Vow Of Silence

CHAPTER SIXTY

3rd PERSON: Lord Lykus Vaustero

For a man of his caliber, there’s only so much in this world that could shake him to his core. One of those, more than anything else, is the disappearance of his wife. She's a weak woman, frail. The width of his three fingers pressed together is still thicker than her arms. When he woke up in that castle, undressed and confused, he was met with more questions than answers.

People shied away from his gaze and none of them would answer his inquiries, further pulling him down the drain of uncouthness, oblivious to the disasters that had passed without his knowledge… nor his consent.

Needless to say, Marianne Heilman is no longer a friend, but an enemy. She was a fiend. And by that, she deserved death. Something that he also does not have the right or freedom to bestow because of the royal family’s resolute predisposition to producing heirs and Lykus was met with a grim fate once the irony of his power and influence had created a pit for his unprecedented downfall.

Albeit nescient in during the moments he was taken advantage of, a chill ran down his spine every time he could feel his skin prickle thinking that her hands were once there, not the hands of his wife, but the hands of a traitor, of a vicious and greedy witch. Protected by the castle's awry beliefs.

The castle kept him against his will, to keep him under surveillance and bind him in ties of agreements he so adamantly refused, but the more he opposed, the tighter the binds got until he devastatingly conceded.

His anger raged on and directed at everyone, whoever it was, as long as he found flaws in them is as equally guilty as the women who had spiked his drink, those who watched and did nothing, those who urged Marianne to do such vile act, those who gave Mariane the drug needed to do the trick… might as well have served the drink to him.

He feared nothing; he knew it himself that despite his strength, his cunningness, despite his years of experience fighting literal beasts and vanquishing foes, this time he was the victim. He deserved justice, more than justice. He wanted vengeance. A crime so shallow and facile that he didn’t expect it to come for him, yet here he is, his nose buried on his desk, looking at the same map from the past four years.

And in those four years, his nightmares bore fruit, just nine months after that treacherous night, and he was given a child. A son. An heir… that he couldn’t even look at. It triggered memories in his head that he had long buried, but every time he gazes into that child, he could feel no remorse, just hostility. He felt like he had the right to deprive the child of the joy and peace that he was so brutally robbed of.

He told himself that it is not the child’s fault, but he couldn’t bring himself to offer the slighted shred of comfort to the fruit of Marianne Heilman’s atrocity.

A knock sounded from the oak doors of his office, “Enter,” he called, not peeling his eyes away from the map, note marked and riddled with crosses and dots, indicating the failure of searches done in particular areas. The guard open the door, his gait heavy as his eyes shifted every now and then, avoiding meeting the lord’s eyes.

“... We found nothing, my lord,” he sighed,

Lykus grunted and waved the man off. The guard bowed before he did. You would think he would’ve been tired from hearing that phrase, but what he would hate more was living every waking moment knowing he’s not doing anything that would help him find his wife. Another knock sounded from the door and he raised a brow, looking at the time and looking at the date, confirming that one of the worst days of his week had arrived.

The day his son comes to visit.

He grunted at the knock and Polly came in with a disdained face, a look of grieving and restrained enmity, “your son has arrived, my lord,” she said with a bow, he nodded and stood up, the quicker he deals with his presence the quicker he’ll have him out of his castle.

Long ago there was a dispute about whether Marianne and the boy should stay at the castle. Lykus shut the dispute down by stating that if either of them stays at the castle, he will make it unlivable. Needless to say, both of them lived in a separate house, ways away from the castle.

He stood up and tugged at his cape to fix his clothes, heading on to storm to the front entrance, his steps echoing in empty hallways, sullen with gloom and fear that he had spread around with his desperation in finding Pelomina. The doors were opened and a child stood shyly in the of the door, where his mother told him to stand.

“Today is your lessons with Sir Avela,” he simply informed before turning his back and snapped for one of the servants to tend to the child as he marched his way back to his study, what he could offer his child is mere minutes of presence and a handful of words,

“Ah—m-m-mother… mother said s-she asked for you to buy… new clothes,” the boy meekly said, nervous but more than that, frightened at the size of the man he was told to be his father, only he never actually believed Lykus was his father, it didn’t seem right for a father to treat their child like so, but he’s only following his mother’s instructions.

Lykus paused in his steps, “She did,” Lykus affirmed, not facing the child still, “Sir Avela will accompany you after your lessons,” he explained and with that, he left. He knew some of the servants would treat the child with care. He’s well aware that they pity the child. He’s not the one at fault, true…

‘But his presence has cost me more than he’ll ever be worth,’

Once back to his study, his nose was once again buried into the stack of papers and maps, even those of recorded sightings of Pelomina, or at least her description, but anything apart from the witnesses from the Jak-Horne’s tragedy four years ago was unremarkable, he could also note when the descriptions started changing.

When people start to describe her as both working in a group or spotted alone, when she was described to have long hair and when she was described to have it short, when she was described to be outgoing, and when she was noticed to be reserved and aloof.

While these could’ve been recollections of entirely different people, he clung to hope. If Pelomina managed to stay out of his reach until now, she must’ve changed. Someone must’ve made her change. And above the mountains of doubts, fears, and regrets, what sat atop, was the thought that his wife… might have also remarried and also started a life on her own.

That she might’ve already had children with someone else, whether as retaliation against him or because she found new love… It haunted him every night’s sleep.

Not as frequent as the vision of the night he was assaulted, however.

Still, he kept pushing along the dark thoughts. It’s not something he’s never done before. He only looked to a positive future, a day where he’ll finally meet Pelomina once again, and he’ll tell her everything. Hell explained his side of the story—he’ll grovel if it needs to come to that, but in clenched teeth and wishful thinking, he hoped he wouldn't have to.

Pelomina is a kind woman. He saw it himself. He’ll be begging for those scraps of kindness, holding onto them as the salvation of their marriage. He even considered treating his son better if Pelomina ever returned, because he knew in his heart Pelomina would disapprove of him treating his son like so, but until then, this is all he could do.

Hours passed, and he watched the clock close, timing whether his son would’ve left the castle grounds by now or whether his priory had finished accompanying his son downtown; he couldn't be bothered walking along the streets of a crumbling city.

Which is unfortunate, because just as the Vaustero castle’s knights departed for the city, was the arrival of three particular thieves in Viellyen.