Chapter 29

"She was as person following her own presence, child chasing her reflection by the running brooks' rim, as soles pursuing footsteps, as Sun being the escort of his rays.

She wasn't living by heart and will, but by fitting into the mould shaped for her soul, a cast that was another's calling."

~

The Secret Cell of the Under-Ground Dungeons,

Kingdom of Tristendyre,

The first Phrinight of the Second month,

XXI Year of Regency

The Arch Eccleissor began to elaborate the purpose wherefore she was retrieved:

"This is why you have been summoned in secrecy:

The Princess has levanted about a fortnight heretofore and the day of her coronation is at hand. It is a duty emplaced upon your shoulders to play as a marionette resembling Princess Mercedes. We will disguise you, but careful not to slip, for it will cost you your very head. And you, in the perception of the people, are criminal and dead."

Imogen knew as definitely as the light of midnight's stars that she was a pawn in the Regents' game, but she was afraid of what awaited her after the Princess' coronation, against which she was summoned in secrecy.

She wondered further, where the Princess may have left toward. There had been whispers of suspicion in the council of her mind regarding the absence of Her Royal Grace ever since Crescence had disclosed her inklings the previous night that hour.

Howbeit, Imogen had faithfully trusted the regal one to have been of safe residence within the walls of her chambers, whilst the Arch Eccleissor had declared of the fast from encountering persons.

In such case, she would also be suffered to forebear any confrontations and would send the day prior to the Coronation in seclusion.

Imogen nodded demurely, "I will oblige."

The Arch Eccleissor was displeased, however, for his appreciation of her disposition was not completely surrendered to her timidity.

But he informed her: "I will require personally tutoring your conduct at the Ball and training you in the art of civility that is expected of royals. You may expect my attendance at your lodging for long hours to-morrow. Yoke that tongue of yours, kindly."

The vermillion-haired damsel nodded mutely, fear waging its rule over her being.

The circumstance was most unsettling, for the single and grim glare from Jaycob had compelled her spirits to chains, when the reality of the grave consequences of her coming words began to sediment within.

Further, those daggers of his eyes had dictated that there was no solace from his end to support her potential rebellion. She looked up slowly to see the Archer, her sole ally, staring at the lifeless body that was neatly encased in linen.

A slight yet fierce pain began to wreathe her forehead and she wondered if it was hunger.

Of course, her body had been feeling dry, as one's would before the onslaught of a fever, and she suspected that such effect was the aftermath of her exposure to the rains.

There was, however, no need for concerns, since the girl had been accustomed to staying wet for long hours in her tenure of serving as the Royal Physician's apprentice. It was practice to attend various expeditions during times of plagues and such where she had been Lady Minerva's escort in the visitations of the poor.

Allied by several local doctors of each village or town, they would treat the people who suffered symptoms and effects that were aggravated by monsoon. Thus, in the process of such gratuitously provided medication, it was inevitable for the girl to be enveloped by the touch of rain.

With the continuation of these customs, it was not new that Imogen had developed immunity to acquiring fevers that were the result of staying in wet garments.

Or at the very least, such occurrences of cold seasons could not wage their icy hands to claim her health as easily, for the Physician's beck had ordered this procedure since a young age.

Imogen was aware that the mildly burning and slightly feverish sensation beneath her eyes would leave sooner that she would remember it a second time.

"Once you have completed the burial, lead the damsel to the Princess' dorm through the Secret Passage from the Dungeon to her personal chambers", said the Regent, turning to the olive haired man.

"Sire, I hold no keys in my possession against such door betwixt the alley and the means to her halls", said the Royal Archer, in response. In all honesty, it seemed as if he hadn't a clue that there were such hallways in use.

"Ah, of course; I will have the Eccleissor lead her thereto. But I require that you stay company here and ensure she has not escaped, once you have discharged your duty", said Jehoram.

It was strange how hesitant he was of providing Jaycob with access to the chambers, but so was it.

"I will usher you thereto after the council meeting with the Chiefs has concluded", said Devland, turning to Imogen and she replied with a silent nod of her aching head.

"It is quite late, we must depart thereto", said the Regent and the two men appeared to be leaving.

Jaycob bowed and Imogen followed the gesture before the men that had infiltrated the aristocracy exited the cell and made their way onwards in the path leading Castle-ward in order to hold their conference.

The opening where-through the men had retired was not the one Imogen had entered through, earlier with Jaycob. It was that through which Crescence and later those very men themselves had entered whilst she had been fettered earlier that very day. And as they departed, they had heedlessly left the door-like wall partially open.

The pains lingering about the crown of her head did not evacuate and her sight seemed to darken at intervals, shreds of tiring blindness floating in her vision and her stomach feeling like it was carved inward.

She suspected she was a hungred: a feeling she had only rarely felt in all her life.

Jaycob's pleasantly countenance did not take long before it resumed to slovenly guise. He seemed far too serious and dismal to elaborate on her earlier misconduct and that only convened a greater source of stir within her being.

The suspense of why her angry advocacy had required restraint caused her ambiguity of stance and whether it was detrimental to her own self or to Jaycob was unknown.

It was evident that his lack of serenity owed it origin to reasons beyond the present demise of his grandfather.

There was an underlying bother that puppeted his moods to remain quenched. She stood there with neither purpose nor poise until the tall and masked man lifted the wrapped body in his arms.

"I will return without much ado to time; help your hungers to the bread on the tray", said the olive-haired man as he strode out as well.

There was a tide of relief in knowing that she was not the sole cause to his dormant disappointment.

Imogen turned to look at the food that awaited her from the dish upon the cold floor of the cell. It appeared to be the ration brought to the elderly man after she had been taken captive to be executed.

There was an odd and deep sensation filling her spirit when she considered how the man had hardly taken even a single bite of the food assigned to him hours past and now, in the passage of meagre time, this world had entered a day void of a great man's soul.

However, her starvation rivalled the significance of those ponderings and she took a seat on the floor to nurse her hunger. Imogen's balance was grandly unstable, for she was encompassed and mastered by the need for food.

There was a large loaf of bread made of rye that had been baked in the shape of a pot whose bottom portion was flat and head round, whose dough was hardened and cold by the hour of her consumption.

It appeared akin to the regular finely rounded sourdough. When the circle of bread that made the top part of the bun was removed like the lid of a kettle, one could see that the inside was slightly carved in a hollow and filled with sweetened wine, the maroonish blood of inexpensive and frugally-priced Lyrishveilian grapes.

The crust that made the walls of the pot-shaped bread could be broken and dipped in the drink to quench the meal-eaters thirst.

She parted the fragments of bread and ate the meal in the manner that was commonly expected, but hastily, for the more she consumed, the greater her body recognised her devouring hunger.

When she had supped to her fulfilment and drunk to her thirst's very banish, her stomach bid her to eat some more, but there was nothing left. Further, Imogen was well aware that after about a few minutes' lapse, her hunger would subside into the sea of having overeaten.

After her starvation had renounced its claim over her and the headache relieved, she realised how frightful it was to be all alone in the company of single solitude there beneath the under-ground dungeons.

However, the feverish feelings had left her body, for the food had added strength to her sinew.

The girl of dual coloured eyes rose to her feet and looked about hoping to divert the concerns of her unsettling senses and regard matters besides the presencelessness of the chambers and corridors.

She could recall her bygone friend's words regarding the art inscribed into the walls of her erstwhile cell.

Thus, Imogen entered therein and looked close to the walls and the designs woven upon their body. It was illegible and the girl brushed her palm over the layers of dust that had settled their abode thereon.

There were various drawings and markings in a peculiar language that she was unacquainted with, much like the words upon the pillory. The writings and potential words, however, were in fragments, as though they were discontinuous and the array thereof was chaotic and out of human-pronounced linguistic order.

Apart from the scripts, maps and dragonian anatomies were drawn, but even those were halved or sliced, their parts strewed across the wall as a large unsolved labyrinth.

Since it seemed as a picture broken and strewed, the damsel decided that making sense of the acute words would preside gaining an understanding of the grand picture.

Just as she leaned closer to steal a scrutinised glimpse of what was written, the corners of her eyes spied a slight and suspicious shift.

Imogen turned to see the door that had suffered the exit of the Regents and there was light from ignited wall torches without her cell (for it was partially unclosed).

The damsel knew that there was no one that walked the allies of that secret division beneath the dungeons and thus, there was no need for the luminescence.

There wasn't even requirement for Jaycob, for he had used the door and paths of the other end of the cell (leading sea-ward and not toward the heart of Tristendyre).

She took a step back to cast her thoughtless appraisal and that was when her eyes caught sight, in the corridor, of the shadows of three hooded figures passing by.

~