Prothetic Dreams

The wife,

Lay beside her husband, nestled in the welcoming embrace of their bed. The curtains, fluttered in the last heat of the summer, carrying the lingering scents of harvest into the quiet darkness, broken only by the gentle clink of the wind bell which swayed in the breeze. Sweat, had cooled, bodies remained entertwined and sleep, had come in the wake of ardor. Or rather, to the man who slept like a mountain beside her, peaks of snow, valleys of ebony, snoring like a dragon trapped beneith his pale skin. Long fingers moved through the wild, black, tangle of his hair, gently, lovingly, as if anything more or less would break that peaceful slumber. Her lips, swolen from his kisses brushed over his brow, his breath still smelling of ale and the peach tarts which had been intended for the morning. VanGatt, never waited for anything, it was one of the things she liked about him. If he wanted, he got it, in due time, if he needed, he took and if sweets were involved, want and need tended to be interchangeable. Here he'd thought he'd pulled one over on her, sneaking in the back door, drunk, as if a man of his mammoth poportions could 'sneak' anywhere and stuffing his face full of tarts. She'd let him of course, she tended to let him do as he liked these days, he was part of the magic which allowed that tiny spark of life within her to grow. His hand, twitched in his sleep, curling around the small of her back and she herself, drifted. What had she done to deserve him? Some said they were suited to each other, the beast and the murdering hand of the crown. Some said it took two forces to build an empire, the hand which destroyed and the hand which healed.

Pounding on the door, drew her bolt upright before her eyes had even closed. "Osanna for the love of god git yer skinny arse out o'bed! Th'Lady advisor's 'afore her time!" The man, snorted in his sleep and pulled her closer, burying his nose in her chest. Who? What? She blinked, blearily up at the cool, grey white wash of the celeing. "Lady Meravus!" She was out of bed in an instant, cramming her feet into the narrow, colored swede boots appropriate to her new posission as the head justicer's wife, pulling the heavy canvas and linnen dress and tunic over her head. "VanGatt!" She barked, tieing yesterday's rumpled kerchief over her head. "Git yer great stupit arse out o' bed 'an git m'basket t'ghter!" She began yanking bundles of herbs down from the exposed beams of their bedroom, sturring up the earthy smell which tended to settel in the corners of the room. The hammering, continued, and the great hulking man, rolled over into the warm spot inwhich his wife had been with a mighty belch. "Great useless clod.." She swore, dashing down the stairs herself. "See if I'm here t'make yer bloody dinner!" She didn't have time to proad him out of bed, she snatched everything off the low shelves in the back of the kitchen.

Her feet hit the cobblestones at a dead run, basket tucked under her arm, pale blue coat streaming out behind her, one sleeve on, one sleeve off. It seemed like forever to the castle, where the woman had lingerd under the best of care for the past month now. Best of care, was a reletive term of course. Some of thoes healers were little more than glorified butchers. VanGatt could do better in his dungeon than some of these mongrels if she had anything to say about it. The door to the infirmary flew open, the princess sat at the woman's side, hollow as Garnett was these days, drained by the madness of her husband. The Queen and Lady VonPith, the girl Felda and even Princess Synaria were all around like mourners at a wake. But why? She saw the blood, too much of it in the dampend bed clothes. There was no movement from the Lady Advisor, no movement at all. She just....laied there like a marble statue, her red hair all about her like the blood. ".....She's gone," Said the Princess. "You're too late Osanna..." The Lady VonPith, in her quiet, elegant, way told her, "She stopped breatheing and....." Her voice broke, the first time she'd ever seen the woman she admired so much loose her composure. "If only you'd been there..." a thin cry rang out, over the silence, and the bundle appeared in the princess's arms, a tiny, skinless, hand reaching out to graze the crown princess's cheek with a long, thin streak of red. "Forgiveness," She breathed, "Is hard to swallow," Osanna, had never seen such madness in the eyes of any living thing. "Isn't it?"