Chapter 178 - Beneath the Fractured Moon IV

Natalya’s breath was heavy. Her teeth clenched and her hands trembling, she wandered towards the bed with Belyaev’s Whistle charged and spinning. The catgirl’s blurry, tear-stained eyes fell on the fox as she continued to approach. She knew she was a threat, and that her life was likely to end as soon as Sylvia woke—knowledge that drove her mind to only the most deplorable of places. She was almost tempted to strike her first, but quickly cast the thought aside. There was no need to involve anyone else in her vengeance, consequences be damned.

If she wished to succeed and escape, then remaining undetected was of the utmost importance, but the crushing weight on her mind bled into her movements. Every other step was unmuffled, nearly loud enough to rob her target of its sleep. Try as she might, she found herself unable to dismiss the worry that she had arrived at the wrong conclusion. Even if it was impossible for it to be a misunderstanding.

All the evidence lined up perfectly, too perfectly for it to be anything but the truth.

The catgirl had gathered, from the designation of frosty longmoose, and the conversations between the two halfbreeds, that Claire was a cervitaur. Her colouration and distaste for being labeled a deer both served to indicate that she was of the darkhorned subspecies, the very same breed of alces whose bloodline had proliferated through Cadria’s royal family tree. That alone would not have sufficed to condemn her. Not all darkhorned cervitaurs were related to the enemy monarchy, nor were they necessarily Cadrian to begin with.

Claire, however, was no such exception. Her understanding of the Cadrian military revealed that she was privy to many of its secrets, her mannerisms clearly belonged to a member of the upper crust, and her lack of common sense was indicative of a sheltered upbringing. Her vanity and picky tongue were key pieces of evidence, and there existed no such thing as a commoner that would assume barons to be poor. Even her approach to combat was to be called to question. She wasn’t the blade mage that the fox had claimed. Lia had been long aware of that, and they too had known that she was just playing along. But the fact remained that the lyrkress possessed a sort of strange magic, likely a secret school reserved only for high standing members of the nobility.

But most obvious of all was her stare. Because it was just like his. Her cold, blank eyes were identical to the ones that the catgirl had seen on the man that killed her sister.

The shape of her body differed greatly from his, but the discrepancy could easily be explained. It was commonly known that the merciless duke had captured a Sthenian princess during his conquest of the nation and forced her to become his bride. And many of Claire’s traits had implied that it was precisely from the snake people that she drew the other half of her blood.

There was no mistaking it. She was his daughter.

Written in her notebook earlier that night was a conclusion that was endorsed by the powers above. A divine revelation from Tzaarkus confirmed that she had succeeded in arriving at the truth.

Her traveling companion was Claire Augustus, scion of the enemy she had sworn to kill.

The god’s message had explained that she was the perfect target to attack. To kill the lyrkress would be to do unto Virillius what he had done to her.

The thirst for revenge drove her to raise her sword overhead. She took a deep breath, planted her feet firmly into the carpet, and swung her blade.

But her attack failed to reach its target.

It was thrown off course when she dropped the weapon and fell to her knees, her face in her hands. More tears seeped from her eyes as she looked at her trembling fingers. She couldn’t do it. Even knowing who the lyrkress was—because she knew who the lyrkress was—she found herself incapable of following through.

What she envisioned, when she imagined the face hidden beneath the sheets, was not the cold, empty stare that the halfbreed so often wore, but the soft smile that would sometimes leak through her mask, the miffed pout that would occasionally surface when things failed to go her way, and the happy grin she so often showed when she toyed with her fox.

The catgirl could only bury her face in the mattress and cry as her heart was torn in a dozen different directions. She was so distressed that she hadn’t the slightest clue of when the bed’s occupant had noticed her. But when she looked up, her sobbing quieting just a bit, she found a wide awake Claire with her lips twisted into a conflicted frown.

After a brief pause, where both of them looked at each other in silence, the lyrkress eventually pressed a foot to the cat’s forehead and lightly pushed her away. “Get out of my room, pervert.”

Lia could feel her eyes welling up with yet another round of tears. She had been given the choice to be forgiven. If she walked away, then they would likely never speak of the incident again. All would be forgotten. But she didn’t want to simply walk away.

She couldn’t. Not without getting it off her chest.

“Claire.” Still sniffling, the catgirl clenched her fists, pressed her face back into the sheets, and squeezed out her voice. “Is your father the aspect of war?”

“Yes.”

The cat felt her heart sink. She had known it already, but hearing it in question struck a different chord in her heart.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lia dug her claws into the sheets. “After I told you about my sister?”

“There was no need for you to know.”

A bolt of anger coursing through her system, the cat grit her teeth and raised her head and her voice alike. “What do you mean there wa—” But her screaming came to an abrupt end as she saw the look on the other girl’s face. Claire wasn’t giving her the usual cold stare. She was averting her eyes, looking elsewhere whilst holding one arm with the other.

Her emotions were clear. Completely unmasked.

Natalya was not the only one feeling guilty.

Continuing to stare at the cervitaur, she wondered if the reveal was intentional, if the unnecessary breadcrumbs were not mistakes, but choices made in remorse. It was unlikely, but the behaviour was fitting.

“Did you lie? When you said that you were running from him?”

“No.” Claire took a deep breath as she gently ran her fingers along Sylvia’s back. “He tried to kill me, but I escaped.” Taking another breath, she stood up from her bed, transformed her nightgown into a cloak, and walked over to the veranda.

The catgirl followed closely behind her. The cold midnight winds stung when they were blown against her tear-stained face, but she paid them no mind. Her eyes were focused instead on the fair maiden basking in the light of the moon.

Idling for the briefest of moments, Claire climbed over the parapet and leapt down onto the streets. It was a long fall from the third story, but her bare feet landed on the stone-paved road without making a sound. Natalya hesitated for a moment, but eventually took her turn and leapt over the railing. Rather than falling, it felt more like she floated to the ground. It was a slow, gentle descent, lacking all the sudden force that should have accompanied it. And when her feet touched the ground, they did so gently, barely clinking, in spite of her greaves.

And for a while, they navigated the streets in silence.

It was so late that there was hardly anyone out or about, only the occasional drunk, passed out on the side of the road.

“There was a time where my father was kind.” She spoke the words in a whisper, her eyes focused on the shattered orb floating through the sky. When Lia followed the lyrkress’ gaze and looked upon the moon goddess for herself, she thought for a brief moment that its hat was fluttering. Even though she knew that it never moved.

“When I was young, he treated me as you might expect a nobleman to treat his only daughter. I was spoiled and allowed to do everything I pleased. Except keep a pet.” She took a deep breath. “Of course, I still had lessons and obligations to attend, but he used to praise me. Tell me that he was proud even when my evaluations were imperfect.” Another breath. “That lasted until I was ten.”

Though her source had experienced his warmth first hand, Natalya found it difficult to believe that the duke was ever kind. The cold eyes that had seen all the way down to the very depths of her soul were completely lacking in comfort or passion. They housed only emptiness. But at times, Claire would wear the exact same expression. And she had proven that, under the right conditions, it could melt away.

“He changed when my mother passed. From then on, everything had to be perfect. If it wasn’t, then he would scream at me for hours on end. And sometimes he’d scream even if it was.” A mocking, self-loathing smile. “At some point, he stopped seeing me as his daughter, or even a person. It always felt like his mind was elsewhere when he looked at me. Sometimes, there was so much hatred in his eyes that I thought he would hit me.” She clenched her fists. “He eventually made me into a ritual mage and effectively confined me to the manor, so I could be indoctrinated and used as a tool.”

“I’m sorry,” said the cat.

“Don’t be.” Fiddling with her tail, the lyrkress momentarily lowered her eyes from the stars and leapt over the canal in her path. “I’m over it already.” She wrapped the rear limb around her own hand and gave it a tight squeeze. “One day, after six and a half years, I was told that I was to be used as a sacrifice. My blue blood would be used as a catalyst to curse the Kryddarian army.”

Natalya could feel herself tearing up. Because she could see past the lyrkress’ eyes. Even though they were locked to the shattered orb that illuminated the starry night sky.

“I managed to get away by altering the ritual. I don’t know what the backlash did… but I got away.”

“The backlash…” Natalya's eyes widened. Her hands shook as she ran through evidence twice in her head. “Was the ritual site your father’s manor?” She already knew the answer. The halfbreed’s escape had been the excuse that the general used to start the war.

“Yes.” Claire clenched her fists. “It’s been a full month and a half since then. Since he ordered me to offer my life to the gods.”

“A month and a half? That can’t be right. He’s been in Kryddar for nearly three.” Natalya furrowed her brow. She was almost tempted to reach for her artifact and scribble a few notes, but knew it was inappropriate.

“He was lazing around the manor three months ago,” said Claire. “He couldn’t have possi—” She stopped mid sentence and moved her eyes around the sky. With her fingers, she noted the positions of the stars and counted several constellations before bringing a hand to her brow. “Lia. What month is it?”

“The fifth,” replied the cat. “I haven’t checked a calendar recently, but it’s been a few weeks since the solstice.”

“I see…” Claire paused for a moment, a finger to her chin as if deep in thought, before shaking her head and continuing her story. “Whatever the case, I escaped him by altering the ritual. I performed the lost library’s rite instead. And spirited myself away.”

“The lost library?” Natalya slowly chewed on the words before raising her head anew.

“The lost library,” repeated the lyrkress. She smiled softly as her circuits lit up with an inordinate amount of magical power. One of her serpentine eyes was filled with so much raw energy that it went from an icy blue to a sparkling gold. “I won’t keep any more secrets. My primary class is halfway between a rogue and a warrior, and my secondary class details the use of force magic. It allows me to move things around as I please.” Claire demonstrated by lifting the cat into the air without touching her. There was no pressure on any particular part of her body; it was almost like she had simply been made to float. “Sylvia and I left the lost library two weeks ago. She’s an aspect, serving as the right hand of a celestial with a hand in your making, and last time I asked, she said she was level 1826.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” asked the cat. “After what I just... tried to do?”

“Because I trust you and I would still rather you trust me, even if you are a pervert.” Claire spun around, a bewitching smile upon her lips. “I swear to you this, Natalya Vernelle. I have never worked for my father, and I never will.”

“I’m not a pervert.” Lia could feel her heart racing in her chest. The dark thoughts that had plagued her mind were gone, replaced by an unwillingness to tear her eyes away from the blueblood standing before her. “But… I will trust you.”

“Good.”

Still smirking, the lyrkress grabbed one of the cat’s hands and pulled her along as she flew into the air. Towards the deity that hung in the sky. Lia almost panicked, but stopped as she realised that her body was weightless. She wasn’t in control, but it wasn’t like the bubble, nor like riding on the longmoose’s back. She didn’t feel like she was going to fall, even as she looked at the beautiful nightscape below.

“I don’t know why my father has troops in Vel’khan, or even what his schemes might be,” said the lyrkress. “But whatever they are, I’d like to ruin them.”

“That would be fun, wouldn’t it?” A faint giggle upon her lips, Natalya tightened her grip on the other girl’s hand. “Count me in.” Her gaze focused on the lyrkress’ eyes and her spirits lifted even higher than her body, the catgirl returned a confident smile, a lovely bloom beneath the fractured moon.