The princess awoke with such a start that she nearly tumbled off the side of her bed onto the cold stone floor. Her head swam with the remnants of the strangest dream. Her mind struggled to recapture it as it drained out into the waking world. She could not help but feel strange, as if the dream had come from the outside, instead of her own mind.
She sat up, gathering the blankets around her naked form. She looked about for Chrysanthemum, but noted her side of the bed had not been slept in. In an instant, the events of the preceding night rushed in upon her. Though she called out for the maid, her heart knew there would be no answer.
Somehow, she knew she was gone. It was as if a piece of her own mind was missing, though she'd never noticed it before. A hollow dull spot in her mind; the site of a strange connection to her lovely Chrysanthemum, now somehow seemed severed.
She bit her lip and fought back bitter tears. Though she wept silently, her resolve doubled, her own oaths strengthened, She pulled the blankets and furs tight around her, gathering her will to her.
After a time, she calmed, and her tears slowly faded. She thought on the old man's strategem, retraced the steps she should take. She sought to tie all of the tiny threads she had discovered in her time with Chrysanthemum and her master into a solid line. A hundred directions branched out, and reformed as she contemplated the little information she had.
At last she slid from her bed, pulling a soft blanket with her, wrapping it over her breasts. She paced for a few moments, trying to decide what tangent to follow, before padding softly into the bathing chamber. Again, a deep sadness washed over her. No warm bath awaited her, no supple maid and her delights before her, only empty space, cold tile and stone. Shaking these tragedies away, she made for a small rounded niche in the far wall.
The niche was small, and concave at its back, just large enough to hold a lantern. She examined the floor of the niche, checking carefully for any signs of disturbance. One of the bricks composing the base of the niche had a broken corner, its missing edge just large enough for a woman's fingertip to barely grasp. Catching hold of it's corner, she wiggled the brick until it slid out of it's row with a grating sound. Behind the brick lay a small hollow, not very deep or wide. Within the hollow lay a small object, wrapped in muslin. She quickly retrieved it and returned the brick, concealing the clandestine hollow.
She hurried from the bathing chamber, fearful somehow someone may have observed her. She returned to the bed and unwrapped the object given her by the old man at the outlander's camp. Lying in her pal, surrounded by aged muslin, was a small iron key, bearing a strange seal at its standard which she did not recognize. She stared down at it for a time, deciding upon her next move.
- - -
Very gradually did she perceive a familiar sound. Though she had failed to notice them, the sound of chimes reached her ears. She was surprised she had not noticed them, as she usually was struck by them with such potency that she could scarce contain herself.
How could this be? Had she become so accustomed to her chimes that she noticed them not? As she listened, she discovered the chimes were very faint, almost whispers. A momentary anger boiled up within her, thinking how indeed cruel the master must be to sound her chimes of pleasure so soon after their devastating loss of Chrysanthemum.
But as she listened, she began to discern these chimes were not the same as her own. These particular notes held a much higher register, and intoned much quicker than the ones she obeyed.
All at once, images streamed unbidden inter her mind. All around the upper portions of the castle, women were obeying the chimes. In rooms lined with silks, in chambers of stone, in bathing tubs similar to her own, the women of the castle were obeying the chimes. These chimes were for them, yet she had never heard them before, nor could she account for the flood of sensual thoughts which ran through her mind. All over the castle, women had begun to pleasure themselves, in so many ways, as the chimes sounded.
The princess marveled that she was not so affected as they. When her own chimes sounded, she found it impossible to disobey, so strong was the yearning they produced. So it was with the women of the castle. Through her mind's eye, she could make out many of the ruby throated bond-stones of the queen, glowing hot against the flushed throats of her ladies-in-waiting. Fewer still, and more faintly, she could perceive other women of the castle, servants and noblewomen alike, who wore no bond. But even they seemed powerless against the chimes.
The princess wondered from where the chimes came. Could this be the work of her wicked liege, or another marvel of her master? How had this new talent sprang upon her, the sight through walls and thoughts and air? What was the cause of all this? To these questions, her thoughts answered not. And still the chimes tolled on.
