32 || Dead Butterflies
Before they reached the royal guard's training halls, Ilyana took a detour to her chambers to change out of the dress she wore to her father's speech. An intricate gown she could barely walk in was overkill for such an occasion and it wouldn't do any good if she was handling weapons.
After passing by the guard's sleeping quarters, her eyes lingering on Clove's door for a moment longer than they should have, they reached a sparse room with ample empty space.
Mats thick with protective padding lined the floors, each one spaced in equal intervals.
Wide windows let in the morning light and doors to the courtyard were flung open to let in the summer winds.
Petrichor danced along the breeze, the scent strong after the storm that had battered Wyrith the other day.
A butterfly perched on one of the window ledges, its wings shimmering in the sunlight. Swirls of cerulean and violet were spun together in a mosaic on them, a breathtaking design Ilyana had never seen on one before.
Stood in the center of the hall was a woman who hauled a rack of weapons carved from wood to the side of one of the sparring areas.
She didn't wear the heavy metal armour that the other guards wore.
Instead, simple, short-sleeved leathers covered her body, letting her move unrestrained.
Auburn hair was pulled into a tight bun atop her head, revealing the several scars littering her neck.
The Lieutenant was older than the majority of the guards Ilyana saw posted around the castle, yet she had more spark in her step than anyone.
Clove remained at the door and stood guard like she promised, watching them from afar.
"Ah, Your Highness." She bowed deeply as she saw the princess approaching. "Thank you for joining me."
"Lieutenant Genevere. I don't believe we've had the pleasure of officially meeting like this." Ilyana held out her hand for her to shake.
"And an honour it is," she replied, gripping her hand firmly.
"If I've heard correctly, this seems to be your first encounter with handling weapons and using them to defend yourself.
I thought we could take this first session easy to simply get used to the tools.
" Genevere motioned to the rack beside her.
Everything from swords, to lances, to axes, to bows were lined up in height order.
Despite them only being wooden, a blanket of dread still settled on her shoulders.
Defending herself still meant harming others and, even though her magic was hidden somewhere unreachable, Ilyana still hated the notion.
The lieutenant chuckled. "I know that face. You'll be fine, Your Highness. These weapons aren't going to hurt anyone."
"Yet other ones will." Ilyana wrapped her arms around her. "I'll admit, I wasn't the one to arrange this session."
"I won't force you to do anything you aren't comfortable with," she assured with a confident nod. "Won't you humour the person who did arrange this and give it a go?" Genevere selected a wooden dagger and held it towards the princess, her weathered fingers gripping the blunt blade.
Ilyana accepted the handle and grimaced at the new weight in her palm.
If the weapon were made of steel, it would be an exact replica of the one that Clove gave to her so she could defend herself.
It would be the same as the one that she pointed at her sister when she hadn't recognised her at first.
The lieutenant shook her head with a smile lost to old memories. "You remind me of my boy. He also loathed the thought of weapons. When I tried to get him to hold one so he could learn to defend himself too, he wouldn't talk to me for days after."
"Were you not angered by that?" she asked with a raised brow. Unlike everyone else who stuck to their formalities, Genevere spoke freely with her. It made her feel like a real person instead of royalty that was shoved onto a pedestal.
She shrugged. "He didn't have the knowledge and experience of being in the royal guard at sixteen.
He thought that only harm could come from fighting — that both sides of a battle could only experience loss.
There are no true winners. That is right, in some cases, but he found his reason to pick up a blade and join the guard. "
"Oh? And what was that?" Ilyana turned the dagger over in her hands. It was lighter than real metal, yet somehow it felt sturdier.
"To protect people. Weapons don't need to be used to purposefully harm others. It doesn't need to be a flaunt of power." The lieutenant picked up a leather shield padded with foam and strapped it to her forearms. "Nictis joined the guard to protect the innocent."
"He sounds like a very valiant person." Protecting others was the most selfless reason to join the ranks that the princess could think of.
The only reward for danger was saving another person's life.
However, that still meant getting blood on your hands, even if that blood was tainted with immoral desires.
Could she really do it if the time came to it?
Out of the corner of her eye, Ilyana watched as Clove shifted uncomfortably, pushing her balance from side to side.
"He was." Genevere's smile faltered into a frown. "He unfortunately passed away last week. Captain Clove was there with him they were attacked by Morana The Cursed. Nictis didn't survive her brutal onslaught."
Ilyana almost dropped the dagger that rested in her hands. Her sister had killed Lieutenant Genevere's son. Perhaps Silas had told her to kill him. Maybe it was self-defence for herself. The princess bit the inside of her cheek. With how Genevere had spoken of him, that couldn't be the case.
Never had she thought she would be making excuses for Morana The Cursed — the assassin where the reports of her killings came in extensive lists. She was a killer. Had she really not been the same sister she remembered after all?
She swallowed the confusion lodging itself in her throat. They had to be wrong. Viviana wasn't a heartless monster like everyone thought she was. Ilyana had seen it with her own eyes.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you, Your Highness. He died trying to protect the kingdom and I'm sure he would be happy with that." Genevere thudded a fist against the shield. "Try out the dagger. You aren't going to hurt me or anyone, so try and swing or stab it into the foam."
Ilyana glanced between the wooden weapon and her target. "I don't see how this is self-defence."
"This is just you getting used to holding and wielding a dagger. We haven't begun the training that will teach you to escape from situations like my boy encountered." She tapped the shield again, the leather on it already torn from past sessions. "Go for it."
The princess flinched at the mention of her sister's wrongdoings. It didn't matter anymore. Her sister was gone and the only thing she needed to defend herself from now was a curse that couldn't be stopped.
Squeezing the dagger tight, Ilyana closed her eyes and swung at the shield. Air crooned as the wood cut through it, yet there was no impact on the other end of her attempt.
"That was a good first swing," her voice was laced with praise.
"Try again and make contact with me. Maybe keep your eyes open this time, too.
It will help you see where you're aiming," she suggested with a wink.
The advice would usually be ridiculing, yet the lieutenant said it with an encouragement that stirred a determination deep within the depths of her mind.
Taking a deep breath, she prepared her next attack. This time, the princess struck the shield and left a minor scratch on the surface of the material. The contact made her internally cringe. It was only leather. Leather and foam. It wasn't a person.
"That's it!" Genevere returned the shield to the rack of weapons and patted Ilyana on the shoulder. "It gets easier, don't worry. I think we'll stick with the dagger as it's most likely you'll be using one if a situation ever occurs," she thought aloud, rubbing a thumb over her chin.
As the lieutenant returned to the weapons rack, another butterfly adorning the same glittering pattern landed on the edge of it.
Ilyana thought it would fly away when a lance was taken from its holster, making the metal wobble in place.
Yet it remained perfectly still, as if it had no awareness of its surroundings.
"Are you okay to keep going, Your Highness?"
"I think so," the princess replied with a nod, watching as Genevere spun the new weapon around her hands with ease.
"Alright. Do you mind if I hold this up to your neck? I want to teach you a way to get out of a headlock, with or without a weapon." When she noticed Ilyana's hesitation, she added, "without killing anyone."
"Okay." She would humour her father and Clove, like Genevere mentioned.
While they were wasting time here sparring, she could have been making progress towards finding Silas.
Capturing him to get information out of him about the Necromancer's Curse and Viviana.
If this is what they thought was important, she would allow it just this once.
The lieutenant walked behind Ilyana and placed the lance against her neck, holding her in a faux headlock.
There was sufficient room for her to leave if she didn't feel comfortable.
"It depends on who or what you're up against, but every creature has its weak spots.
If they aren't wearing shoes of metal like our guards do, the first option is to grind your heel into their toes as hard as you can.
If you're lucky, you might break one, but this is a method to stun your captor to give you a chance to run. "
"And if they are wearing metal shoes?" The princess didn't know if she could have the strength to do that even if they were wearing simple leather shoes.
"Then you aim for somewhere that isn't protected, like their face.
Your skull is one of the sturdiest parts of your body, so use it.
If you're able to reach their face, throw your head back as fast as you can to hit them.
" Genevere placed a hand atop Ilyana's head and motioned it towards her.
"Again, if you're lucky, you'll break their nose.
If not, you'll stun them to loosen their grip so you can escape. "
Another butterfly landed on the length of the lance, only this one was a pure blue — the colour of the summer sky. Where were all of them coming from? As Ilyana narrowed her eyes at it, a shock wave lurched through her body.
Her necklace untucked itself from her shirt with a fierce glow, magic storming through her and leaving a searing burn in its wake. There was so much raw power that she doubled over, struggling to breathe.
"Your Highness?" Lieutenant Genevere removed the lance from her neck and tossed it aside.
Where had it been? It was as if every moment where her magic would have blazed violently had been stored to be unleashed in one go.
Clove knelt beside her, taking Ilyana's face in her hands.
"What's wrong?" It had only taken mere seconds for her to cross the room and reach her.
For a moment, she embraced the fingers that brushed her cheeks, forgetting everything that had happened between them.
Ilyana would have responded, but she couldn't get the air into her lungs to form the words.
A dark shadow rushed past them and took up post in the corner of the room, the reek of death lingering in its path.
The creature of mottled darkness appeared to be part human and part unidentifiable monster.
While its legs and arms were similar to the princess' own, its head shifted from a wolf's maw, to a venomous snake, to a vicious bear, and back again with each breath it took.
Vibrant butterflies which had haunted Ilyana throughout her training were scattered across its body.
What in the Gods' names was it?
As wisps of onyx leeched from the monstrosity, as if trying to escape the clutches of its owner, Ilyana's heart struck her ribs with smarting agony.
Threads of magic extended from her necklace, each one linking to the butterflies on its form, the same ones that had connected her to the Necromancer's Curse when she and Clove had been cornered by the Orge.
It was going to happen again.
"Look out!" the princess rasped as the shadowed figure made its move, inching towards Lieutenant Genevere. However, it only passed through her, heading towards Ilyana instead.
"The curse cannot be escaped," it garbled. The echoes of two different voices ricocheted through her bones, ancient deities clawing for control. A hand hooked with talons reached for her face before it evaporated. Its shadows dispersed into the air as if it had never existed.
"Your Highness?" Lieutenant Genevere questioned once more. For a woman who a creature of darkness had just passed through, she seemed surprisingly calm.
"Did you not see that?" Ilyana couldn't stop her hands from shaking, even when they clasped the crystal around her neck. Not only was she scared, but her magic rattled with fear too, frozen in place.
Clove and Genevere both looked at each other, worry lining their faces. "There was nothing there, Ill- Ilyana." The captain helped her to her feet. "Maybe that's enough training for one day."
Ilyana brushed away Clove's support. "There was something there. It was this strange monster made from shadows. Did you miss it somehow?" There wasn't a chance she had imagined it. It felt and sounded so real.
"That's understandable," Genevere replied to the captain between fits of coughs. "Pardon me. We can continue this some other time when you're feeling better, perhaps?" she suggested before breaking into more coughs.
The princess felt the pain that smeared the lieutenant's lungs, yet there was nothing she could do. Her magic had returned to being dormant again, just like it had before.
Genevere pulled her hand back and a thick layer of black ooze coated her palm. She had seen that substance before, and on more than one nightmarish occasion.
The Necromancer's Curse was about to claim her life.
"No," Ilyana begged as she helped the curse's next victim fall to the ground. Her hands began to crack, her skin flaking in the same shade as the shadows that plagued her. "It's okay," the princess comforted as a tear ran down the guard's face.
She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on the power that had lit her veins alight moments ago.
If there was any time for her magic to start working again, it would be now.
With a silent lilt of a prayer, Ilyana found a shredded ribbon of hope to cling to.
She pulled it from the depths of her chest and heaved it forward into the lieutenant.
It wasn't enough. As soon as it met the frontlines of war with the darkness consuming her, it was overrun with death. Lieutenant Genevere's threads of life snapped, leaving her body cold and empty.
"Fuck," was the only thing that Clove cursed below her breath.
While the princess placed her body down, folding her arms neatly over her chest, the butterfly that had rested on the weapons rack fell onto the ground. Its wings were now nothing more than wilted petals left to rot in the sun, just as dead as the lieutenant was.