Descendents

by Antiope

Chapter 2

Althea woke to the gentle feeling of a hand on her forehead. Her eyes opened carefully, eyeing the woman who stood over her. Glancing around, she noted that she was in a room in her uncle's palace, huddled in the bed. The events of what happened before she blacked out came flooding back into her memory, and she pressed back down into the covers, wanting to cry, but knowing it was unseemly for her to do so. Sitting up, she turned to the woman who had drew her from her sleep. Speaking in a light tone she asked, "Where are my sisters?"

The woman curtsied, and replied in a deep, accented voice, "They have been taken to the East Wing, my lady. The King sent them there after you fell ill."

"Where am I then?" Althea asked, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"You are in the South Wing. His Majesty felt it was necessary for you to be nearby."

Althea blinked. "But the South Wing is...."

The woman seemed slightly worried. "I was told to care for you, my lady. The King has ordered you to be placed here, your sisters and father--"

"Father?" Althea interrupted sharply. "My father is here?"

"Yes. He arrived during the night," the maid replied.

"Well, then how long have I been asleep?"

"Nearly two days," a bitter voice called out.

Althea and several of her maidservants looked toward the doorway. Stunningly beautiful, even in mourning colors, Queen Julia stood in the doorway. Her silver blonde hair was curled around her head in a wild tangle, giving Althea the impression that she had pulled at it or ran her hands through it several times. With a worried frown, Althea asked hesitantly, "Is everything alright, My Queen?"

Julia stared at Althea from across the room, her blue eyes piercing hers with dark suspicion. Turning to the servants in the room she barked a sharp, "Out."

Without a word, every woman scurried out of the room, curtsing quickly before leaving the Queen's presence.

Julia stared at Althea for several more seconds before approaching the bed, slowly. "I come to offer you condolences for the loss of your mother. My husband was at her side, and tells me that she went without pain."

Althea grimaced slightly, but nodded. "Thank you, Your Highness."

"The same, however," her highness continued, ignoring the girl's words, "cannot be said of my son."

Althea shrank under the murderous gaze of her queen, and aunt. Her soft blue eyes registered the small blade that the older woman removed from between the folds of her dress. The child glanced from the blade to the queen, without comment.

"My son," Queen Julia whispered in despair. "You and your witch of a mother have killed him. My only son," she cried, and threw herself across the enormous bed, intent on sinking the knife through the young girl's throat.

Althea watched in horror as the silver blade came closer and closer to her neck. A furious roar split the air, and Althea gasped as the queen was being dragged backwards off the bed by her feet. The reprieve from death brought Althea out of her daze, and she twisted out of the sheets, and attempted to fall off the side of the bed. The queen, desperate and furious at having been deterred, sent the blade in a wide arc, that made it's mark. The child cried out in pain, and landed on the floor with a thud, clutching her right thigh. A large gash in the cloth of her nightgown was testament that the blade had sliced flesh, as well as the blood that was a stark contrast of the white of her nightdress.

Throught the haze of pain, the girl barely noticed the raised voices engaged in what could be termed a war of words, one voice shrill and hysterical, the other booming and furious. The shrill voice did not cease, but became steadily quieter, and it was when gentle hands lifted Althea that she came out of her immense shock. Her queen, her aunt, had just tried to kill her. She kept imagining the blade coming closer and closer. Tremendous fear pushed the burning pain of the princess' leg to the back of her mind, and instead had her struggling with the little strength alloted a ten year old. Feeling the arms push hers behind her back with such ease made her suddenly aware of how fragile and helpless she was, both being but a child, and having no knowledge as to how to defend herself. Terror for her life had her screaming, pleading, tears raining down her face. Her sisters survival taking priority to her then, as she realized that her aunt must be insane, she fought harder, biting, and kicking with all her might.

A deep and very familiar masculine voice commanded her to stop her strugglings. For several moments the familiar voice did not register, but snapping her head back painfully by her sable hair, Althea gazed through tear-filled eyes at her king and uncle, Evan, staring down at her. "My king," Althea whispered fearfully, "what are you doing here?" Without allowing him time to answer, she fell into his arms sobbing. King Evan held his niece stiffly, then lifted her up and carried her out of the room.

His voice cracked across the hallway, and made young Althea jump in startled surprise in his arms. "Bring a physician to the Blue room, now," he bellowed. Several servants appeared from the shadows, but froze in shock at the picture before them. Their king held young Princess Althea in his arms, crimson blood staining her gown and dripping steadily to the floor. At their hesitation, King Evan became enraged once again. "A physician to the Blue Room now, lest the princess bleeds to death while you gawk."

Every single servant jumped to attention, his growled words snapping them out of their daze. Most left to find the palace healer, and others followed the King at his command. Althea paled in his arms, at his casual mention of death. The pain returned and she whimpered at the intensity of it. The blue room was several doors down the way, and Althea blanched as she happened to glimpse further down the corridor to spy the large and heavily ornate mahgony door leading to what she knew was the royal chamber of her uncle.

She was truly in the south wing. She remembered waiting outside those doors as her mother and several physicians had been inside treating her uncle several years before for some illness or other. Confusion distracted her from the pain for only a few moments as she wondered as to her presence in the royal wing, since even her mother had not been allowed to stay there after Evan had become king. Only the the ruling monarch, their spouse and their children and their spouses and children were allowed here, until a new ruler was crowned, and so all would be moved to the east wing, where the rest of the royal family could reside for the rest of their days should they desire. The east wing had been Althea's home since the day she was born, her mother preferring to live in the palace then attaining a home elsewhere. Perhaps her choice in husband had something to do with that, but Althea was not sure, since her father did not care to come home often.

King Evan laid his niece gently down on the wide bed and ordered one of the three servants that had followed them to fetch hot water and clean cloths. The other two remaining were maidservants, and he ordered them to remain with her, and disrobe her. Striding from the room, he closed the door softly.

After removing her nightgown, the two women placed a heavy blanket over her small form, and moved aside one corner to reveal her leg that was still bleeding, profusely. A tap at the door several minutes later had the grand physician strolling casually in, followed by the previous servant with the water and strips of cloth in his arms. Althea watched in a painfilled stupor as the blood drained from the healer's face when his eyes met her's.

"Sweet Vivianne!" he murmured, then went to her side. As quickly as possible, he cleaned her wound, sweat on his brow as Althea let out small sounds of pain every few moments. After examining the gash, he knew the girl would need it sown together to heal properly. "Forgive me, dear princess, but I must sew your wound. It will be painful."

Althea nodded solemnly, regarding the man with care. "I understand. Do what you must, but please, by Atloria's honor, be quick. My leg burns."

The doctor shook his head, and called for his medicine bag. One of the maidservants, her face streaked with tears handed it to him then returned to her corner, watching as the doctor removed a needle and thread. She and the other servant girl clutched each other's hands, tears of sadness dropping from their lashes. Through the healer's preparation, Althea said nothing, made not a single sound. Each movement or ritual was observed with a knowing eye, and the girl seemed completely calm and composed. All eyes were upon the physician as he leant forward, holding the sliced flesh together gently and applying the needle to the skin, so no one saw the grip of death the little girl had upon the bedclothes. The moment the needle pushed through her tender skin, she fainted, every temultous emotion of the past few minutes accumulating together into a ball of such searing pain, the contact of the needle was insignificant to the image that flashed over and over behind her eyelids. A silver knife, looming closer and closer to her throat, begging to spill her life's blood upon the richly rugged floor. In her unconcious state, the child did not bear the shame of hearing the painful, heart rendering scream that erupted from her mouth, causing the hairs on the back of everyone's neck in the immediate vacinity to rise in a haunted warning.

The next few days were a haze of Althea slipping in and out of delirious conciousness. There were times when she believed someone was trying to kill her and she would cry out in terror, fighting against anyone or anything that touched her. Other days she believed she saw her mother and her cousin. They would smile at her, speak to her in a loving way that she remembered. She would call out to them, but they would just smile, and move away. There were several occasions when she would almost believe her father was there. His face would distort into a vision of hate, and she would cry out, while he would attack her. But it was the woman in dark blue that would terrify her the most. When she appeared, the sense of foreboding and despair would overtake her, and she would cry out for her mother, furious when her cries went unanswered.

Her eyelids felt heavy, her eyes felt like they were on fire. Her entire body was engulfed in flames then plunged into a frigid sea. She cringed back as a blurry figure attempted to touch her. "Go away!" she screamed at the figure.

The image settled a moment later in her vision, and she glared at the amused face of Evan St. Alban, King of Syrlia.

"You think to order a king to your bidding do you little one?" he asked.

He was making fun of her, she knew it. "Go away! I want my mother, bring me mother!"

The King frowned. "Your mother is dead, girl. You are sick, but you must get better."

Althea raised herself to a semi-sitting position. "My mother is not dead! You are a liar! Go away, leave me alone!"

King Evan began to advance toward her, an enraged expression on his face, while Althea simply glared angrily back at him. Before he could take more than a few steps, he was stopped by a hand on his elbow. The woman in blue appeared out of the shadows of the room. He stiffened, eyeing the woman's hand on his arm with disgust, but he did nothing to remove it.

"Allow me a moment, Your Highness. I wish to tend to the young princess myself," the woman murmured softly.

The king hesitated for a moment, but turned toward the door, sparing only a small glance in his niece's direction. Without a word, he exited the room, leaving Althea with the unfamiliar woman. He has abandoned me. Those four words circled over and over again in her head as her fevered eyes followed the woman's progress from the corner of the room to the high chest across from her bed. Huddled in the middle of the enormous bed, the young girl seemed more vunerable and afraid then she had any right to be.

The woman took a crystal jug filled with water and poured it into a small bowl. "You look like your mother," she told Althea softly.

"How would you know that?" Althea asked angrily.

"Because," the woman answered, a knowing smile on her face, "I raised her." She placed the bowl against Althea's lips, and placed a gentle hand at the back of the young girl's small neck. Althea's eyes locked with this strange newcomer, confused, but she felt the cool water against her lips and took small sips. The stranger watched her drink carefully and with an intensity that made the ten year old nervous. As she drank, Althea remembered something her mother once told her about her childhood. About a woman named Serana.

"You are Serana, Holy Mother of the Exiles," Althea told her, her voice full of accusation. The woman, Serana, did not deny it. Instead she stroked a hand across the child's pale skin made even more so pale from the past few days of fever and uncertainty.

"You have the grace that your mother had, the heart," she told the child with an undertone of rancour. "You made many people worry about you girl. You have been delirious with fever for nearly six days forcing the palace into an uproar. You can imagine what your King was going through. The possiblility of losing two heirs within a few days of each other would cause a great disruption in the balance this world thrives on. But no matter. You are alive, and now, with my help you will be a greater ruler than this kingdom has seen," the woman announced arrogantly.

"I will never be queen. My cousin shall inherit the throne and all that it entails," Althea denied.

Serana grinned, and placed the small bowl of water against her lips again. "He can not become king if he is dead."

Althea's gaze flew to the older woman's amused eyes in horror. A split second later she flung her hand out, slapping the bowl away from her lips and spilling the contents on the Holy Mother's dress. "Get out!" she screamed. "How dare you say such a thing? Orion was my cousin! He is my cousin," she corrected swiftly, refusing to believe such a horrible truth when her mother's death was already hovering in her conciousness. Her mind was unclouding quickly, pulled out of it's fog by the anger she was directing at this woman who dared to speak with such ambition as if it was hers to be had. "You are nothing more to me than an Exile, a Singer who has no claim upon me or my family."

Serana stood swiftly, her robes swirling about her in a cascade of blue color. She was halfway out the door when she turned, a sour smile on her face. "I was right. You are so much like your mother." Without another word, she left.

The second the door closed, Althea scooted to the side of the wide bed and unsteadily gained her feet. Shuffling on wobbly limbs she inched toward the closed windows of her room. She hoped, with a near fatalistic urge that her windows pointed toward the inner city. Pulling hard on the bolt over the wooden covering, she nearly feel backward as the lock gave and pushed the bearings inward. Breathing deeply she turned to the view and fell to her knees. In the center square of the inner city of the palace grounds, the Black Flag of Eliandes was raised high. Since the time of Atloria and Gwennoire, the Black Flag with the symbol of the House of Etheilwyn meant the death of a royal heir or heir apparent. Althea could feel the burning return to her eyes, but this time for a different reason. Protocol didn't matter, ettiquette, what should or should not be done didn't matter anymore. In this moment Althea didn't feel like a princess of the House of Terra'n or future queen of the Syrlian people. In this moment she was a ten year old little girl. And she was alone. Scalding tears fell down delicate cheeks, and for once, uncaring as to who entered and discovered her in the act, the little girl wept.

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A/N: Thank you for reading, please review!