QUEEN OF BLOOD I

The city around her was burning. The cacophony of cries and clashing of swords echoed through the rainy night. It was ironic. Rain signified rebirth yet now, at this moment, it was naught but a herald of death and tyranny.

The flames that burned the city, burnt brighter than any she had seen ever before. They burnt stronger and savagely as well. They licked at her as she ran, her tiny feet carrying her swiftly across the blood soaked streets of Queensbury. Her mind failed to remember the reason for her flight though it mattered not, something in her convinced her to continue running. And she did, not once looking back, not even when she could hear the shouts of her personal guard asking for her to slow down. Her feet did not slow, for she remembered his words. And she remembered them true. Her gown did not hinder her, it had shocked her initially. Nevertheless, she knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. She accepted it as a boon from the Gods and continued winding her ways through the narrow alleyways.

She heard, occasionally, sounds of thunder. Yet, never once did the night sky glow bright due to lightning. And, she knew that were she to be caught, death awaited her. Thus, she pushed her little body to its limit and did not stop until she reached the tavern. Something had told her to come here, told her that she would be safe and thus, here she was. She nearly stumbled on the stairs as she climbed up them and finally stood at the door. The door to her sanctuary, her home.

The door to the room creaked, it always had, yet now in this deafening silence, it sounded like a haunting scream. A shiver went up her spine, perhaps it was better to turn back, find a way out of the city. She knew better. It was with a light clang that the door was bolted behind her. She allowed herself to take a deep breath and her body lost all its previous tension. It was, at this moment of momentary calm, that her mind crushed her soul with guilt, sadness, remorse. They were dead, all of them. And it was all her fault- her fault- her fault - her fault!

A loud noise broke her downward spiral, her body uncurled from its fetal position. She rubbed away the tears streaming down her face. When had she started crying? Or better yet, when had she laid down on the floor? They were valid questions, simple ones, however, her brain could not bring itself to answer. Something halted it, with the answers being just out of reach. Why had she woken up? She had heard something, had she not? But what was it?

Right as she felt the answer coming to her, her brain finally catching up with her. The room's door was savagely ripped from its hinges and thrown open. She scurried to the corner of the room, her hand holding a…. Knife? When had she obtained that? No, she had it since her childhood, it was a gift from her father. Father? Father! Where was he? Why isn't he here?

Her eyesight was blurry from tears as she was reminded of her father's fate. As her body started shaking with sobs, a hand gripped her throat. Her vision cleared and the room morphed. It reminded her of her old room that she had lived in all those years ago as a small child. She was reminded of the danger to her life as the pressure on her throat increased. Lungs failing to draw breath, her gaze snapped to the individual strangling her. The face was shrouded in shadows as a pristine white cloak was draped over the entirety of the assassin.

As spots began forming in her vision, she saw a scythe in the other hand of the cloaked individual. The scythe was clearly going to disembowel her. As the scythe came down on her, an arrow whistled through the air, burying itself in the hood of the assassin.

The knight, for he could be nothing else, was a tall man, taller than her father with hair as silver as the chain of her necklace and his eyes, oh his eyes, were the brightest shade of blue she had ever seen. She could lose herself in them if she were not careful.

“Princess? Are you alright?” The man questioned as kneeled before her. She nodded and felt a sharp sting in her stomach. Her eyes wandered to her stomach and saw the knight’s sword buried deep within. Betrayal and sadness shone in her eyes as she gazed back at the knight.

Only for shock to fill her, for it was not the deep blue eyes of the knight which stared back at her, no. It was the dark silver of the assassin which stared back at her. Glee burned in those silver eyes at her condition. The scythe was back again, how had she not noticed it? It was going to cut off her head, afterall. She let out a scream as the scythe hit her.

Ishtar’s eyes snapped open from the nightmare. Gone were the burning silver eyes, replaced by the chocolate brown of her handmaiden’s.

“My lady, are you well?” Ishtar opened her mouth to reply and closed it shut again, failing to form any words. Her mind caught up in the webs of her dream. Sweet Diane, Celeste bless her soul, understood her plight and immediately presented her with a cup of water. She sniffed at it. She trusted Diane implicitly. She truly did but one could never be too sure.

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The water had the distinct scent of roses in it. She knew of only one drink which had that scent. The physician's medicine. The realization was met with a shudder as she drank the sweet smelling yet foul drink. The effects were never instantaneous, nonetheless, she could already feel her nerves calming, her brain de-stressing slowly but surely. The physician was a gifted man and in her reign, men like him are rewarded. Rewarded rather handsomely as well.

She cleared her throat as she spoke, “Diane?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Remind me to have the physician rewarded,”

“Certainly, my lady,” Diane's words were accompanied by a bow and Ishtar dismissed her.

As Diane left the room, Ishtar sighed in resignation. Her mind was quickly becoming a prison for her. The medicine helped but it never fixed her and inspite of the physician's words; she doubted it ever would. Ishtar snapped herself out of her thoughts and got up from her position on the carpet. The carpet? How did she get here? She had neither been drunk nor had she been tired out of her mind, last night, to have fallen asleep here.

She shook her head, it was pointless to trouble herself over this. She would have her answer from Wrath or perhaps even Agony, assuming the man was not deep into his drink. Regardless of it, she would have an explanation and besides, it was better to allow the medicine to run its course; mental anguish would only cause its effects to be fouled.

She had been soaking in the bath, her mind floating away, allowing a feeling of serenity and ease. Feelings that she rarely had time to experience, in her anxiety-ridden life. Except in the company of one man, a man who never failed to put a smile on her face.

Her mind wandered though, it wandered quite a lot. And, even now, in this tranquil moment, it wandered to her nightmare, a feeling of restlessness enveloped her as her mind spiraled. She could have never thought a tragic memory could ever turn even more nightmarish. Yet it had. It affected her more than she would like to admit. She had nightmares often and how couldn't she? Nevertheless, none had ever stuck with her in such a feverish manner. She had enough to ponder over as it is, thus, she never paid much mind to them. It was just another nightmare for her. But not this one. No. This one was different, too different. It had struck a chord deep within her and as a result, her mind was still reeling from it.

When she had been strangled. It felt so real. Too real for her. Almost lifelike. Maybe it was real? Maybe she was being strangled. But by who or what? The silver eyes, they must be a hint. Silver- silver- she couldn't think of anyone in her service with those eyes. Or rather, anyone for that matter. Perhaps, it was an eye color common in the east. She would have to look into that.

She had failed to realize the time passing by as she remained enraptured within her mind. A prisoner to her thoughts. And, she would have remained in the bath a longer time had Diane, she knew it was her due to the softness of the knocks, not knocked at her door. As she left the bath and began to dry herself, she was struck with a thought. A thought too terrifying for her to comprehend. For, were it true then all her plans would come undone.

Ishtar pushed the feeling down. There was but one man who could provide her with answers. Luckily, for her that man was always stationed outside her door.

“A prophetic dream? It certainly sounds like one, my Queen. However, I doubt that it is the case. You have described your nightmares to me, multiple times, yet none have ever turned into reality. This is an unfounded concern, my Queen, a result of an empty mind. Nothing more, nothing less.” It was, after getting dressed, that as she sat with Diane delicately combing her hair, she confessed to Wrath, and in a sense to Diane, about her nightmare. Wrath’s words, while a comfort, did not put her at ease. This nightmare had been far too vivid for her. It was justifiable, then, that her mind was unable to overcome its terror.

Perhaps, another dose of the medicine was in order.

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Ishtar was bored, she usually was, in the courtroom. Forced to listen endlessly to the droning of the peasants and citizens. Wrath had advised her against holding these courts daily. She had waved his concerns away, she was the Queen afterall. It was her duty to listen to their complaints. Suffice to say, she regretted that moment and will regret it till her death. The only events that made these hearings bearable were when she got to condemn someone to death. That was always a kicker.

They would be beheaded in the court itself. A show of power and order. Wrath had been, rather surprisingly, unsupportive of it. He had been the only dissentient. Thus, he had been outvoted. It was all the more hilarious to her that Wrath was the one who swung the axe. Truly, she was petty. Nonetheless, even as hilarious as it was, this compliance of his displayed the deep loyalty that the man possessed towards her.

As the hearings were coming to an end, an individual wearing a white cloak and right beside him another, though smaller and with feminine curves, wearing a similar cloak stepped up. Ishtar was intrigued by them. Mayhaps, it was the way they were dressed, looking like priests from a Holy Order or a Church. Perhaps, it was the way they carried themselves. She wasn't sure. Wrath seemed to have sensed something similar in them, as his body tensed slightly. Although, she doubted it was his interest that the two had gained.

She drank a sip of water as Wrath stepped forward and in a tone of authority, proclaimed loudly,“You stand in the presence of The Daughter of Ash, The Queen of Blood, The Blessed And Most Holiest Queen, Queen Ishtar!” He paused to allow his statement to sink in before continuing, “State the purpose of your visit!”

The taller of the duo, bowed before her with the girl following his lead. Ah, so the girl was his apprentice? Intriguing.

“We are members of the Church of the Hunt. I am Israpheal and this is my apprentice, Estelle.”

As Estelle looked up to gaze at her, the air from Ishtar’s lungs left her. Her speechlessness was accompanied by a chill going up her spine. For the eyes staring back at her were pure dark silver.