The days that followed were a test of Anya's patience. Confined to the small, hidden room, she felt the familiar restlessness of a mind accustomed to constant activity. She paced the cramped space, mentally reviewing every detail of the shard, its containment, and the potential implications of its influence on the city.
Elara was a quiet, comforting presence. She spent her time mending their worn clothes, humming soft, forgotten tunes, and occasionally offering observations about the city outside, gleaned from the faint sounds that penetrated their hidden sanctuary.
Anya used the time to delve deeper into Seraphina's fragmented memories. She focused on Lord Volkov, trying to understand the man who had brought such darkness into their lives. She saw glimpses of a brilliant but obsessive scholar, consumed by ancient texts and forbidden knowledge. He was driven, relentless, and ultimately, tragically misguided.
She found memories of his study, the towering bookshelves, the strange diagrams, the smell of old parchment and something else, something metallic and cold. She saw him hunched over a tome, his face illuminated by a single candle, a look of feverish intensity in his eyes.
There were also flashes of his interactions with Seraphina. Distant, formal, almost cold. He was a man consumed by his pursuits, with little time for his family. This explained Seraphina's quiet, withdrawn nature. She had grown up in the shadow of her father's dangerous obsession.
Anya also tried to recall more about the Northern Wastes. The memories were still vague, filled with images of ice and desolate landscapes, but she sensed a profound, ancient power there, a place where the veil between worlds was thin. It was from this place that Lord Volkov had brought back the "shard."
The obsidian sphere, resting on the small table, became Anya's constant companion. She would hold it, feeling its faint warmth, its subtle hum. It was a tangible link to the power she had contained, a reminder of the impossible feat she had accomplished.
Days bled into a week. The routine was monotonous: wake, eat the meager provisions Silas left, pace, think, try to access memories, wait. The only break was the occasional, soft knock at the hidden door, signaling Silas's return or a messenger.
Silas's first few visits were brief. He brought more food, fresh water, and news. The King's Gardens continued to recover. More and more green shoots were appearing. The blight was indeed receding, slowly but surely.
"People are starting to notice," Silas reported on one visit, his voice low. "Whispers in the market. 'The blight is lifting,' they say. But they don't know why. They attribute it to the gods, or a change in the seasons."
"Good," Anya said. "Let them notice. It builds the foundation for the truth."
Silas also brought news of the King's Guard. Their search for Seraphina had intensified. Posters with her likeness were everywhere, offering a substantial reward for her capture. Anya knew she couldn't risk leaving the bolt-hole.
"They're desperate to find you," Silas confirmed. "The High Council is putting pressure on the King. They want you silenced before the truth can spread."
"Have you found anyone willing to speak?" Anya asked.
Silas nodded slowly. "A few. A mother whose child was taken by the shadows. An old farmer whose entire crop withered. They are hesitant, still afraid. But they are listening. They want answers."
"Tell them the truth," Anya urged. "Tell them about the shard. About what Lord Volkov did. About how it was contained."
Silas raised an eyebrow. "That's a hard sell, Duchess. 'Ancient entity' and 'primordial darkness' are not words that inspire immediate belief. Especially to simple folk."
"Then simplify it," Anya said, frustrated. "Explain it in terms they can understand. A sickness that drains life. A monster that feeds on souls. And a way to stop it."
Silas considered this. "I'll try. But it will take time to build trust. They need to see that you are not the monster they believe you to be."
One evening, after Silas had left, Elara approached Anya, a hesitant look on her face. "My lady," she began, "I heard something. From the street outside. A man was speaking. He said… he said the King was holding a grand feast. To celebrate the 'lifting of the blight' through divine intervention."
Anya's jaw tightened. Divine intervention. The High Council was already spinning the narrative. They would claim credit for the recovery, reinforcing their power and the King's authority.
"They're trying to control the narrative," Anya said, her voice grim. "To prevent the truth from coming out."
Elara nodded. "And they are praising the High Council. Saying they prayed to the gods, and the gods answered."
This was a setback. If the public believed it was divine intervention, they would be less likely to question the official story, and less likely to believe Anya's truth.
"We need to accelerate our plan," Anya decided. "Silas needs to find more people. And we need to get the truth out before the King's feast solidifies their lie."
When Silas returned two days later, Anya immediately confronted him with the news of the feast.
"I know," Silas said, a grim look on his face. "It's a calculated move. To reinforce their power. And to silence any dissent."
"We can't let them," Anya insisted. "We need to act. Now."
"I have found more people," Silas reported. "A few more families who lost loved ones. A merchant whose business was ruined by the blight. They are angry. They want answers."
"Good," Anya said. "Tell them the truth. Tell them about the shard. Tell them it was contained. Tell them Seraphina Volkov is not cursed, but the one who stopped it."
Silas looked at her, a thoughtful expression on his face. "They are starting to listen. But they still fear the King. And the High Council."
"Then we give them something to fear more," Anya said, her voice low and determined. "The truth."
Silas nodded slowly. "I have an idea. A way to get the truth to the King directly. But it's risky. Very risky."
"What is it?" Anya asked, her heart pounding with anticipation.
"The feast," Silas revealed. "The King will be there. The High Council will be there. The entire city's elite. It will be the perfect stage."
Anya stared at him, a sudden realization dawning. "You want to expose the truth… at the feast?"
Silas's eyes gleamed in the dim light. "A public spectacle. A grand reveal. It would be audacious. Unforgettable. And impossible for them to ignore."
Anya felt a thrill of fear, but also a surge of excitement. It was a dangerous plan. A reckless plan. But it was also brilliant.
"How?" Anya asked. "How do we get the truth to the King in the middle of his own feast?"
Silas leaned forward, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. "We don't just tell him, Duchess. We show him. And we make sure the entire city hears it."