Chapter 10

"What is life without love? Are our bodies not roaming this world as corpses without soul, as hollow casket when we are, but, without love?

Vials without substance, poetry without language, thirst without drink and deserts that crave the moon."

~

The Royal Kitchen Quarters,

The Imperial Castle,

Kingdom of Tristendyre,

Mid-morning of the first Phriday of the Second month,

XXI Year of Regency

Crescence felt an inconsolable weight of desolation encumbering her spirit. In all her life, the single companion she had seen eye to eye, had felt was in her very own place, was facing undue execution that coming eve.

Her emotions were deeper than her comprehension, in such ways that performed to her benefit. None could read from her placid face to conclude that the bereavement was inflicting unsustainable pain on her sorrowing heart.

Continuing the common diurnal tasks of customary duty, in the Wing of the Royal Kitchen, however, was proving largely difficult in this dreadful occasion. She missed Imogen escaping duty and fluttering in at odd hours of the day.

Crescence had assisted Lady Minerva that morning, for Imogen's fated absence. There had been much conversation about the damsel facing execution that had transpired between the women, whilst the maiden of the Kitchen had served the Physician in concerting her garments that had been littered across the floor of her dwelling place. Now, with the woman resting in her chamber, they had decided that Crescence would exploit Azaire's illness to hunt Imogen's place of retention.

There was a source of expectation from erstwhile cases that those charged to be executed would be held in the Under-Ground Dungeons, but no common folk was allowed entrance there into.

She slowly brushed the pleats of her honey-coloured apron and daintily adjusted the large bow of sheer ribbon, with white petals knit into its net, tied over her topknot. Whilst presenting attendance before Lady Serilda, one was always required to portray discipline in attire and appearance.

As the maiden touched the door to the bureau of the Royal Cuisine Chief, she heard the Lady speaking to her assistant, faint, "I was ordered to bring them, by Regent Jehoram. Thus, we must make haste."

"May I enter, m'lady?" spoke Crescence, walking into the Office, only post-permission.

"What brings you here, my dear girl? Have you completed your service to the Princess?" asked the woman clad in a longish cerulean dress tailored to suit her shape: satin ribbons embroidered as flowers along the heart-shape of the neck of her bodice in a colour that blended in with the fabric underneath, black ribbons crisscrossing down her waist till the yoke.

There-from, waves of tulle hung over her long skirts like kelps cascading underwater, bearing transparent purplish tints and obvious pearls sewn over. Her sleeves commenced slightly over her elbow and wove their way down to her wrists, loosely hanging at the ends in the likeness of a goldfish's elegant tail.

Her neck's piece held silver fobs that dripped down to her arms, rising behind her to connect at the nape of her neck, drop-shaped sapphires measuring a frinze each suspended at several links thereof.

The women eyed each other's attire, one with authority and the other without. "Finely to the details, m'lady", said Crescence, in reference to her duties, and bowed deep.

The tails of her ribbon tied in a bow dribbled down to reach her chest, as the girl's hands held gathers of her skirts in a curtsy, carefully so that her feet remained unrevealed.

"Very well, my dear, what has inspired your presence?" asked the Elder and Crescence returned to upright poise.

"Azaire has been ailing since last night", Crescence informed and the Lady's brows displayed worry.

"What seems to be the cause?" asked the woman, eyes on the damsel.

"Last night, one of the prisoners had been infirm, overtaken by age and weakness, and vitally required immediate medical attention. Azaire had delivered the required, from the Physician's office. As he was exposed to the cold rain, he has taken ill and is resting", said she.

The woman nodded. "I did hear of such news, but I scarcely suspected it would inflict such adverse effects on his health." The Lady turned to her assistant and bid the boy to bring her cape.

"However, m'lady, the food for the Prison Guards on duty has been seen to complete preparation and requires to be delivered. Shall I attend to these services as well?" asked the maiden, hoping the Lady wouldn't realise her intentions to seek Imogen.

"Ah, don't fret yourself, my dear. I will arrange for the consignment with River. Admission through the Dungeon gates is highly restricted and if Azaire is not discharging his duty, I cannot risk assigning the task to a delicate lady as your-self. It isn't safe quarters", said the Lady, draping the long and velvet indigo cape over her shoulders.

"Yes, m'lady", Cresence bowed, watching the cape graze the floor, clusters of pearls decorating the hem.

"Very well, then", said the Lady, before the lad that assisted her brought a parasol and the two seemed to bear the stance of leaving.

With a parchment, a quill, copper wax and her Seal, the Elder composed a Writ pronouncing River, an-other lad of their department, the power of consented entry for delivery of essentials to the Under-Ground Dungeons.

"Grant me this favour, sweet-heart, and inform River of his freshly decided duty to convey the guards their meals", said the Chief of the Kitchen Wing, handing the document over.

Crescence nodded and left Lady Serilda's dorm. She needed to wait until the woman had exited the Castle's margin before she could make a trip to the dungeons herself.

The maiden wondered what could call the Chief woman's presence outdoors, with such importance despite the grieving weather.

As she walked to where the food awaited, the dark-haired maiden's thoughts wooed her to ponder over the beauty of the Lady's garments. She had always dreamt of wearing such, but was forced to drape mere gowns of only two layers of skirt save the apron, sleeves slim with smocking and never those flaring out puffed and not a single diamond, whilst apparelled in duty's attire.

Every person of rank boasted silks and chains and rhinestones, and as much as Crescence had envied such haughtily esteemed couture, conversing with Imogen regarding such pleasures had always eased her covetousness.

Her curious friend had always possessed absolute prowess in the craft of making the simplest of things seem ravishing. That was why the girls oft escaped to the northern gardens of the Castle's courtyard to harvest bouquets of flowers and deck their updos with wreaths of petals and ivy to feel magical.

Memories aside, Crescence had a greater concerning agendum at hand. It was not long before the damsel was in the Kitchen gathering the necessities that would grant her admission into the Under-Ground Dungeons.

"River! Could you lend me your assistance, kindly?" asked she, and a young man of about two decades in age stepped forth to bother the working maiden with aid.

"We are required to run errands: with Azaire's illness, it behoves us to make delivery to the Prison Guards in the Dungeons"

Now the structure of the Imperial Castle was in the manner of a Tree: towers, terraces and balconies equipping its Crown; dorms, courts, offices, sectors, hallways and ballrooms branching within the core of its Trunk; and the Roots thereof was unseen and restricted being the Under-Ground dungeons coursing through a grand range of the kingdom.

These roots bore further privileged classifications that were with-out record. Crescence, being one of close communion with Azaire, had listened from him of several curious findings.

During dire times of uninformed Dragon Raids, in ages past, the Royals would escape under for refuge. Such containments, however, were maintained secretive presently, as the Dragons were oft outdone by her Majesty, the Princess.

Although it is believed that such aged cells are left idle, Azaire had once suspected activity there-within. The boy, in his decade-long service to deliver food to the Under-Ground Prison-keepers, had found a dormant annex leading to the Dungeon's chambers from the Imperial Castle itself. However, such doors were under the siege of a padlock.

With the outright injustice that had befallen her dear friend, Crescence required to find if Imogen was contained therein. The maiden walked over to the long window facing the Castle gate and stole a glance of Lady Serilda mounting the carriage, rain ceaselessly pouring.

She continued her surveillance until the horses rode their way yonder. Drops trickled down the surface of the window. Her vision shrouded as her warm breath touched the glass, spreading a mild layer of mist and the damsel drew away.

"Would you be considerate enough to escort me to the Underground? I have received the written Permit, but you will require to bring your Indenture for evidence of identity and person", she informed River and the lad agreed.

His oblivion was a convenience.

~

Lady Minerva's Chambers,

The Physician's Wing of the Imperial Castle,

Kingdom of Tristendyre,

Noon of first Phriday of the Second month,

XXI Year of Regency

The Physician sat there upon her bed, still. It was unbearable. She reached forth to open the chiffonier in which the indenture of Imogen's apprenticeship was placed safely. It dated back to when the child was merely three, yet gifted.

A conviction inside her did not relent to the notion of imminent death. Per-haps, it was a feeling inspired by how outlandish the circumstances were, added to the fact that the intolerable weight was beyond her comprehension.

There was a knock on the outer door (which led to the entire hall of the Physician's wing, for the door sealing the Chamber had been felled that dawn) and Lady Minerva perked up in reception, "Soft, do enter."

A royal guard turned the heavy knob and stepped in. The lady's gaze descended to his mud-decked soles that left stains of the wet colours of earth at the wake of his stride. "The Petition will be entertained by Sun-rise, m'lady", he informed, with a formal bow.

"That is terrible tidings. Such delay cannot be afforded. I absolutely require to meet the Regent, good Sir. What purposes will my Petition for a chance to see him avail, if the child is murdered and then my case for her intercession be taken?"

The man stood in silence, eyes on the floor. "The Regent is not serving any folks of their petitions this day, m'lady", he said, his mood evincing that despite his job merely being delivery of a message, it was difficult news he was conveying.

"Will he not suffer me a few moments to meet?" she asked, her expression seeming desperate.

"That is entirely his to say. And his word, by far, has showed no trace of inclination", was the response she received and she allowed him take his leave.

"Just a question more", she said and the man halted his tread to heed. "Where is Imogen retained?"

He paused for a moment before giving her his answer: "Apologies, m'lady, but I am not at liberty to say. And to place matters on even ground, meeting the convict is not sanctioned."

"Not even at her desire of final breath?" asked the Lady.

The Guard shifted his weight uncomfortably. "His Majesty, the Regent's behest suffers no such pleasure."

~