Deck of Cards

by Johnson, ID

  Deck of Cards

  By ID Johnson

  Copyright © 2014 by ID Johnson

  All Rights Reserved

  To Grandma I. who was the best writer I ever knew.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Darkness filled the room, clinging to the furniture and the walls, denying even a small crack of light to penetrate, except for one pinpoint seeping it’s way through the keyhole of the double-hung oak doors. Katey braced herself for a moment, taking a deep breath and slowly sinking into reality. It was thunder that had awoken her, it must have been, not the bone-rattling vibration of cannon fire as she had subconsciously incorporated into her dream.

  For a brief moment, she contemplated rising and attempting to verify the source of her momentary panic was indeed the weather. But that would mean wondering into the hallway by herself and that was not something she was willing to do without the promise of daylight. As she lay in the darkness, listening to the soft rise and fall of Joan’s breathing next to her, she was once again reminded of how much she hated her present situation, how desperately she wanted to return home, leaving this miserable windowless prison of a room and it’s surrounding layers far behind.

  Gathering the edge of the blanket in her hand and giving a small tug to cause her lady-in-waiting to release a bit, she rolled over, unsure whether the extreme darkness was because her eyes had actually fallen shut again or if it was just the miserable room she now dwelt in. As dark and damp as it was at night, without a window, even the sunniest of days had little affect on changing the ambience. She heard another rumble and determined it was in fact thunder, nothing to worry about, and contemplated going back to sleep. It was a risky proposition, especially now that the nightmares had already began, but then, so was staying awake. In the pitch black, it was more difficult for the shadows to form into shape-shifters. Perhaps the only positive to living in such an environment, the ghoulish faces and bone-white fingers that had reached from behind the thick curtains in her own room on a nightly basis were not able to penetrate this thick veil of blackness. She missed her home so desperately and was willing to do anything to return, but she was thankful that she was no longer haunted each night while she was drifting off to sleep. No, here at Castle Blackthorn it was only when she was asleep that she was haunted by the distant sound of cannon fire, growing closer, the ghastly demonic face that stared at her through the eyes of death, and the inhuman shriek that infiltrated nearly every single dream she had dreamt since she was four years old.

  ***

  Sprays of ice cold water flittered through the window, splashing over his haggard face, reaching into Matthew’s deep sleep and pulling him back to where he lay in tattered bed sheets, unable to escape the attacking weather any more than he was able to escape the tower room he had called home for these last six months.

  There were no curtains, no barrier whatsoever to keep the precipitation out, nor did the thick granite walls of the precipice he teetered on. Honestly, they weren’t exactly windows, just arrow slits that had been chipped away at over the years by countless prisoners being held here. He was certainly not the first, as one could tell by the odor left behind on his makeshift bed, and he had no reason to believe he would be the last. In fact, he was quite sure that he would be replaced relatively soon since his life had been threatened so many times recently. In some respects, Matthew was very much ready to move on from this exhausting existence. He never would have imagined how much energy it took to do absolutely nothing. Though he despised his captor and would never show any sign of weakness when the malevolent King Philip paid him a visit, his spirit had been broken even before he had been locked away in this tower, stolen from his home as his wife lay dying, not even given the opportunity to tell her good-bye.

  Another crash of lightening lit up the tiny room, illuminating the out-of-place bookshelf that took up almost as much space as his bed and left him blinking and rubbing his eyes. He had been dreaming of her again, his sweet Maggie, and awakening to find himself still in purgatory with frigid pellets of water slowly soaking his sheets, his tattered clothing, his skin, his spirit, he was even more angry to have been ripped from her arms than usual.

  Margaret was not yet queen when they first wed. Her father lingered on his deathbed for weeks after their nuptials. He had been carried out for the ceremony and then returned to the gold-leaved mahogany bed where he would later take his last breath. Matthew never thought he would have the opportunity to marry for love. Being nobility almost certainly negated that possibility. Yet, the moment he first saw Maggie he was instantly taken with her. She was beautiful, though not in a traditional way. Her brown curly hair had a tendency to come undone around the crown of her head, framing her face like a halo. The sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheekbones was particularly enduring to him. She laughed so softly that he wasn’t quite sure, at first, if she did not find his attempts at humor successful, though he quickly learned that this was just part of her gentle nature.

  It became clear very early on that Maggie’s personality was inherited from her mother, Queen Beatrice of Zurconia, carrier of the royal bloodline though abdicated to her husband upon her marriage to Stephen of Clovington, only a viscount, not even a duke, who became king, trumping his older brother Ellias, but only for a short time before an unusual and suspicious amount of deaths amongst the royal family and a fortunately timed wedding suddenly left Ellias as King of Clovington. He in turn quickly met his own untimely and equally suspicious death, which handed the thrown over to his young son, Philip. Not quite of-age at twelve, prior to his coronation, Philip’s Uncle Edward served as ruler in his stead until he assumed the throne three years later. Edward was every bit as power-hungry as his brothers, Stephen and Ellias, as was evidenced by the influence he poured over young Philip as he began his reign. Edward swore to avenge the honor of his oldest brother Ellias, which he felt had been robbed from him by the usurping nature of Stephen’s rise to power. Even before Philip became king, Clovington launched attack after attack on neighboring Zurconia, a kingdom that had always enjoyed a peaceful existence and thus had very little defense. The citizens of Zurconia had rallied behind their queen and done their best to defend their homes but Clovington chipped away bit, by bit, until one night in the bitterly cold winter just six months ago and only a few months in to Matthew’s reign when Castle Ringley had been breached, his wife had been brutally murdered in front of his very eyes, and he had been carried away to this prison with little hope of rescue and an ever increasing wish for the relief of death.

  And death is what was promised to him--but not yet. There was one more little piece left to Philip’s insidious plan. One more victim to draw-out. One additional act of regicide to commit. And that was the only thing keeping Matthew alive. Preventing that act had become his sole purpose for continuing to breathe.

  ***

  King Philip was an extremely busy man. In Katey’s view, this was one of the few positives about her new situation. She had arrived at Blackthorn a little over two weeks ago. Their wedding had been negotiated long before she came of age and she had known for several years that, someday, she would marry Philip and become Queen Katherine of Clovington. She had been indifferent to the idea of marriage. In her experience, most men where cruel and took what they wanted when they wanted it, with the exception, of course, of her sweet broth
er Prince James and her brother-in-law Kenneth, married to her sister Queen Nichole but not a king. No, Nichole would never abdicate the minutest amount of her power to anyone, not even her own husband.

  Yet, her sister’s hand was not such a hard bargain to drive. Even before Philip’s father mysteriously died, Nicole had been in negotiations with other members of the royal family of Clovington, ensured that a match between little Katherine and young Philip would create a blissful state of peace between Katey’s beloved Placidia and the warmongering Clovington. Placidia was a port kingdom, bordered by a high range of mountains to the north with three deep bays to the west, allowing easy trade by sea with any kingdom with marketable goods. This would be an ideal ally to landlocked Clovington. Likewise, Placidia would benefit from the guarantee of peace with its most threatening neighbor. Though Nichole loved her much younger sister dearly, she did not hesitate to make arrangements that would benefit her kingdom and the small expense of her sister’s potential happiness was of little consequence at the time so many years ago.

  For several years, Katey had been preparing herself for her journey to Blackthorn. She was actually granted more time with her family due to the constant state of war Clovington had been in for as long as she could remember. Since Katey’s sixteenth birthday almost four years ago, the walls of her home, Castle Meadington, had whispered with rumors that the time had come. With each rise in the wave of secreted remarks, Katey braced herself for a summons to her sister’s court. However, those waves would crest, washed away by reports of battles raging on the northern side of Clovington, and Katey would relax into her normal routine for a period of time until the walls began to speak her name in conjunction with King Philip again.

  And if there was a rumor, Katey was sure to hear it. She knew every passageway, every tunnel, every dark nook and cranny of Castle Meadington and she used this to her advantage. She did not consider herself an eavesdropper per se but her cunning skill when it came to virtual invisibility and diminutive stature, which allowed her to often go unnoticed in a crowded room, leant themselves to her ability to find out information like no-other. Often, people tended to speak about Katey as if she was not present and say things to her or in front of her that they would never want to hear repeated. And there was a very good reason for this. No one ever worried about Katey repeating anything because she never did.

  Katey was mute.

  When one first met Katey, they were always taken aback by two unusual traits. She was stunningly beautiful, the type of young girl one might imagine when dreaming of a princess. With ocean blue eyes and auburn hair flowing down her back usually in double braids, her appearance did not disappoint anyone laying eyes on the princess for the first time. However, though every citizen of Placidia and most of the neighboring kingdoms were well aware that Katey was mute, it was only upon testing this rumor oneself that those who came to meet her actually became believers. The same was true of King Philip. Upon her arrival in Clovington, she met him briefly in his Throne Room before joining him and members of the nobility for dinner. Both of these encounters were filled with polite one-sided conversation, peppered with unanswered questions and frustration on the part of a ruler who was not used to being “ignored.” Katey did her best to answer what she could, signaling when possible, but it was truly up to her lady-in-waiting, Joan, to answer as much as she could. In public, Joan was almost always by Katey’s side, if nothing else, for just this purpose, and while Philip seemed bothered by her presence at first, he eventually began to adjust his conversation to include questions that Joan could answer on Katey’s behalf. Thus, Philip began to speak about Katey in her very presence as if she was not there, as most people had done since as far back as she could remember. It became apparent to Katey fairly quickly that there was no chance that Philip would ever be her one true love. Her husband perhaps, but not her Prince Charming.

  This was only mildly disappointing to her, however. She did not trust men as a general rule and seeing Philip as a potential love would only complicate her feelings about members of the opposite sex. She did find him attractive, however. There was something about his rugged appearance, his strong square nose, the way he commanded the room that stirred feelings inside of Katey that she had never experienced before. She couldn’t quite explain even to herself what this feeling was but she felt it each time he was near and it both alarmed and excited her. This was further complicated by the fact that she thought Philip was a terrible person and she was terrified of being left alone with him, especially in the dark.

  In the dimly lit passages of Castle Meadington, Katey had heard stories of King Philip’s crimes against humanity, particularly against the citizens of Zurconia, their beloved queen, and her loving husband. Though Katey was indifferent to the idea of marrying Philip, or anyone for that matter, she did not approve of his tactics and her heart ached for the captured king she knew dwelt somewhere within the walls of Castle Blackthorn.

  In the few days she had lived within the damp moss-covered walls of the sprawling complex of winding passages, secret hallways, and cavernous tunnels, she had yet to discover where the king was being held. Just as she was able to pass almost undetected through the maze in her own home, she quickly began to navigate through Blackthorn without as much as an inquisitive glance from the other inhabitants. She had used these skills to begin her quest to find King Matthew. So far, she had only covered a small portion of the compound but she knew that, if she continued to use her ability to listen in on secretive conversations to her advantage, she would soon ascertain exactly where the widower king was living out his numbered days.

  Philip’s plan to draw out Matthew’s beloved brother and finish them both off in one apocalyptic battle was faulty, however, and it seemed Katey’s wedding just might have to wait. Philip’s frustration at the situation came through in every conversation, every order, every flinch of his fist and grimace on his handsome face. The walls were whispering again and Katey would use their information to her advantage. She knew there was not much she would be able to do to help the captive king once his location was found, but she felt compelled to find him as quickly as possible and she had learned from experience to listen to that small voice inside.

  The morning after the storm, Katey woke feeling groggy and irritable. Joan was still fast asleep when Katey began to stir and though it was impossible to tell the time in the windowless room without a clock, Katey could tell by her own body that the sun was up and she would most likely be safe to make her way into the hall.

  She contemplated waking Joan but she decided against it. She was fully capable of dressing herself in a simple gown so she did so and made her way silently into the hallway. She practically ran to the window at the end of the corridor, letting the light embrace her and ensure her that day had come and she was free from her lingering demons for a few more hours. She took a deep breath, as if she was able to inhale the sunshine and absorb it. Once she finally felt she had basked in the morning glow long enough, she glided down the nearby stairwell; her stomach suddenly reminding her it was time for breakfast.

  Though it was still relatively early, the castle was bustling with activity and Katey knew that she had been right to initially question whether those rumbles the night before had been of a more sinister nature. Philip had originally mentioned the possibility of taking all of his meals with Katey but that had been nothing more than wishful thinking on his part. Katey knew she probably would not see him much if it all that day. Rather than requesting a formal breakfast, Katey would simply make her way to the kitchen, take what she wanted almost undetected, and find a quiet place to eat. This was her routine most days and today she garnered a nod from the chef and a few pieces of fruit, which she carried with her to the library. This was one of her favorite places at Blackthorn and one of the only rooms with enough natural light to be considered acceptable in Katey’s opinion. She also found that, due to the close proximity to the war room, many interesting conversations took place in this roo
m, often without any acknowledgement whatsoever that she was even present. She found out a lot of information from her fellow bibliophiles and spent many hours gathering tidbits while snuggled in a comfortable chair under the sheepskin blanket near the fireplace.

  Today would be no different. She arrived in the library, selected one of her favorite books, assumed her normal seat, and almost lost herself in an incredible story from a far off land, just before the hushed voices entered the room and her eyes ceased scanning the words while the story she was weaving quickly lost every ounce of fiction.

  Katey knew that Edward had entered the room before she even heard his voice. Approaching sixty and suffering from complications from obesity, Edward carried around him a distinct cloud of odiferous objectionable identifiers. A pungent mixture of salve, herbal remedies, and body odor, Edward announced his pending arrival moments before he actually reached one’s field of vision. He also walked with a scraping limp, which would have aided even the weakest-of-nose in determining his identity before he drew near.

  “The Tower at Glendor should have held. I cannot for the life of me understand how it was breached. Two thousand men, two thousand men!” he spat to whomever was accompanying him. Katey still could not tell who the slighter of the two men was, perhaps a leader of one of Philip’s armies or another of his advisors.

  The two men were still out of her direct line of vision but Katey could see their shadows just inside the doorway. It was as if they had ducked in to speak in private, not realizing and perhaps not caring, that Katey was also in the room.

  “Yes, sir,” the other man replied. Katey heard the clanking of chainmail, an indicator that this man was part of Philip’s army. “We believed the wall to be impenetrable, particularly so near the tower, but they found a way to get through. We had them out-numbered two-to-one. Two-to-one! But, well,” he stammered for a moment, apparently still unsure of exactly how to explain what had happened. “Once they broke the line, it began to fall back. I could not, we could not hold them.”