Annatrice of Cayborne

by Jonathan Davison

  “So...Charleroux, we meet again.” Boomed the bearded fellow, his sheepskins not quite befitting a king; however he was probably in disguise.

  “T'is a great honour as always to once again greet you, Sire.” Charleroux bowed with a respectful enthusiasm. Annatrice remained stood upright. In her experience, she had no compunction for pandering to royal protocols. The young man beside the King drew a loud intake of breath at the lack of courtesy from the young woman.

  “And this is Annatrice of Fontayne?” The King continued, not so taken back by the girl's lack of conformity.

  “Annatrice of Cayborne, Sire. Fontayne was a dwelling not of my choosing.”

  Annatrice was firm in her desire to be regarded in the appropriate manner.

  “So I hear. I can only imagine the horrors of serving under Tragian, yet here you stand, healthy and with a fighting spirit?”

  Annatrice's first impression of the King was agreeable. He conversed with her with an air of mutual respect. She liked that.

  “And so you seek to be compensated for this incarceration with the head of the King? A befitting end to such a tyrant no less.”

  Deo Canthi's aide nodded in agreement yet said nothing.

  “I seek not only his head but his credibility. He murdered my father and discredited him for his own gains. He has obtained the throne through foul means; he is not the rightful ruler of Araman.”

  Deo Canthi laughed.

  “You speak with such authority for one so young, I am intrigued. And who do you believe the rightful ruler of Araman to be?”

  Annatrice knew this was a loaded question, but she had no desire to appease him by telling him what he wanted to hear.

  “It certainly is not you, my Lord however when there are few nobles with the appropriate level of virtue, I believe the lesser of many evils will suffice.”

  The King did not say anything but looked down upon this impetuous yet courageous child. Charleroux sunk into a deep funk having been so discourteously cast down and knowing full well that she knew of his desires to rule.

  “Hmm.” The King wheezed, seeking an appropriate response. Charleroux leapt to Annatrice's defence.

  “I apologise Sire, for she is young and does not know her place, I will punish her accordingly on my return.”

  Annatrice offered a sideways look to her 'husband'.

  “Hah.” She uttered in contempt. The King once again spoke.

  “Charleroux, you would strike such a brave young woman for speaking her mind? Shame on you. She belittles you with her sharp tongue and her keen intellect. She would make a fine queen one day.”

  Deo Canthi laughed out loud, Annatrice did not feel that he was being disrespectful, quite the opposite.

  “I love your simplicity, it is refreshing. Too long have I suffered overzealous nobles squabbling for my attention, but you...you have it to command.”

  Deo Canthi took hold of Annatrice's hand and kissed it. Charleroux pursed his lips as he saw her accept his gesture.

  “Now, on to business matters. Aside from your brazenness and your unfortunate history, what is it that you seek to offer me that is so great that you get me out of my bed on my day off, heh?”

  Deo Canthi's tone lightened and his humorous nature began to shine through.

  “I offer myself to Charleroux for he is the one who has prised me from Tragian's lair; I believe he is the one who is offering my services as my recently wed master.”

  Charleroux stepped forward.

  “Indeed, Sire. Apart from these most engaging properties that you speak off, Annatrice is blessed with a somewhat unique gift that I believe would make your usurpation of the throne far easier than you may realise. It is a powerful and compelling ability Sire, perhaps Annatrice could demonstrate?”

  All eyes turned to the young woman who was not entirely sure how to proceed without offending.

  “If the King would permit me, I shall need a willing subject in order to prove my worth.”

  The King looked about him.

  “He is willing, do it on him.”

  The aide raised his eyebrows sharply and suddenly realised that he was quite unaware what kind of procedure was in the offing.

  “Very well. This will not aggrieve you in any way.” The slim, young man pulled himself up straight as if about to be executed by an array of archers. His face full of anguish, he squinted as the young witch closed her eyes and drew her arm across her chest, slicing the tender flesh of her already sore forearm. Her head fell back and her face drained of colour, her ruddy cheeks losing a little of their cherry red blush. A few seconds passed and the King looked on with the look of a cynical man who wanted to be proved wrong. When Annatrice opened her eyes, her face was serious and her breath heavy and rapid. Charleroux felt that something was not quite right.

  “This man calls himself Garamand Tet, the third son of Harbayan Tet, Lord of Chron. He has been in your service for six years, beginning as a official in your nephews court, he found a path to your service as your personal aide due to his keenness to serve and his close family ties, his sister being your youngest son's wife. He enjoys archery for pleasure although a crippling pain in his wrist remains an issue and denies him the accolades he might deserve. He owns a dog named Tarsis which is black in colour and rose this morning in a chamber adorned with crimson although his bed sheets are always white as he is fastidious in his quest for cleanliness.”

  Annatrice raised her eyebrows and looked at Garamand's gaunt features, his mouth wide open with amazement. The King reared up and roared with laughter, Charleroux was glad that she was a little less brutal that she had been in previous instances of enlightenment.

  “Incredible!” The King boomed and shook his head.

  “Yes, quite astonishing.” Garamand said, he was visibly shaking and pale, Annatrice knew exactly why.

  “Of course that was the abridged summary; there much, much more is there not Garamand?” Annatrice's voice was suddenly cool and almost callous; Garamand was rocked to his core, quite aware that the girl had the power to seal his doom.

  “Oh? We must hear. I find this all most confounding but strangely entertaining.” The King egged Annatrice on, Garamand shaking his head.

  “But Sire, do you not think the girl has left quite an impression already, surely more revelations are not in order?” Garamand was panicked; he looked at the dark eyes of his tormentor and dropped his shoulders in resignation. Annatrice looked at the man who cringed before her, his pleading for mercy oozing from every pore.

  “Perhaps I was mistaken, the vision fades...” Annatrice backed off but the King was not to be denied.

  “Oh? I smell a rat! Come now Annatrice spit it out.” The King could detect Annatrice's reluctance and Garamand's tension.

  “I fear that if I continue, a perfectly delightful evening might be spoiled by...unsavoury events perhaps best left for another time.”

  Annatrice had dug her hole and now she had to lie in it, the King's features soured.

  “No. Speak of the vision now girl for you have come this far, you tantalise me with the promise of knowledge and now I must have it!” The King's persuasive thunder was intimidating for Charleroux let alone his wife.

  “I am afraid your most trusted aide has a secret that I am loathe to reveal.” Annatrice knew that her forthcoming revelation would see Garamand meet his maker. The power over his life and death was a heavy burden to bear. The King held aloft his hand and waved two of his soldiers over whilst Garamand danced around with discomfort, his desperate eyes pleading with Annatrice not to speak further.

  “Speak girl for t'is my command. If it is my trust that you seek and my favour that you curry, you will reveal the secrets of your vision.”

  Annatrice knew that she had crossed the line and could not retreat further. With a solemn reluctance, she looked to the floor not wishing to stare death in the face.

  “Garamand is in the employee of Tragian as a spy. He is promised an estate in Daerthwear for infor
mation regarding the forthcoming invasion; he has a courier awaiting his return to Suleyman to take news to the Regis. He was courted by the King with the taste of virgin flesh and a chest of coin. Tragian offered further reward for your assassination but Garamand does not yet have the courage to fulfil his request, although a possible plot to administer poison has been mooted as it is he that brings the King spiced unleavened bread in the mornings...as part of the daily routine.”

  As Annatrice spoke, she could feel Garamand's profound fear pulsing through her veins, her voice began to quiver and by the end of her speech, she barely spoke at a whisper. Her eyes filled with tears, knowing she had condemned her victim.

  The King shook his head, obviously shaken to the core. He raised his eyebrows and with a look of great reluctance, nodded to the soldiers whom stood behind his aide.

  Annatrice screamed in empathic agony as a short sword was plunged through Garamand's back and protruded from his belly. As he fell to the ground, his bulk sliding from the bloodied blade, she clutched at her face and teetered backwards, only saved from falling to the ground by Charleroux.

  A silence ensued as the King looked down upon his most trusted servant's body writhing around in the dust until the movement ceased. Annatrice cried hysterically for a short time before Charleroux thrust her face into his chest to silence her.

  “Silence woman.” Charleroux said rather sharply, not wishing to subject the King to her grief for a traitor. The King laid a hand on Annatrice's shoulder and pulled her back to regard him.

  “You have done me a great service and potentially saved a thousand of my soldiers from falling foul to Tragian's trap. You have already turned the tide of the conflict, I thank you.”

  The King hoped to silence the grieving, pained young woman with his gratitude but Annatrice was haunted still by the horrific experience she had just suffered. Her connection with Garamand not quite severed, as the cold blade cut short his mortal being, so the lethal thrust was also felt in every sense by Annatrice. She had experienced the agony, the shock and the life's spirit ebb away. Annatrice sobbed and pleaded for respite.

  “I must rest now, I must.”

  It was evident that the experience had taken a great physical and emotional toll on the young girl and with that, she dropped to the ground, her mind's consciousness extinguished like snuffing the flame of a candle.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Annatrice's eyes were bleary, the rocking motion of the horse was enough to keep her barely lucid and in the land of the living. The King's party trotted on as the shroud of darkness fell and Annatrice clung to Majestic's thick and muscular neck, her warmth comforting her.

  Lifting her heavy head to look about her, she saw Charleroux riding at her side, looking across to her with a concerned look upon his face. Ahead, a small town was on the horizon, the flaming torches upon the outer walls guiding them to its heart. Annatrice slumped back down. She was so very tired. Sleep was her only true respite from the regret that she carried in the base of her belly.

  When Annatrice next opened her eyes, it was daylight and she was tucked neatly under the pristine sheets of a small but most comfortable bed. She sat up and looked around. She was in a small room in a town house. Judging by the noisy exuberance of people outside her window, she was near a market. She could hear horse's hooves upon cobbles and traders squabbling to be heard over each other as they peddled their wares. Still wearing her long flowing dress and long hosiery, she was relieved to be assured that Charleroux had not taken advantage of her most subdued and incapacitated state.

  Standing at the window she looked out to the view over the market place, it was a refreshing glimpse of everyday life in this place. She had a sudden urge to join them and peruse the stalls for curiosities.

  “Oh, you have risen? Welcome to Horstock.”

  A kindly female voice came from the doorway and a young woman stood her eyes warm and her face slim and feline.

  “Thank you.” Annatrice replied politely. Her host wore the simple cloth of a peasant which instantly put Annatrice at ease.

  “I'm a little confused.” Annatrice said with a smile.

  “That's alright milady. I am Constance; I am your new maid.”

  “Maid?” Annatrice looked surprised; she had not ever seen the need for a personal maid.

  “That's right. I am to help you milady.” Constance's accent was rural and comforting; it reminded Annatrice of her past.

  “I am tasked to provide you with anything your heart desires.”

  Annatrice liked the sound of that; she could smell the hot fruit pies which were being sold by the dozen across the square.

  “And who employed you for this role?” Annatrice inquired.

  “I am at the King's service milady. I was told to make your stay comfortable in his absence.”

  “Thank you; your toils are much appreciated.” Annatrice already felt at home in the little house provided for her. Constance beamed with pleasure at having such a kind Lady to tend.

  “Do you know the whereabouts of Lord Charleroux?” Annatrice asked, his absence noted.

  “He has travelled with the King milady. I am told they are expected to return within the week.”

  The news that Annatrice was on her own for a few days delighted her. For the very first time in her life as a young and mature woman, she would have the liberty to do and go as she pleased. It was a moment not lost on her as she once again looked out of the window.

  “I should like to go for a walk.” She said boldly as Constance nodded approvingly.

  “I should expect the Lady would like a hot bath and a change of clothes beforehand?” Constance said looking at her mistress' dusty and crinkled gown. Annatrice did not dare disappointed her maid.

  “Yes, yes! A hot bath would be perfect.”

  “Perhaps milady would like to take in her new surroundings whilst I warm the water. There is some fresh bread and fruit on the table down the stairs, ready for your Ladyship.”

  For the first time, Annatrice truly felt like a queen!

  After feeling the soothing waters and the softening salts, perfumed with rose and lavender, Annatrice explored a wardrobe full of colourful delights. It seemed the King had everything in readiness to appease his new ally. Stepping out into the street with her hair tied expertly by the skilled hands of Constance she wore a beautiful but modest cream gown. Annatrice did not want to mingle with the towns folk flaunting her royal favour. She wanted to move about as a free woman and explore life in this bustling and prosperous town.

  Annatrice had not heard of Horstock, but Constance explained its geographical location in relation to Araman's nearby border. She was in Suleyman and if first impressions were to be of any importance, she found it to be a most agreeable place, full of banter and community spirit. The air was cool but it was the best of winter days, she did not feel the chill despite Constance's urgent insistence that she wear a fur to repel any seasonal malady. Perusing the stalls, she marvelled at crafted items, household objects and the preserved meats that hung so grotesquely but smelled so ripe. Annatrice felt alive and when she lamented her lack of coin to purchase some fascinating trinkets, Constance duly obliged pulling out a purse filled with a not inconsiderable amount. As Annatrice gleefully bounced up and down awaiting the vendor to serve her, she looked about her at the other customers to make sure she was following the correct protocols, shopping had not been a pleasure that she had tasted before although she vaguely remembered her father taking her to Karick once which at the time all felt so gargantuan and daunting.

  A man's gaze caught her eye as she scanned her surroundings. From across the stall, a young man appeared to be fumbling at an object on the table, but it was the quickness of his averted stare which drew Annatrice to watch him further. Keeping her attention on the dark, curly haired man it was only a matter of seconds before he once again flicked his eyes in her direction and then quickly looked away as if he had been caught in some clandestine act. Annatrice momentarily
lost interest in the market stall owner who repeatedly asked for her attention. Annatrice looked around again, another shopper's gaze caught her eye and like the first, he turned away casually but suspiciously.

  “Milady?” Constance nudged her mistress and Annatrice realised the market stall owner had given up on her custom.

  “We are being watched, Constance.” Annatrice said with some assuredness.

  “Yes milady. They are the King's guardians, the 'Knights without Shadows'. They have been tasked to protect you.”

  Annatrice stood upright and huffed a frustrated breath.

  “I knew this was too good to be true! Will I never find the briefest moments of freedom?”

  Annatrice's anger was clear but Constance was not so mild as to suffer her rage in silence.

  “Milady is a guest of the King of Suleyman. She is of great importance to the security of the realm. Surely she cannot be surprised that the King covets her safety?”

  Annatrice looked to Constance who spoke with wisdom. How could she have been so foolish to think that the King would let her wander about without escort? Annatrice had become the key to Deo Canthi's plans of unification and was again nothing more than a puppet to the playful hands of a man of power.

  Walking back to her temporary hostel, Annatrice wondered if she could ever escape the affections of powerful men and be appreciated for anything other than her distasteful sorcery.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Annatrice sat on a chair by the window looking out over the town, her face contorted by her hand, her head heavy as she rested it in a display of disheartened frustration. As Constance tended to the needs of the secretive bodyguards who seemed to come and go from the house like skulking thieves in the night, Annatrice sat upstairs and steadily wept. The days since she had left Fontayne had not been of the kind she had hoped. The comforts that familiarity bring and the tender care of Marianne were sorely missed. She now felt very solitary despite the numerous people rushing around after her as if she were the most delicate of eggs rolling around upon a silver platter.