26 || The Agreement
Time was a concealed serpent slithering inch by inch towards its prey. It gradually passed by as Ilyana watched the statue of her mother and sister stand strong through the summer storm outside her bedroom window.
Ever since the events in the library that morning, the princess had been curled in the window seat, tracing raindrops that hurtled down the glass panes.
Servants had brought her food for lunch and dinner but she ignored it, the alluring scent and the warmth of the meals fading as fast as her sister's life had.
Despite her request, Clove had followed Ilyana wordlessly to her room and stood outside as the personal shadow she was hired to be.
That would be one of her first courses of action as soon as she found the motivation — to find a new guard to keep her safe.
One without a face and voice that only brought back unwanted memories.
This was not what being reunited with her twin was meant to feel like.
They were going to go back to how it was before, having bedrooms next to each other so they could bother one another whenever they could.
The twins would open their windows and whisper to each other all night long, just like they used to when their mother told them off for staying up late.
They would attend events and High Table meetings together. She and Viviana would rule Wyrith together.
Ilyana caressed the ribbon that her twin had left behind, tracing the spots of blood that seemed to be years old. It was tied around her wrist in a neat bow, now a reminder of both her mother and her sister.
Why wouldn't anyone believe her when she said the purple-haired assassin was Viviana?
Morana The Cursed was a formidable title that had circled the island for years, but that didn't change who she really was.
She was a princess just as much as she was.
However, it also didn't change the crimes she had committed.
Her fist tightened until her knuckles turned white.
There had to be an explanation for it — one that had Silas' name written all over.
There was no other way she would willingly kill people.
Unless her necromantic magic was a force in play.
She never considered that her twin would have a different magic to hers.
Ilyana's head fell against the window, the glass cool to the touch. She didn't care anymore. All she wanted was her sister back — her family — but it was too late for that now.
Viviana was gone.
A knock sounded at her door and the princess froze, running over in her mind who it could be. "I don't want to talk," she called out.
It opened without her permission and her father stepped through.
Exhausted was the only word she could find to use to describe him.
The deep lines in his skin were exaggerated by the dark circles under his eyes.
His hair had forgone any semblance of order, the faded blonde strands windswept in every direction.
"How are you holding up?" He closed the door behind him, leaving enough time for Ilyana to see a head of red hair outside in the corridor.
The princess didn't answer, remaining silent as she turned back to the statues outside. The stone carvings commemorated the passing of Oleress and Vivianna, but who would mourn her sister now? It felt like she was the only one.
Her father sat on the edge of her bed, the springs creaking underneath him as he leaned forward on his knees. "I know you're upset with me and I don't blame you. But..." his words trailed off as his gaze fell to the ribbon around Ilyana's wrist. "Where did you get that?"
"Vivi had it on her. It was left behind after you ordered her body to be taken away." Her reply was laced with a sour bitterness, a challenge daring him to question the identity of her twin again.
"That girl wasn't Viv-"
"If that is all you've come here to say, you can leave. I've heard it enough, not just from you." She hid her hand so he could no longer see the shimmering, purple fabric. Instead, her fingers drifted to her necklace. The dyonite gemstone was getting greyer and greyer by the hour.
King Mortas sighed. "Let me rephrase this then.
I can't deny that she looked like you — like your sister.
There's a very high chance it was Viviana.
However, what I'm trying to say is that she wasn't the girl you used to know anymore.
We knew her as Morana The Cursed and all of the murders she's committed to forge that title.
That's what I mean when I say she wasn't your sister. Viviana died years ago."
Ilyana's eyes prickled, something soft creeping into her heart. "So you aren't going to use Clove's reasoning that the wall around the island is still there? That the Necromancer's Curse is still active even though she's dead?"
Her father patted the space next to him on the bed with an open arm ready to embrace her. After a moment of deliberation, she accepted the invitation and rested her head on his shoulder — cherishing the family she did have left.
He leaned in and kissed the crown of her head.
"The Necromancer's Curse works in mysterious ways and nobody has been able to figure out the extent of it.
The sorcerer was likely wrong. While it seems plausible that to end the curse you need to remove the cause that activated it, ancient magic often has a will of its own.
The necromancers placed it centuries ago and that's more than enough time for a spell to go awry. "
"So you're saying there's no hope for the island?" A tear slid down her cheek.
"I'm saying that we need to press on. We have resources at our fingers that we can still utilise to find a way out of this.
The witches found a location where the magic from the curse is coming from and we still have sources to interrogate.
" Mortas squeezed his daughter tight, holding together the fractured pieces of her soul.
"Where do we go from this now?"
"Silas is one of the options that comes to mind for where to get information from, though he's elusive and even trickier to track than Morana was.
He worked with a necromancer and he's wily with his schemes, so it's possible he could give us something.
Even if it's just a new lead on where to go or what to do," he explained.
The princess nodded, shuffling closer to relish more of her father's embrace. "So many people are going to die in the time that we waste."
"I know, Ilyana. I know. We aren't going to be able to get through this without sacrifice and it pains me to say that. But it will stop, I know it," the king assured.
Another knock echoed on her bedroom door, making Ilyana jump. "Enter," she answered, praying that it was anyone but the Captain of the Wyrith Guard.
A servant came through, fear riddling his expression. "Sorry for the intrusion, Your Highnesses." He bowed deeply. "King Matthian would like to see you."
"See who?" the princess questioned.
"Both of you." He placed his hands behind his back to hide the way they shook. "He's in the High Table meeting room demanding an audience and he has a guest with him. His only message was that 'your time is up.'"
Nausea rose in Ilyana's throat. "Thank you.
Let him know we'll be with him shortly." She had completely forgotten about the agreement she had made with the Fireborn King and what he had threatened to do.
With her travels to visit the sorcerer and her plans to find her sister, she hadn't had time to tend to his needs like an attention-seeking child.
"This is my fault." The princess turned to her father after the servant left.
"What did you do?" King Mortas' gaze narrowed.
"The night the Fireborns arrived, they were already suspicious of what was happening on the island.
They'd heard rumours of hints of a curse and King Matthian wasn't going to back down unless he heard some sort of information.
So, I made a deal with him. He swore that if after two days the wall around Wyrith wasn't gone, he would find out what was really happening using his own methods. "
She should have seen the grave she'd dug sooner and known it would lead to nothing good. Ilyana shouldn't have agreed.
"So that's why you were so insistent on heading to the sorcerer the day after," her father mused, a chuckle leaving his lips. "You were trying to hold this alliance together and save Wyrith all at the same time."
"I don't know how you can laugh. This isn't going to be good." She frowned. If the rumours about his callousness or even the story Clove had shown her were true, Ilyana feared what they would find in the meeting room.
"Well, we better go and see the damage."
With the redhead captain following close behind them, they made their way up the east tower to where the High Table would always gather. Jolts of thunder boomed around them as they climbed each step, an eerie disquiet filling the air. When they reached the top, the door was already ajar.
The overwhelming scent of blood was the first thing to greet them, forcing Ilyana to gag.
Arc — the High Table member who had been missing from their last meeting — laid on the stone tiles stripped bare.
His body was littered with deep wounds and savage burns, leaving no area of skin untouched.
Instead of the infuriating anger that would always be present, all that Arc could muster was a pleading look in his eyes begging for help.
Sat beside him in her father's seat at the head of the table, toying with a flame that burned white with desire, was King Matthian.