Blight.

“No, no, no! Your stance is all wrong.”

    Huffing, Lucille de Markost spun on her heel and stared at her instructor. He was an impatient man, with dark eyes and even darker skin. Armour clung to his tall frame, bulking across his broad chest, and a sword hung idly at his hip. The girl flung her own to the floor, impudently raising her eyebrows.

“Well then, dearest Alec, please do tell me how,” she challenged. Alec, however, merely approached Lucille, adjusted her arms and legs, and handed her back the blade.

“The King is the one who asked me to help you with this, child; I’m not here for my own pleasure, do not be mistaken.”

Lucille snorted, rolling her eyes. She strengthened her arms and legs, and Alec pulled back again. His stare roamed across her, checking for any weakness, before he nodded. Dragging forwards a dummy, identical to the others in the training yard, Alec took a step back.

It was bright in the courts, with no clouds to dampen the summer sun’s glare and heat. Lucille felt sweat on her brow and neck, clamming underneath the light, chainmail armour. She clutched the short-sword in her left hand, a blade which had been dulled for training. She breathed slowly, relaxing her body as she readied her strike. With a glance and grin to her tutor, Lucille lunged.

A loud thunk came from within the dummy’s chest as her blade hit the wood propping it up, and she howled. Withdrawing her hand from the hilt, Lucille clutched her arm to her chest, claiming a laugh from Alec. Scowling, she stood straight and looked him in the eye - which, to her dismay, wasn’t very intimidating. Folding his arms, Alec tilted his head down, and looked straight back with a grin.

“Well done, Your Highness! Very, very well done!”

“Oh, hush Alec,” Lucille chided, “I jarred my wrist; it could happen to anybody.”

“That is true, Your Highness,” Alec conceded, scratching his brow as he tried to hide a smirk.

Lucille gaped at the soldier, looking him up and down in disbelief, before turning and making her way back to the castle. Alec’s calls followed her, but she pretended to be unable to hear. If he wanted to make her a fool, then she would act as one.

The daughter of the King marched through the castle grounds, scowling at the servants and handmaidens who greeted her. Stomping across the dewy grass towards the high arch of the gates, Lucille pulled off her sparring belt and armour, her skin warm and sticky from perspiration. She saw the armourer’s apprentice at his post besides the entrance, and flung her equipment to him.

“Reynard, take these to your master,” she ordered.

“O-of course, Your Highness,” Reynard stammered, mustering a quick bow before rushing to the storage room. If the staff knew one thing about their King’s child, it was regarding her temper.

        Lucille opened the gate, her booted feet spraying mud as she walked through the portal. As she closed the doors behind her, she fell against it fleetingly. Worry pounded in her head, and tears nearly reached her eyes - but she was not one to cry quickly, and so she wiped them away and headed upstairs. The lanterns overhead flickered with the breeze rolling through the old, cobbled walls, and sunlight streamed through the window slits. The tower was illuminated in light, yet there was a darkness overhead, and the young princess shivered as she ascended.

        Reaching the top, she nearly forgot her manners and barged in; but Aria, the Healer, was inside, and any interruption would earn Lucille a slap and banishment from the room. And if she couldn’t at least see her sister…

        So, gently, she knocked on the door. It opened nearly instantaneously, Aria registering Lucille and nodding for her to enter. The princess stepped through and, hearing the door click behind her, sat down besides the bed.

        The room was small, too small for Lucille’s liking. It was cramped, and bare, with only candles lighting it. But it was her room, and God forbid if anyone were to take her out of it. Lucille could barely hold herself together as she looked at her sister, lying still in her bed. Her dark, mahogany-coloured hair fanned out behind her, and at the back of her mind Lucille noted how it had grown since she’d been unwell. And she was small, so small...

        “Aria, is she doing well?”

        “As well as she can, Your Highness. The illness has set in strongly, and I cannot seem to shake the spread; the bite,” the Healer pointed to the girl’s wrist, “is also not healing. The wound won’t close, although I have stitched it many times.”

        Lucille moaned, a small, hurt noise that stayed in the back of her throat. With a deep swallow she said, “You’re doing fine, Aria. Kalina was worse when the poison took hold originally, and you are keeping her comfortable. I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”

        Aria nodded her head again, and Lucille turned her attention back to her sister. Wiping away a piece of hair on Kalina’s forehead, she briefly felt the burn of a fever.

        They stayed like that for well over an hour. Aria worked diligently, slicking salve over Kalina’s damaged skin while Lucille pressed a wet rag to her sister’s fiery forehead. Few words crossed their lips, and after Aria had finished, she sent Lucille away.

        “Rest, Your Highness,” she had prompted softly. “You have many duties to fulfil without the worries of your sister. Do not fret.”

        And so, with little fight left in the princess, she left as swiftly as she had came. Pulling her over-cloak across her shoulders from its resting place upon the door, she bid her farewells and fled down the stairs.

The swell of voices greeted Lucille as she neared the local tavern, her hood pulled over her face. She wore simple, brown clothes, unlike most of the attire that she owned; but it was her aim to stay unnoticed, and this was all she had that was suitable.

            Taking a deep breath, circling her shoulders, and straightening her spine, Lucille opened the door and strode through, keeping her head lowered just enough for shadows to cover her features. Nobody took note of the stranger, too engrossed with their ales and slurs to care.

            Lucille sat at the bar, her feet resting on the bottom of the stool. Ordering a mug of Firestock, the princess pulled a piece of parchment from her cloak and unfolded it on her lap.

Princess Lucille de Markost,

Daughter of King Savan de Markost, of Naruvia,

Greetings, Princess. I have some information that you may

be interested in; it's about your sister. Meet me at the Chariot tavern,

before the clock strikes nine tonight. We'll talk there.

M.

Lucille read through the note, and several questions flashed through her mind.Who was this, “M?” And what could he know about Kalina that she didn't know already?

Sighing, the princess folded the parchment up and hid it in her pocket once more, taking a sip of her drink. The whiskey burned in her throat, setting her insides alight and erasing any cold that lingered in her body. Tingling, Lucille leant back in her seat, looking around the tavern properly for the first time since she arrived.

It was shabby, in all honesty; compact and cramped, groups of four or five crowded around tables that should have only seated two. Oil lamps hung overhead, the light flickering in the draught from the bare cracks scattered across the wooden walls. Lucille shuddered.

She didn't know what she was doing. Why she had trusted the mysterious M was beyond her comprehension, but if they really did know something...

The creaking of a door caught Lucille's attention, and her head snapped towards the sound. Over to the right, near to the end of the bar, somebody stood watching her. Their eyes met for only a second before the stranger turned away and back into the room; Lucille stood and followed.

Hesitating, the princess looked over her shoulder at the customers behind her, and still nobody noticed her. Biting her lip, she wondered if she had made the wrong choice; nobody would know she had come here, and the cluster of people in the Chariot would be no help. Taking a deep breath, Lucille shook her head and went through.

The difference between both rooms was intense - where the pub had been unimpressive, this room was quite the opposite. Chandeliers lit up the floor, illuminating what could only be described as a lounge in a soft, golden glow. Warmth wrapped itself around Lucille, and the princess relaxed instantly. For the grandeur, Lucille was surprised to see only two people sitting on the high-backed chairs around the dais that took the middle of the floor.

The first man was in his early fifties or so, with greying hair that tied up in a knot on the top of his head. Though his face was lined with the lines of age, his eyes held a twinkle that resembled that of a boy's.

The second was younger �" much younger. He was about the same age as Lucille, maybe a few years older, but he held the same aura of power that she associated with her father. His sharp jaw was drawn taut, and while his elder was smiling, he was scowling. Lucille's back prickled with cold, and she drew her eyes away from him.

“Your Highness,” the older man spoke, “thank you for joining us this evening.”

“And you would be M, am I correct?” Lucille asked, stepping forwards further into the lounge. The man inclined his head, and motioned for her to sit; she did. “Who are you, exactly?”

“My name is Matthias, Princess, and my companion here is Alcard.”

Lucille looked towards the other man again, and he, too, inclined his head. His chin-length hair fell forwards, and Lucille's mouth gaped slightly �" for Alcard's ears were pointed. As he brought his head up again, dark eyes narrowed, she quickly turned her attention back towards Matthias.

He was sitting straight, at the head of the table. Fingers bridged in front of him, he raised an eyebrow at Lucille, scanning her. Though she could feel his gaze piercing through her, the princess raised her head high and willed herself to contain the tremors that shook her hands.

“You left the note in my room,” Lucille stated. “How did you get inside?”

“I can do most things you couldn't imagine, Your Highness; sending the note was easy.” Matthias leant forwards, “now, why not ask what's really on your mind?”

A silence fell between them. Lucille felt her heart beat against her ribs, reaching deep into her stomach and rising up to her throat. She began to regret the Firestock as a headache pounded behind her eyes, and she felt as if she were going to throw up. Lowering her eyes to the wood below her, she placed her hands onto the polished surface and sighed. Matthias and Alcard were watching her, waiting for her to speak, patiently allowing Lucille to take her time.

“You said that you have information about Kalina,” she stated, earning a nod from both men. “I need to know what information that is.”

Lucille stared at Matthias, heartbeat still thudding away in her chest. She watched as the older man pulled a pipe from inside of his ragged cloak and place it between his lips, closing his eyes momentarily. A flame peaked nearly instantly at the head of the pipe, licking across the wooden varnish before taming itself inside, orange replacing itself with ashy smoke.

The princess narrowed her eyes and withdrew into her chair, her hands tightening into fists. Magic wasn't uncommon but it was hard to master, and only a few people �" mainly scholars �" had so much control over its whims. Cracking open his eyes, Matthias smiled.

“Your sister is unwell, Princess. A bite turned into a feverish coma, correct?” Matthias sighed, pulling his pipe away from his chapped mouth. “We've seen it before, and I'll be honest with you: it doesn't end well.”

Lucille's breath caught in her chest. Her outer vision pulsed as the pain in her head increased, and she almost keeled over in her seat. Pushing her lips into a tight line, she drew her shoulders upwards and held her head high.

“Well, I can assure you, Matthias, that we were already aware of this. So, what else is there? Or did you bring me in just to state the obvious?”

“We have some inkling as to what could help.”

Lucille brought her head round to glance at the elf, surprised that he was the one to speak. Mouth slightly agape, she silenced herself and resigned herself to listen once more.

“Matthias and I have been researching possible ways in which we can save those inflicted with this ailment; so far we've managed to subdue the symptoms, but nobody has fully recovered. That's where you come in.”

“Me?” Lucille asked, taken aback.

“Indeed, you.” Matthias took over, tipping the contents of his pipe out onto the floor. “You see, Princess, we've had some issues with the funding for the studies. Nothing can advance without the gold needed, so-”

“How much?” The young woman interrupted, eyes blazing. The men passed a glance to one another, so subtle that Lucille nearly missed it. Standing, Matthias offered his hand to Lucille, helping her to her feet.

“We have yet to decide that, but that's not the only thing we need you for.”

“Our research requires a subject,” Alcard added. “And since your sister is the only one with the infliction this close to our guild, we'd like to use her.”

“Guild? Use her?” Bringing her brows together, Lucille's eyes turned to the man next to her.

“We're from the Medicine Guild,” Matthias explained, and Lucille suddenly understood. The Medicine Guild had been going bankrupt with the withdrawals of support from the Oligarchy, and the price of medical herbs and potions had risen. The Medical Guild was getting ripped off.

“I'll... see what I can do,” Lucille promised, placing a hand on Matthias' shoulder. “But my father, I don't think he'll want to upset the Oligarchy.”

“We understand,” Matthias said, offering another warm smile. For the first time, Lucille saw the tiredness hiding amongst the sparkle, and she knew that she really would do whatever she could to help them.

“We'll be going back to the Guild in three days,” Alcard said, shuffling papers in front of him and piling them together, before placing them inside of a messenger bag by his feet. Standing, the elf moved beside his companion. “You have up until then to decide; if you think you can help us, come to us here.”

“Of course,” Lucille replied. Matthias bowed, and Alcard followed suit �" albeit stiffly. Responding in kind, the princess placed the hood over face again and left the tavern.

The winds had picked up since she'd arrived, and rain whipped against the little exposed skin she had. Thoughts of Matthias and Alcard followed her across the muddy fields and winding paths on her way back to the castle, and Lucille wondered how she could convince the King to allow both her and Kalina to leave for the Guild.

Pulling off her cloak, Lucille threw it into the basket at the foot of her bed. Lighting the oil lamp on her desk, she threw herself into the chair and put her head in her hands. Wiping away the damp, dark hair from her forehead, the princess bit her lip.

Tapping the desk with her fingers, she mulled over what the duo had said to her. On one hand, they were of the Medical Guild, whose ratings had decreased over the time that their fundings had been effected by the gold cuts; on the other hand, this was the closest to a cure that Kalina was going to get for now, and if all they needed was more money...

Lucille drew a piece of parchment from the far side of the desk, and grabbed her quill from the inkpot besides her. Her writing was fluid, and soon she had plan upon plan to try and convince her father.

Reclining back in her chair, Lucille stretched backwards and popped her spine. Getting out of her chair, she looked into her mirror momentarily and startled herself.

For it wasn't herself she saw, but Kalina.

They had always been alike; tall, with the same short, brown hair and freckles. Lucille allowed herself a brief second of emotion, touching the mirror's glassy, cold surface with an equally cold finger. A choking sound crawled from her pale throat, quickly covered by both of her hands. Recoiling from the mirror, Lucille hid amongst the sheets on her bed, and waited for daybreak to come.