The Unfortunate, стр. 62

countless weeks. The animal was no more. His hunt had ended. She was no longer his prey, but the handmaiden was still unnerved. Even in death, even with wide eyes and a fear-stricken expression, the man was still repulsive. She was still able to hear his gravely tone that grated like a sword against a wheat stone. Still able to smell his breath that always remained heavy with the stench of ale. Still able to feel his unwelcome, rough hands as they moved across her flesh. Still able to sense all of this and how it had caused her skin to tingle as if thousands of tiny insects were crawling on every inch of her body.

The memories reminded Jenn of her disturbing dream and caused her to shudder, and she glanced to the ever-spreading pool of blood. Such a sight was not for the faint hearted. It appeared the guard had not even had time to react before a gash had been cut across his abdomen. His only reaction, his final act in life, had been to clutch his stomach to prevent his organs from spilling onto the cobblestones.

But is that not enough to guarantee death? It should have been, yet the young woman still expected at any moment the guard would move and would look at her with lust. But the moment never came, and without second thought, Jenn thanked Fate for calling the man to the Life After. But who could have been responsible for his death? She continued to watch, but her thoughts were soon interrupted by a new voice.

“What is this?” King Beadurof inquired and rushed to the center of the yard. “Fate be merciful!” he did not hesitate to exclaim, but the next words were spoken with reluctance as if he did not want to be a part of the situation. “What has occurred?”

Initially none of the guards answered, but one soon approached the king and handed him what appeared to be a dagger.

King Beadurof took the weapon, and his expression was beyond grim. He studied the blade as if he recognized it before he eventually inquired, “Have any of you seen Marlisa?”

There was another hesitation, but at last another guard stepped forward. “She is gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Into the city.” The man hesitated before adding. “I almost did not recognize her. She was screaming, and she was splattered with blood. It was as if she were … as if she were …”

“Mad?” the king suggested.

“Yes. I tried to stop her. I called her name many times, but she did not heed me.”

Jenn emerged from the gate’s embrasure and entered the courtyard as the men continued to speak.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” the guard pleaded.

She did not hear King Beadurof’s response, for her thoughts were elsewhere. The guard’s death had been the will of Fate. It could have been nothing else than divine intervention, for she had never spoken about the guard’s pursuits. The queen had been Fate’s instrument, nevertheless. But as waves of relief and a feeling of security surged through her body, Jenn also realized that to consider what had occurred to be merciful would be selfish. There had also been unfortunate events, and Jenn felt most sorry for the queen. Adulteress. It was a treasonous act, but did the crime warrant madness? The handmaiden did not believe it so. Jenn pitied the queen because of their years of closeness, but that was not the only, not the most significant reason. The young woman understood Queen Marlisa’s actions. She understood what it was to be held captive by forbidden love, and she understood its torment and pain. At least to an extent, for hers was nothing compared to the queen’s. Jenn was thankful for what was still hers. She still had her wits, but that which was most important, she still had Banan.

✽ ✽ ✽

Later, long after all others had retired and were asleep, Jenn followed the passageways from her quarters, across the great hall, and to Banan’s chambers. There was light being emitted from beneath the door when she arrived, but that was not surprising. She had expected the prince to be awake still, for he had been troubled by the week’s events. Jenn gently knocked on the door before she turned the handle and pushed inward. Initially she had believed the room to be empty, for she was greeted by nothing more than dancing shadows, a result of the hearth’s fire that jumped erratically.

The young woman was uncertain but not frightened. She had been in the chambers numerous times, but this time was different. There was something unsettling that slithered through the room like a disease—a storm of emotions, among them, hatred and sadness—and she closed the door gently.

“Banan?” she whispered, but there was no reply. She advanced several steps before again speaking his name, this time slightly louder, but still no one answered. There was something though, the barely audible sound of metal scratching against the stone floor, and Jenn turned toward the noise. At first there was nothing, but then she noticed motion in the near corner. After moving even closer, she realized it was Banan, and he held a sword which he would occasionally glide along the floor in an arching motion.

The prince looked at Jenn but also through her, and he did not speak.

Something was awry, indeed, and she hurried to him, gathered her skirts, and knelt. “Banan?”

Silence.

“What is wrong?” Stupid question. I already know the answer.

“Do you know where I got this?” he finally spoke and again grated the weapon along the floor.

She did not reply. The handmaiden had seen the sword before, but she had never known its significance. She had always been curious about the weapon. The blade did not appear to have been wielded for a man grown. Jenn had never seen it used in training. It had always remained an item of display in the prince’s chamber. Before the handmaiden could further her thoughts or consider a response, however, Banan added, “Deogol gave