tightened at the mention of the Daxarian prince.

“How’ve you been doing?” he asked instead while successfully shoving his emotions to a locked space in his chest.

“I’ve been well. His Highness doesn’t criticize me much and is relatively polite—sometimes a little terse, but nothing awful at all.”

“Is he still a drunk who takes Witch’s Brew?” Likon didn’t quite succeed at keeping the bitterness out of his voice.

However, his nephew was too jumpy about deviating from whatever his previous errand was to properly register it.

“No,” Thomas Julian whispered while looking around them warily. “After he was kidnapped, he hasn’t taken any Witch’s Brew, and he rarely drinks … Well, compared to how he used to anyway. At least two or three nights a week he imbibes, but nowhere near the same amount. He’s always in possession of his faculties when he does too. But, Uncle, there is one thing you didn’t know about.”

Likon’s eyes hardened and flit to his nephew, making the young man momentarily freeze under the unfamiliar expression on his family member’s face.

“Y-you didn’t know about the soldier’s spells.”

Likon blinked in surprise, then frowned, making him look significantly more like his usual self.

“No. I can’t say I knew about that. Are you … Are you certain that’s what it was?”

Thomas nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve no doubt about it. He kept talking about digging holes … He’s had a few spells, actually … Sometimes he’s screaming for someone named Eli. Other times he’s talking about how he trusted someone … He’s almost always violent during them.”

Likon leaned in intently. “Tommy, has he hurt you?”

“N-No. He … I mean he’s come close a few times, but Leader Faucher told me certain Daxarian songs work at calming him down.”

Likon let his shoulders slump in momentary relief.

He really wouldn’t have forgiven the royal bastard if he’d harmed a hair on Tommy’s head.

Then the realization dawned on him.

“Would Ka— Lady Katarina be in danger?”

Thomas couldn’t help but smile as he shook his head, further mystifying his uncle. “Him hurt her? She’s all he really cares about. Plus, if you’ve ever seen her fight, you’d know she can handle herself. Her magic can be terrifying, but she has gotten a lot better at controlling it.”

Likon settled back down.

It still wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear, but the most important thing was that it sounded like at the very least Tommy and Kat were safe. For the time being, anyway …

“Anything else you’d like to report?” Likon took a hearty drink from his cup.

“I don’t think so, Uncle.”

Likon grunted, the liquor pleasantly burning his tongue.

After swallowing, he nodded his head distractedly. “Well, thank you for making time to see me with your busy schedule. Your mother sends her love.”

Tommy beamed and, with a bob of his head, set to sliding out of the booth and making his way to the door.

As Likon watched him go, weaving in and out of the gigantic clientele of the tavern, he found himself smiling. “Still hasn’t hit his growth spurt. Poor kid …”

He was just beginning to reach into his pocket to pull out his coins to leave on the table, with the intention of consuming the rest of his drink up in his room—though seeing his nephew had perked up his mood considerably—when two other figures slipped into the seat across from him.

Looking up, Likon was startled into putting his hand on his dagger.

“Hello there,” the man on the right spoke. He wore a ruby red velvet coat, and gold earrings dangled from multiple holes in his ears. While he appeared perfectly human, his colorful appearance and something in his mannerisms gave him an otherworldly air …

Then again, his oddities were diminished by the massive being that sat beside him with purple eyes containing three pupils in each one. The tall being had long, light purple hair tied back and wore a midnight-colored robe of sorts.

“My name is Ansar, and I was hoping you might be able to spare me some of your time to hear a proposition,” the man in the red coat and earrings informed him.

Likon studied the pair carefully before giving a scoff. “Are you two working for the devil?”

It was when Likon’s gaze casually drifted over to the door that he realized something even stranger was happening around him …

Everyone was frozen.

No one moved.

Everyone in the tavern had halted in their tasks and stared blindly ahead of themselves.

Likon’s eyes darted to the window and found that even the first flakes of snow that had started to fall hung suspended in the air.

“We do not work for the devil. Rather, our own mistress is trying to bring about his banishment from this world,” Ansar explained smoothly.

Likon did his best not to stare around in open wonder.

He had seen magic before … but nothing like this …

“What do you want?”

Ansar tilted his head gracefully. “We are looking to minimize the damage of accomplishing such a thing. As you can imagine, the origin of all evil will not be cast out of this world without a fight.”

Likon’s eyes narrowed. “That still doesn’t explain what you want with me.”

“Impudent, human,” the creature with purple eyes muttered.

Likon stared icily at the being, who openly glowered back at him.

“No need for hostilities. It would be much better for us all to be on the same side. What my mistress wants is to see the house witch and his family out of Vessa. Perhaps even back in Daxaria.”

Straightening his shoulders, his hand still casually resting on the hilt of the dagger at his side, Likon’s lip curled.

“You know, you might be surprised at the number of times I’ve had people request this of me. If you want Duke Ashowan and his family uninvolved, it means you aren’t up to anything good.”

Ansar sighed with a note of weariness. “I already told you, we’re trying to prevent casualties. Surely you know the devil’s interest in the duke’s daughter, and furthermore, he even has the prince working for him as an informant.”

Likon felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. “If you think I can’t see through your attempt to manipulate me, you’d be wrong. But you have my regards for figuring out that His Highness annoys me.”

“His Highness met with the devil in his carriage a day or two ago. Try asking him directly about it. See what he says.” Ansar shrugged while folding his arms.

He appeared completely at ease with no indication of lying …

“Are you a witch?” Likon wondered aloud while succumbing to the urge to look around at the tableau surrounding him.

“No, no. This is the work of our mistress.” The note of reverence in Ansar’s voice wasn’t lost on Likon.

“She can stop the flow of life?”

The imp grinned menacingly. “So narrow-minded. This isn’t even the true scope of her power. This is merely thanks to a creation of hers that—”

Ansar held up his hand, stopping his companion’s speech.

“Our mistress is indeed powerful. However, the Ashowan family has no place in this battle. It has been planned for decades, and they just happened to stumble into the situation. We are merely trying to protect them.”

Likon turned the words over in his mind. He fixed his gaze on the two beings before him and didn’t so much as blink as he made his observations and conclusions.

“I’m not a witch myself. The connection to nature and the like is far beyond my humble, human scope, but there is one thing that is obvious to even someone as powerless as myself.” Likon pulled his coins free from his pocket and leisurely flicked one copper down after the other. “The Ashowans are never involved in something ‘by accident.’ Particularly when it is a matter so closely tied to the Gods.”

Likon stood and faced the stairs of the inn. “I am going to go up to my chamber and close the door, and after that, I never want to see you again.”

“Would you say the Ashowans care about you?” Ansar’s voice was a little louder than before.

Likon rolled his eyes to the ceiling and turned himself back around. He didn’t bother hiding his irritation. “They do. I’m not of their blood, but I’m no less of their home, and I can’t be convinced otherwise. Even if I am lonely, I do know beyond a shadow of a doubt I am not alone.”

In that moment, his own words firmed something in Likon’s heart … Something he had been forgetting in the face of the blinding pain and fury of seeing Kat with Eric.

Ansar rose to his feet with his companion following. “A very wonderful thing for you and quite useful given the corner you’ve now placed us in. I’d apologize, but quite honestly it is for your own good.”

Likon drew his blade in a flash, but it didn’t matter.

Everything around him was suddenly spinning in a whirl of colors, though he could still see Ansar before him, watching him calmly; a dosed rag appeared out of nowhere over Likon’s nose and mouth.

With his consciousness fading, he managed to stab backward in his struggle. The creature with the purple eyes he had figured was the one behind him let out a yelp, but the cloth remained pressed to his face.

With one final, feeble attempt, Likon drew his other throwing blade, wanting to send it hurling into Ansar’s chest … but his hands were already clumsy, and so it clattered to the floor as his world went dark.