Knowledge Protects

Chapter 2: Confusion & Anxiety

Chapter 2: Confusion & AnxietySitting at the elaborate oak table in Aethelwine's sumptuous villa, I stared at the plate before me, toying with the food. None of it was appealing. I picked a little at the roasted root gourds, ignored the roasted fenwolf completely.

As much as I'd tried, the voice I'd heard couldn't be dismissed as a figment of my imagination. Was I suffering a relapse? What did it mean? Where did the voice come from? Surely it hadn't really been inside my head? I worried that the voices would overtake me again, weakening my grip on sanity.

The disembodied voice had insisted I knew him. Try as I might, I couldn't fathom who he might be. I didn't believe it was true. Who would contact me in this manner, unless it was someone intent on doing something malicious? He'd suggested the medication was affecting me – but I knew without it, the voices would only worsen. And I didn't want to hear those voices ever again; the prospect was terrifying. My hands trembled violently and I dropped my knife to the table.

“Angel, you're not eating.”

I glanced at Archangelo, saw the concern in his expression and managed to force a smile to my lips. “Of course I am.”

His green eyes slid to my plate for a moment, and when he looked up again, his expression was still concerned. He rubbed his fingers across my leg, squeezing my thigh tenderly beneath the table. “Would you prefer something else? I'll order—”

“No… thank you,” I interrupted hastily. Archangelo would insist the demi-fey serving us return to the kitchens and bring another dish if I so desired, but they'd no doubt been preparing this extravagant, six-course meal for hours, and would be tired and ready to retire for the night. I didn't want to cause a fuss, and besides, what would he say if I told him what I truly desired?

Chicken Enchiladas.

I couldn't even begin to imagine what that might be – what was a chicken? Or an enchilada, for that matter? Both words seemed foreign, and yet, terribly familiar. Was it a real thing? Or was this a further sign of my sanity swiftly ebbing away?

“Do you feel well, my wife?” Archangelo was still studying me, his eyes troubled.

I smiled broadly, forcing an enthusiasm I didn't feel. The last thing I needed was for Archangelo to think I was ill. “I'm perfectly fine.” Picking up the eating knife, I stabbed a piece of pumpkin gourd, cutting off a corner and lifting it to my lips. I attacked the meal with feigned gusto for another excruciating minute, before Archangelo relaxed and turned his attention back to our dinner companions.

As with every formal dinner at Aethelwine's table, it was a strained affair. Archangelo and his relatives were dining with us –bizarre in itself – because vampire don't eat. Not normal food, anyway.

I found it repulsive to watch them drinking blood. Poured into fine crystal stemware, they sipped at their sustenance as if it were an exquisite red wine. Was it only me who noticed the way the blood clung to the edge of the crystal, taking longer to slip back down than wine would when they returned the glass to the table? A discreet glance around the crowded table confirmed that many of the Fae were deliberately avoiding watching the vampire 'eat', clearly as sickened by their display as I was.

The knowledge of what was in those beautiful crystal flutes turned my stomach. I continually reminded myself this was a normal state of affairs, and I'd surely accepted this situation before my illness? My husband was vampire – it was completely natural that he drank blood. But what was happening here at the table – what happened at every mealtime I shared with my husband and his family – it was not fit for an audience.

Squaring my shoulders, I placed a small piece of the roast fenwolf on my knife and brought it to my lips. I should be grateful they only drank the blood of animals; plentiful in the great forests around Tamekeel. Archangelo insisted he would never consider drinking from 'the fount' as he called it. He and his family had made a conscious decision to abstain from drinking the blood of humans and their sustenance was prepared fresh each day, from creatures caught by the Queen's hunting parties.

Despite this concession, I found Archangelo's relatives deeply unsettling. Whilst they had sworn off the consumption of human blood, they regularly cast furtive glances in my direction, suggesting that despite their abstinence, the intense desire remained. Odin, Hyperion, and Bellona were all extremely old vampire, and I'd wondered – though never questioned – how long they'd drunk from 'the fount' before they chose to start drinking animal blood. Judging by the look in their eyes sometimes, they still regularly struggled with the choice.

This evening we'd been joined by several representatives from within the Realm, bringing the total at the table to twenty. Aethelwine enjoyed hosting these lavish dinner parties, no doubt because they placed her at the center of attention, and her guests commonly included some of her closest confidantes and advisors.

The dinner parties were always boring. Boring, boring, boring. I loathed them and attended only at Archangelo's insistence. I far preferred our villa, away from the pomp and pageantry of Aethelwine's court. I longed for simpler circumstances, a pleasant meal in quiet surroundings.

Aethelwine sat at the head of the table, orchestrating the conversation. Straight-backed and arrogant, she wore her fine blonde hair in an elaborately plaited roll, decorated with strands of Emyssinean Ocean pearls and exotic blooms. She was wearing a fussy gown of sky-blue silk, and I secretly suspected she should consider a larger gown size. Everything the woman put on her back was at least one size too small. Vanity, no doubt, was at the basis of these poor clothing choices. But of course, no-one dared mention such a thing to the Queen, because her temper was legendary in the Realm.

Perhaps I was being too unkind, but I didn't really think so. I picked up my own goblet and sipped at the sweet dandelion wine. Aethelwine was an enigma to me; cold, calculating and utterly ruthless in her quest to hold the Fae Realm under a tight rule. Tonight, she delighted in regaling us with tales of her power, constantly boasting of her totalitarian rule over the Realm, and her hopes for controlling the human world, now that the Fae had aligned themselves with the Drâghici. It was common to listen to her prattling off details of those in the Realm who had raised her ire, and the horrible fates which befell them for their folly. Aethelwine was a pompous, egotistical, and tyrannical beast of a woman, rarely wasting her breath on speaking to me, and for the most part, ignoring my existence.

Despite the alliance forged between the Realm and the Drâghici, she didn't like vampires and her abhorrence was not a secret at these dinners. Whenever the Drâghici were in attendance – which was often – there was an underlying tension between the groups. Archangelo insisted I was imagining it and maintained the Fae and the Drâghici enjoyed a mutual respect. It was another subject I'd dropped abruptly when Archangelo grew angry with my questions.

“Your Majesty; I heard rumor last week that Conal Tremaine has been sighted within the Realm.”

The man who'd asked the question was a portly, round-faced fairy from one of the distant cities. He watched the Queen for her reaction, his features ruddy under Aethelwine's haughty gaze. Around him, the others in the room lapsed into a horrified silence; clearly, this fairy was unaware of the embargo against speaking of the war.

Just when I suspected the fairy would collapse onto the floor in a fit of terror, Aethelwine spoke. “Crangel, I assure you, if Tremaine had been sighted, he would have been captured instantly. His poster is displayed all over the Realm. Someone would have captured him,” the Queen announced decisively, eyeing the frightened male. The suggestion that renegades could enter the Realm without capture was clearly intolerable. Crangel swallowed nervously, clearly realizing the depths of Aethelwine's displeasure.

“And I would take great delight in slaughtering him,” Archangelo added lazily, sipping from his goblet.

“When the renegades surrender, every one of them will be slaughtered,” Aethelwine announced.

Before I could consider the consequences of such an action, I spoke up. “Your Majesty, surely not?”

A second, equally intense silence followed my outburst and I hastened to explain, the heat of a blush suffusing my cheeks. “Your Majesty,” I began carefully, aware of the excruciating grip Archangelo had on my thigh, “I apologize, most sincerely, for my rudeness. I was concerned for the women and children of the renegade group.”

Aethelwine continued to glare at me, her expression a mask of icy displeasure. Lowering my gaze to the table, my hands shook as I continued. “I'm sorry, Your Highness. I was concerned that perhaps you meant you would kill the women and children, when surely it's the men who fight this war.”

Aethelwine remained silent for nearly a minute and the attendees waited uneasily for her reaction. “You would do well, girl, to keep your mouth shut when you know nothing of importance regarding this war and those who fight against us.” She shifted her focus back to Crangel, dismissing me with a haughty sniff. “Crangel, you can be certain that every man, woman, and child who has aligned themselves with the renegades will be slaughtered upon their surrender. The Realm will not tolerate disobedience and disorder.”

Risking a glance at Archangelo, I cringed under his cold gaze. The muscle in his jaw had tensed and the thin s***h of his lips confirmed that he was utterly furious with me. I shuddered, mentally chastising myself for opening my mouth.

“Angel, have you suffered any further nightmares?” Doctor Bran sat opposite my position at the table, resplendent in his customary silvery-gray cloak. I'd expected an abrupt change of subject after my outburst but wasn't certain this was the direction I wanted the conversation to take. Hard brown eyes studied me vigilantly and I forced my attention away from the long, ragged scar on his cheek, frightened to meet his gaze lest he saw the lie in mine. While I hadn't had a nightmare, I still had no explanation for the voice I'd heard earlier.

“No doctor, no nightmares. I've been sleeping soundly these past four weeks.”

Archangelo met Bran's gaze from across the table and there was another uncomfortable moment of silence before the doctor spoke again. “Excellent news. Perhaps we have settled on the correct dosage now.”

I smiled nervously and nodded. “I believe so.”

“But you must tell us if you suffer any strange recollections, Angel,” Archangelo demanded. “Any sign of relapse will require an increase in the medication you take.”

“Oh, I'm certain I don't need more,” I responded instantly, alarmed at the thought of being drugged more heavily than I was now. I already took the potion Doctor Bran had prescribed four times a day and I loathed the thought of taking more, despite hearing that voice.

“You will take it if Bran says it's necessary,” Archangelo growled. He caught my chin between his finger and thumb, his grip painful. “You will mind me, Angel.”

“Yes, Archangelo,” I responded meekly, ashamed of the dressing down I'd received in front of the other guests. I lowered my gaze to my plate once again, toying with the now-cold meal.

Archangelo inhaled deeply, deliberately schooling his handsome features into serenity. “You know how much I love you, Angel. I only insist on this for your own good.” He leaned across, dropping his mouth to mine and kissing me lightly. “I would hate to lose you to the madness again.”

Much later that evening, I lay in bed with Archangelo's arms wrapped tightly around my body. I was feigning sleep – after berating me angrily for my outburst at dinner, his lovemaking had been demanding and rough and I wanted him to think I slept soundly to avoid further advances.

Finding it impossible to sleep, I worried endlessly regarding the conversation at dinner. Archangelo had told me I must tell him and Doctor Bran if I had any strange recollections.

How could the nightmares I'd endured be recollections? Surely that meant they had a basis in truth?