There was too much to process at once. Where to start? She wasn’t just a noble, she was a duchess. She called herself Blood of the King; only those who were directly related to him were allowed to do that. He was standing next to royalty. And she founded an Institute of….Occult something? For…for people like him. To employ?

Did this mean -

“Ya not gonna kill ‘im, ma’am?”

That was Chief Slatrim asking the one question that really mattered, but Luric was too busy looking at the lady – Lady Archvel. He wondered when she was going to disappear and reveal that it had all been just trick of his mind. Or a dream. Because this couldn’t be real. He had lived with fear for his life for so many days, had seen his demise in his head over and over again, that her next words nearly shattered him.

 “No. As I said, we want him to join us.”

“The monster?!”

“The Blighted,” she corrected.

A harsh murmur tinged with shock and disbelief erupted among the gathering. This wasn’t what they expected. This wasn’t what they were here for. This wasn’t what was supposed to be done.

“But - we thought you were here for-  but, they’re not supposed to be allowed to live. Protector Baar says so! ” Chief Slatrim again, Priest Santr joining in to agree with him.

“Yes, we are devout followers of Baar and his teachings. He clearlys tell us to -”

This time Lady Archvel’s voice turned a little severe, as if she was losing her patience with them.

“I assure you, we have received approval from your spiritual leaders as well, and they have given us their blessing for this endeavor. If you do not wish to take my word for it, I will gladly bring you to stand before both the First Disciple of Baar and Our Majesty himself. You can voice your complaints to them in person, my esteemed gentlemen.”

Luric had never seen so many faces pale so fast. Chief Slatrim and Priest Santr’s in particular seemed to take on a light shade of blue.

“No, my lady, my duche - your highness, uhm, we were just - ”

The lady’s graciousness waned and her tone was sharp when she cut him off. “You should consider yourself fortunate that we got here when we did. Judging from the preparations outside, you were just getting ready for the execution. A highly barbaric one, I might add. I believe the decree clearly stated that you were not to take any action against a person you deemed unnatural, simply report your findings and then wait for official aid. Had you killed him without our consent, you would’ve been charged with disobedience of a direct order from the king.”

Now they were sweating instead. Priest Santr tried to defend himself one more time; behind him he saw Olvic grab him by the robe and whisper urgently through clenched teeth “Be quite, ya fool!” The priest pushed him away.

“I did read it carefully, Duchess Archvel. It also clearly stated that we were allowed to defend ourselves from it, and that killing was permissible if our lives were in danger. They were. He already killed one.”

Luric opened his mouth to throw that accusation back in his face, again, when he felt the Duchess’s hand tighten briefly. He got the message and kept quiet.

“That’s not what happened, according to him.”

And that’s when Chief Slatrim momentarily forgot to be humble and scared. “You believe Shulffa’s bastard instead of us?”

“You really don’t seem to understand,” her smile was back in place, but it was cold. “His life is worth more to our king and country than this entire town put together.”

Luric wished he had been clearheaded enough to think of looking at the others as this was being said. He wished he had seen the exact moment the Duchess’s words sank in. As it were, he was having difficulties wrapping his head around what was happening himself. He was still struggling with one notion.

I’m going to live.

Luric did look at them after a while. These were the people he had grown up with. He had helped Mrs. Bilbad around the house when she had broken her leg; he had been there with the other kids to dig out old man Pipperic when the snow had buried his little house all the way up to the ridge of his roof; he had helped Mr. Carshtin care for Gulvan and his family when they all came down with a strange fever, when even the doctor didn’t want to come close to their house out of fear of catching it; he ran errands for Mr. Likik, the butcher and Mr. Erd, the pharmacist, for the egglers and pie makers, and sometimes, even for Chief Slatrim himself. He did all of that in the hope that they might start liking him a little more and he could become a proper part of the community when he was older. But none of that had mattered. 

Yet he had never felt more cut off from them as he did now, with him over here and all of them standing together at the other side of the prayhouse. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t mind it. Better yet, he liked it. On this side was the Duchess, and Mr. Visloc, and her other guards. This side had important, powerful people, far more important than Chief Slatrim or Priest Santr or the head-merchant Olivic could ever hope to be, and they wanted him to be a part of it. He stood above them and could, Luric realized now, look down on them.