➳ 49 |𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

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"THERE'S ONE IMPORTANT thing I remember," I add

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"THERE'S ONE IMPORTANT thing I remember," I add. "Bell said, in the forest of Faroise, that Crystal had a vision of the future: Fediswa would free her."

"Buddy, Fediswa is you," Blair suggests quietly, and I make a face at him.

Gaz ponders something that doesn't sit right with her. "How did Bell know the sword's hiding place? We explored the castle to exhaustion."

I lock my gaze on the tray of tarts. I feel Nightmare's umbrella behind my head, vigilant and ready to strike. Annoyed by the sensation of my growling stomach, I mention the letter Crystal wrote specifically for her brother and the enlightenment that allowed her to transcribe the correct directions for him to find Ecliptic.

Gaz gracefully and composedly bites into a new tart. I believe, from the filling, that it's made of strawberry jam. "It was Piety. If the sword had ended up with me, it would have been a disaster, so she enlightened Crystal."

"A vision..." Moyna looks thoughtful, folding her fingers in front of the fire's warmth. "Humans can't have them."

"That's not the only strange thing," Gaz agrees. "The host who allows Legend into their body dies. So, Crystal should have lost her soul by now... but Raor's vision of freeing her implies she still has it."

"Oh... oh!"

"What is it, Moyna? What have you figured out?" Ainnir asks anxiously.

She smiles and blinks. "There is a category of humans who can have visions from Piety and can survive possession."

"Everyone here has a double identity," Blair comments sarcastically.

"People of eann blood. Druids, Sorcerers, and Witches."

"Crystal is a Witch?" Gaz leans forward from the sofa towards Moyna, astonished.

"Hold your tongues for a moment," I intervene. "Bell is a dark Sorcerer. Could his sister be one too?"

"Certainly. Eann blood is inherited genetically; they must have a relative who hid this gift from the rest of the royal family and passed on the trait," Moyna confirms.

"Bell, who feared possession, didn't know that humans of eann blood don't die..." Gaz gets lost in thought, as if speaking to herself. "The corrupt Druids in the castle didn't tell him, pushing him to learn dark magic and spread it at court."

"Being possessed is still a misfortune," Ainnir reflects.

"That disgusting Deer," I growl.

"Well, now that we've clarified these very interesting aspects," Blair drawls, "Let's focus on what we need to do."

"Retrieve Ecliptic. Part of Raor's awakening depends on this," Gaz states in simple and clear words.

"And save Hahbell." We all turn our heads towards Ainnir. "We can't abandon him."

"Sweetie, who cares about the little prince?" Our red-haired friend snaps, pushing a green strand of hair behind her ear.

"This would be the second time I've saved Bell," I say, exasperated.

Ainnir gives a smile that reveals the small gap between her front teeth. "You want to help him, don't you, Raor? I know how you are."

"Sibilla is a spoiled and cruel Fairy." Nightmare's low, funereal voice surprises us. So he had been listening attentively, besides hitting us with his umbrella. "The prince might meet a tragic end. She'll do anything to sabotage diplomatic attempts and feel justified in venting her strange fantasies on him. Especially if she feels offended."

"Great. A full-fledged rescue and destiny sword retrieval operation." Blair, if possible, seems more bored than usual.

And a bit annoyed because he'll have to do the opposite of what he'd prefer. The broken crown tattoo on his neck clearly shows that, if it were up to him, blue bloods could burn in hell.

"We have to infiltrate the palace without being discovered. I think that's the tricky part of the plan."

At my statement, a dagger is thrown against the table, and the blade embeds itself in the wood. We widen our eyes. The handle vibrates frenetically, gradually slows down, and stops. Blessed Wyverns.

"Did you forget you have a friend who's an expert in infiltrations, you fuckers?"

Ah. Right. Daven.

We look at him as if he were our only anchor of salvation. So far, he's been silent and secluded in the armchair with its back to the fireplace, and we've almost forgotten his presence, which, incidentally, he's good at hiding. Just like he was good at hide-and-seek as a child.

"Little brother, that dagger..."

"I'm practicing my aim, big brother Blair," he downplays, but knowing him, I bet he's irritated because he felt ignored by the group.

When Daven is upset, he doesn't get angry like normal people. He tends to speak more quietly and give a certain type of smile – you have to know how to distinguish it – that means: I'll dismember you alive on the torture chair.

"Don't ruin the new furniture! And don't use vulgarities, you bad boy!" Nightmare delivers a deadly umbrella strike to the blond's nape, and this time I think he almost broke his neck bone.

"Ouch, that hurts a lot!"

Even the unyielding ones like Daven succumb to the strong manners of the Great Father. His contracted face is proof of that.

He moves his armchair closer, retrieves the dagger, slipping it into the buckle of his fingerless glove, under the sleeve, and massages his nape.

"There are two things in the world I can't stomach," says our assassin friend, making the sign of two. "The first is broccoli."

We think the best reaction is to stay serious, or that dagger will end up between our eyes.

"The second is a poorly executed infiltration plan. As an assassin of the Cobra Sect, I believe that details make the difference. Works of art must be thought out in every aspect to be defined as perfect."

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