Ellenessia's Curse Series, Book 2: The Seer's Tower by Fran Jacobs

Afterwards

The room was awash with blood. It was everywhere. It covered the walls and dripped down from the ceiling and had marked every item of furniture with thick, scarlet patches. There wasn't a corner of the room that hadn't been touched. Everything had been painted with the same bloody brush. And I was no exception. My clothes were stuck to my body with thick red globs, they ran down my face, like crimson tears, and my hands were slick with it. I could barely hold my sword, the hilt was so slippery, but somehow I managed to cling to it, holding it in my bloody grasp with tightly curled fingers.

And in the middle of the room, in the middle of that sea of red, almost drowning in it, lay Mayrila, my mother. She was sprawled on her bed. Her lips were white, her skin was turning blue and her violet eyes were glazed and lifeless. She was dead and it was my fault. I had done this. I didn't know how, I couldn't remember, but I knew it all the same. I had done this. I had killed her. I had killed my mother. I was a murderer.

Reality barged in around me as I came awake, coughing and gasping and struggling to breathe as I sat up in my bed. My body was drenched with sweat. It stuck my nightshirt and sheet to me, my hair against my face, but I was shivering, too. Trembling. My body was shaking, enough to make the mattress creak, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. It was all beyond my control.

And then there was light - a flickering, warm orange glow beneath the door that connected my room to my bodyguard's. A moment later it opened and Trellany stood there, clutching a lantern, clad only in her nightshirt, her pale legs bare and her red hair dishevelled. But even though I knew she had been in bed, the shadows around her green eyes betrayed that she hadn't been sleeping. "Are you all right?" she asked. "You were screaming..."

"I-I'm fine," I lied, hoping the shadows around me and the dark red curtains that framed the bed could hide my trembling and the beads of sweat I could feel dripping down my forehead. "Sorry if I woke you."

"That doesn't matter," she said. "Candale, if it was a bad dream, if it was about Mayrila-"

"No," I said. "No, it was just about some spiders, crawling all over me." I shivered, genuine, and gave her a smile, forced. "You know how much I hate the buggers."

"Yes..." she said, doubtfully.

"So, don't worry about it. I'm fine. In fact, I might just get up, do some work, or read a book..."

"Why don't you take a break, Candale?" she said. "You've been working so hard recently. Maybe we could play a game of chess, or some cards?"

"Are you sure? I don't want to drag you out of your bed like this."

"It's fine," she said. "I wasn't really sleeping anyway. I'll be back in a few minutes, all right?"

I nodded and she turned and left the room. As soon as the door had clicked shut behind her, I collapsed. I curled up in my bed, arms wrapped around my head and choked on the sobs that threatened to suffocate me.

It had been five days since the 'accident'. Five, long days since I'd woken in Mayrila's room, following a fit, to find her lying dead on the bed with no idea how it had happened. I could remember that I'd gone to Mayrila's rooms, in the middle of the night, convinced that a child I'd been seeing in my dreams had actually been her secret daughter, Illiyana. My half-sister. I believed that Illiyana had been reaching me from a distance, with psychic gifts, to beg me for help, leaving bruises on my skin whenever she touched me. And I'd wanted to know why Mayrila had never told me about her. Mayrila had denied having a daughter and claimed ignorance of what I was talking about and we'd argued. During that argument she had revealed that, not only had she agreed to help me with my awakening seer gifts so that she could use me for her own ends, but that she believed I was actually the demon Ellenessia's prophet.

But that was the last thing that I could remember; clearly at least. Mixed up in my memories were images of a misty shadow coming toward me, which I had tried to fend off, voices whispering, and then my fit. But it was all hazy, unclear, until the moment I'd woken to find Mayrila dead and the sword, which I'd taken for my protection, covered with her blood. I couldn't remember having raised it against her, but I knew that I must have as there had been no one else there that night. There could be no other explanation for what had happened and there was no way that I could deny it. I was to blame.

Since then, for five long days and nights, I'd lived with the guilt of what I'd done, but nothing else. No punishment had followed, as much as I deserved it, no prison cell, no trial, no waiting execution, because the whole thing had been covered up by my grandfather King Sorron. And, other than being locked in my bedroom at night, nothing seemed to have changed at all.

Except for the dreams. Every night I relived what I'd done and woke screaming. Some nights Trellany heard me, came to me, and I had to lie to her about the cause. Other times she didn't, and I would lie still in the dark, sobbing so hard that I thought I would break. But I didn't. My sobs always faded and, somehow, I would pull myself together and face another day as a prince of Carnia. At least until I was alone at night and the dreams returned.

Now was no different and I struggled to control myself, to stop the tears, by forcing myself to take deep breaths, letting the air out slowly, my chest rattling. Trellany would be back soon and I couldn't let her see me crying. I couldn't let her know that anything was wrong. I couldn't let anyone know that. So I took another breath and, still trembling, turned to strike up my own lantern, turning the dark shadows of the room into the familiar items of furniture and decorations, and got up from my bed.

Slowly I pulled the red, satin coverings back over the bed, making it as tidy as I possibly could, before peeling off my sweat-sodden nightshirt and reaching for some clean clothes. Once, I had taken great pride in my appearance, had been the 'peacock prince', always fashionable. Although I could never look as presentable as I would have liked, with my unruly hair and ability to rip and tear my clothes through my own clumsiness. But now it just didn't seem that important anymore and I pulled on the first things that came to hand, before tying back my hair. Then I sat down on my bed, straightened my back, and waited for Trellany to return.

I didn't have to wait long. Trellany returned within a handful of minutes, impeccably dressed in her clinging black uniform, breeches and tunic, with my symbol, a three-headed dragon, shimmering in silver thread on the breast. Her red hair was braided and hung in a tail down her back and her face was pink from the cold wash water. "Chess then?" she said.

"All right," I replied.

It was dark in the sitting room. Dawn was a good few hours away, so Trellany set to work quickly, bringing the lanterns to life. I bowed my head, so that she couldn't see my face, my red eyes and swollen nose, something that always happened to me when I cried, and slid quickly into my bathing room. There I washed in the cold water left over from the day before and shaved quickly, more clumsily than usual. I couldn't stand to look at myself in the mirror, to see the guilt in my face, or my features, my dark curly hair and violet eyes, which were so much like Mayrila's, any longer than I had to. When I returned to the sitting room the lanterns were lit and the room was warm and comforting in the orange glow. Trellany was setting up the chessboard, a gift from my sister, Aylara, and I left her to it while I went to fetch myself a large brandy. She looked concerned when I turned to join her, drink in hand, but she didn't say anything.

I'd taught Trellany the game in the autumn, when my father had sought to dissuade me, outright prevent me really, from leaving home to visit the mage school of White Oaks. He'd kept me imprisoned in my suite for three weeks and Trellany had been given the job as my prison guard. Chess was one of the few ways that we'd had to pass the time. Trellany had proved to be a quick study and was rather good at the game, probably because she thought tactically ahead, something she would have learnt as part of her weapons training. Tonight we played in silence, not because either of us wanted to concentrate particularly since we both knew this game was simply a distraction, but because we didn't talk much these days, least of all about what had happened.

Only a few people knew what had happened 'that night': Silver, my mage-guard who had found me; Trellany, who he'd turned to; my grandfather, King Sorron, and those he had ordered to conceal it. And there was an unspoken agreement, between all of us that we didn't talk about it, or even acknowledge that it had happened. But, even though we never talked about it, I knew that the others thought about it. I could see it in their eyes, just as it was never far from my own thoughts. I tried to distract myself, throwing myself into work, into the duties of Court, matters of state. But every now and then Mayrila's violet eyes would flash before mine, my breath would catch in my throat, my stomach would twist into knots and I would feel sick. It was something that I knew was never going to go away. But I didn't let on to anyone about it, about my nightmares, about how I saw Mayrila's face every time I looked at my own reflection. Because if I did then I knew that they would try to comfort me, to console me, to remind me that it had just been an accident and that everything would be all right, in time. Not only did I not want, or deserve, their sympathy, but I was afraid that, if I did talk about how I felt, then I wouldn't be able to control myself again afterwards. And then everyone would be able to see that something was wrong and I couldn't have that.

We played three games of chess. I won two, Trellany one. Afterwards I put the board away and turned my attention to my work, while Trellany reached for a book to read. But I don't think she was really concentrating, I didn't hear many pages turn. Dawn came a few hours later and a few hours after that the rest of my guards, grey-eyed Silver, and the sandy haired, statue-like brothers, Milan and Breskarn, came to accompany me down to the hall for breakfast.

I still found it strange, as I made my way along the long corridors of Carnia Castle, just how normal everything was. For me, everything had changed, not just in the last week, with the horror of what I'd done, but during the last year. Yet there was nothing visible to reflect that. Everything looked the same and my friends and family behaved the same, but then, there was no reason why they wouldn't. They didn't know what had happened, they didn't know any of my secrets. Sometimes that made me feel detached from it all, apart from everything that was going on around me. At other times it was rather comforting. I could lose myself in the whirl of court life, in its gossip and fashions and political games, and not have to think about anything else. But today was not one of those days. I found it difficult to shake off the shadow of my dream and it left me out of sorts.

"Candale." It was Silnia, my father's wife and the woman I'd always believed was my mother, and there was no mistaking the concern in her voice. "Candale, you're not eating. Is everything all right?"

I looked past my grandfather and father to where Silnia sat. She was looking my way, her delicate features narrowed with worry. I gave her a smile, lopsided, but it was the best that I could manage. "I'm fine, Mother," I assured her. "Really. I...I had a nightmare, that's all. And I'm finding it difficult to forget it."

Relief flooded through her and she smiled warmly. "Ah. Son, dreams aren't anything to be scared of, you know that. They can't hurt you."

"What was it about?" my father, Gerian, asked.

"Just..." I swallowed. "Spiders," I said finally. "It was just about some spiders."

"Spiders?" And my father laughed.

Silnia gave him a withering look. "Well, it was just a dream. No matter how unpleasant or frightening, you know they can't hurt you."

"Yes, I know."

"Maybe you should go and get some fresh air and sunshine, before your meeting this morning? You could use some colour and it will do you good, chase away the shadows."

"Yes," I said, nodding. "Yes, that's a good idea."

"But don't be late," my father said. And with that he turned to Silnia and started talking to her about a new item of furniture he wanted to have made for their suite. I sighed and turned my own attention back to my now cold porridge.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Sorron asked me, in a low voice so that my father couldn't hear.

I gave him another forced smile. "Yes, Grandfather," I said. "I'm all right."

He studied me carefully, with thoughtful blue eyes, as if to make sure that I was telling the truth, then he nodded. "All right," he said, "if you're sure..."

"I am," I said. "Really."

He nodded again and turned back to his breakfast. "I'm going to need you to come to my quarters tonight, after supper," he said, in that same low voice.

"Why?" I asked.

"Just come, Dale." There was a firmness to his voice that made me nervous and I swallowed before nodding.

"Yes," I said. "Yes, sir. Of course."

Our conversation over, he continued with his breakfast, leaving me sitting there, still and silent, staring at my porridge and wondering what, in Drakan's name, he needed to see me for.