Chapter 3: How NOT to Perform an Exorcism

I woke to the soothing sound of wagon wheels on dirt, which would’ve been much more relaxing if I hadn’t also been gagged, bound, and stuffed into what smelled like a cedar box with a bad ventilation system. My wrists ached, my legs were numb, and my jaw was locked in a most undignified position around a piece of cloth that tasted faintly of old soup.

Oh, the glamorous life I lead.

They’d caught me at the manor without much of an explanation, which, frankly, was rude. I hadn’t stolen anything, hadn’t conned anyone—yet—and certainly hadn’t done anything that justified the kind of treatment usually reserved for escaped murderers or people who put raisins in bread pudding.

Outside, I caught muffled voices.

“Hurry, the king is impatient,” one of the guards barked.

The king? That narrowed the list of possible reasons for my imprisonment to “wild misunderstanding” or “someone wants my head for a centerpiece.” Neither was ideal.

I was still mentally drafting sarcastic thank-you notes to my captors when it happened—my ring began to glow. Not a subtle shimmer, either. This was a full, “look-at-me-I’m-definitely-magic” flare, the kind that screams, Yes, I’m important, please panic appropriately.

Then, just like that, he was there.

The hooded man. The same one who’d given me the ring ten years ago. Same dark cloak, same lazy posture, same maddeningly smug air.

“Hey there,” he said, waving as if he’d just popped by for tea.

“Mmmffhhffhhmf!” I replied, which I thought was rather eloquent considering the gag.

“Oh, right.” He tilted his head like I’d just reminded him he’d left the stove on. “That thing on your mouth. Can’t believe I forgot. My bad. Would make conversation a bit one-sided, wouldn’t it?”

He tugged the gag free.

I spat out the taste of linen and stale breath. “Where in the hells did you come from?”

“Nowhere. Everywhere. Really, Rissa, that’s such a boring question. I expected more from you after ten years.”

“Excuse me for being startled when a man just appears in a moving, locked wagon,” I said. “Not even through the door. Just… poof. Are you a mage or something?”

“Another boring question,” he said with a theatrical sigh. “No, I’m not a mage. I’m everything and nothing. Which is exactly as informative as I intend to be.”

“Great,” I said flatly. “A cryptic lunatic. I’ve always wanted one of those in my life.”

He grinned. “And yet, here I am. Destiny.”

“Uh-huh. Look, I don’t have time for this. I have no idea why I’m being dragged to the king, but I’d love to not end up dead today. Can you help me? I’d even say thank you. Maybe twice.”

He chuckled, low and amused. “Ten years ago, you tried batting your lashes and playing the innocent little girl. Didn’t work. Now you’re going for seduction? I have to admit, it’s cute. Wrong audience, but cute.”

“Excuse me for exploring all my options,” I muttered.

“I chose you for your potential, Rissa,” he said, leaning closer, “and here you are still trying to charm scraps out of people like a street cat.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You chose me? You mean when you gave me the ring?”

“That?” He waved a dismissive hand. “That’s just a trinket. A joke, really. The only notable thing about it is the runes. And even then, they’re nothing special—just something not everyone can use.”

“Use? How? What does it actually do?”

His eyes glittered. “So you don’t know. But you have used it, haven’t you? Interesting. Very interesting.”

My curiosity outweighed the small matter of being tied up and in mortal peril. “Well? Are you going to tell me what it does?”

“No. I don’t do Deus Ex Machina speeches. I prefer entertainment. And you, Rissa, are endlessly entertaining.”

“I’m not your trained monkey,” I snapped.

He tilted his head. “No? Then why have you been dancing for me for seventeen years, Clarisse?”

The name hit me like a thrown brick. My breath caught. My heart stuttered. Clarisse—the name from before. Before the lonely aisle. Before the blood. Before waking in this body.

My voice cracked. “Who are you?”

He just laughed. Not a chuckle, not a polite laugh—a full, spine-needling cackle that grew louder, sharper, until it felt like nails clawing at the inside of my skull. My ears rang. My vision wavered. The sound was wrong—too big, too jagged, like it was tearing the air apart.

I tried to yell at him to stop, but the pain stole the words. The laugh kept building, manic and unstoppable, until I thought my head would split open.

Something inside me snapped.

It didn’t channel through the ring this time. It just… burst. A surge of raw power ripped out of me in a wave, and the reinforced wagon exploded into splinters and twisted metal.

I hit the ground hard, vision blurring, my mouth full of blood and dirt. Around me, bits of wood smoldered. The guards were sprawled unconscious a dozen paces away.

I could run. I should run.

I pushed myself up—only to feel cold steel press against my throat.

I looked up into the face of a man who could’ve been mistaken for a small fortress. A massive knight in full plate, holding a greatsword like it was a butter knife.

“Don’t. Move. Monster.”

I glanced around. My stomach sank.

The castle’s outer walls loomed ahead.

Perfect. I’d escaped one cage just to be delivered to a bigger one.

The next thing I knew, is that I was being half-dragged, half-shoved across stone floors by armored men whose concept of “handling with care” was somewhere between “transporting a sack of potatoes” and “punting a rabid badger.” The echo of her boots scraping the ground filled the vaulted corridors until they reached a massive hall that reeked of incense so thick it was practically chewable.

Symbols of every possible holy order were crammed into the place — gilded sunbursts, silver moons, crosses, runed banners — as if someone had gone to a divine flea market and bought one of everything. Priestly relics lined the walls, and Rissa found herself in the center of a circle of armored knights and white-robed clerics, all glaring at her like she’d tracked mud into their sacred parlor.

The knight who had shoved a sword to my throat after the carriage incident stepped forward. His armor gleamed with so many ornate flourishes it looked more like a royal jewelry display than battle gear, and his crimson cape trailed behind him in dramatic waves.

When he spoke, his voice boomed with the kind of solemnity that made it clear he had been rehearsing speeches like this in the mirror for years:

“I, Sir Aldebrant Tharion, Grand Commander of the Sanctified Blades of the Holy Realm of Virelia, stand before thee in the name of His Most Radiant Majesty, King Alaric III, who graces us with his divine presence this day. I pronounce your doom, creature of shadow! Monster who haunts the dreams of children! Abomination risen from the pit—burn now beneath the holy light!”

The clerics began to chant, their voices weaving into a low, rhythmic hum. The words were foreign, thick with consonants and ominous vowels:

"Ashura ven domat, luxa ferin tal,

By flame and breath, by sun’s last call.

From flesh to dust, from dust to air,

Return to nothing, for nothing you are."

I blinked at them. Oh, fantastic. My first exorcism. And they didn’t even bring snacks.

A beam of blinding light erupted from somewhere above, swallowing her in gold radiance. She braced for searing pain, for the agonizing purging of whatever it was they thought she was.

Instead… warmth. Sweet, bone-deep warmth. Her aches faded, bruises eased, and for a moment I actually sighed.

When the chanting stopped, the light faded — and I stood there, still breathing, looking perfectly healthy.

The reaction was instant. Gasps, shouts, the clatter of weapons dropped in shock. A few clerics simply collapsed. Others scrambled away as if she’d sprouted fangs.

A voice from behind the grand knight rang out, sharp and commanding:

“Explain this at once.”

I craned her neck. Crown, regal robes, unimpressed expression. Ah. The king. Lovely.

“What did you expect was going to happen?” I asked flatly, looking him up and down with pure disdain.

The knight’s gauntleted fist clenched. “Again! This… thing is a monster. We will burn it from existence!”

The chanting resumed. The light came again. And once more, when it faded, Rissa was just… Rissa. She tilted her head, sighed loudly.

“Is this… is this some kind of performance art? Because if so, you’re all terrible at it.”

The knight’s jaw tightened. “Again!”

That’s when it happened — a sharp, bright laugh rang from the upper balconies, cutting through the heavy tension like a blade. Heads turned as a young woman leaned against the railing, almost doubled over from laughter.

“Oh, stop, stop, stop!” she said between giggles, tears streaking the corners of her golden eyes. “Can’t you see she’s laughing at you? At all of you?”

Her voice carried down as she descended the grand steps toward the king, moving with easy confidence. She was small, slender but lithe, with a mane of long chestnut hair and curves so perfectly balanced they could have caused diplomatic incidents.

The king frowned. “Lyra, this is no jest. That is a—”

“—A no-dead-whatever, yes, I heard you the first time.” She rolled her eyes, still smiling. “Father, since when have you seen an undead turn up dressed like that? With a pulse, mind you? Perhaps the old Scholar Vey’s been sniffing too much incense.”

Gasps rippled through the clerics.

The princess ignored them, stepping closer to the circle.

“Princess, no!” barked several knights. “It’s dangerous!”

“Oh, please. If she tries to bite me, I’ll scream,” Lyra said, brushing past them with an effortless shrug. She reached Rissa, who was still sitting cross-legged on the floor in deliberate defiance, and extended a perfectly manicured hand.

“I am Princess Lyra of Virelia, First Daughter of His Majesty Alaric III and Heir to the Living Crown,” she said, her tone dripping with both authority and playfulness. “And you are…?”

I eyed the offered hand, then looked up at the princess’s face. “Currently? A young beautifull woman who is very confused, mildly annoyed, and about five minutes from punching your knight in the jewels if he points a sword at me again.”