Stolen Queen
Dorothea was cracking down. More and more tales of witches broken before they could become powerful enough to protect themselves traveled throughout all the Territories in Hyall's shadow. There were even rumors of Dorothea proclaiming herself the High Priestess of Hyall. But she was not a queen. Strong queens were what Terrielle needed to protect itself from Dorothea's sadistic ways, but strong queens were the exact thing Dorothea was eliminating. Thus the witches strong enough to rival Dorothea were either broken before they could become a threat or, if they wanted to live, had become her pets.
All the facts ran through Peitre's mind as he walked down the long stone hallway. He knew all those facts and more, yet they still wouldn't make this job of his any easier. His wife, a sapphire jeweled queen of a small Territory in Hayll's shadow, had just given birth to a daughter a few hours prior to sunrise. Now the sun burned hot just over the horizon and Peitre was sure that the rest of the castle above him was just waking and preparing for the work ahead. Peitre's work, though, was just about to end. Just a few more minutes and he would be at the very lowest part of the castle, below even the deepest basement.
Peitre instead thought of his wife. His strong, beautiful wife who dedicated her life daily to protecting others. Peitre's wife, Jesabelle, had been a fresh queen when Dorothea had come to claim the Territory as her own. Jesabelle's sapphire jewel was by no means a match for Dorothea's red and she knew that open confrontation would result in nothing but death and suffering. So Amarah had surrendered before any force was used, and that way none of Jesabelle's males, or females for that matter, were harmed. Now Jesabelle acted as a buffer between Hayll's influence and her own people. All those people who would have died defended her now served by living and protecting.
In the back of his mind Peitre kept track of the time. By now Jesabelle's maids would be entering their lady's chamber and would see the young woman, pale and exhausted, on the bed with a small box on the floor beside her. 'Dead,' her brother Albert would tell them. 'The burial will be soon. Now leave my sister to her rest, she needs it,' In the wake of the news of the stillbirth of Jesabelle's first child, no one would wonder about him.
The bundle in Peitre's arm shifted slightly and a small gurgle came out from out of it. Without stopping he pulled back the flap of the bundle and gazed down at the face of his newborn daughter. Her wide, innocent eyes stared unblinkingly back at him. Odd eyes. Green flecked with brown. No one else in the family had such eyes. 'It means that she will be special,' Jesabelle's midwife and best friend told Peitre shortly before he bundled up his daughter in his arms. He hoped, for all their sakes, that she was correct.
Finally, the ground leveled out and the hallway came to an end. Putting more energy into the witchfire he sent the ball into the center of the room. The room was a simple circle with an altar and a portal on the far wall. No priestess tended this portal. Almost no one even knew of its existence. Peitre had only been made aware of it a few months before. This wasn't a regular portal that led to another Realm, either Kaleer or Hell, this portal led to another universe. No one is Jesabelle's family had ever crossed that threshold into another universe, but the knowledge of such a feat had been passed down through the generations of queens until it came to rest on Jesabelle's shoulders. Peitre swallowed his nerves, then lit the candles of the altar and watched the portal change. No discernable difference was made, but Peitre felt it all the same. He felt the pull of the Craft being used to sustain the mortal as flowed into that other world and back out again. Slowly Peitre walked behind the altar and knelt down on the stones. He took the bundle of blankets that held his firstborn daughter and placed it gentle inside the portal. As he did so, a single tear slid down his cheek and onto his daughter's forehead. Before he had a chance to wipe it off, she was gone.
Peitre stood and turned toward the exit. By now the empty coffin was being lowered into the ground. By this time tomorrow Dorothea would know the news of Jesabelle's stillbirth. Dorothea's attention would move elsewhere, and Amarah would be safe. The life of their daughter would also be safe. With everyone thinking that the babe was buried six feet underground, no one would suspect that the child was really alive and well in another world. There, free from the threat of Dorothea and her schemes, Peitre and Jesabelle's daughter could grow up safe and become the powerful queen that was needed to shake off Hayll's shadow from Amarah. Silently Peitre prayed to the Darkness for his daughter's wellbeing and he wondered if the Darkness even existed in that strange other world. Without the darkness, how would she survive? Without the blood to guide her, how would she become a great queen? Peitre shook his head to clear away these thoughts. This was the best choice for his daughter, and he knew it.
He began walking back to the surface. Only after the simple funeral would anyone wonder where the father was, but he still had to hurry. He had a lot of ground to cover before he was back in the basement. As he walked, his thoughts strayed back to his daughter who he would never see grow. He only wished he could have given her a name.