KGWrites

Violet

Violet’s Apartment, Falcon’s Nest Palace, Fallen Kingdom of Aldiron

Violet hadn’t been able to look as the rebels from the Winter District were dragged before the throne. As they were forced to kneel, admit their “crimes” before the gathered court. She couldn’t look at the sullen defeated faces of the men and women, some soldiers and guards but many more were simply people of the city. A few had been barely older than teenagers.

The sight of the three leaders of Draconeus’ courts upon the throne had driven itself deep within her mind, latching like a leech, draining her thoughts until all she could see was them. Draconeus himself, cold and motionless as a statue, no hint of emotion upon his face as he listened to them. Her father, arms folded and face scornful as he regarded them like animals in a cage. Some part of Violet knew that he saw only treason and treachery in their actions. It sickened her to the core that he could somehow see it in them, and sentence people to torment and death, for the exact crime he was guilty of.

The worst though, and the one driven deep in her nightmares, was Aaron Trident, leaned forwards in Iona’s old throne, a grin splitting his scarred face. He watched the gathered rebels like he was surveying a meal. And the sick pride that had emanated from him had been palpable. It was the greatest victory his militia had secured against the rebels, greater than anything her father’s entire legion had achieved in the near month and a half since the siege. And he knew it.

It had been all Violet could do to keep from crying out when the beaten and bloodied Haster had been dragged before the throne. His eye had been swollen shut and his lip burst. The militia had reported that it had taken nearly a dozen of them to bring him down. Despite his injuries, Violet could have sworn that he’d looked proud at that.

Haster had been thrown down before Draconeus, prostrate across the foot of the stairs to the throne. And Draconeus had spoken to him, demanded he end his defiance, denounce the rebellion and swear fealty to the throne. And that if he did these things then he would be permitted a strong, honourable death. One befitting of someone of such distinguished service to the former royals of Aldiron.

Haster had spat blood onto the steps of the throne in response.

Draconeus had simply responded by saying that Haster had chosen to become a message to those like him. That he would be held until a special games would be held in the arena, one that would show to all the city what the fate of even the most noble and powerful of their rebel heroes would be.

After Haster had been dragged away, Draconeus had turned his attention to Trident. He had offered him congratulations on his campaign against the rebels and its successes. And then he had offered a “reward”. Trident had looked sceptical at that, knowing the usual kinds of rewards that Draconeus offered. But Draconeus had simply replied that he would tell Trident in private what the reward would entail. Violet didn’t know more than that, but Trident hadn’t been seen around the palace since.

Then Draconeus had turned to her father, encouraging him to use the loss of Haster to pressure the Winter District rebels, to fill the streets with the second legion, to heavily ration food and supplies. Draconeus encouraged her father to strangle a district of innocent people, people he had once sworn to serve and defend.

And her father had agreed.

Violet had needed to hurry from the room, leaving all her guards behind her and dashing back to her apartment in the palace’s outer ring. She hadn’t made it to the privy before throwing up though.

It had been nearly an hour later when her ladies in waiting had found her, sat on the floor at the end of her bed staring into space, her hair tangled and messy and her lips pale and cracked.

They’d said nothing. Simply entered the room, pushing past the second legion guards at her door with little care for their protests, and proceeded with their work.

They’d cleaned the floor, and run her a bath of steaming water. They’d undressed her and guided her to it, all the while Violet had been absent, lost in a sea of swirling, sunless ghosts. They’d bathed her and brushed her hair, they’d taken her clothes to be cleaned and found her a simple, comfortable outfit to wear. A thick wool overshirt and comfortable riding trousers. They’d guided her to her couch and lit a fire in the hearth, sitting her down before it and crowding around her.

And then they’d simply held her, the two of them embracing her as best they could. Tears came and went for them all, but never any words, just silence. Warm, safe, comforting silence.

It was only when the shrill call of a falcon in flight sounded from outside on the balcony that Violet had felt able to return to herself.

Looking up from the fire, she slowly rose from the group, leaving her hand lingering on them, thanking them as best she could.

“You should go, forget you heard that.” She said softly, her voice didn’t even sound like it was hers anymore. But Aliss, her oldest lady in waiting, a woman with hair of deep midnight black and wrinkles at her eyes, simply shook her head.

“You all already don’t have the protections of the legion that I do. If they find out about this, if they know that you knew.” Violet protested, she hated that she couldn’t protect them with the legion. But when she had inquired, her father had harshly suggested that she was putting her own needs above the need for the legion to crush the rebellion. She couldn’t risk him thinking that.

But Aliss stood, taking Violet’s hand in both of hers and fixing her with a kindly, though firm, smile.

“I have been sworn to you since you were a baby, my lady. We have all seen you through the loss of family, through childhood crushes and more than a few courtly scandals. It would not do for us to abandon you now, when you need us most.” She replied simply. Violet recognised her tone. It was one that would not allow argument.

“When everyone needs us most.” The other one of the group spoke, a young woman, barely into her twenties. Her name was Sara, and Violet remembered attending her wedding the year before. A bright-eyed young man that had joined Marius’ first legion.

He’d died during her father’s treachery.  

She squeezed Aliss’ hand and smiled, tears filling her eyes.

“You both are far better than I could hope for.”

Then she turned to look to the balcony door before turning her head back to Allis, her jaw set.

“I need to write a letter. Aliss, I keep food and a bowl for water in a basket on the balcony, can you see to Zephyr please? Sara, I need you to go and find the apothecary. I know Draconeus has him working on things in the old dungeons, tell him I’m having trouble sleeping and I’ll be visiting him tonight to get something to help.”

Aliss nodded in response to the instructions, already leaving to the balcony. Sara hesitated though, looking uncomfortable.

“My lady, are you sure? There are… rumours about the apothecary. And the dungeons. About what they’ve become for Draconeus.” She said uncertainly. Violet regarded her, it wasn’t fear that was paralysing her, she could tell. Sara was more than ready to defy the new rulers, for her husband’s memory. No, it was fear for Violet herself, for exposing herself to the horrors the rumours spoke of, that’s what was giving Sara pause.

It didn’t need to, Violet was more than ready to face them. But still, the rumours didn’t come from nowhere. And Accursed still roamed the palace.

“I’m certain Sara.” Violet replied, striding past her and opening the door. Reaching out, she grabbed the nearest soldier by the arm. He turned in surprise, a question on his lips only to be met with Violet Hill’s sweetest, most innocent and wide-eyed smile.

“Would you be a hero and escort my lady in waiting to see the apothecary? I’m feeling a little unwell and she’s going to see if he has anything to help.” She asked, her voice almost crooning as she gently squeezed his arm.

“M-my lady, we have orders to simply protect you. To remain with you.” The soldier began to object. Violet forced her eyes downwards, a display of bashfulness that she had mastered over years. Growing up with Iona and Marius as her best friends, she’d learned quickly to play the innocent one.

“Please, this would be protecting me. Feeling like this… well, I don’t want to have to miss court because of it. It might upset his lordship.”

The soldier stammered a little, looking to his counterpart on the other side of the door. But the other just shrugged, likely more glad that Violet hadn’t decided to grab his arm for this task.

Seeing the chance, Sara ducked from the room past Violet, looping her arm through the soldier’s and practically hauling him forwards.

“Come on then, the sooner we do this, the sooner we’re back. You rest up my lady, Aliss will take good care of you.” She said, her voice steady and almost soothing. Impressive, Violet thought to herself, you’d have quickly had the old court eating out of your hand.

As they moved off through the corridors, Violet closed the door again and strode to her writing desk. Quickly, and using the childish made up language she and Marius used to code their messages, Violet wrote a report to her old friend. She told him of Draconeus’ plans for the games and the planned execution of Haster. Of his mysterious rewarding of Trident. And of her father’s orders to tighten the noose on the Winter District.

The last line of the letter she wrote, then scratched out. Then chewed the end of her quill for a long while, before rewriting it.

I miss you.

Violet’s Apartment, Falcon’s Nest Palace, Fallen Kingdom of Aldiron – Three Hours Later

Zephyr had been sent away with the letter soon after it had been written, leaving Violet and Aliss alone to pace the room. Sara had returned nearly an hour later, stating that the apothecary would receive Violet in the top level of what had once been the palace dungeons.

She’d looked pale, haunted and so Aliss and Violet had wasted no time in ensuring she got a goblet of wine into her hand.

They’d eaten as the three of them, having food delivered to the apartment. They’d sat swapping stories of their lives, giggling about stupid, simple things and, for a while, forgetting.

After a few hours though, the escape had to end. Violet had work to do. Slinging a long, blue cloak around her shoulders and lifting the hood, Violet sighed, steeling herself.

“It’s got plenty of pockets sewed into the inside.” Aliss told her as she adjusted the clasp of the cloak, shifting the striking serpent of her family crest into the right position. “It’ll do what you need it to.”

Violet nodded, pulling the cloak close around her. Then she smiled at the two ladies in waiting once more and inclined her head, a silent thanks for their help, their support. They returned the gesture wordlessly.

Violet turned on her heel and walked from the room, taking her guard’s arm and feigning a slowed, sluggish movement. Her second legion escort, feeling more prison guards than defenders, fell into step around her.

It took only a few minutes to reach the entrance to the dungeons, but in that time, doubts pulled at Violet. If she failed here, then every hope of the rebellion seeing the future failed with her. Was she ready? Would this even work?

But the doubts banished quickly. Ready or not didn’t matter, it couldn’t. There was no space for it, it had to be done.

She reached the wooden door and opened it wide, revealing a staircase, spiralling down into the darkness of the cliff beneath the palace. A flicker of firelight could be seen at the bottom. As she moved to step forwards, Violet found herself stopped by one of her guards, the same that had come earlier with Sara.

“Allow one of us to go first my lady.” He said. Gritting her teeth, Violet turned her gaze to him. This time, she didn’t have to feign a reaction, the annoyance crept into every inch of her being.

“You will remain here, all of you. The business here is between myself and the apothecary, it is not for your ears.”

“My lady, we have our orders, directly from your father.”

“Your orders were to keep me safe, keep me comfortable. And having you and your steel-shelled goons hanging over my shoulder while I discuss personal matters with the apothecary is about as far from comfortable as I can conceive being. And unless you want to explain to my father why I was made to feel unsafe while surrounded by his own legionnaires, I suggest you do as I say.” She retorted, drawing herself to her full height.

“My lady… I… We… It may not be safe.” The soldier objected, unable to meet her eyes as he took a step back, his back hitting the wall. She placed a finger on the sternum of his breastplate, pushing him firmly back into the wall.

“It’s an apothecary, what’s he going to do that you won’t be able to reach me if I call. Remain here. Understood?” She smiled at him, tilting her head slightly. His throat bobbed as he gulped. Then he nodded.

“Yes, my lady.” He croaked out. Violet smiled sweetly, lifting her hand to pat his cheek a few times.

“Good boy.” She praised, turning and walking down the stairs before he could speak again. Looking back as she closed the door, the guard looked confused and slightly flushed.

Adorable, she thought to herself with a chuckle as she descended the stairs, a few months ago, you could have been a lot of fun to have around.

Banishing the thought from her mind, Violet reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped out into the first lair of the dungeons.

The Aldiron palace dungeons were set into the body of the cliff itself, beneath the palace. Multiple layers of natural caverns, with cells built into the walls. Cold and unwelcoming even before the fall, now they greeted Violet with a cold wind and a dark dread in her chest with no clear origin.

The main chamber was lit up by torches burning in sconces, revealing a space filled with tables of glass vials and bubbling pots. Plants and animal carcasses hung drying from racks around the ceiling. Bottles of differing shapes and sizes filled the tables, with books and diagrams filling every available open space they could. A greenish smoke, stinking unlike any smell that Violet had ever encountered, clung to the ceiling and walls of the chamber.

To the sides were iron barred cells, Violet found her vision lingered on them. She could have sworn that she saw movement within. Then a low moan, like a wounded animal, came from within the nearest one. Looking around and seeing no-one in the space, Violet crept closer to the bars.

At first, nothing pierced the darkness within. Though the smell reached her instantly, vomit and other human waste was a clear stench. But alongside those smells was the sweet, sickening scent of rot. As Violet stepped up to the bars, one hand covering her mouth and nose, her vision began adjusting, clearing. And the shadows coalesced into a small, gaunt figure. A figure Violet recognised.

“Randall.” She breathed, her words catching as tears built in her eyes. The young boy from Oakworth, the one who had met Iona, that The Other Face had taken the disguise of when Draconeus had sent it after Iona. He looked awful, thin as a rake. Stepping to the side, Violet lifted a torch from the sconce and held it up to the bars.

And instantly wished she hadn’t.

Randall’s hair was patchy, having fallen from his head and left him with many patches of pale skin amongst the deep orange of his hair. His eyes were bloodshot. As he turned to look at Violet, he opened his mouth, showing that most of his teeth had fallen out, leaving bloody gaps in their place. His skin was patchy with red, bloody blisters and in some places it appeared blackened and rotten, even peeling away. He tried to speak, but all that emerged was a low moaning sound, a sound that spoke of endless, unimaginable pain.

Violet felt tears running down her cheeks as she stepped back in horror from the sight. The torch dropping from her hand.

“Horrific, isn’t it.” Came a nasal, slightly muffled voice from behind her. Violet’s heart leaped through her chest and she nearly cried out in shock. Turning she found the apothecary had returned and was now standing in the centre of the chamber, watching her with curiosity.

He was a tall man, thin too. With caramel brown skin and black hair that already had streaks of silver through it, though in truth he could scarcely be older than Violet herself was. A cloth mask was tied across his nose and mouth, somewhat muffling his speech.

“Wh… What happened to him?” Violet asked, gesturing back to Randall’s cell but finding her body unwilling to turn back and look.

“It’s the effect of The Other Face being disguised as the boy. It appears they also call it the Life Stealer for a reason.” The apothecary said, matter of factly, as if Randall was another of the myriad ingredients scattered around the chamber. “The longer it wears his shape, the worse the symptoms get. I doubt he has long left now.”

“You’re the apothecary of the palace. Can’t you help him?” Violet demanded, moving towards the man. Away from the cell, away from the horror.

“The only help to him now is to end the pain. And if that happens, The Other Face loses his shape. I have no wish to cross his lordship’s plans by angering his servant, not unless I wish to be the next to suffer that fate.”

Violet swallowed, shutting out the thought of Randall, of the pain he must be enduring. She blinked away the tears. The sentiment of the apothecary may be ruthless, but it was one she could understand, even agree with. Which she hated herself for.

“You served the Ravellans, now you experiment on Draconeus’ monsters? Create his poisons?” She asked, looking at the man with a simmering judgement, folding her arms across her chest.

“I do very little here. I did not torture the child, nor create the Accursed. My own abilities with alchemy pale in comparison to Draconeus’.” The apothecary corrected her, his tone turning sharp. “I simply did what kept me breathing, even if that meant serving. I imagine you can relate, Lady Hills?”

Violet lowered her gaze. She didn’t deny his words, though she didn’t confirm them either.

“I’m having trouble sleeping. Can one of these potions help?” She asked, ignoring the topic from before, moving on as quickly as possible. She ran her hand across a series of bottles on the table nearest her. The apothecary gave a low, mirthless chuckle as he regarded the bottles she touched.

“Those would help you get to sleep certainly, though waking again may be a tad more difficult.”

“Poisons?” Violet asked, lifting her hand quickly from the bottles as if stung. The apothecary hummed an affirmative.

“Of all sorts. It seems his lordship is intent on keeping a well-stocked cabinet of toxins. Everything I’ve ever heard of, even Sweethoney and The Drowner.” The apothecary said, moving to another table and rummaging through the bottles.

“What are those?” Violet asked, her gaze finding the bottles he mentioned. There was only a single bottle of Sweethoney, but whatever The Drowner was, there were five bottles of it.

“The worst poisons in the world. Sweethoney thickens the blood, your heart stops beating because it can’t push through the sticky, honey-like, blood. The pressure builds up until pop! Your heart bursts in your chest. Very painful.” The apothecary replied, with a little too much glee at the description. He lifted a bottle to the light, examining the label before muttering to himself and placing it back down.

“And The Drowner?” Violet asked, simply pretending to make conversation as her fingertips danced over the bottles of poison.

“The Drowner’s a nasty one. Bit quicker acting than Sweethoney but no less brutal. Get it into your system and it causes your body to overproduce mucus and saliva. Before long, you drown in your own spit.” The apothecary explained, seemingly not questioning her asking so many questions. Indeed, it seemed he was rather starved for conversation about his work.

Violet looked at the two poisons. Both would serve the purpose they were needed for. Maybe Sweethoney would be more subtle, take longer to act. But there was only one bottle, the apothecary would be far more likely to notice it was missing.

And so, her hand darted out like a striking snake, snatching a bottle of The Drowner and pulling it back into her cloak, dropping it into one of the inner pockets that Aliss had mentioned.

“Gods, that’s horrible.” She said, turning away from the poisons, her face twisted in disgust. The apothecary turned to her, with a handful of dry herbs in one hand and a small bottle in the other.

“Poisons are rarely kind Lady Hills.” The apothecary replied, holding out the bunch of herbs.

“Have your ladies in waiting place crush one of these and place it under your pillows a half hour before you sleep. It’s a relaxant, should help to soothe you to rest.”

Violet smiled and took the bunch of herbs from the man, nodding thanks before looking curiously at the bottle.

“And that?”

“Ah!” The apothecary explained as if just remembering the bottle’s existence. “This is for when the Gods see fit to deny you restful dreams. A small spoonful and you’ll slip into a deeper sleep than you’ve ever felt before. You’ll likely lose a good part of the next morning, and you won’t dream at all. But still, better silence than screams, no?”

His gaze flicked past her, towards the cell holding Randall. Violet nodded, understanding. His words almost certainly came from a place of experience.

“Thank you for this.” She said sincerely, lifting them into view. While not her main goal from the visit, she couldn’t deny the appeal of a peaceful sleep for once.

And then a scream echoed through the dungeons, a terrible sound of agony that rose from the very depths of the cavern system and rolled along the walls upwards like a rising tide. Violet flinched, her mouth dropping open. Not even the sounds that Randall had made had sounded so raw, so pained.

“What was that?” She asked after the sound faded. The apothecary looked off down the tunnels that led deeper into the prison.

“Lord Trident. Lord Draconeus brought him down here a few hours ago, talking about a ‘powerful reward’. That’s happened every so often since.” The apothecary’s voice was drawn, almost horrified sounding. Not even Randall had given him such a fearful sound.

“Reward? Do you know what they’re doing?” Violet asked, unable to turn her gaze from the tunnels the sound echoed from.

“Yes. I do.” The apothecary confirmed, but then he turned back to Violet, placing a hand on her back and guiding her back towards the stairs she had descended from. “And if you ever want those remedies to work, to help you sleep again, then you do not want to know what that reward is. Trust me. Return to your apartment, to the court. Forget you heard that sound.”

Violet didn’t need to be told twice. She already had what she’d come for, the weight of The Drowner in her pocket was reassurance of her success. Now she wanted only to leave this den of hideousness. Pocketing the potion and herbs, she hurried to the stairs, keeping her gaze away from the doubled over figure of Randall in the cell.

The sound came again as she ascended the stairs and Violet knew that, remedies or not, she would not have a restful night’s sleep that night.

Because as much as that sound was filled with agony and terror, there was something else in it. Something far worse that Aaron Trident was feeling, whatever was happening to him.

A scream of pure, blissful rapture.