Chapter 9

Morning broke over Thornacre, the sun was a dull orb of light in the greyscale sky, washing away all that had happened the night before and awakening everyone for another day of punishment.

The village was dragged to wakefulness in the early hours of dawn by the rooster’s crow. The food market had started to attract a few people whose movements were still dreary with sleep. By the time the sun had risen, however, the village was buzzing with life as people had begun to go about their day-to-day activities.

The atmosphere in the village was mostly peaceful. The criminals and offenders of Darkwell had grown accustomed to getting along with other people therefore thievery and brutality was minimal and was met with great punishment. Their King, although a criminal among criminals, was still a ruler at heart and punished any wrongdoer in the blink of an eye.

Beyond the village, inside the walls of the Thorn Court, things were not so calm and content.

Fenne awoke to loud banging on her bedroom door. She sat bolt upright, rubbing her tired eyes and rising from her bed. She wrapped a shawl hanging on her bedpost around her arms before opening the door.

Lord Finn was stood in the doorway, he looked well-rested but there was anxiety and a hint of anger dancing in his eyes. Fenne pulled her shawl across her chest, holding it tightly closed with her folded arms. She did not like having Grainne’s fiancée coming to her room in the first place, let alone see her in her nightgown. The Lord, however, did not seem to notice or even care that she was barely clothed.

“Lord Finn,” Fenne said by way of greeting “What brings you here?”

“My Princess, forgive me, have you seen my fiancée?” He asked, glancing over her shoulder into her bed chambers as if expecting to see Grainne hiding under the bed or escaping through the window.

A frown played at Fenne’s eyebrows. Grainne usually came to her room to wake her at the break of dawn so that they could go riding before breakfast. The sun was high in the sky now and she had not come.

“No, I haven’t. I have yet to get dressed” She replied. Lord Finn’s gaze dropped to her nightgown and he took a step back, averting his gaze to a painting on the wall as if suddenly finding great interest in the ancient artefact

“Oh, of course not. I am sorry, I did not think” He said

“You are forgiven, my Lord. I am most confused, where would she have gone?” Fenne asked

“The answer is unbeknownst to me, your Highness. If it wasn’t, I would not be here,” He replied “I will let you get dressed, my Lady, I will have a word with my men.” Fenne watched as the Lord bowed, turned on his heel and left with purpose down the hall.

As soon as he was out of sight, Fenne shut the door, changed into a simple blue dress and styled her hair in a plaited bun behind her head before leaving her chambers and hurrying down the corridor to her father’s room.

Kilo, a young guard whom Fenne got along with famously, was stood in front of the King’s chambers’ door. Fenne was irritated by this but raised her chin as she approached him. She was the Princess; he had little to no right not to let her see the King.

Kilo settled his dark brown eyes on her as she came to a stop in front of him. He was very tall and the most handsome man Fenne had ever laid eyes on. She was not interested in him in a romantic way, at least she thought she wasn’t, but she admired his beauty the way one might admire a painting or a sculpture or a scribe of poetry.

“The King wishes to be left alone” He told her as if he had been rehearsing the phrase all morning. Fenne only smiled at him. She had learned from Grainne that smiling at a man is a technique used to help get what one wanted.

“I need to see him, the matter is urgent” She replied, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin more so that her eyes met his own. His expression remained cool and collected

“The King stated that he wanted no interruptions. The physician is in with him” He replied.

The physician visiting was not an unusual thing; the King did not call on him often but regularly enough for his daughters to notice. He did not speak about what he was being treated for, but it did not take a genius to guess that the wounds circling his head were causing him more than discomfort. Fenne found it very insulting that the King thought that they were too stupid to notice. Or, perhaps he knew they knew and merely did not care, that was also a possibility.

“Please, Kilo. It is important. It is about my sister” She said. The smiling was not working, so she felt compelled to tell him the truth

“Aniya? Has she been sighted?” He asked, his brows furrowing

“No, it’s about Grainne.” She said, stepping closer and lowering her voice so the King would not hear her. He would be furious if he overheard her telling someone else, he preferred to hear the news first-hand. “She is missing” Kilo’s eyes widened, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he frowned more

“What?” he asked a little too loud

“What’s going on, Kilo?” The King’s voice called from behind the door, Fenne glared up at the guard

“Keep your voice down” She hissed

“Nothing, Sire, I was talking to myself again!” Kilo called back. The King began muttering something undecipherable but did not pursue the case any further. Kilo returned his gaze to the youngest Princess “Are you sure?”

“Positive, well, almost. Lord Finn awoke to find her gone from his bed this morning” She explained in a hushed voice

“Oh my,” Kilo replied “We must tell the King”

“That is what I am here for” Fenne explained. Kilo dropped a nod, stepping aside to grant Fenne access to her father’s chambers. She twisted the doorknob and went inside to see the King sat on a chair, his crown was off and hanging from the bedpost. Fenne could see the deep red holes around his head. Quite a few of them were bleeding freely whereas others were crusted with stabs and festering. The King himself seemed composed as usual, his back straight and his chin held high.

A man, the physician, was stood next to him. Before Fenne had entered he was bent over examining the wounds around the King’s head but upon noticing her presence, he now stood upright and looked in her direction.

The physician was an elderly man with shoulder-length white wavy hair; his face was creased with wrinkles. His eyes were beady and wise but held gentleness within them. He had been exiled from Darkwell for aiding a criminal’s wounds, now he worked in Thornacre doing the same thing he was charged with. He was not highly skilled and the King found him to be useless but he was all they had access to in the way of medicine unless they risked going to the Traveller’s Market. Fenne knew the King would rather bear the pain than trust a traveller with his wounds, she did not know how even now he could still be too proud to accept them as part of his Kingdom.

The King’s face turned dark and angry as he noticed Fenne come in. It was not an unusual expression for her father to have but it still bothered her that he was furious most of the time. She lived in the hope that deep down he really did love them all.

“Father,” Fenne began but the King interrupted her

“Fenne,” His voice cut through her body like a knife “Get out” The physician, sensing an argument, began to tidy his equipment away into his medical case. Fenne looked behind her to seek guidance from Kilo, or a reassuring nod perhaps, but the guard had not followed her into the room. She took a deep breath, refusing to let the King see that his hostility hurt her

“Father, please, I need to tell you something” she pressed on

“It can wait,” The King said, waving his hand dismissively “I am busy”

“It is quite alright, Sire, I can come back later” The physician told him, looking back and forth between the King and Fenne as if trying to decide who to address. The King turned his scowl to the old man, blood dribbled down into his eyes as his brows creased

“I thought you said I needed treating” He said

“Treating for what?” Fenne asked the physician, wringing her hands together as she fought not to run out of the room.

“Fenne, I told you to leave!” The King snapped, rising from his chair and approaching Fenne in three long strides. Fenne took an instinctive step backward. She was sure the King wouldn’t hit her, but the angry glint in his eyes dared her to test that theory.

 Tears burned in Fenne’s eyes, her bottom lip quivered and she tried her best to swallow down the lump that had formed in her throat but her attempts were futile

“I am sorry!” She sobbed, hot tears streaming down her cheeks in the same fashion as the King’s blood had dribbled into his eyes “I would not have come in if it was not important, you know I wouldn’t!” Fenne could not stop the tears now, she knew she was blubbing and giving the King all the more reason to believe she was the weakest of his three daughters but for all her efforts she could not stop crying.

Her father the King watched her as he stood a few steps’ distance away as she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. There was still irritation dancing in his eyes and a muscle in his jaw twitched repetitively. It was something he did when he was trying to stop himself doing something; Fenne believed it was restraining himself from hitting her whereas the truth was very different.

All of a sudden, the King’s expression had changed so dramatically that Fenne actually flinched when she noticed it. The irritation was gone from his expression and replaced with something very different, something that Fenne did not even recognise in her father’s face. His brows released themselves from his seemingly permanent frown, his jaw relaxed and his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. His lips parted from their firm line and he released a sigh so quiet that she doubted the physician’s old ears could register it.

Fenne cried out as the King approached her, raising her hands in defence and bracing herself for the pain as he extended his arms towards her. She squeezed her eyes shut; biting her lip hard and tasting the saltiness of fresh tears as her body rattled with frightened sobs.

Arms enveloped her body, pulling her towards him into a strong embrace. Her cheek pressed up to the King’s hard chest and the beating of his steady heart instantly relaxed her. She felt his long fingers in her hair, awkwardly stroking it in a calming manner similar to what she remembered her mother doing when she was very young. His fingers knotted and twisted in her styled hair but she found herself not caring.

She could not recall the last time her father had held her like this, like she was a child that had fallen over and sprained her knee. It was a clumsy hug, one that had been rushed into on impulse, but it had the desired effect. Fenne felt safe in the King’s arms and snuggled closer as new sobs shook her body, they were sobs of shock and relief all at the same time. The King rubbed her back stiffly. He had thrown himself into the motion and Fenne felt that the action had shocked him too.

“Oh, Fenne” The King murmured into her hair as he planted a clumsy kiss upon her head

“I am sorry, Father, truly” Fenne sniffled into the King’s soft nightshirt. She knew she had left a damp patch where her tears had drenched the cotton but the King did not seem to notice or care.

“Hush, dear,” He soothed “Tell me, what is the matter? You usually go to your sister with your concerns”

“Grainne is the concern, Father,” She told him through muffled sobs “She is missing”

Fenne felt her father’s body turn rigid as the news dawned on him. His hand on her back stilled and he moved his mouth away from her hair. He kept her in his arms but moved away to look at her properly. His frown was back

“What?” He asked. Fenne wiped her dampened cheek

“Lord Finn came to my bed chambers this morning, Father, and claimed she was absent from his bed” She told him. The King released her from his arms and Fenne was left feeling cold and abandoned as she noticed the softness in his eyes had once again been replaced with the wall with which hid his emotions.

The King stalked over to where his crown hung from his bedpost and picked it up in his hands, looking down at it, his expression unreadable as he raised it to his head

“Sire, you need to give your infections time to breathe” The physician told him. Fenne was about to ask about the infections but then she saw the fierce look on her father’s face as he turned to look at the old doctor

“I am the King of Thorns,” He said through gritted teeth, the words seemed to catch in the back of his throat as if they caused him great effort to say “This is my crown and I must wear it. You are dismissed” The physician looked like he wished to argue further but, like Fenne, thought better of it and instead bowed to the King before leaving.

The King then turned to Fenne. The compassion was gone and he was like a blank slate again, looking at her with vague annoyance. Refusing to be intimidated, Fenne stood her ground and looked her father in the eyes

“I must change and talk to my guard,” he said “I will be down in a moment”

“Are you going to call on the subjects?” Fenne asked

“No. I already have one daughter missing; there will be uproar if I alert them of another one. Particularly about the wedding, we will have to postpone it until we find her” He explained. Fenne frowned

“But surely_”

“Fenne!” The King snapped, causing her to flinch but this time his expression did not soften “Go” Fenne dropped a curtsey before turning and leaving the King to change.

 

****

 

The Thorn King dressed and placed his crown upon his head, refusing to let himself show pain even to his reflection as the thorns dug painfully into the puncture wounds. He straightened his weary back, squared his heavy shoulders and made his way out of his room and down the spiralling stairway.

He came to the large oak doors that held behind them the main hall of the court. Although he was the first King of Thornacre that he knew of, the building was awfully old which made him doubt what he had been told about the dreaded place. Thornacre was not made specifically for him; it was a wasteland so bad that it was hidden behind a magic gateway that the Council of Darkwell had it re-opened when the dungeons were bursting at the seams with criminals. To the King, it felt like sweeping dirt under a rug.

There was shouting from inside the room, even with the heavy doors muting their voices the King could still hear the echo bouncing off the walls. He heard Lord Finn and the voices of both his guards and the King’s. Though he could not see her, he knew Fenne was there, probably wringing her hands in her worry.

The King drew a deep breath before opening the doors. The room fell instantly silent as he stalked with purpose into the room. The men who were circled around Lord Finn bowed to the Thorn King. Finn dipped his head in acknowledgement. The King made his way to his throne and sat down. Slivers of wood stuck with familiar malice into the backs of his legs but he held himself perfectly still as he looked upon the faces of Lord Finn and his men, he was right about Fenne, she was stood off to the side unable to keep her hands still.

Lord Finn approached the King; he could see the amount of struggle he had trying to keep his temper. His eyes were ablaze with fury and irritation with only a hint of worry. The Lord was fiercely protective over his fiancée, not just protective but possessive. The King knew Grainne did not want to be in the position of a possession, but he knew the Lord was more than capable of keeping her safe and out of danger. Even if that meant having someone watch her all day and all night.

“Your Majesty, Grainne_” Lord Finn began but the King raised a hand to silence him

“Is missing, I know. You will refrain from rushing your words, Lord Finn. We must remain calm else we will be bickering with one another and your fiancée will remain lost” He told him in a moderated tone. The Lord ducked his head but his eyes only sparked with more aggression.

The King turned his attention to his guard. The two brothers whom he had hired to watch the gates at night were jittering uneasily from foot to foot, blinking back tiredness. The fatigue was expected if they were up all night, but the nervousness was new. The King squinted, leaning forward in his seat. The guards did not look tired; in fact, they looked like they had just woken up.

“You two,” he said to them, causing them to stop fidgeting and turn to look at him in anticipation “Why do you jitter so?” The eldest brother, Ambrose, spoke for them.

“My Lord, we could not stop them, our utmost apologies, my King”

“Them?” The King enquired

“Yes,” Lord Finn interjected, stealing the conversation as he always did. The King was fond of Finn, but he was not the first to think that the Lord favoured his voice above all others. “Sir Diarmuidis also gone. He stole my fiancée” The King took a moment to process the information before speaking again

“Are you sure it was not the other way around?” He asked “Perhaps she saw the mark” Lord Finn frowned a little as if he had forgotten the magical spot on the forehead of his once favourite warrior.  Taking his silence as an answer, the King looked upon Ambrose again

“What happened?” he asked

“We were out on night watch as instructed, your majesty. Sir Diarmuid approached my brother from behind and held a drugged cloth to his airways and he was dead to the world. I could not stop him and once he had drugged my brother, it was me next” He explained. His brother jittered uneasily by his side as he looked upon his King

“We found the bottle this morning, your Highness, along with Grainne and Sir Diarmuid’s horses missing from the stables.” The King nodded and outstretched his hand as a gesture to the guard member to place the objects in his palm. The younger brother hesitated for a moment before approaching the King and placing a tiny bottle with the majority of the contents missing and a cloth stained with blue.

The King examined the bottle first, turning it over in his hands and looking at the tiny label covered with undecipherable symbols, he knew them as the language of the Travellers Trade. He then brought the cloth to his nose and sniffed quickly. The odour was so sharp that it stung his nostrils, the room seemed to waver a little and his eyes drooped. He knew exactly what it was and who must have given it to Grainne.

“I told her to stay away from travellers” he said after a moment, tucking the bottle into his pocket and looking about the room. Ambrose stepped forward a little, bowing to the King

“My Lord, allow us to search for the Princess Grainne. There are tracks, we could follow them on horseback and return by nightfall” The King had no time to either accept or deny his proposal before Lord Finn spoke out again

“No, Sire, she is my fiancée. Allow me to send my men to find her and bring her back to you, I will prove to you that I am still worthy of her affection. More so than Sir Diarmuid” he said the name bitterly. The King looked between them both

“Ambrose, you and your brother could not even prevent them from leaving in the first place. Why should I trust you to bring her back?” he enquired. Ambrose and his brother hung their heads in embarrassment

“Forgive me, Sire,” The youngest brother, Alibe spoke out “You cannot expect Gwyn ap Nudd to find both Princesses”

“No,” the King mused “Which is why I am sending Lord Finn” The Lord looked up at the Thorn King, barely able to keep the smirk off his lips. He bowed

“Thank you, my King. We will not disappoint you” He told him

“You had better find her. If you fail, consider the wedding well and truly cancelled,” The King replied before waving a hand at them all “Court is dismissed” Everyone bowed to the King and left. The King’s guards returned to their posts and Lord Finn and his men left to gear up for the search for Grainne. Fenne was the only one who remained.

With the guards and Lord Finn gone, the King looked suddenly exhausted. Fenne knew he did not notice she was in the room with him, for if he did he would have masked his weariness and sent her away. She took this as an opportunity to approach the back of the throne and place her hands on his shoulders, using her thumbs to work out the knots of tension in his muscles.

At first, her father jumped at the contact and realization that he was not alone but instead of ordering her away he relaxed into the back of his chair and let his shoulders hang loosely. He brought a hand up to place it over one of Fenne’s and rested it there for a moment

“I am sorry, Fenne” He said so quietly that had she been on the other side of the room she would not have heard it.

“What for, Father?” she questioned

“Losing both your sisters within barely a few Darkwelian months” He responded. Thornacre, though the days came and went, was a timeless void cut off from Darkwell’s time zone. The King did not know for sure how long Aynia had been in Darkwell, but he had always tried to keep track of the times and their differences.

Fenne stilled her hands but kept them on his shoulders. She could not bring herself to embrace him for the fear of rejection but he did not oppose to her having her hands where they were.

“It is not your fault, Father. Someone stole Aynia away and Grainne is having cold feet about the wedding. All will be righted again soon.” The King seemed to consider his next words for a while before taking a deep breath

“I am going to see Gwyn the Hunter later; would you like to accompany me?”

Fenne let the words sink in. Her father never went anywhere and especially not with company. She did not know whether he just wanted to keep her in sights or if he genuinely wanted her with him. Either way, she knew the answer.

“Yes Father, I would love to” she said. It may have been the angle she was looking, or a change in the light, but she could have sworn she saw the corner of the King’s lips quirk into a small smile.

 

****

Aynia sat cross-legged amongst the rumpled linen bedsheets. They were the same bedsheets the Earl had taken her in on their wedding night. It had most certainly been a few weeks since then yet the sheets had not been washed or changed, Aynia could see speckles of browned blood and various other excrements that made her want to vomit.

She had been feeling nauseous for a few days now, but she had kept it a secret from Gerald in fear of being beaten for it. She had done everything he had asked just to avoid being hurt in any other way than she was already getting. She was still unable to leave the room, she no longer had the chains binding her to the bed but she was still a prisoner by any means.

She was glad, at least, that she could wash. The Earl left a basin of rose water and a hairbrush for her before he left for work but Aynia suspected this was more for his own gain than her personal hygiene. He wanted to come home to a wife who smelt of roses and had tidy hair. Occasionally he would come home with a brand new dress for her but they did not stay on her for long.

Today, though, she did not feel like moving at all. Her whole body ached and her stomach churned with nausea. The Earl would be back soon and no doubt be unimpressed with her lack of cleanliness and without a dress to be removed. She was hungry, but at the same time feared she would vomit if she filled her stomach.

She pulled the sheets around her as she heard the front door open before footsteps pounded at the floor. She did not look at the door as the lock turned and Gerald came in. He looked firstly at her, then at the basin of rose water, cooled and neglected. He dumped an ugly royal blue dress onto the bed and shut the door behind him. He turned his glare to her

“What is the meaning of this? I give you hospitality and you refuse it” Aynia tried not to snort ungracefully at his idea of hospitality. Bile burned in the back of her throat and she closed her eyes trying to swallow it down. She could not speak; for surely she would be sick “I asked you a question” Aynia looked up at the Earl, her mouth was beginning to water and the back of her throat burned

“I_” She began but she was cut off as her stomach lurched, she had no time to reach for a bucket before she was sick over the Earl’s expensive shoes.

The retching shook Aynia’s whole body as she gagged. Her stomach cramped and even though all of the little food and water she had consumed over the past few days had been deposited on to the floor, her guts still heaved. Eventually the retching stopped and sobs broke out through her body. She never experienced illness like mortals; she could not understand why this was happening to her.

The Earl made a disgusted noise and stepped out of his shoes. He left the room for a minute before returning with a bucket of soapy water, two sponges and a mop. He left them by the door, stalked over to the bed and grabbed a fistful of Aynia’s hair, pulling it down so that her head tilted upwards and he could look at her face. Her complexion was pale, her eyes tired and the colour seemed to fade from her eyes.

“Clean yourself up, you stupid girl. My shoes, too. You will pay for the mess you made, Princess” He pushed the bucket with his foot towards the bed before turning on his heel and stalking out, slamming the door behind him.

Aynia choked on sobs as she rubbed her aching scalp and wiped her mouth with the sheets. She felt weary, she wished she could curl up and go back to sleep. She never thought of herself to be too important to clean up, she always helped her servants in Darkwell. But at this moment, she just did not have the energy to clean her already filthy surroundings.

She shakily climbed out of bed and proceeded to wash the Earl’s shoes, he had not given her polish so she had to make do with soapy water. They would be dry by the time he needed them in the morning anyway. She then began to slowly mop her vomit off the wooden panels of the floor. She still felt queasy and feared that she would be sick once again if she moved too fast. Thankfully, because there was not a lot in her stomach to begin with, she was done within minutes.

Exhausted, Ainya left the mop and bucket next to the door. She then crossed the room to the basin to wash. Using the water and a sponge, Ainya managed to rinse the strands of hair that were in the way of her mouth when she had vomited. When she felt clean enough, she changed into the dress the Earl had bought for her. She did not care for the colour or the style, it covered her and that was what mattered. She sat on the end of the bed, holding her churning stomach as she awaited the Earl’s return.