The Tower's Silhouette

The Prologue, Part One: The Bargain

There once was a Kingdom. Small and not worth much note, except for being a trade hub that the surrounding kingdoms respected. It was also defensible, if it ever came down to conflict.

There were mountains to the east and west, and walls to the north and south, only interrupted by a Great River through which the majority of trade flowed. This Kingdom was also the only pass through the mountains, except at the eastern and western coasts, which forced trade between the east and west to focus the majority of their trade efforts through the Kingdom.

A desirable, if small, place to rule.

The King and Queen were not especially worth note. The King was the fifth of his bloodline, and the Queen was a minor noble's daughter. They weren't very good or very bad, as people. And they did not effect change in a noteworthy manner or to a noteworthy extent.

They were also without child, which left a bit of question as to who would rule after them. What would happen after this King was off the throne. Many of the nobility feared annexation by a directly neighboring country. Many of the common folk feared that the next ruler would be a tyrant. It was the mystery, the not knowing, that left many of the people ill at ease.

One day, it was found that the Queen was with child.

The court breathed a collective sigh of relief in the knowledge that the Queen and King were not infertile. But worry reared its head at the health of the Queen and the ability of the Queen to carry a child.

The fears, it was realized, were well-founded. By the third month of her term, the Queen had begun to show illness beyond what was expected with pregnancies. And she grew progressively worse.

The time to give birth neared, and the Queen had faded to almost nothing. She stayed in bed as often as she could, spoke very little, and ate even less. The King grew frantic. In the whole world, the only thing that seemed to bring him peace and happiness was his Queen. Thus, the search began for a way in which to cure the Queen and keep the baby safe.

First, doctors were sent for, from every corner of every kingdom. Their trips to and from the Capital of the small kingdom were paid for out of the royal treasury, and a reward was promised to the man or woman who could cure the Queen.

The doctors could not cure the Queen, so the herbalists were called for.

The herbalists failed, so the mages were called.

The mages failed, so the faerie were begged.

The faerie failed. Prayers to the gods of numerous religions failed. High priests and priestesses failed. Elven medicine and magic failed.

The King was told, simply, that his Queen was dying. Of what? They could not say. But she would pass, and it seemed as though no force, from the north to the south, could stop it. This only hardened the King's resolve.

A by-product of the King's relentless, incessant searching and bargaining was that the People looked on him more favourably. His Love for the Queen and the unborn child was so great that the People came to begrudgingly admire him, rather than the Crown, itself, or the King's ancestry, his bloodline. They also whispered among themselves.

"The Queen is ill, they say she will die," they said. "The King looks for a cure."

The King looked for a cure.

He sent scouts to the mountain for augurs and sages and magical hermits. He raised the reward. He offered a reward for the person who brought forward someone who could help. He offered a position, power, a title, property. Short of the Crown itself, the King offered and offered and offered.

--

The Queen was ill. And more so by the day. The King was losing hope.

His unborn child was as at risk, along with the Queen. The child was, perhaps, more at risk.

And, one day, a woman came to the Palace.

"I have come to see the Queen," she said. She clasped her hands just under her rib cage and bowed to the King and his Court. "I believe I may have, at my disposal, the means to help Her Majesty."

The King had learned not to hope. But he stood. "Come. I will take you," he said.

"Thank you, My Lord." The woman followed him. She was neither young nor old, but bore unnervingly flawless skin and ash-coloured hair. Her wrists and ankles were dainty. She wore no shoes, and did not really seem as though her feet truly touched the ground as she walked.

They came to the Queen's room, a personal mage and three guards remained at attention outside the door.

In the Crown's weakness, some had sent assassins – both mundane and magical – to kill the Queen, break the King, and ensure the lack of an Heir. There were always specialized guards protecting the ailing Queen, therefore.

"My, my," the woman said.

The Queen lay limp among the quilts, pillows, and drawn curtains.

"I will have to ask your charming guards to leave, if I am to work. Do not worry, she is quite safe with me, so long as the Deal is followed through," the woman turned to the guards and bade them to leave. They should not have obeyed her, but the flick of her wrist had them turning their backs and leaving the room before the King had quite decided whether or not he wanted to trust this women.

"What Deal?" he asked.

"A good question. A wise one," the woman stepped forward and set a hand barely onto the quilt, where it raised under the pregnancy that the Queen's form was heavy with. "I give you a Deal, Your Highness. For the child, I will give you the life of your Queen. No, allow me to rephrase." She turned to the King, eyes dark and a bit dangerous.

"What—"

"No, I said to let me rephrase. I will give you the life of your wife, the love of your life and the center of your universe. In return, I ask for the child that will otherwise die with her. You may have the life of the one, or the life of neither," the woman said, a bit louder, a bit more forcefully.

She threw back her hood. All her clothes were black, as if she were in eternal mourning. Layer upon layer of black, forming ethereal layers that were sometimes sheer and sometimes course. The hood had been deep, but rested back on her head when she had arrived. Probably to make her look more approachable. "I will ensure a quick recovery of the Queen, and a safe delivery of the child. But then, the child is mine. I leave with it. You do not come after it."

The King stood there, in shock. "You are a witch?" he asked. He rubbed his hands together and looked between the woman and his wife.

"My mother was a witch, and I was raised in the ways of magic. But, truly, I am dhampir."