Chapter Five

The tower bell tolled deep, resonating across the Castle grounds. Twice it rang, signaling the hour had arrived. Anora braced herself as she made her way to the monthly meeting with the Wardens. Though she dreaded it, she had no choice but to comply. Kaedmon Vard and Baeldric Ulgar awaited her; the Wardens. Anora shuddered, her skin crawled at the thought of being near Baeldric, the lecherous Lycanth. His lewd stares always put her at unease, as if he were undressing her without ever touching her. It was bad enough dealing with similar treatment by Deucard.

For as long as she could remember, the Castle leaders met with Anora yearly to evaluate her, though she suspected that they cared little for her well-being. She told them what they wanted to hear - that she was fine, though it was far from the truth. Most of the time, they barely acknowledged her; except for one year when she nearly took her own life. Then they reacted in panic, not out of care for her but fear of the Dark One’s wrath.

Since that day, the meetings changed. They treated her differently, but still masked their cynicism behind a cordial facade. Anora accepted it, knowing they would never understand why she tried to end her life. She was young, overwhelmed by sorrow, pain and even hate. The truth was, she didn’t fully understand it herself.

She often thought about that day and what might have been, if not for the young man with the haunting white eyes. When she pictured them, she felt a strange excitement, an anxious fluttering in her core. She realized it wasn’t just his eyes that intrigued her but the man himself. She had never been that close to anyone of the opposite sex before.

Who was he? Why was he there? These unanswered questions only deepened her curiosity. He had seen her completely exposed and vulnerable, yet he had not turned away.

Perhaps it was just a dream? No. She knew better, though the thought brought her comfort. The scars on her wrists and the bloodstained dress she kept as a reminder told a different story. One she could never forget, no matter how far she moved past that dark abyss of sorrow.

A murder of crows sat perched on her balcony ledge, their sleek feathers shimmered against the moonlight as they preened each other with dagger-like beaks. Anora gazed at them longingly, imagining what it would feel like to spread her arms and fly away, to wherever she wished. But, her arms were not wings and the one’s she had on her head were far too small. Just another one of my many flaws, she thought bitterly, another imperfection.

A knock at the door jarred her from her brooding. Klissa and Catrin had arrived with a castle guard to escort her to the Great Hall. The sight of Klissa soured Anora’s mood, but custom dictated that she be accompanied. In tense silence they made their way through the Castle grounds until they arrived at the entrance to the Great Hall.

Anora readied herself and pushed open the towering double doors. Though not a large building, the vaulted foyer dominated the interior. Inside, dark stone walls were adorned with banners of deep purple, their colors drawn in the stained-glass windows but muted by matching drapes.

At the far end of the hall sat Odessa upon her tall throne, cold and stern. Standing at her sides were the Wardens Kaedmon and Baeldric, along with the lecherous Deucard. Kaedmon was a bald brute of a man, his dark skin and long beard gave him an intimidating visage. More sinister still was Baeldric, a hulking Lycanth easily over seven feet tall, his body etched with sinister tattoos in place of clothing. High above, emblazoned on the wall, was the crest of their dark master; a horned, faceless devil with massive wings spread wide: the Dark One.

“Approach us,” Odessa commanded.

Anora bowed low and stood before them on a platform. She could feel Baeldric’s lurid gaze crawling over her. He was a twisted mixture of man and beast; more monster than either.

“Arms out,” Odessa snapped.

Anora obeyed, extending her arms for inspection. Odessa descended and roughly examined her, wrenching her wrists and arms, squeezing her face hard as she stared into Anora’s eyes.

“Have you anything to say, child?” Odessa asked with scorn.

“I do not,” Anora answered meekly.

“Very well,” said Odessa as she returned to her seat.

“Did we inspect everywhere?” leered Baeldric. “She may be hiding something beneath her blouse.”

“I beg your pardon,” Anora stated bluntly.

“Spoken like an impudent child,” Odessa sneered at Anora. “We know your tendencies toward defiance.” She then rounded on Baeldric, “Take your foul thoughts elsewhere, cur, or I will neuter you like the mongrel you are.”

Baeldric growled as Kaedmon laughed, scratching his beard. “I’d expect no less from a dog in heat.”

As Baeldric and Kaedmon exchanged crude jabs, Anora stared into the distance, confused. Odessa and Deucard bore themselves with dignity while the Wardens were vulgar and intolerable. Yet these two guarded the Castle?

“Enough!” Odessa shouted. “Fools, the both of you!”

“Come, Odessa,” said Deucard calmly. “Let us not foster further resentment here. The girl mustn’t think us all fools.”

“She’s not here to judge us,” Keadmon said. “We only have to make sure she doesn’t do anything to get bit by those bloodsuckers that are coming here.”

“What?” asked Anora, confused.

“The Castle has cause for celebration,” said Deucard, changing the subject, “Our benefactors in Valtheia have dispatched Prince Alastor Valentein and two of his Death Knights. They make haste for the Castle.”

“Of course,” Anora responded, not knowing what else to say.

“Preparations are to be made for his stay,” Odessa explained. “You will be limited in your chores and time spent outside of your tower.”

“Should I have cause to fear the prince?” Anora asked.

Baeldric was first to answer, “He’s never tasted blood of an Aeldar before…wouldn’t want to give him the temptation,” his snout clamped down on the last word.

“You have been called here so that your conduct, when in the presence of the Prince, will be at its best,” Odessa told her. “The Prince already knows the rules when in your presence and now you will learn the rules when in his.”

“How do you know my conduct will be questionable?” Anora asked, bothered at her assumption toward her.

“Your obedience to rules has been ill-founded as of late,” answered Odessa harshly.

Anora offered no reply, feeling it redundant to comment on that issue.

Odessa went on, “As you may know, being the king’s cousin, our houses share an alliance. Fret not over things that are beyond your control.”

“It’s all about money anyhow,” commented Kaedmon with a half-cocked smirk. “Valentein’s are rich.”

“What are you implying Master Kaedmon?” asked Deucard.

“I think you know,” Kaedmon replied.

“Expect his arrival by the end of the week,” Odessa stated abruptly to Anora. “You will address him as Lord or your Highness and will show nothing but respect. That is all.”

“Does he have news concerning the Ritual of Sacrifice?” Anora asked, before leaving.

No one answered, instead the doors opened, and Anora was escorted back to her chambers.

***

Anora’s agile body glided from rooftop to rooftop. With each graceful touch of her toes, she propelled herself onwards like a specter in the night. Such effortless agility was the birthright of the Aeldar. After she settled on the edge of a roof, overlooking the thoroughfare below, she opened her journal. Inside were her sketches, most of which were depictions of the same subject: the young man with the vibrant blue eyes. Though she had never actually seen his face, he frequently appeared in her thoughts and dreams; almost haunting her. She tried to capture what she thought he looked like, drawing his imagined face from different angles and guessing details. In some sketches, he seemed almost ghostly, surrounded by mist and shadows. In others, he appeared brooding yet handsome.

As the years passed, she tried to forget the hurtful part of that night; the night she met the young man when she ventured into the woods, intent on ending her life. Part of what she told Deucard about being stupid and naive was true; she had been consumed by emotions, to the point where nothing was clear. But, much of what she felt was not anguish, but simply fear. Fear had been a constant in her life back then, and even more so now.

In that moment in the woods, when the wolves came to devour her, she had fought for her life, fleeing in terror. It was then that she realized she had been lying to herself about the depths of her despair. When the hour of her death had approached, she fought to live, struggling to escape the wolves’ clutches. From that day on, she vowed that one day she would free herself from Castle Blackthorn.

With aggressiveness, she once again raced across the rooftops but, suddenly, her journal slipped from her grasp and plummeted to the ground below. Desperate to retrieve it, she dove after the falling book but misjudged the distance, slamming into the side of a building and tumbling into a secluded alley.

She hit the ground hard. And as her senses returned, she saw a figure perched on a barrel nearby, watching her. When her vision finally cleared, she recognized the figure as Klissa and her gang: Catrin, Rosie and Mara. They were lounging, puffing on pipes and sipping wine from goblets with their faces obscured by hoods.

“Well, well, look who we have here,” said Catrin, her piercing brown eyes flashed as they raked over Anora.

“Come to stalk us, ‘ave ya?” sneered Rosie, taking a long drink from her goblet before passing it to Mara.

Mara scoffed, “Wine is for those of us less...virtuous.”

“We serve a bloodsucking countess,” laughed Klissa to Mara. “Innocence was never our strong suit.”

“I deserve a drink, ‘avin’ fought I was dead a few days ago,” laughed Rosie. “Blimey, Odessa glarin’ at me like she wanted to drink my blood...fought I was dead, I did.”

“It’s ‘night’s’, not ‘day’s’, darling,” corrected Mara.

“What’s that now?” asked Rosie, confused.

“We don’t have day’s here,” explained Catrin. “It’s all one, long, never-ending, hellhole, shite pit, of a night…I haven’t seen the sun, not since I was little.”

Klissa sauntered over, blowing smoke in Anora’s face. “You’ve fallen into my web, little fly. What are you doing here? Spying on us?”

Anora waved away the smoke. “If I had known this was your lair, I assure you, I would have selected a rather more refined alley for my crash landing.”

“Yet here you are,” commented Klissa with disdain. “A bit late for rooftop gallivanting, no?”

Anora stood up and brushed the dirt from her clothes. “And is it not past your curfew, ladies? You are well aware of the rules about wandering unchaperoned.”

Klissa opened a barrel and filled a goblet. “We’ve an arrangement with the guards here.”

“This isn’t place for the likes of you,” Catrin said with malice. “Go back to your fancy chambers. You don’t belong here.”

Rosie, who had clearly had too much to drink, stepped forward,. “You’ve got some nerve, stumblin’ in ‘ere like this,” she hissed. “You fink just ‘cos you ‘ave those wings on yer ‘ead, you’re betta than us?”

Anora shook her head. “No, I did not mean to-”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Klissa interrupted, stepping closer. “Didn’t mean to ruin our night? Or didn’t mean to show up and remind us of how strange you are?”

The others laughed, their voices echoed off the alley walls. Anora took a step back.

“She really is a strange one, isn’t she?” Mara stated. “Those wings, that pale skin... It’s like she’s one of them.”

Klissa snorted, taking a swig from the bottle. “You think she’s related to the Viempires? Don’t be ridiculous. They wouldn’t let one of their own be a handmaiden.”

Catrin curiously leaned in. “Are we talking about Viempire’s now? Well, can’t chat about them without talking about Prince Alastor, now can we?”

Rosie’s eyes widened with a mixture of fear and fascination. “You mean the prince wot never shows ‘is face?”

Klissa nodded, her expression was serious. “Yes. They say he’s as cruel as his father, the Deathless King. But there are whispers that he’s different, somehow. More…human.”

Mara rolled her eyes. “More human? What nonsense. He’s a Viempire through and through. Probably just as bloodthirsty and ruthless as the rest of them.”

“I’ve ‘eard ‘e’s quite the ‘eartbreaker,” said Rosie with a grin.

“Well, if looks could kill,” added Catrin ominously.

Mara’s brow tightened in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a bloodsucker,” explained Catrin.

“Still don’t follow,” muttered Mara.

Klissa hissed in exasperation. “Idiots! We shouldn’t be afraid of his appearance. He’s captain of the Death Knights, and all of you are acting like giggling schoolgirls.”

“Ow you know so much about ‘im?” asked Rosie, reaching for Klissa’s cup. Klissa held it just out of the shorter girl’s grasp. “C’mon then, ‘and it over.”

Klissa finally relinquished it with a sly smile. “Let’s just say you can learn a lot about a man while sharing his bed.”

Anora shifted uncomfortably. She knew little of Prince Alastor but what she did know made her nervous enough. Hearing Klissa speak so candidly only amplified her unease.

“Us handmaidens have nothing to fear from the Prince’s appetites...but you, darling,” she said to Anora, shaking her head. “I’d be scared to death.”

Anora lifted her chin defiantly. “I am not afraid of the Prince.”

Klissa’s eyes widened, “Oh, but you should be.”

Anora refused to respond, instead she searched for her journal. To her dismay, she spotted it in Catrin’s hands.

“Your little doodles aren’t half bad,” Catrin commented, flipping through the pages.

Anora lunged for the book. “Give it to me!”

Laughing, Catrin tossed the journal to Klissa. Take a look!”

As the two girls continued their vicious game of keep-away, Anora felt her frustration mounting.

“Damn you, give it back!” she yelled.

Klissa paused on one page. “Oh look, she does like boys. Who’s this now?”

Anora ground her teeth in anger.

“Give her a break, darling, she’s probably trying to feel normal,” Mara sneered.

Klissa’s eyes widened in surprise. “Did you draw his eyes? My, my, you are pathetic.”

With a cry of rage, Anora swiped at the journal, but instead knocked Klissa’s cup to the ground spilling the wine.

“You little bitch,” Klissa hissed in anger.

“There goes some good wine,” Catrin sighed. “She gonna pay for that?”

“You stole my journal,” Anora shot back.

Klissa advanced on her, dangerously. “You need to learn your place.” She then tore a handful of pages from the book and let them fall to the floor.

“No!” Anora cried, dropping to her knees to gather the fragments.

“Let’s leave the little artist to her masterpiece,” Klissa said coldly as she stormed off, the others followed.

Anora felt tears running down her cheeks as she stood motionless. She imagined running after Klissa, clawing her smug face. Suddenly, a fiery pain lanced through her chest and palms, and she gasped as the floor beneath her cracked and splintered. She stared in shock as she traced the jagged fissures with her fingertips, realizing that she had caused it. For a moment she could feel a strange energy flowing through her. She took a deep breath to try to calm down. She then began gathering the torn pages of her journal. Slowly, she felt the energy go away. She wiped the tears from her eyes and held the journal pages to her chest.