30 || Death Wish
After a long night of tossing and turning in bed, haunting dreams of Fireborn Kings and Dragons rattling in her head, Ilyana awoke to an unblemished blue sky.
The morning sun made forsaken water droplets glisten on the statue of her mother and sister, bathing them in rays of gold.
No traces of the previous day's storm remained which was perfect for the speech her father had planned.
Once King Matthian had left the High Table meeting room, the princess had moved to Arc's side to assess the true extent of his injuries.
While he was limp, the man still had a heartbeat — he still had life for her to wield to mend his wounds.
However, no urge filled her veins to heal him back to his usual self.
The usual, persistent screaming was nowhere to be found leaving her mind eerily silent.
She needed to figure out why her magic refused to surface. Before a dire situation crept up and she wouldn't be able to help.
Ilyana had a few servants bring him to the infirmary to be treated instead. In that time, her father had slipped out without a word. The discussion about her sister's missing body would have to wait until the next time they had a moment alone together.
The next time she saw him was at the speech he had planned to address the people of Wyrith the following morning, disregarding Matthian's request to meet with the High Table.
An important speech or ceremony required that all royalty wore their crowns to signify their status, and Ilyana was no exception.
The heir's crown had been passed down for generations and now it belonged to her.
Golden jewels with flecks of white trapped inside them were lined along the metal band to form the shape of a rising sun peering above the horizon.
Her cerulean dress complemented both her blue eyes and the tiara woven into her hair, beads of gold lining the bodice.
Her father adorned an even grander crown — one that rivalled and matched his daughter's in every way. A full sun was propped up high above his head with metal bars, the same crystals of gold forming the centrepiece. Swirls of mist forged from silver surrounded it.
Guards formed a circle around the podium where they stood, the High Table members forming a line behind them.
Neither Fireborn was present to attend the speech, leaving Ilyana to furrow her brows.
Prince Damian seemed to have an agenda of his own, but she expected the King to join them.
Perhaps he was busy sulking after he didn't get his way.
A crowd of thousands was present before them in the largest clearing Wyrith's city had to offer. Each echo of every voice only added to the cacophony of noise.
"Thank you for gathering on such short notice," King Mortas began.
As soon as he spoke, his voice deafening from where the princess stood, the crowd quieted to a distant murmur.
"I know your lives are tough with the current circumstances and that is why I wanted to address you today.
Your frustrations have not gone unnoticed and wer are working tirelessly to ensure that everything will return to normal as soon as possible. "
Ilyana spied a few eye rolls and sighs of distrust amongst their people. While there were only a few seeds of doubt sown between them, it wouldn't take much for them to spread to everyone else.
Wyrith's symbol was a blazing sun — the insignia visible in every part of the island's main town.
Whether it was on a guard's chest plate or on the flags that sailed high about the castle or ports.
It was a symbol of hope, one that came from the first dawn after the necromancers were vanquished and one people no longer seemed to believe in.
Wyrith had always adored the royal family. They had freed them from an endless nightmare of death and terror centuries ago, they were the keepers of peace. The future that the island's very first king had formed was crumbling through their fingers.
"As you may have noticed, there is a wall of magic surrounding the island and it is nothing to worry about. However, for your safety, please do not approach it. My High Table has already instructed vessels and messenger birds to remain on shore as touching it will kill upon impact."
"Why is the wall there in the first place?" A voice cried from the crowd. Faces turned toward the question and started nodding, whispering in agreement.
"I will be taking questions at the end of this gathering," King Mortas explained. "Thank you."
Ilyana inwardly sighed in relief at his cover. The reason behind the wall couldn't be hidden forever. Unrest would only continue to rise throughout the island which wouldn't be good for anyone.
"Another emergency that has been brought to our attention is the sickness ravaging through Wyrith.
So many honourable people, people who may have been your loved ones, have been lost to the illness and figuring out the cause is our utmost priority.
We have discovered it is not a normal infection or virus which can be treated with medicine.
The witches have helped us to determine that it is of magical origin and they are assisting us in working on a cure.
" The lies rolled off his tongue with ease, crafted with perfection.
If Ilyana hadn't known better, she would have believed them too.
A great leader was one who could convince his people of anything.
"What makes you think the witches didn't create the illness themselves if it's created through magic?" Another yell sounded around them. This time, her father ignored it completely.
"As much as it pains me to say this, cures take time to make and we will unfortunately lose more people in the process.
Rest assured that if any of your loved ones have died from the sickness, the crown will cover all expenses related to it — whether it be healer or funeral costs.
The road ahead will be arduous, but you can place your trust in the royal family to see you through these burdening times.
" The king shuffled the papers on the stand and placed them down.
"Now I will answer any questions. If you have one, please raise your hand and I will ask you to speak in turn. We do not want any chaos."
The first to do so were the journalists who lined the front of the crowd.
Each one wore a bade indicating which newspaper press they belonged to.
They were given priority so that they could spread the word of King Mortas' speech throughout the island, yet they were punished severely if they painted the royal family in a bad light.
More stray hands appeared in the ocean of bodies too.
Her father picked one of the journalists first, motioning his hands for everyone in attendance to lower their voices so he could be heard.
"Just how long will this take? You've mentioned that more people will die in the time it takes to make a cure, but how many people will lose their lives?
We can't keep living like this, Your Highness. Any one of us could die."
"Regrettably, I am unable to give an exact timeframe. All I can promise is that we will delve to the bottom of this matter as quickly as we can," he answered. The king turned back to the crowd and picked another hand, this time further beyond the journalists.
"What is the real cause behind the magic wall? You're withholding information from us and we don't like it."
"Yeah!" Someone beside her chimed in. "You've mentioned it isn't safe, but why? Are you trying to keep us contained with this sickness?" The accusatory tone set off a wave of disruption. They were unhappy and Ilyana couldn't blame them. She had never seen them like this.
Throughout her childhood where she had made appearances as Wyrith's Princess, their people had celebrated their presence.
Citizens would do anything to be greeted by royalty or to be healed by her.
Everything had changed so quickly. They were already so close to the truth of what was really happening with the curse and it unsettled her.
She wasn't sure how her father was going to respond.
King Mortas held up his palm to stop their panic. "We would never do anything to harm you. You are the people of Wyrith, the essence that makes this island thrive. The wall is not an issue you need to concern yourselves over unless you're planning on heading into the Molten Sea."
A guard approached from behind them and walked up to her father's side. Something was whispered into his ear yet, no matter how much Ilyana strained to listen in, she couldn't make out anything that was being said.
Whatever it was, the king nodded in reply and then cleared his throat to continue talking. "That is all I have time for this morning. Please take care of yourselves and be assured that me, my daughter, and the High Table are handling all of your worries and concerns."
More guards surrounded them, ready to escort them back to the castle. All of them wore helmets to protect their faces, yet Ilyana still recognised the one closest to her side as Clove. The red pieces of her beneath the metal gave her identity away.
King Mortas rushed ahead to return home with a separate entourage, leaving her alone to make the journey by herself. When they finally stepped into Celnaer's walls, the guards dispersed to their post.
All except for one person.
"Illy." A gloved hand wrapped around the princess' wrist, trying to stop her in her tracks.
Ilyana snatched her hand away and tucked it underneath her arm. She had a sister to plan a funeral for, whether it was public or merely for herself, a Fireborn King to appease and a curse to break. She didn't need Clove digging her grave any deeper.
"Please can we talk," the captain begged.
"You've done enough already, Cloven. You aren't to call me 'Illy' anymore either. I've told you that already." The princess picked up her pace, hoping to lock herself in her room before she could say anything else.
"Can you not just hear me out?" The captain matched her steps perfectly.
"You killed my sister. I'm not going to hear another round of the lies you told me before.
" That was one thing Ilyana wouldn't mind being added to her list of things to do — finding a new personal guard.
She understood that her father wanted her to be protected at all times and she accepted that.
As long as the person doing it was anyone but Clove.
"Your sister was a necromancer. Morana was one of those creatures who terrorised the island. Who created this damned curse in the first place."
She didn't want to hear it. Between Clove, her father and King Matthian all talking about her sister as if she wasn't the Viviana she had grown up with, she couldn't take much more.
Clove stopped the princess from walking and spun her around, pinning her against the wall.
Her hand thudded next to her ear as she leaned in close.
Ripples of vetiver and amber filled her senses as she breathed deeply and her cheeks warmed as her face became mere inches away from hers.
Ilyana's traitorous heart couldn't help but pound as she met her stare.
"Would you still feel the same if she had killed me?
Morana was the one who stabbed me with that bone shard, who killed all of the guards I went on patrol with that day.
She used one of their corpses as a puppet to kill the rest." A distant horror passed through her eyes.
"If I hadn't run into you at the entrance of the castle, I would be another death added to her list."
"If I hadn't been there, I never would have known you were back from Nicitor.
It wouldn't have made a difference. Perhaps it would have been better if she had taken your life.
At least she would still be alive." Tears rose to the surface and regret swallowed her whole as soon as the words left her mouth.
It curled around her throat and suffocated any apology that wanted to follow.
Pain flashed across Clove's face, creasing her brow, before it vanished moments later. "You don't mean that."
She was right. Ilyana wouldn't wish death on anyone yet she couldn't bring herself to take them back.
"Everything I have done is to protect you." The captain removed her hand from the wall, allowing them both to have space to breathe. "No matter how much you despise me."
"If you'll excuse me, I need to talk to my father about some pressing matters," she dismissed. Her hands balled into her azure gown, her nails digging so tightly into the fabric that she could feel them in the skin of her palms.
"You can't. You're due to be in the guard's sparring room and I'm to escort you there," Clove announced.
"What?" Why would Ilyana ever need to be in the guard's quarters? She didn't need to address them right now, nor did she have any issues with how they worked.
"I spoke with the king about some training for you — for self-defence — and he agreed that it would be wise for you to have some. Even if it's just a little."
"Of course you did," she scoffed. Every piece of information that came out of the captain's mouth kept getting worse. What else could she expect? "Who will be overseeing this training? You?"
Clove shook her head. "I will be there to continue with my guarding duties, but Lieutenant Genevere will be the one training you."
"Alright then." More people entered the castle after returning from the speech. They needed to wrap this up now before they got caught. "I'll be the judge of this training myself."