Knowledge Protects (The Nememiah Chronicles Book 5)

by D. S. Williams

I rested my head against the edge of the marble bathtub and closed my eyes, pondering Nissa's warning as I soaked in the warm, scented water. I'd never heard her speak like that and wondered why she didn't want me to mention what I'd seen to Archangelo. What reason was there, to keep secrets from my husband?

  I rubbed the loofah across the scar on my stomach pensively. Why was Nissa so alarmed? Why were humans in Tamekeel? Why were they under guard? And why had they looked so terrified?

  I slid further beneath the warm water until it lapped against my neck. Relaxing in the bath was one of my favorite parts of the day, a time when I allowed my mind to drift to wherever it wished. What had Archangelo been doing today? He was always under immense pressure, fighting to defeat the enemy and I usually didn't see him until late in the evening – if he returned at all.

  Being vampire meant long days and late evenings didn't bother him, as he had no need for sleep. But with his long absences, I was rapidly becoming bored, cooped up in the villa with only Nissa and the serving staff for company.

  Turning in the water, I crossed my arms on the ledge and rested my head against them. What had I done, before my illness? Did I work? What had been my role in life? Perhaps I should ask Archangelo. I enjoyed sketching, so perhaps that was something I'd participated in before? My 'doodling', as Archangelo affectionately referred to it. He was supportive of my efforts, providing me with the tools and supplies I requested. But was it something I'd done before my illness? Or something new? I had no idea.

  There were so many things I didn't know. So much detail missing from my life. What had my real parents been like? What type of people were the couple who had cared for me here in Tamekeel? Did I have any friends? Had I done well at school? Why had I been brought to the Realm in the first place? I was starving for information, thirsting for knowledge, and frustrated that nothing remained of my past. I ached to recall something – anything, of my existence.

  Whenever I mentioned this desire to Archangelo, he was adamant that I dismiss the past and concentrate on my future with him. I was beginning to suspect he didn't want me to recall my former life and it was a disturbing prospect.

  Sighing deeply, I stood and let the water drip from my body before reaching for a towel. In front of the elaborate mirror, I studied my reflection critically. My body was trim and taut – narrow waist, hips smoothly curved, breasts high and full. I cringed when I studied the still-red scar on my abdomen. I didn't recall the events which caused my injuries, but I knew the man named Conal Tremaine had attempted to kill me. How could he hate me so much? And why?

  Running my fingers through my damp hair, I toyed with the dark locks. They settled on my shoulders, a mass of curls which Nissa would shortly pull up into one of the elaborate hairstyles Archangelo loved so much. I loathed them. I preferred having my hair loose around my face.

  Every time I faced the mirror, I visualized pulling my hair into a long ponytail, high on my head. Somehow, I envisioned my hair being much longer, in fact, I was positive it had been longer. Where did that idea come from?

  “It was.”

  I inhaled sharply, swallowing in a great gulp of air as I heard a man's voice and I scanned the bathing room with dread, confirming I was completely alone.

  “I would never hurt you.”

  When I heard the voice for the second time, I dropped into a crouch on the floor, holding my hands against my temples. “Please! Please go away!” I hissed into the silent room.

  “I beg you, listen to me. It's been difficult to make this connection with you—”

  I smacked my palms against my forehead, trying to control the panic. The voice was smooth and deep, and emanating from inside my mind. “Go away, go away!” I whispered feverishly.

  “I'm not your enemy – listen to me for just a moment. You know my voice; if you think about it, you'll recall who I am.”

  Shaking my head, I searched for the owner of the disembodied voice. It would be a relief if someone had entered the bathing room, whether they be friend or foe. Perspiration broke out across my brow. There was no-one here.

  Was the medication failing? Would I descend back into the madness?

  “You aren't crazy, my love. You're perfectly sane. You were used to hearing my voice before they forced the medication on you. You used to love hearing my voice.”

  “Angel? Are you nearly finished?” Nissa called through the closed door.

  Drawing a steadying breath, I pulled myself up onto my feet. “Leave me alone!” I hissed. “Don't talk to me again.” If Archangelo discovered I'd heard the voices, he'd insist on increasing the dosage of medication I was taking, and I wanted no more. “Don't do this to me!”

  Holding my breath, I stood motionless for long seconds, relieved when the voice remained blessedly silent. Glancing again at the mirror, I saw that my eyes were wide and my skin deathly white. I took a steadying breath, and opened the door.

  Sitting on the padded stool in front of the vanity, I regained my composure and allowed Nissa to prepare me for the evening – all the while praying that voice would never reach me again.

  Chapter 2: Confusion & Anxiety

  Sitting 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 ed
ge 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 slash 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 g
aze 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?

  Chapter 3: Cracks Begin to Form

  For the next two days, Archangelo remained at the villa and after his initial anger over my faux pas at Aethelwine's dinner, he'd reverted to being my loving, attentive husband.

  Nissa had been dismissed while he remained at the villa and for the most part, we remained in the bedroom, with Archangelo demanding intimacy regularly and often.

  This was an area of our life which I found increasingly difficult to tolerate. When I'd first regained consciousness after my illness, it had been difficult enough to comprehend who I was, let alone what Archangelo's role was in my life. Although he'd explained he was my husband, I had experienced no sense of a physical or emotional connection to him. To all intents and purposes, he was a stranger, a man I'd only just met.

  The first terrible shock had come that first night, when Archangelo had entered my bedroom in the early evening. Completely naked, he'd confidently drawn me into his arms and forced himself on me, despite my protests. Confused and frightened, I'd had no choice but to endure his lovemaking, and afterward, he'd reassured me he was only exercising his rights as my husband, and that he couldn't bear to wait a moment longer.