Lizzie of the North (Yrsoreth Chronicles 2)

50◦❀◦The Fealty of Clementine Ursova

Before you read, I just wanna let you know that this may contain spoilers for the third book. So.. Enjoy!

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Lizzie may be sheltered almost all her life, but the knowledge she learned from lessons and the people she met, as she performed her royal obligations gave her a wider view of the world.

She rarely met people that do not have any trade with Norvillon but she was aware of the different races outside the continent. She was particularly interested in the last remnant of a fallen empire, now fragmented into city-states and the kingdom of Syl Zulivar. The savages of the desert, as they are called.

Tanned to glorious ebony skin, bright silver eyes and high cheekbones. "Those who wield the brooms rival the beauty with a crown," is a famous line to describe the beauty of Syl Zulivarians. A commoner could compete with any royalty from any kingdom. But the Zulivarians beauty was only third to their fame. The second was their infamous alcohol, Gold Dovca. And first, was their militant strength.

Boys as young as fourteen go through years of training to be part or spare for the military. Although women are voluntary, their numbers aren't far behind the men's. "Even a newborn knows how to wield a weapon," they said. "And a toddler could slice your throat."

Those were bloated hearsays, she assumed, but the point still stands. How Lizzie knew of these was because of marriage. The former tzarina had sent an invitation to the nobles of different kingdoms for his son, the current tzar.

Lizzie even considered participating in the selection, and she knew well she had a chance, even not as the legal queen, but at least a consort. It was all because of Emperor Alexander's unusual invitation to the threat of war. And to win, she needed the kingdom that was excellent at it.

Staring at the beautiful thief, the beauty and the danger in one, ignited Lizzie's old curiosity about the said kingdom.

"For someone with quick hands, you have pretty weak feet," Alec said to the thief, struggling against Kef's hold.

The girl didn't reply, with her eyes only at the bottle in Alec's hand. "Give it back." There was a drive of desperation in her voice, and on the second time she repeated, it trembled. "Please, give it back."

"I cannot give you back something that isn't yours, my lady."

Her eyes were transparent with emotions, from anger to frustration. The messy strands of the thief's black bob hair stuck to her cheeks. She stopped wriggling and was now still, looking upon them. "I need it."

"What for?" Alec asked.

"My lady... my lady is dying. That potion is our only hope."

Is there even a cure for Wylola's Curse? Lizzie thought.

The tragedy was named after a noble in the faraway south a long time ago. The said woman was the center of high society but one day, she passed out and a deep red, to almost purple mark appeared on her skin that resembled a horizontal eight surrounded by vein-like zagged lines.

The mark itself was not painful, but it was draining her life, no matter how healthily she ate or what medicine she took. Her skin at times would become cold under the sun. The scholars and doctors could not give any answer. There was nothing wrong with her body, but she slept longer, slowly lost her appetite and her limbs become weak. Her senses dulled. The magicians could also not do anything but identify it as a curse, rather than a disease.

Lady Wylola died in her sleep.

And since then, there were only three recorded cases in history. But Lizzie knew there must be more, only hidden either because they were commoners or the stigma of the people in the said incurable disease was strong, and that the gods curse these people.