Virian hardly noticed the paladins and his guards about ready to draw swords on each other as he flew out of the main gate of the cathedral. He was in his carriage and moving before he even realized where he was going. Had he even told the driver? His head was a whirling mess, and he had so little time. Whatever the church’s plans were for Ivy, they wouldn’t simply hold her for long.

Virian pushed aside the curtain obscuring the window of the cabin and peered outside. They were passing through the checkpoint that separated the nobles from the market. So he had told the driver of the first destination that marked that start of his rapidly forming plan. The carriage rattled on through the tumult of the market, and he watched as the commoners parted in either direction to make way for his entourage. He wondered what their reaction would be if he had walked down the street by himself. Probably wouldn’t notice him. Would that be better or worse?

Eventually they came to a stop in front of a one-story workshop with a mostly glass facade. In the large display windows were every color of potion imaginable, some with signs advertising their wondrous functions.

Instant love potion! Never a blemish again! The ultimate panacea!

Virian shook his head at the ridiculous claims after swinging open the door to his carriage. His guards were arrayed on either side of him, and the people of the market had mostly paused their own business, watching. Great. Just what he needed. After this was all over, there would no doubt be questions to answer. Nevertheless, he had a job to do, and nothing could stop him at this point.

“Don’t follow me,” he said to the sergeant on his left. The man narrowed his eyes, but Virian held up a hand to stop his lips from opening. “Guard the entrance if you must, but do not enter.”

The sergeant nodded and Virian dropped down from the carriage onto the street. A few steps later and he stood in front of the alchemist’s doorway. He took a moment, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself, “here we go.”

Twenty-three years of life, and it felt like he was just now making decisions for himself. Being himself. But why did his first independent actions have to be fight against the most powerful organization in the world? Ha. Hahahaha.

He threw open the door to the alchemist’s shop with a wild grin on his face. There were maybe half a dozen patrons already inside, all well dressed. He searched back in his memory and finally remembered what he had told the driver at the cathedral.

Take me to the best alchemist in the city.

This place was probably frequented by nobles and rich merchants. Luckily he recognized no one currently occupying the space.

“Two gold royals to leave right now,” he said. Half of the customers immediately moved towards him, while the others frowned. Damnit. “Five.” Still nothing from one man. “Ten.”

That did the trick. The patrons lined up, and Virian fished out the coins from his purse, leaving him a bit light for the alchemist himself. Still, the cost had been worth it, and now he was alone with a middle aged man sporting a pair of thick spectacles who had been watching from the onset.

“Quite a show, your highness,” the alchemist said.

“Good, you know who I am,” Virian said.

“Indeed. So to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Virian strolled over to the man who was standing behind a tall workbench, several bottles of colorless liquid frothing and bubbling beneath his nose. It didn’t look particularly safe, honestly, but Virian got as close as he dared.

“First, I need you to guarantee our business today stays between us.”

The alchemist chuckled.

“I make poisons, drugs that can make you spill your darkest secrets, and others that make it seem like your whole body is on fire. I know how to keep a secret.”

Virian raised both eyebrows at the man, shocked at his straightforward answer.

“How is it no one has killed you yet?” Virian asked.

The alchemist shrugged.

“Everyone needs me. Even you, your highness. So what can I do for you?”

Virian fished out his half empty purse and dropped it on the work-table.

“You know of the church’s anti-magic cocktail?” The alchemist nodded. “Another full purse if you can recreate it right now.”

The alchemist eyed Virian’s purse and then settled his attention back to Virian.

“You want a dose of alaricite?”

“Yes,” Virian said, then shook his head. “No. Not exactly. I want you to make a solution that appears to be a dose, but contains no alaricite.”

The alchemist smiled.

“I see…and what use might you have for such a potion?”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.” The alchemist turned his back on Virian and retreated deeper into his workshop where Virian could no longer see him. “Your request is doable, of course. The color will be difficult due to alaricite’s odd light bending properties, but not impossible. The content of the metal is very low in a dose to avoid killing its users, of course.”

“Right,” Virian said, “so you’ll do it?”

The alchemist reappeared with his hands full of glass instruments.

“Oh yes.” He dropped his gear on the table and gave Virian another look. “I assume you want this concoction to be non-toxic?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. It shouldn’t take long. Peruse the store. Maybe you’ll find something else you need.”

Virian rolled his eyes, but really had nothing better to do anyway. He strolled down the aisles finding more of what he had seen in the front window display. There were countless bottles of both positive and negative effects, all the way down to lethal poisons just as the alchemist had said. There were even different kinds. Some you could coat a weapon with, others had to be ingested. Just right there in plain view to be bought. It was…crazy. Virian stared at the offerings for some time, wondering if Ivy had ever used such things.

“Your highness?” the voice of the alchemist broke him out of his thoughts.

“Yes?” he said.

“Your request is completed.”

Already? Virian started to make his way back to the front of the store, ready to reject whatever the man had cooked up, but when he got back to the workbench, froze at what he saw. A bottle maybe a few inches tall and an inch wide sat on the table, a swirling, viscous black fluid within. He reached for it, and held it up to his face, a beam of light from a nearby window illuminating the contents. Just like the real thing, the light seemed to both be absorbed, and reflected at the same time.

“It…it’s perfect,” Virian said.

“You have a good eye for it, your highness?”

Virian was sent back to his childhood where he saw the paladins forcing the stuff down his mother’s mouth.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Good enough.” Virian stuffed the bottle into a pocket inside his doublet and nodded. “The rest of the coin will be delivered shortly. And remember, not a word of this. To anyone.”

The alchemist only smiled and Virian turned on his heel, nearly running out of the place. There was still so much to do. Once outside, he shouted some orders and got back into his carriage for the ride back home. His plan kept rolling around in his head, each bump of the road feeling like another thing that could go wrong in a list of things that all needed to play out perfectly.

He took a look out of the window and They were already past the palace outer wall and into the courtyard beside the barracks. He slammed a fist up into the ceiling several times until the carriage came to a halt. Once fully stationary, he flung open the door and hopped down to the smooth paved road that led up to the palace. The sergeant of his escort was already waiting for him with a frown on his face.

“Your highness?” the man asked.

“I need some fresh air,” Virian said, and then started running the rest of the way.

The air felt nice against his face, and although he still heard the clanking footsteps of the soldiers jogging behind him, the run made him feel just a bit more like himself. The distance left took no time at all, however. Another pair of guards opened the great palace doors well ahead of his arrival, and he was thrust back into a world where everyone waited on him. He ignored every servant and guard that tried to address him, keeping his pace up the flights of the curving stairways that led to the royal quarters. More guards were standing sentry before his room, whom he also ignored completely, slamming the door behind him once he entered.

Finally alone as he could be for someone in his position, he dropped to the ground, his back against the solid wood doors to his chamber. In large heaving breaths, he caught his wind and pulled out the bottle hidden away within his much too warm silk doublet. Once again he held it aloft, staring at the alchemist’s perfect creation. It might actually work. It had to.

He just needed a way to deliver it, now. Virian stood, keeping the bottle gripped tight in one hand and walked over to one of his dressing armoires. Deep inside behind a false back he kept a little box that he had never once shown to another soul. He pushed on the hidden compartment allowing access, and pulled out his most treasured possessions. The keepsake box and everything inside was all he had left of his mother.

He sat on the floor and opened the hinged, wooden lid, revealing what little remained of her. There was a silver chain and moon pendant, a golden bracelet, a handwritten letter…and three empty glass vials. For some reason Virian had kept them after all these years. The paladin who had been dosing her left out the empty vials one day and he had snatched them up for who knew what. Perhaps this was the reason. If fate was indeed an undeniable force, then even as a child he had been preparing for this moment. He snatched up the vials, and couldn’t resist picking up the letter as well. Her jewelry was one thing, but her words another. He read the thing at least once a year, and it had probably been about that long. Today, on the brink of his atonement for what he had done to her would be as good a time as any.

He started to unfold it, but froze at what had sat beneath the sheaf of paper. He almost dropped the letter, his hands moving by themselves at the final piece of jewelry in the box. For all his life he had thought nothing of the pair of seemingly innocuous earrings, but everything had changed recently. It was like his past and present were colliding headfirst as he brought the earrings out of their place and into the light. Two jeweled dragonflies sparkled in the afternoon sun streaming into his room. It couldn’t just be a coincidence, but what did it mean? There was no way Ivy and his mother were connected in any way. There was something else. Someone else, more likely. The witches were…organizing? He doubted Ivy had any part of it, though. But…

Virian shook his head and dropped the earrings back into the box. This wasn’t the time to be opening up another mystery. The letter, too, he returned to its place, and then the box as well. Only the three vials were left out, and with a slow, steady hand, he transfered the contents of the alchemist’s bottle evenly to each vial. Satisfied with his efforts, he stoppered each vial and thrust them into his coat where the bottle had previously occupied. And now, the most risky part of all.

He pushed open the doors to his room and nodded at the guards.

“I’m visiting the barracks,” Virian said, “you don’t need to come.” The men on duty frowned as they always did. “I’m going to be surrounded by my soldiers. I think I’ll be okay.”

He moved on without waiting for a response, and thankfully there was no one on his heels. He got past the rest of the servants and exterior guards with a similar one-side conversation, until finally he stood in front of the doors to the small barracks that lie within the outer wall. The guards outside the entrance were eyeing him with pained expressions, but he didn’t care. They were both low ranking privates and likely would not dare to challenge him nor speak without first being addressed, so he walked up and threw open the doors without a word.

Inside, many more soldiers were milling about. He had to admit he had never been in the building before, but found it to be a bit cramped to house so many people. Off to one side a great deal of tables and chairs were set up where a good three dozen or so men and a few women were enjoying a hearty, boisterous lunch. The moment they saw him, however, all chatter and laughter died in an instant. He searched faces looking for the sergeant who had shrugged off Rose’s impertinent behavior multiple times. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found.

Another man approached slowly, and offered up a bow. An officer’s insignia was sown into his uniform.

“Your highness,” he said, “can I help you?”

“No,” Virian said, and then moved on.

The other half of the barracks seemed to be sleeping quarters, most of which were grouped with several bunks each. Virian checked them all, continuing to look at faces, but did not find the man in question. The sergeant who had spoken was following the whole way.

“Perhaps, your highness,” he said, “if you told me what—”

“Do the sergeants have separate sleeping arrangements?”

“Platoon sergeants have a small private room, yes. Squad sergeants sleep with their unit.”

“Take me there.”

Virian followed the captain down another hallway into a separate wing of the barracks where the rooms had closed and locked doors.

“Open it,” Virian said at the first one.

The captain shrugged, but pulled out a key and unlocked it. Virian was pretty sure Rose was the only high ranking woman in the guard, so he wouldn’t be causing too much of a fuss waking a few men who were scheduled for the night shift.

Luckily, in the first room they opened, he recognized the man immediately.

“You may leave, captain,” Virian said.

“Your highness, if I may—”

“You may not.”

“Has sergeant Feron offended your highness?”

“Just go. Now.”

The captain bowed and closed the door after exiting.

“Wake up,” Virian said, jostling the man with one arm as he dozed away on his cot.

The man’s eyes blinked open, and his hand shot to his waist looking for a weapon that obviously wasn’t there.

“H-huh?”

“Relax. It’s only me.”

“Your…your highness?”

His eyes were still only half open, but he attempted to sit up straight, only barely accomplishing the feat.

“W-what’s…what’s going on? Uhmm…Your highness?” He rubbed his face, and forced some alertness into his expression.

“I need your help,” Virian said.

“Of course, your highness. Whatever you need.”

“Do you have someone loyal to you? And to Rose?”

“To sergeant Rose? Have you found her?”

The mention of Rose brought far more attention from the sergeant than his own presence. Virian smiled. That was perfect.

“Feron, is it?” he asked, and Feron nodded. “Do you have someone like that? Bring them back here, please.”

“R-right. Of course, your highness. I will return as fast as I can.”

Virian nodded and Feron stumbled out of the room. The captain was waiting right outside and Virian shook his head at him to stop him from pestering Feron. In just a minute or two, Feron returned with a corporal behind him.

“Shut the door,” Virian said, “and lock it.” Feron did as instructed, and then sat back on his bed while the corporal stood in a corner, wide eyed. Virian lowered his voice. “What’s said in this room never leaves, do you understand?”

“Yes, your highness,” Feron said, and the corporal nodded.

Virian turned his attention to the corporal.

“What’s your name?”

“T-tamren, your highness.”

“Tamren, I need you to say it.”

“What’s said, never leaves, your highness.”

“Good. And I mean it. If it ever gets out, it could be the end for all of us.”

Feron scratched his head.

“What is it you want us to do, your highness?”

“I’ve found Rose. She needs our help.”

Feron stood.

“Then what are we doing here? Muster the guard, your highness!”

“Calm yourself, sergeant,” Virian said, knowing he had chosen correctly, “it is not so simple.”

“Explain.”

Virian almost laughed. It was all “your highness” until Rose got mentioned. Now the sergeant was giving the commands.

“The church has her,” Virian said, and both guardsmen gasped. “They believe she is a witch. I don’t need to tell you how false that is.”

“Of course not!” Feron shouted. Virian hoped the lie would help them stomach what came next.

“Lower your voice,” he said, “but she was taken with an actual witch.”

“Yes, this Dragonfly? Correct?”

“That’s right. They were living together apparently. It doesn’t look good.”

“Sergeant Rose was merely tricked! Explain it to them your highness!”

Virian sighed.

“I went to the cathedral today. Everyone knows the church’s steadfastness regarding this matter.”

“Then…then what do we do?” Feron asked, dropping his head. The corporal appeared equally as crestfallen.

“I cannot go to war with the church. Which just leaves…”

“What?” Feron’s head perked back up. “Leaves what?”

“The Dragonfly supposedly cares very much for Rose. As we all do. The church plans to use Rose against her. I have a plan to free the witch. I am positive she will save Rose in the process.”

This left the two guardsmen speechless. It was the final part of Virian’s plan that had to fall into place for any of this to work.

“I’ll do it,” corporal Tamren said.

“Corporal?” Feron turned to his subordinate.

“Sergeant Rose taught me what it means to be a guardsmen. She is the kindest, most amazing person I have ever met. The church is wrong, but even if they are right, I don’t care. I will help you, your highness.”

Virian smiled.

“And you, sergeant?” he asked.

Feron wheeled back to Virian.

“I mean…well, of course. Yes. I will help. What is your plan?”

Virian took the vials from his jacket and held them out.

“We’re going to give a witch her powers back."