Chapter Thirteen

Numbness had settled deep once he finally left the tomb and stood in the darkness. Everything had quieted. Crystal lanterns gave enough light to get around without walking into a tree. Nearly all of the fires had died down, and he was sure most of the werewolves were asleep.

It was peaceful. If only he could feel it.

He hadn't cried despite the urge. Tears had never brought mercy before, and this thing wouldn't care either since it had dragged up hideous recollections of the past. He'd learned to stop giving Uncle the satisfaction of his tears a long time ago, and he wouldn't start now.

Not for this new thing.

For several moments, he imagined telling Remus so he'd know the truth and depth of those cuffs. He'd try everything to keep Sébastien from leaving on his own. He'd do everything in his power to find a way to break its hold and send that thing away.

He would because he was a good man and far better than Sébastien. Everything he'd done so far was more than Sébastien deserved.

It would only allow him to kill Uncle as a sort of exchange for a last bit of anger. Sébastien would burn out, except he wouldn't rise like the phoenix Remus saw him as.

At least it wouldn't hurt anymore, right?

Actually, if he'd told Remus that he'd had a wild hallucination in the tomb, part of which had involved times Uncle had abused him…He might think Sébastien had suffered a flashback that cracked his brain. He'd sound utterly insane if he talked about some beast from…elsewhere. He had no marks from being grabbed, and no one else had seen anything.

What if Remus thought he'd finally broken from stress? If his life had been different, and anyone came to him with a story like that, he likely wouldn't believe it.

There was no way out, and no one could rescue him. Hope wasn't for people like him.

As he listened to a cricket chirp, he thought about the twin mentioning Lilith. What if she'd been real? The few times she was mentioned in stories, it was always vague. She'd come from Earth and might have been considered a human. Some said she'd been the Mother of the South Sea fairies. It was why they hadn't possessed magic like the majority later on.

It had been dismissed by many as a silly story. Elira's Book said nothing of Lilith, and there were no historical documents about her. Prince Angelo had mentioned her, so perhaps she'd had been real although records of her existence had been lost to time.

They'd never know now. It didn't matter when he was doomed. He didn't care to know. Since he was going to die, why bother worrying about it?

When he took off his cloak and inched closer to Remus among the blankets and furs, he considered it again. Remus had said he could wake him up for anything.

Not this. Insane or not, he knew deep down there was no way out, and he wasn't risking reliving his teenage years. What he'd seen in the tomb threatened to make him shake again.

He'd help Remus get what he deserved and ensure his safety. Sébastien could do that much at least, and in the meantime, he'd enjoy what little scraps he could. It was all he'd ever get.

Remus would find someone else to take a ride with. A simpler, good man who hadn't been torn apart over and over again. He deserved a man better than Sébastien without so much weight.

He pressed himself against the future King's side. Remus shifted his sleep and rolled over to sling an arm over him. Sébastien's throat tightened. Why did he have to lose everyone? Why him? He rested his head against Remus's chest, trying to let the steady thump of his heart lead him to sleep.

"You can't escape me."

Sébastien's own heart thudded. The words had come in his head, and the voice wasn't his own.

***

Remus kept looking at him oddly when they sat inside Enrico's house the next day. It was rather like their space with some furs for a bed, except he had a tiny table he'd brought in for them. He preferred to sit on the furs instead of crowding them.

Enrico said the Well Orator tended to go to Norraco in winter and stay through spring. He'd skipped the previous year since he was getting older, and his next trip might be his last. The journey was growing harder with his age, and while he'd likely live for many years yet, it would be too much before long.

Remus had seen the Well Orator. Sébastien had heard of him in books. The old werewolf was a great poet, and he only composed by the well in Norraco. If fairies gave him a coin, he'd make up a poem on the spot about them or whatever they asked for. He said that while fairies drew water from the well, he drew inspiration, and he couldn't create a poem anywhere else. Sébastien was sure that he could make up a poem no matter where he was, and it was a part of his act.

"He needs to stay here for this to work," said Sébastien. "Instead of us storming the walls, the army will walk right in with no problems. The werewolves can leave gifts and flowers by the well in his memory. Some could toss in kops too."

"Of course, the locals will ask what's happening," said Remus. "Any werewolf who is asked must say that the Well Orator has died. Since he's so well known, and word will spread, I'm sure fairies will start to leave flowers and things too out of respect. Just about everybody there, including me, has heard his poems many times. It'll be the perfect way to get so many werewolves in and close to the Palace with little suspicion."

"Since the citizens don't mind werewolves, they won't be worried about so many flooding in and sleeping around," said Sébastien. "Inns will likely make more money too since I'm sure some will stay there if they have the money."

"Some fairies might even open their homes and allow them a spot to sleep out of respect for the Well Orator," said Remus.

Enrico nodded. Of course, word would get to Quintus, and he wouldn't suspect anything. A loved poet had died, and if werewolves wanted to pay their respects at the spot where he'd worked, he wouldn't suspect Remus was coming. Remus said Quintus might even go down himself and toss a coin in the well since they'd enjoyed his poems as children.

When ready, Sébastien and Remus would implement their plan and walk right into the Palace grounds. Remus had balked at that when Sébastien first said so. Just because Sébastien had strolled into the Knight's home didn't mean they could do it anywhere. He'd finally relented when Sébastien explained the rest of his idea and how they'd get into the Palace itself.

Put together, it would work out.

Quintus wouldn't suspect anything even then because Sébastien was known to hate werewolves with a passion. He'd never work with them, correct? What they needed was to offer something that was okay on the outside but clearly the request of someone desperate. They'd talk to buy time, and when the final strike came, it would be too late for Quintus.

Sébastien was beyond exhausted since he'd barely slept the night before. He wouldn't dare mention a word of what happened, and he hated imagining Remus's thoughts if he heard of what Sébastien had seen and heard.

The Prince has cracked. He's insane. He's hearing voices that aren't there.

Sébastien felt brittle and weak despite the front he'd put up. The layers had cracks. How he despised feeling weak and knowing no plan could get him out of the devil's clutches. Remus gave him an odd look a couple of times over the day as they plotted their route and other details. When other werewolves came to join, they'd relay the information so everyone was on the same page.

Sébastien still felt weak despite the planning with Remus. Other werewolves were told of the plan, and some got to work on gathering things for gifts. Shiny pebbles, kops, dried flowers, and tiny trinkets. They often piled little things like that around a grave or a special spot for a loved one in South Sea, and they'd wait three days or so before taking the items back since the dead can't bring anything with them.

They'd left things by Prince Angelo's tomb since they were staying in the area, and the werewolves said he was special.

If only they knew how special.

"Are you all right?" Remus asked as they sat inside their home that night after dinner. Things had grown quiet earlier except for a werewolf yelling for her kids to get back and go to bed.

"I'm tired," said Sébastien.

"You seemed a bit…off."

It figured Remus would notice despite the act. Sébastien was used to pretending to be fine after years of sitting next to his abuser. Nobody had tried to look beyond it.

"I just need sleep."

With so little time left, Sébastien was tempted to tell Remus to lay him down on the furs and show him how it should be when two men fully come together. Remus cared, and he'd be gentle. It wouldn't be like his other experiences that brought shame and pain.

He barely had any time left. Once they took Rowland, he had to get out in a week. Since they wouldn't leave for Soleil right away, and they'd be busy organizing the army and drawing the Kingdom together under one new ruler, Sébastien could slip away.

Why not make use of his little time and enjoy a few last scraps since he wouldn't get more in the end? Soon.

***

The next morning, Sébastien asked a couple of werewolves if they had green paint since he'd noticed a couple of the structures were done in that color. He wanted to paint the carts green so they'd blend in a little better while hidden in the woods. A few of the werewolves looked surprised like they thought he'd snub his nose at any type of work.

The carts were in good shape when Sébastien found them on the edge of the area that morning. The only problem was that nobody had repainted them in ages, so they were worn grey and looked like shit. The paint they'd given him wouldn't be his choice of green for anything. The dark muddy color made him think of baby poop.

It didn't need to be a neat job, which was good since Sébastien wasn't used to painting. The brush he'd been given wasn't the best either. At least the work was sort of a distraction from how shittier and shorter his life had become. He'd gotten three out of four done when a woman approached.

Something about her features was rather like Madam Diamond, and he wasn't sure if she was a fairy or not. He'd heard a shaman lived somewhere in South Sea, although he didn't know what a shaman was supposed to mean.

"Two werewolves said if I wanted to meet the Soleilian Prince, I could find him here."

"Er, hi."

She gave him a long look up and down that wasn't sexual, but was still enough to make him uncomfortable. "One called you a ribbiting pig, although I see nothing froggish or piggish about you."

"Soleilians are exactly high on their list of people to like." Sébastien set the brush down in the little bucket of water he'd brought. He didn't feel very princely since he'd been sweating, and he'd gotten paint on his shirt. "You know who I am. I don't know you."

"Lydia. I was a wanderer on Earth. My wife is around somewhere. We live near the southernmost edge. We like to visit the werewolves once or twice a year."

Sébastien squinted. "Are you the shaman I've heard of?"

"Yeah. I don't do much of that now."

Despite her easy movement, she had to be nearly fifty. She wore a buckskin skirt that barely reached her knees. He'd never seen a woman wear something so short in public outside of Finkin where people typically dressed for the heat first and modesty second.

"So…does a shaman have South Sea magic or…?"

"No." She snorted and went to the unpainted cart to boost herself up and sit. "There are all kinds of things in existence that you have no idea of. Tribal shamans on Earth deal with those things at times."

"Like what?"

She shrugged. "When I lived on Earth, I wandered, and at the age of seventeen, a spirit came to me in a dream and said I would be a shaman, but not for the Nackama tribe. I'd wander until I met a woman with purple eyes. I found her a year later, and we married."

"Oh, you're more fairy than human?"

"I'm always human."

He wasn't sure if that was how she viewed herself or if they hadn't done the proper bonding which involved a little blood. Even fairies cut their palms and rubbed their hands together to mix the blood.

If she came from Earth and knew about all sorts of "other things," did she know about that beast, demon, devil, or whatever was latched onto him?

"Do you talk to spirits?"

"There's not much of that here. Not like on Earth."

"Why not?"

"Realms aren't all the same."

"Have you seen the tomb?"

"Plenty of times."

"What's it talking about with the fallen star and the devil?"

"It's more of a human thing." She hopped down. "I like that one. Can you take a break from painting?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't expect a Prince to be doing such menial work."

"I won't be a Prince much longer." She gave him an odd look, and he realized he shouldn't have said that. "We'll be at war soon. I'm not invincible, so I might lose my title. I won't be the Prince of anywhere if I'm dead."

And It would erase his life in a blink.

"I suppose so," she said. "You could try to be an optimist."

"Being a realist works better."

"If you win, you'll be a King. Come on."

Thankfully, he didn't see Remus on the way to the tomb. Lydia went ahead and immediately kneeled at the foot of the stone coffin as if she were praying. Sébastien stayed a few steps back as he watched her. Did she know some tricks to get rid of spirits or whatever? How come she couldn't sense what was latched onto him?

She stood and looked at the poem on the wall. "That's what you're talking about, right?"

"Yeah." He was tempted to ask if she saw any other writing on the wall and barely bit it back.

One Morning Star took the Fall

Six stars follow among all

They call him Devil

The one of ill will

One o' glory fell

Banished to the Hell

Only to rise and not drown

Don't forget him and lay me down

Abandon me

To save me

Lay me down

Let me drown

Forgive me, brother,

You'll have another

Down you lay me,

Don't forget me

"It's sad, but I like it," she said after presumably reading it. "The Devil is a thing from human myth. The Christians believe he lives in Hell."

"You mean Helheim? Where Loki's daughter lives? Hel?"

"No." She shook her head. "They don't believe in the Norse gods anymore. To them, Hell is a terrible place full of fire, and the Devil lives there with a bunch of demons. If a human is good, they go to Heaven with their God. If they're wicked, they go to Hell to be tortured for all eternity."

"Their God truly does this?"

"That's what they believe. They call the Devil Lucifer and Satan too. I've read parts of the Bible, and I think they're the same. The names varied depending on the region or the time period. I'd love to meet someone from the Fallen realm who could tell me about that stuff. They'd probably know more of the truth of what happened. Clearly, the Bible left out a lot. Anyway, Christian mythology has things that aren't considered to be the full truth."

"Okay."

The Morning Star was Lucifer, a Prince of Hell. He fought with God and fell from Heaven." Lydia pointed up. "He took other angels with him, and they became demons. There are other Princes too. They represent different things like anger, greed, and lust. Those are sins."

He tilted his head. "How would those be sins? I can see greed, but everyone gets angry at some point in life, and two spouses might lust after each other. Do the humans think they're doomed for this?"

"They mean two unmarried people lusting after each other and having sex, or anger which leads to harm. Or if they let anger rule them. Also, humans aren't as free in general. If they knew how much homosexuality and sexual freedom is going on here, the Church would say you're all doomed to Hell."

From what little Sébastien knew, the human's God didn't allow a lot of stuff, not that he cared. Elira wasn't nearly so strict, and God was for humans.

"From this, I'm guessing Prince Angelo fought one of those Princes. The fight killed him. His twin, Caligo, had a new brother afterward, so the later words are from Angelo to his twin. Perhaps they had an argument, and he wanted forgiveness."

Angelo and Caligo had argued in the vision Sébastien saw. Angelo had been willing to help those with him even if it meant losing a family member, but he'd still wanted to have peace between them.

Whatever he'd done to fight the great evil, he'd done it alone so only he would be sacrificed and laid to rest afterward. Perhaps the Devil had possessed Angelo, and he'd somehow fought back.

It had threatened Sébastien. If he told Remus, it would kill him, and since it promised great firepower…Not being able to know the real truth was frustrating. If he dared to speak to the beast, he highly doubted it would talk to him like a man.

Elira had supposedly fought other things before. The stories were always patchy and more like myths. In Illusa and Foamlen, two connected islands far north of Finkin, Elira had supposedly fought a beast who'd set a whole forest on fire. Despite it being centuries upon centuries ago, almost nobody entered the forest because people went missing or saw unnatural things like floating fire.

Sébastien had always looked at those stories as mere tales to tell around a fire. If someone disappeared, outlaws or an accident was the more likely reason. A forest fire meant lightning had struck a tree or a fairy's campfire had gotten out of control.

"So the poem on the wall. It mentions Princes. One of Wrath, and one of Sacrifice."

"I suppose the beast could have been Satan, the Prince of Wrath. Angelo was the Prince of Sacrifice. He killed himself to kill Satan."

"The Princes aren't a myth?"

Lydia frowned. "It's a story. Just because some man sat and wrote about Princes of Hell doesn't mean they're real. I highly doubt he saw them."

"But they're related, and you even have tales of this on Earth. How would two completely separate realms know of this? I bet if we found a demon and asked, they'd have info too."

"Easy." She folded her arms. "Through the centuries, rifters have gone to Earth. I'm sure there were a few rifters in Angelo's time or not long after. If they visited, they would have spoken and seen early humans plus the Fallen who lived there at that time. If they were peaceful, they likely traded stories that were twisted or altered a little here and there. Humans and fairies both twist their things."

"But-"

"That poem on the wall? Human children say a similar prayer before bed. ‘I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.' They have variations too, and while I'm sure they'd claim a monk or religious man invented it, perhaps a fairy made it up and passed it along."

"If you know of things that exist, does he exist?" He pointed at the wall. "Angelo fought something. You speak to spirits. Can you speak to that one?"

Her expression grew guarded. "I wouldn't go looking for anyone like that. All of this Prince of Hell stuff is what I've read in books before on Earth. I loved myths and old tales from various religions."

"This sounds real, and if you look in the hall, he's fighting something that's been blacked out."

Lydia gave him a long look. "Some say he fought a group of invaders. Perhaps that was the leader, who was a typical fairy, and he was blacked out to look more scary. Are you worried about it?"

Something in her face said he was crazy for being so insistent that a great evil had existed, and she should talk to it. If she really thought most of the poem was written and based on old tales cobbled together, she'd think he was insane if he dared to utter the truth.

"I'd like to make better sense of it."

She started toward the entrance. "Stories are altered to sound more interesting, or they're made of nonsense with nuggets of truth. If the baby brother came later, how would Angelo have known his Mother was having a baby? It's written as if from his point of view."

"She could have been pregnant before he died."

"How would he know she'd have another boy? The poem was carved into the tomb which was built after he died. We don't even know when those other drawings were added. Centuries upon centuries have gone by, Sébastien."

"The drawings were done pretty early."

"So you read. You weren't here to see it, and none of them are dated."

"What if the great evil wasn't truly defeated, and that's merely a story too?"

She turned her back to him. "I don't know."

With that, she walked out. Sébastien's chest pricked with fury as he watched her leave. He wanted information to fight the thing if there was any sliver of a chance, not to be told that myths and bullshit had gotten mixed up over the ages with a couple of tiny truths added.

Why mention a human myth and relate it to Angelo? He'd seen part of the truth. He'd heard the growl when he came back to reality. It had spoken to him outside of the vision or whatever one wanted to call it.

He took a deep breath and stared at the floor. For a woman who'd grown up as a human, knew a lot of fiction from that world, came here, and learned more about other realms, he could see why she drew connections and thought things had been brought back and forth. Since plenty of fairies who could rift and pass for human had gone to Earth over time, it made sense that things from them would make its way over. Even the printing press, which was originally a human invention, was an item that fairies now used for books.

He stared at the poem for a long moment. She didn't know enough and couldn't help. He was alone. Again.

"I'm a fool," he muttered. Looking for hope was just as stupid.

***

He'd barely gotten one side of the last cart painted when a snarl pulled him from his thoughts. He'd been so focused on his internal problems, he hadn't noticed the blob of paint on the ground.

He glanced over his shoulder, not expecting to see a werewolf charging toward him on all fours. He spoke, and all Sébastien caught were words about not trusting pigs.

He froze, remembered how Mother and Enzo had been clawed, dropped the brush, and dove under the cart.

The werewolf growled as he skidded to a halt in the dirt and grass since he was too big to easily fit underneath. Sébastien rolled, narrowly avoided the arm that swiped at him, and came out the other side. He stood and drew his sword as fear tightened his stomach.

The werewolf jumped into the cart and rocked it as Sébastien lifted his other hand and summoned fire.

"Stop!" shouted a voice. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

The first snapped his teeth as another jumped into the cart to grab his arm. "We're not letting a rapist live, and I'm certainly not following one into battle."

"He's not a rapist. You're crazy."

Sébastien was so floored by the sudden accusation, he didn't even know what to say. Why on Ymir's dirt would they think he was a rapist? Had Uncle started a hideous rumor that had somehow reached South Sea already? While the two argued and tussled in the cart, and the second refused to let go, several others came running.

If they all attacked, he wouldn't last long.

"What the fuck is going on?" demanded the one who dressed like a lord. He had on a blue coat with gold embroidery all over it.

"He's a rapist!"

Blue squinted and licked his nose. "Um, what?"

"Does anyone want to tell me what the fuck is going on?" Sébastien pointed his sword at the first. "If I committed a crime, shouldn't I be told what I did wrong before you rip my head off as punishment?"

"You raped the shaman!"

Why the fuck would she make up a lie like that? "I did no such thing! If she's saying I did, you can bring her over right now to say it to my face."

"Fuck you! Like I'd shame her-"

"I never touched her!"

One spoke up. "Everyone, calm down for a moment. Sébastien, she didn't say you actually did anything-"

"Then why is this one accusing me!?"

The werewolf raised his hands. "She only came this morning, and she met Remus. She was curious to meet you too. She took her wife and left just a bit ago without saying goodbye to anyone, and only one caught them just as they were leaving the area. She said they were going home and seemed…odd. Or that's what that one said."

Another scratched his chest. "They've never left so fast before. They always stay for at least three or four days, and she often likes to do a ritual for us to help the hunting. Neither she nor her wife quarreled with any of us, so why did she leave so suddenly after meeting you?"

Sébastien's stomach plummeted. He knew why.

"Maybe she's got another kind of issue," one mumbled. "Women's troubles or…"

The first one pointed a claw at Sébastien. "He either raped her or tried to. Trying is good enough to kill him. She's ashamed that we let such filth into our home who would prey on a guest."

"That doesn't mean he raped her!"

"They were seen going into the tomb alone."

"She didn't say anything or accuse anyone of doing a single damn-"

"Maybe she doesn't want to talk about it."

"Are you fucking retarded?" One shook his fist. "Do you think he'd go back to painting carts like nothing happened?"

Uncle would go about his day like nothing happened after he was done dirtying his nephew. If Sébastien had attempted to force himself on her, he was sure she would have fought back, and he could tell she wouldn't be easy to subdue. One of them would have marks. More likely, she would have gutted him for trying while screaming for help. A bunch of werewolves would have heard and come running.

It wasn't the same as Uncle abusing one who'd known and trusted him since birth. She also wasn't a child or teenager who could be manipulated so easily.

The first let his gaze roam over everyone. "They were alone together. She left in a hurry with her wife and was short with the one who spoke to her."

"If I had raped her or touched her at all, she would have gladly told you all so she could watch one of you rip my head off. Nothing about that says I raped her. We went into the tomb because I was curious about the poem inside to see if she knew anything about human myths. She said she came from Earth. We merely spoke about it, and she left. Not once did I lay a finger on her."

"Did you argue?" asked one. "Some of us were kind of thinking that perhaps you were rude, and Lydia took offense or…" She shrugged. "I don't know. I spotted her before she left. She didn't appear hurt, and if anyone touched her like that, she would have said so. Lydia wouldn't simply leave and allow a rapist to continue staying in our midst."

Others agreed, seeing the logic, and one told the first what he could do to himself with a splintery stick. Another shouted that such wild accusations pulled from thin air were dangerous, and if he'd killed the Soleilian Prince over nothing, Remus would have torn him to pieces.

"He might be a pig, but that doesn't mean he rapes." A werewolf snapped his jaws. "Asshole! If she comes back in the future, I'm sure she won't be angry then, and she'll tell us the problem."

"She might not even be angry. Maybe there was something else."

The first spit on the ground near Sébastien before leaping from the cart and heading the way he came. Blue asked Sébastien if he was all right.

"Yes."

The rest started to drift off as they talked since the danger was over. Sébastien put out his fire and sheathed his sword as his stomach sank even further.

She hadn't left because of an argument or anything they thought. She'd lied to his face and acted like the poem was all stories and made-up bullshit. She'd known or sensed something was off, and it was why she'd been looking at him so intently. With his persistent questioning, intuition, or whatever one wanted to call it told her to be leery of him. He'd asked if the defeat was a lie, and with the final question she'd made her decision.

Lydia knew. If she told everyone what she suspected, it'd make her look crazy, so she'd left him, preferring to get herself and her wife out of the area just in case.