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{CoRW: Book 3} Chapter 97: A Crippling Oath *Rough Draft*
🕑 Added 2023-02-11 21:27:39 +0000 UTC♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝
Chapter 97: A Crippling Oath
If Declan were a cat, he’d certainly be running out of lives at this point. Since childhood, the half-witch had faced death on more occasions than he cared to remember. The burning gaze of his mother’s vengeful specter, a constant reminder of his first narrow escape and, by all accounts, his first kill, had cumulated into murdering a member of the witch hunter order, thus earning him their lethal hatred.
The weight of this wretched fate had hung over the half-witch like a dark premonition he could not shake since leaving the hunter’s corpse behind in the alleyway. What brief security he had gained by allying himself with Earl Percy Hawthorne and Duchess Kirsi Valda ended the moment four royal knights showed up at the Hawthorne estate with a summons from the palace.
‘Any other man would have run while they still had the chance,’ Declan mused cynically as he donned the uniform of the capital knights before joining his waiting escort. It was evident by the looks they threw his way, hands cautiously draped over the hilt of their swords, that the royal knights did not trust him. After a quiet, if not uncomfortable journey to the palaces’ fortress walls, where Declan alone turned in his weapon before entry, the group soon made their way through the quiet palace streets towards Peony Palace.
An odd feeling of déjà vu washed over Declan as he surveyed the familiar sight he had witnessed in the early light of dawn when the Earl and Duchess had brought him before the King to present his allegations against the church.
‘Is that why the King has summoned me back? For more details of my journey and abduction?’ This seemed the only logical reasoning, yet the specter, who trailed behind them with her mirthless smile, set Declan's mind at ease.
The golden gates of Peony Palace opened before them as a royal knight wearing the braided epaulets of an officer stepped forward to greet them.
“I’ll take him from here,” the captain said as the royal knights dropped down from their saddles. “Return to your barracks and rest for the morrow.” The knights exchanged looks but offered an acknowledging salute before they turned to leave, taking the reins of Declan’s horse as they went.
‘Looks like I won’t be leaving any time soon.’
“Lieutenant Declan,” the captain addressed him with a polite smile. “I am Captain Norley, recently assigned as his Majesty’s personal bodyguard.”
Declan blinked. Even a knight who had never set foot inside the palace grounds knew the position of the King’s protector belonged to another captain. He held his tongue and offered a customary salute, maintaining a neutral smile while his mother’s specter danced around the knight captain.
“We should head in now that you’re here,” Norley said, already turning in the direction of the palace.
Declan’s olive-green eyes followed the ripple of the captain’s purple cloak and narrowed at the sight of the pistol holstered at his hip. ‘I didn’t know that was a part of the royal knights uniform.’
The half-witch maintained his silent observance as they entered the royal palace. The knights stationed at the front door shut it behind them firmly without comment, though something in their posture struck Declan as odd.
‘Aside from Captain Norley, everyone else appears to be on edge. I wonder why.’ The unease in the half-witch’s stomach tightened into a cold knot as the knight captain led him past the white marble staircase toward the back of the palace. ‘None of this feels right. The King should be asleep or celebrating his coronation and wedding night, not summoning a nobody like me to the palace.’
A prickle of warning slithered down his spine as Captain Norley paused just a few feet from a large mahogany door framed by marble carvings of racing wolves. For a moment, Declan wondered if the knight captain had mistaken their destination, then his magic picked up on the disturbance in the air.
“Hold,” Norley growled in warning as the half-witch whipped around belatedly, only to be accosted by two witch hunters in scarlet armor. “You’re not in any danger, Lieutenant. They’re merely searching you for the presence of any magical artifacts.”
“What?” Declan sputtered as the pair forced his arms with a magical shackle that locked into place around his straining wrists. Once secured, they shifted back far enough to allow a third witch hunter to step forward and search him roughly. The man stripped away his tunic, armor, and belt without comment, cutting any straps that got in his way with little concern. Declan suffered through the indignity of their rough manhandling with a clenched jaw, ignoring his captors' malicious whispered threats and insults as they finished their task.
‘Why is a knight being searched by the church's hounds? What are they doing inside the King’s palace to begin with?’
Once satisfied that he appeared to be carrying nothing dangerous, the witch hunters removed Declan’s shackles and then shoved the half-undressed half-witch towards the waiting knight captain. Norely steadied the Lieutenant, who watched the trio kick his fallen armor aside before making their way down the hall.
“I apologize if you were startled, Lieutenant,” Norley commented as he watched the witch hunters enter a side room where they lingered in the doorway. “It was deemed necessary given your recent company.”
The half-witch let out a slow, angry breath as he knelt to retrieve his discarded armor.
“Leave it, Lieutenant. You won’t be needing it.”
‘Right, that doesn’t sound ominous at all.’ Declan pressed his lips into a strained smile. He grabbed the slightly torn knight tunic, pulled it overhead, and adjusted his disheveled garments as best he could before following the impatiently waiting captain to the library door.
Captain Norley knocked and reached for the handle, only to blink as the door opened before them. Instant regret drained the blood from Declan’s face as he met the crimson eyes of the albino who stood before them. Ripper’s pale lips twisted into a mocking smile as he stepped forward, brushing the startled captain aside with a mere push before he seized Declan’s throat and buried his left fist into the Lieutenant’s unprotected gut.
‘So that’s why they removed my armor.’
Declan gagged and blinked as his stomach lurched towards his throat, followed by the acidic burn of agony that spread from his gut out across his limbs. His legs buckled, but Ripper’s grip around his neck kept him upright. The albino pulled his fist back and shook the limp half-witch as if testing to see if any life remained.
“Commander!” Norley’s angry shout melded like an accordion of distorted notes through the pinging ring in Declan’s ears. The knight captain bravely—or foolishly—inserted himself between Ripper and the barely breathing half-witch with an angry torrent of words that slid past Declan’s fading consciousness.
“—explain to our Masters—need for vengeance—none of my concern—”
A trickle of cooling magic wormed its way down Declan’s throat and forced his lungs open. He drank one shallow breath after another as strength slowly returned to his paralyzed limbs. Ripper appeared to notice and all but tossed the still-dazed half-witch into the startled captain’s arms.
“Bastard,” Norley snarled as the Commander of the Witch Hunters strolled down the hall, past the trio of sniggering witch hunters, who had clearly anticipated Declan’s suffering. “That man is a monster? What in Saint’s mercy did you do to piss him off.”
“Killed one of his men—when I escaped,” Declan rasped out weakly.
The knight captain gave him a sharp look, then let out a resigned sigh as he guided Declan to a nearby chair. “You did your duty. You’re a knight of Lafeara, not a hound of the church—whatever your heritage may be.”
‘What’s my heritage got to do with anything?’ Declan eyed the man with wary confusion. When the half-witch had recounted his tale to the King that morning, he had left out the part of forced conscription into the witch hunter ranks. ‘I wasn’t exactly hiding it—but it looks like someone else filled in the blanks.’
“Any man who expects loyalty from a hostage is a fool,” Norley added with a dry chuckle as he watched the witch hunters follow their Commander toward the front of the palace. “His Holiness and the King are waiting for us inside, Lieutenant. As much as I’d hate to rush you—”
“I’m alright. Thank you—Captain.”
Norley nodded and supported the wobbly half-witch as he got to his feet. “See if you can make it to the door first. I’m surprised you're standing at all.”
“Barely,” Declan grunted as he pressed a hand against his throbbing abdomen and took his first step forward.
The ghost of a smile touched the knight captain’s lips as he moved carefully alongside the winded Lieutenant. “Are all half-witches this strong?”
Once again, Norley’s words nettled against Declan’s already frayed nerves as he turned to meet the steel-blue eyes of the man beside him. “It—depends.” The knight captain continued to study him as if expecting more. Declan smiled apologetically, “In truth, I don’t know much about witches.”
The knight captain appeared to accept this answer as they reached the ajar door. “A word of advice before we enter, Lieutenant. Do not lie before his Holiness. The Divine Heir’s eyes can unveil even the most complicated forms of deception.”
Declan raised a tired brow as he rested against the doorframe but offered a nod of understanding.
“I should also add that the King holds your loyalty in high regard,” Norley continued with a hint of cynicism as he stepped across the threshold. “Try not to disappoint him.”
***
As much as each jarring step seemed to light up his vision with a burst of falling stars, it surprised Declan how much pity he felt for the King when he saw him. For someone who had just been crowned the rightful sovereign of Lafeara and wedded in a single day, the young man who sat before him looked weary and utterly without cheer.
“I’ve brought Lieutenant Declan as you requested, your Majesty,” Norley announced as he bowed towards the monarch seated behind the large mahogany desk between two large windows.
Nicholas barely stirred for a long moment, then unclenched both folded hands beneath his chin to gesture stiffly toward them. The half-witch glanced at Norley, who gave a sharp nod in the King’s direction as if implying the command was meant for Declan.
“Your Majesty,” Declan forced out through clenched teeth as he moved to the corner of the desk and knelt with difficulty. Thankfully, Nicholas appeared to take no notice of his awkward discomfort. Instead, the King dropped his hand to his lap and sighed. A veil of defeat hung over the young monarch, leaving his sunken hazel-blue eyes dull and unfocused, turning the air around him stale and bitter.
A familiar, sharp prickle of warning turned Declan’s gaze towards a seating area between several large bookshelves. There, positioned comfortably on the luxurious couch, was Pope Jericho, flanked by four witch hunters who stood at equal intervals behind their master, all glaring in the Lieutenant’s direction.
‘This doesn’t look good—I’m starting to wonder whose idea it was to summon me here.’
Declan returned his gaze to the young monarch. The King fidgeted restlessly with the crown upon his head—as if aching to be rid of it.
Captain Norley cleared his throat quietly, and finally, the King appeared to notice the half-witch kneeling before him.
“Lieutenant Declan,” Nicholas began, his words dragged faintly as if struggling to break free from some inner turmoil. “You have proven yourself to be an incredibly resourceful and loyal subject.”
Declan offered a smile of gratitude as he met the King’s gaze. There was once a time such words would have set his heart on fire—but he could not shake the gaze of those golden eyes from across the room.
“I know how weary you must be, given the events of the past several days, but—I have need of someone capable—someone I can trust.”
“I am your knight to command, your Majesty. It would be my honor to serve,” Declan responded earnestly. For a moment, his throat constricted as if the magic keeping his feeble lungs filled with air were rejecting the truth of his words. His thoughts returned to that morning, to the brief moments he had shared in the presence of Earl Hawthorne and Duchess Kirsi, both powerful witches driven by deep beliefs and ambitions. Declan quickly shook the memory free as he pressed a closed fist against his heart. “How may I serve you, my King?”
The flicker of a smile touched Nicholas’s lips as he turned and leaned forward to place a hand on the half-witch’s shoulder. “I see a great deal of potential in you, Sir Declan. A man of your capabilities belongs here in the palace at my side. Accomplish the task I require of you, and I shall see that you are adequately rewarded and protected.”
Declan raised a questioning brow as the King’s gaze turned towards the Pope, who nodded subtly…as if granting permission?
‘Hells Teeth, what is going on here?’
“If you succeed, your past misdeeds against the church shall be forgiven and forgotten,” Nicholas continued as his grip tightened around the half-witch’s shoulder.
Declan bowed his head in acknowledgment, unable to mask his growing dismay. ‘So it was the Pope who summoned me.’
“I understand your confusion,” Nicholas commented with a dry, forced laugh. “Given the information you risked life and limb to bring before me. But Lafeara’s faith and ties to the church have long been engrained in our history. Our worship and reverence of the Saints is a tradition I cannot break from—and the Pope has agreed to reimburse us for the damages incurred by the spread of the plague.”
‘How? Will he bring back the dead?’ Declan could feel a vein straining against his temple but swallowed back an angry protest, keenly aware of the silent audience watching them. The King appeared to interpret his silence as acceptance and continued.
“You have earned a position of trust within the witch’s circle, have you not, Lieutenant? Commander Quentin tells me that you were given rooms among the mercenaries employed by Lord Percy.”
“I was granted a temporary residence, your Majesty.” ‘To ensure my safety until the Pope returned to Zarus.’ “As to a position of trust—I can only say they do not view me as a threat.”
A faint mocking scoff came from the direction of the Pope and his hounds.
Nicholas narrowed his eyes. “Did Lady Kirsi not offer you a position of employment?”
Declan tightened his fist in surprise but did not bother correcting the King’s assumption. After all, it had been a Captain among the Duchess’s knights who made the offer before Lord Percy had taken the half-witch under his wing. “I believe the offer was made should I lose my position among your Majesty’s knights—until you release me from my oath, it is my duty to fulfill your wishes. I can have no other master.”
‘Clearly, someone overheard the conversation after we left Peony Palace this morning. But why mention it? Does the King doubt my loyalty? Is this the work of the Pope?’
The fingers digging their way into Declan’s shoulder suddenly relaxed and withdrew. “Good,” Nicholas whispered. “Lieutenant, I shall need you to accept the Duchess’s offer.”
‘What?’
“But—Your Majesty!” Declan raised his gaze, baffled. “I—"
“I have no intention of releasing you from my service, Sir Declan,” Nicholas interrupted sharply. The King’s hazel-blue eyes narrowed as they studied the Lieutenant’s face intently. “Officially, you will be asked to resign in order to appease the church. Unofficially, you will use this story to join Bastalliano’s knights, gain the trust of its officers, and access inside their fortress. What we need is being protected behind the Duchess’s walls.”
A cold sweat replaced the acid burn in his gut as Declan’s thoughts raced widely. Suddenly the Pope’s presence and the King’s cryptic words were all starting to form a dark, unsettling picture.
“How you get inside Bastiallano is up to you, but you must complete this mission before nightfall tomorrow.”
The half-witch might have laughed if his throat hadn’t gone suddenly dry. “What—is the mission?”
Nicholas sighed as he dragged the crown unceremoniously from his head and tossed it onto his desk. Ignoring the heavy thud of the jewel-studded circlet, the King reached for a parchment beside it and presented the rolled document to the kneeling Lieutenant. “We have discovered the source of this wretched epidemic. Unfortunately, without the divine intervention of the Saint, there is only one way to stop the plague witch responsible.”
Declan’s brows furrowed in confusion as he took the document and unfurled it to reveal a hand-drawn portrait of a young woman dressed in the simple garments of a servant.
“The plague witch has taken refuge inside Bastiallano’s fortress. Duchess Kirsi has kept her hidden to control the plague's spread. Kill the plague witch, and Lafeara will be saved!”
Declan flinched as the young monarch seized his wrists in a sudden vicious grip.
“I realize the dangers this mission presents,” Nicholas hissed, his tone slipping between whispered desperation and rage, “But your actions will spare the lives of thousands of innocent civilians.”
“Forgive me, your Majesty,” Declan murmured hesitantly. “But why would Lady Kirsi protect the plague witch?” It made no sense, not when the Duchess had done far more than any other noble to assist the afflicted and slow the spread of the plague. While a captive of the church, Declan had heard more than one witch hunter beneath Ripper complain about the ice witch’s supposed interference.
‘And now they want to blame her for this?’
“The same reason we sought to spread it.” The half-witch flinched as the Pope’s quiet but imposing voice filtered across the room. “To control the favor of the masses.”
‘Did the head of the church just admit that out loud?’Declan turned his gaze warily as the Divine Heir left his seat to join them.
“Is it so terribly hard to believe? Think of how cleverly Kirsi manipulated her way through the ranks of nobility. From a half-blood to a Duchess? She created a reputation for herself as a fortuneteller investor named Frost. Then she used her tricks to pull those in various branches of Lafeara’s government to her side to prepare for the arrival of a plague. Orchestrated her way inside the palace with the help of the witch covens, then ingratiated herself with each member of the royal family.”
Jericho moved his right hand idly over the light candles on the King’s desk, teasing the flame with his fingers as he continued. “Once she had established her foothold of power, opened trade routes with all of Lafeara’s allies, and built her hospitals near several of the plague’s hot spots—only then did the plague appear.”
‘Because instead of ending the plague before it began, you unleashed it and spread it across Lafeara!’
“Now the self-proclaimed Duchess of Winter has gathered hundreds of witches from hiding and added them to the ranks of the Bastiallano’s knights, granted to her by the King, all while the means of ending the plague remained close at hand.”
Declan could practically hear his jaw hitting the floor, but neither the King nor Pope appeared to take notice.
“Just imagine the confusion and utter turmoil Kirsi would unleash upon Lafeara’s faithful,” Jericho continued in the same sickening somber tone. “A witch ending a witch plague? Such an act of total defiance in the face of the church and the Saints would desecrate the very foundation of our faith. The world would be thrown into utter chaos.”
Every syllable of falsehood that dripped from the Pope’s lips sent Declan’s mind spinning. ‘Did the King honestly believe any of this? After everything, I told him. After the Pope just admitted the church’s guilt. Why?’
The Lieutenant dropped his gaze to the floor and pressed his lips together. Instinctively Declan knew that if he protested now, if he so much as tarnished the trust Nicholas had in him, then what little protection the King could provide from Ripper and the rest of the witch hunters would cease.
‘I don’t understand—what sort of hold does the Pope have over the King? And why would Nicholas turn against the Duchess now when she has only ever supported him?’
“It would appear your knight is conflicted as to the truth of my words,” Jericho murmured as his lips shifted into a bemused smile. “What more could Kirsi possibly have to gain when she is already a Duchess, the most powerful woman in Lafeara? Is that what you’re thinking.”
Declan flinched beneath the man’s unnerving perceptiveness and offered a single nod in response.
“My throne,” Nicholas whispered hoarsely. The Lieutenant’s head snapped up to meet the young monarch’s hollow gaze. “With the support of the nobles, the covens, and Lafeara’s citizens—Kirsi could easily seize the crown. She is, after all, a descendant of the first Kings and Queens of Lafeara. The immortal Isbrand witches.” The King’s sunken eyes seemed to burn with something akin to madness as he offered the stunned half-witch a cynical smile. “So you see, Sir Declan, I have no choice. I must save Lafeara from the calamity Kirsi has unleashed upon us. And in order to do that—I need your help.”
