It was carnage. Jorsin had seen death in battle and the aftermath of countless murders, but the scene unfolding before him in Princess Mora's chambers was one of the worst. There was blood everywhere. On the ceiling, the furniture and the walls, from where it was dripping down and pooling on the floor. Here and there, were scattered bits of flesh and bone. Jorsin couldn't tell who the body parts had come from. Barely any of them were even recognisable as having come from fae.
The guard who had accompanied him threw up as soon as he saw the mess. Jorsin didn't blame him. He could make out scraps of red material amongst the dark stains of the blood. The remnants of uniforms. This was likely all that was left of the guards that he had appointed to guard Princess Mora.
He tried to imagine what kind of force could have torn a fae apart like that. What kind of creature was he dealing with here? He stepped through the pools of blood, making for the princess's bedroom. He steeled himself for the worst, as he eased open the door.
The room was empty. There was no blood in here. There was a draft through the room. The windows were gone. Jorsin frowned. There was no glass on the floor. The windows had been blown outwards, not inwards. There was no other sign of commotion in the princess's bedroom. Everything else seemed to be in place, apart from the princess's coverlet, that had been thrown back.
Jorsin approached the bed. There was a single feather on the princess's bedsheets. He lifted the coverlet to examine further. To his surprise, it fell apart in his hands. It had been shredded, but by a blade so fine, that he hadn't noticed the cuts until he had picked it up. Amongst the fine down of the ruined sheets, Jorsin could make out one droplet of black blood.
Two princesses missing, blood found at both scenes. Even though he wasn't going to jump to conclusions, he had a duty to fulfil first. Jorsin called in his escort.
"What's the status of the Queen?"
The guard's breathing was laboured, his face still pale. His voice was steady when he answered, though.
"The Queen hasn't yet been informed. The watch captain thought it best to inform you first, before disturbing her majesty."
A prudent measure, most likely to spare the Queen from the hellish sight that would have awaited her in her daughter's chambers. Or perhaps the watch captain had simply not wanted to be the one to inform the Queen that the guard had failed to protect yet another member of the royal family.
"Inform Captain Erla to take Princess Mab and the Queen into protective custody. I want them under lock and key in the Guards Barracks. There could well still be intruders in the castle. If they were able to take Princess Mora from her bedchamber so easily, then no one is safe. Tell Captain Erla that I want her watching the Queen personally. There could well be a magical element to this attack and I want her on hand to defend the Queen in my stead."
Jorsin paused, evaluating his options. It was clear that the castle was compromised somehow. However, evacuating was not an option. They would be far more vulnerable in the forest than behind stone walls. It could even be what the mysterious assassin was hoping for.
"Call out the guard, as well. I want every entrance into and out of this fortress locked down. No one in or out. I need sweeps of the corridors as well. Bring anyone you find to the Guards Barracks for questioning."
The guard bobbed his head in conformation and quickly ran from the room. Jorsin called the watch captain over from the other side of the room.
"Captain Treille, tell me what happened here."
The female dipped her head and sketched a salute.
"Lord General." The captain's jaw was firmly set and there was a grim expression on her face. "Precisely forty-five minutes ago, a night patrol, consisting of two fae, was making the rounds, when they noticed the guards to Princess Mora's chambers were not at their posts. Entering the chamber, they found the guards beheaded and the princess gone. As per regulations, word was sent to me straight away, whilst one fae remained behind to guard the scene." The watch captain's face hardened.
"When I arrived, I found the no sign of the fae who remained behind, and the mess you see before you. It was at that point that I sent for you."
Jorsin's spine chilled slightly at the captain's words.
"So, whoever, or whatever beheaded the guards, was likely still here when the patrol arrived. This mess here," Jorsin gestured to the scraps of flesh and bone, "Is very likely what's left of the patrol."
If the assailant had still been in the chamber, but forty-five minutes ago, then where was the princess? Had the attacker taken her away, and then returned to the scene of the crime? That didn't make any sense.
Jorsin examined the corpse of a beheaded guard. His body was drenched in blood, much of it still relatively fresh. His head was on the floor by his left hand, facing up. On the dead fae's face wasn't and expression of horror, but of surprise. Also, though the fae's body was covered in blood, in contrast to much of the rest of the chamber, the wall around the body was surprisingly dry. There was a slight mark, above the headless torso, likely where the head had hit the wall, but there was no splatter zone from the blade that had cut the head off, which there should have been from a beheading. Jorsin's frown deepened. Especially as the guard's head had been severed by a cut through the vertebrae, not above or below. That in itself was a surprising act of strength.
This was especially worrying. The patrol fae, who had been exploded, was definitely caused by a magical attack. There was no other explanation. However, though the magic must have been extremely powerful to forcibly rupture a body like that, it was uncontrolled and undisciplined. It hinted towards a random and wasteful expulsion of magic, much as one might expect from an animal or a beast. However, the beheading of the guard hinted towards a different sort of magical attack. Precise and intentional, wielding magic like a blade. That was no random attack, but a brutal assassination. The work of an extremely powerful magic wielder.
Jorsin examined the other bodies. Each one of them had been beheaded, like the first one. Likewise, each one of them had an expression of surprise. All, apart from the two guards who had been on the balcony, outside the princess's window. Their bodies were slightly shredded from the glass, and one of their heads had rolled away (likely fallen from the balcony and would be a delightful surprise to some poor unfortunate maidservant tomorrow), but the remaining head was set with an expression of horror. Unlike the others, these two guards had reached for their weapons before they died, their fists still gripping their swords. They must have seen something happen in the princess's bedroom. Perhaps even what had happened to her, and shredded her bed clothes.
Jorsin returned to Mora's bedroom. There had to be something else. Something he was missing. He turned over the room, looking for anything. Anything out of place. He dropped to his knees by the bed and looked underneath. There, he saw two black hand prints, about the size of a small girl's hands. In the centre of the bloody hand prints, was a strange marking, that looked oddly familiar, daubed in blood.
Alone. I'm trapped in the dark. I can't see anything. I can't feel. It's like I'm drowning. Struggling for air. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I'm going to die. I scream silently into the dark.
The room is lit by a soft light from the brazier burning in the fireplace. The logs spit and hiss, sending the shadows to dance around the stone ceiling. I try to turn my head to look around. Everything is sideways. I groan and try to sit up. I can't. I close my eyes and try to concentrate. Everything is a blur. I gather my wits and try again. Something is holding me fast. I open my eyes again and look at myself.
I'm strapped to a table, thick leather bindings pinning my arms in place. Sturdy chains hold my chest down. I feel a sense of panic come creeping into my heart, a cold familiar squeeze. With a rising dread, I turn my head and look at the fireplace. Something about me knew they would be there. Branding Irons. Their heads resting in the heart of the fire, brands red hot, going white. There isn't much time.
I cry out in fear, my voice echoing around the room. It's all somehow horribly familiar. I struggle against the binds on my wrists, chafing myself raw. I have to get out. I need to. Before she comes back.
I try to arch my back, to make some space to slip under the chains. Nothing. They're too strong and too tight. I yank again at my wrists. I can't endure it. Not again.
The struggle has made a slight gap in the chains. I can just see my chest through it. The flesh is raw and weeping. I stare at the mutilated flesh. As I look, I can feel it. The searing heat. A slice of fire across my chest. I've already been branded. All over my body, I can see the marks, some of the relatively fresh, others half healed and scarring. On my wrists, I can see a white ring of scar tissue, from where I've struggled before. How long have I been here? And where is here?
Something about the place seems to prick at my memory. A dark place. Half remembered and buried deep. I've been here before, though I can't remember when. A black fog shrouds my mind. The pain from my mutilated body dulls my wits. Dimly, I can remember long hours, days and years of crying out at that stone ceiling. Pain, over and over again. Burning and cutting, never ending.
A single tear slides down my cheek. Was it all for nothing? I had tried. Tried so hard to survive. Had I ever been free? Had I ever really been Aelix? Or had I always been here, a prisoner, strapped to a table, trapped in eternal torment?
A clicking noise reverberated around the cell. I can feel my fear rising. I know that noise. My body tenses. Not more. I can't stand anymore. The tears flow freely from my eyes and turn away, unable to stand the sight, as the door to the cell slides open.
The guards stood stiffly to attention, as Jorsin entered the barracks. He had left Treille to organise the patrols and to send search parties into the grounds, though he knew that they would not find Princess Mora. He had known that, ever since he had seen those marks on the bedroom floor.
He had seen such markings before. All fae had, though they had no place on the bedroom floor of a princess. Wyrdmarks. They were sometimes used in religious ceremonies or carved into the sides of temples, though never in blood. This whole situation stank of a conspiracy. Perhaps one that had been going on for years. All under his nose. Two princesses missing. From the marks, Jorsin doubted either one was still in the castle now. He needed answers, and he needed them now. He knew for a fact that a particular someone was still holding out on him.
Jorsin swept past the line of guards and down a long corridor lined with flickering torches. His footsteps echoed heavily on the stone floor and the scales of his armour shifted with every powerful stride. He stopped outside the only occupied cell in the dungeon. He looked with distaste at the crumpled form before him.
In the mere hours that Senelle had been imprisoned, she seemed to have aged decades. Her hair was grey and limp. Her face seemed to sag. There was little life to her eyes.
"What do you want?" Her voice was a hoarse croak, barely more than a whisper. Jorsin narrowed his eyes at her, still remembering her revelations in Princess Maeve's chambers. How this wicked hag had ever become governess to a princess, he would never understand. Something was rotten about her. Any fae with eyes in their head should be able to see that. Still, the crone was part of the puzzle. He would need answers from her if he was to find the princesses and fulfil his oath.
Jorsin rubbed his eyes and steadied his impatience. He would need to win over Senelle's support. There wasn't time to extract the information he needed with cruder means.
Taking a key from his belt, he opened the cell door and entered, closing it quietly behind him. He sat down on the only chair in the cell and motioned for Senelle to sit down upon the cot. Warily, she did so.
"When I spoke to you earlier this evening, you claimed that you had always served those of the blood."
Senelle blinked slowly, her violet eyes firmly fixed on Jorsin.
"That is correct. I have dedicated myself in service to the bloodline my entire life." Her eyes were shrewd and stubborn. "You might even say that I am as blood-sworn as you, Lord General."
Jorsin stifled the anger he felt at her insinuation. He was nothing alike to this crone. He needed her trust though. He would play along for now.
"When did you become governess to Princess Maeve?"
"Around seven years ago. But I have already told you this, Lord General."
"What was your service before that? If you have always served the royal family, then what was your position before you became governess?"
The crone's mouth twitched. Jorsin could swear there was a slight smile about her mouth.
"I was a mere servant. I did my duty. And when the time came that Princess Maeve needed a governess, I was asked to do my duty once more."
That didn't make any sense. Why would a mere servant be appointed as governess. The governesses for princesses Mora and Mab were some of the finest ladies in the kingdom, educated and well bred. It would be unseemly for the governess for Princess Maeve, the supposed heir apparent, to be governed by anything less.
"Who was your predecessor? Who was Princess Maeve's governess before you took over?"
The crone's smile widened. "I was her first. Seven years ago, I was told to assume the position of Princess Maeve's governess."
That definitely sounded wrong. Jorsin wracked his brains, trying to remember all he could about the princess, before seven years ago. He had yet to take the blood-oath and bind his life to the Queen at that point. He had still been serving in the army. His contact with the royal household had been rare and his knowledge of court gossip had been sparse, only whatever his uncle Blackthorn, the Queen's previous bodyguard had relayed to him. Unlike the Queen's second daughter, Mora, the perfect princess, the Queen's eldest had very rarely been spoken of, except for the old rumour surrounding her birth.
Indeed, on the rare occasions that Jorsin had actually been to court, he had never seen the Princess Maeve. When he had assumed his role as the Queen's blood-sworn, he had presumed that this was due to Maeve's waywardness and her refusal to participate in courtly life. But what if there was another reason. Seven years ago, he had been appointed to serve the Queen, after the death of his uncle. Senelle had been appointed Princess Maeve's governess. The two events were linked somehow. And where had Maeve been before then?
"What did your duties as governess consist of?"
"My duties?" Senelle seemed slightly surprised at the question. "The same as that of any governess. Education. Refinement. To prepare my charge for courtly life and her duty as a princess of the realm."
Education and a knowledge of courtly life. Hardly attributes one would expect, if Senelle had merely been a servant prior to becoming Princess Maeve's governess.
"I didn't take note of much in the way of educational material in the Princess's chambers. Only a few tomes on a bookcase."
Senelle blinked again. "Of course there wasn't. Ascetism is a vital part of a lady's education."
Jorsin took note of Senelle's hands. There was a slight tremor. She knew about the secret cell behind the bookcase. He felt cold. Who had she kept in there?
"Naturally. It seems to be a lesson that Princesses Maeve and Mora have taken much to heart, considering they have managed absence themselves completely from the castle." His voice shook slightly with anger and sarcasm. "Perhaps they have felt the call of monastic life."
A look of horror was plastered over Senelle's face. "The Princess Mora has disappeared?"
Something about the concern that Senelle showed for Mora and not for the princess that had been in her care made Jorsin hate Senelle even more.
"Yes. She has." Jorsin let the steel enter his voice. "I have seven dead guards fae upstairs and two missing princesses. I have good reason to believe that you have something to do with the disappearance of one of them." He leant forward in the chair. "I need you to start talking Senelle, or the headsman's axe will be having words with you neck."
The disgraced governess's face went as pale as a death-mask, but her mouth set grimly.
"If that is my fate, so be it. I cannot tell you anything, Lord General. Though, I mourn the absence of Princess Mora, I will not tell you anything that may compromise my lady."
"Your lady?"
Senelle's eyes narrowed in disdain. "Yes. I am under orders from the Queen. I will not betray her trust or confidence, not even in a situation such as this." She looked away, tears in her eyes. "I will always serve the blood."
Jorsin sat back, utterly baffled. The female was clearly unhinged. Her mind had seemed a mess before, but now, it seemed positively scrambled. He tried a gentler tack.
"We are on the same side, are we not? I too serve the Queen. Her secrets are my secrets. I will take them to the grave." He stood up and made to leave the cell. As he opened the door, he turned back to Senelle, her head still bowed. "Is there anything that you can tell me? Anything that might help me find Maeve?"
She looked back at him, hatred burning in her eyes. She lifted the sleeve of her dress, exposing her wrist. Jorsin stared. It was covered in deep vertical wounds, some still bleeding.
"Find the snake that did this to me. Find that bitch, and you will find your princess."