Chapter 38

"Have you ever read of wars and defeats and mutiny and scars?

But have you further considered so: that the greatest of all these battles of history would be a one fought within a mortal's heart?"

~

Princess' Chambers in the Imperial Castle,

Kingdom of Tristendyre,

The first Phrinight of the Second month,

XXI Year of Regency

Imogen felt foreign in such rich environment.

She had seen a wonderful share of wealth and allowance as the sole apprentice of the Crown Physician, destined to take the mantle and follow in Lady Minerva's stead. It had been a greater status her position boasted, as compared to the maidens that worked in departments where there were various persons under a single head.

However, glancing around the royally decked and embellished room of the single heir to the Throne, Princess Mercedes Duvessa, she could not begin to conceive wherefore one would leave such grandeur and flee.

The sheets of the bed were silk; the rests and cushions were finely pruned fleece; there were furs and sheer curtains and valances draping the sides of the bed and butterfly shaped large bows at every perch.

A great vanity stood over a portion of wall and a ring step where upon the Royal damsel could stand whilst ladies in waiting would dress the Princess as per concept and decorum.

The cupboards and wardrobes were tall and extravagant and the chamber in entirety was swept and neat.

There was a study full of documents strewed and ink spilt across some pages. There were various heavy books and volumes with curious bookmarks marking specific sections of the paperbacks.

Amidst all reports and official documents of State and Legislature, there was even a compilation of the Letters of Nathan, the Prophet that warns. It was curious how greatly the Princess had shed these articles such importance as to keep them safely.

All those published letters dating since the beginning of this elusive Nathan's pages were there, all except the final and most recent piece.

Imogen respectfully abstained from foraging through them in curiosity, for she revered the privacy of all that could be held therein. Invasion of these was beyond her, since she held great reverence towards the Crown Princess of Tristendyre.

In fact, there, standing in her very room felt greatly like she was overstepping her worthiness. As foolish as she knew it seemed, it felt as if the very spirit of the great princess might be watching over her in this place.

She mused over how much Crescence would have enjoyed spending a day in this place, but unfortunately, such pleasure was not granted.

Imogen dearly still wanted to bring her friend therein; or at the very least have the maiden know that she was alive and well and reclining in the Princess' luxury.

Crescence was a good friend and would surely be excited to know of the good fortune that has encompassed her after the gruesome incident of earlier that eventide.

Further, Noctyn would be glad, although he would not have even known that she was nearly murdered whilst the bird was hiding in his solace from the day and evening's rains.

After such a terrible execution, the favours her heart was receiving was wonderful to taste, even though fleeting. It was probable that after the Coronation, she would only be kept in such chamber until the Princess was retrieved.

The fair damsel thought about how her eyes had been unveiled of the blinds only after she had stepped her foot upon the polish floor of that room.

And then the Arch Eccleissor had seemed rather perturbed like there were various businesses he had to accomplish. He muttered and spited before leaving the dorm.

Strangely so, she had seen his image, through the glass beside the door, rushing away in the direction opposite his office. The freckled maiden wondered about his course.

If he wished to seek the men that she had seen in dark garments, he should have treaded back into the Secret Door that led Dungeon-ward, wherefrom they had arrived some time ago.

If he was to return to his own bureau, it was situated upon the other side of the Castle, not whence he had walked toward.

She did not know reasons for his route and agitation, but it was not of her concerns.

For that single moment, she was free and her breath was given. Imogen danced around the cool of the room, feeling divine like she was a princess herself. The nervousness of the coming dread did not fetter her.

As she twirled about like a graceful swan, her foot crashed against the ankle of the study table and the girl toppled in pain. Though it was embarrassing, Imogen was down on the floor, engaged in clutching her intensely hurting leg.

From the base of the oak desk, where the parchments and books were, a small corked bottle about the size of two frinzes and tied with a magenta ribbon rolled its way down the floor till it halted against her leg.

There was a sliced piece of paper inside it where words were written and as much as the flame-haired damsel withheld her urges, she was tempted to steal a glimpse thereof.

After all, what business did this bottle have, when it had been so specifically hidden beneath the chassis of the table that it had crawled its way to her side like it was demanding to be read?

Imogen took it and perused to satisfy the behest of her curiosity.

Her heart erupted with joy upon sighting her recognition that this vial was the one the Princess would send messages to Imogen through. The final letter the girl had sent the royal one had not seen response in about a fortnight.

Thus, the Physician's apprentice had been given to believe that Her Grace had been greatly occupied. The previous night, she had heard Crescence's observation and concluded that some dreadful event had befallen her.

Presently standing (or rather, toppled over) in the heart of the regal damsel's personal dorm, Imogen knew that the Princess had run away and hoped she was safe.

Thoughtfully, there was a piece of parchment rolled and inserted into the body of the bottle where the ribbon across its neck held the initials of Imogen.

She unravelled the cork and drew the letter out to read its words of reply:

"My dear Imogen,

I have news to bring to your heed: I will not be able to sojourn in this country a day longer. I have read an article that my mother is still alive in a distance and I desperately wish to reunite with her.

I have found only little love in this place, where yours has been a great portion thereof. I am still very grateful to you for all the kindness you're shown me as my only friend. I do love you as well and I soulfully wish that we meet again soon. Good bye."

Imogen stared at the parchment in slow digestion. Her emotions were flooding her chest as she reread the lines over and over again.

It was absolutely touching that the great Princess herself had counted Imogen as preciously as to write to before her runaway.

The letter had not seen delivery and the damsel assumed it was for haste of levanting that the Royal one could not see the letter to its destination.

There were no other shreds of parchment upon the table that may be the letters she had written to the Majestic Mercedes Duvessa and Imogen did not know if they were hidden inside the wardrobes whose privacy she had not overwhelmed.

However, there was a warm sensation in thinking the Princess may have taken them with her as tokens of love into her endless flight.

Imogen walked to the tall glass doors veiled with large curtains, where there was the view of the whole Kingdom of Tristendyre observing the stillness of the night.

Drawing the pleats aside, Imogen opened the doors and stood at the lavish and large balcony and gazed at the breathtaking vista.

She looked up to see the sky's cape of night spread across the heavens with the thin crescent moon rested upon a wreath of clouds. The moon's radiance graced the cotton vapours that dressed it, shedding such beams of light down to the awaiting face of the earth and her chamber and the jaw of her standing porch.

She rested her elbows against the railings that laced the rim of her stand and caused her sight to descend to the land that was before her eyes.

Close beneath, without the margins of the Imperial Castle, she noticed a few shady and dark cloaked figures watching her from their hidden perches at various places: branches of trees and curves of alleys.

They were surveying to ensure that she did not escape: that much was clear. Imogen heaved a deep sigh.

She could understand why Knight Oreius Zephaniah and his partner Zebedee Ryder had not escaped or appeared publicly to show the people that they were alive: because that would mean these evasive men that supervised them from the veils of darkness would kill them in a heart-beat.

They were shadowed from the naked eye, but from where she stood, they were allowing her to know that they were overseeing her every move.

Imogen turned her face and reflections to the night sky above. Her thoughts were of Crescence and of Noctyn and most importantly of Lady Minerva. There was much these loving beings would be facing in assuming she was dead.

She wished to meet them and allow them to know that she was, in fact, alive. Imogen desired to tell them not that her future was uncertain, be-cause that may withhold their glad feelings from wilting.

Just as she watched the stars of heaven, it was enshrouded from a perturbation in the distance. Imogen looked yonder to see there were heavy clouds of dark smoke ascending into the skies as if there was a great and consuming fire.

Her terrified eyes watched the flames and there was only a single place that could sustain such a blazing misfortune: the Village of Lyrishveil that was not built of stone.

And true to her presages, that was the place wherefrom the disaster was rising.

~