Charleroux was tired and he yawned repeatedly as he tried not to catch the frills of his sleeve upon the flaming torch which he clutched in his hand. The softly flickering flames were warming on an otherwise bitter night. Charleroux feared for his wife, attired in so little and so vulnerable. He might not have loved her like a conventional wife, but he cared for her well being and sought her no harm. He stopped for a moment and closed his eyes, if he could sleep whilst standing then he would. He did not want to seem ambivalent to the Kings most urgent request but his mind was giving up and he could feel the numbing sensation of fatigue creeping into his body.
Charleroux's eyes flicked open, there was a feeling, a familiar feeling which he had grew to recognise. Closing his eyes again, he chose not to call out but to formulate his words in thought.
“Annatrice, where are you? I am worried. I seek you not for the King but for my own comfort.”
Charleroux did not expect to hear some disembodied reply; it did not work like that. Instead, he was drawn towards a set of stables lining a large building close to the town's outer limits. It was a pull that Charleroux could not describe, a kind of beacon which glimmered for a moment and then was lost. Quietly entering the stable, the warm flicker of the torch brought him nose to nose with a tall and handsome stallion which retreated with the nearing heat of the flame. Its accompanying smell left him in no doubt that he might have to proceed with caution and watch his step if he did not want to ruin a fine pair of shoes. Standing at the horses flank, Annatrice silently petted the animal which seemed reassured at her presence.
“He is a magnificent mind, full of playful exuberance; he does not enjoy being detained in this place. I understand his sentiments.” Annatrice said as she stepped forward and held the stallions chin up.
“He is born into servitude and knows no other life.” Charleroux replied understanding that his wife felt aggrieved at being used as a tool.
“I feel it matters not, we are all born to be free. Our destiny is not to be shaped by the desires of another.”
Annatrice's statement was profound and Charleroux knew that a philosophical argument was pointless. Indeed, any intentions to mislead her or withhold information were also fruitless.
“Please, come back. It is freezing; there is no dignity in remaining here.”
Annatrice was cold. She wore a nightgown and long silken long johns. Her lips were blue, her usual pale completion even more drained of colour than was normal.
“I see no point in going on, I cannot live with the torment, nor do I wish to be a puppet in the King's sideshow. There is no peace for me in your request.”
Charleroux realised he was fighting a battle of wills.
“Do you not see that when your efforts are focused on seeking your vengeance, your life will once again find purpose? After that is done, you will be released from your matrimonial bonds and we will part company with my most sincere gratitude and respect. Contrary to what you may believe, I seek no harm to befall you. I am sincere in my apologies for behaviour ill fitting of a man of my status; some of the things I have said are regrettable.”
Annatrice felt ashamed that Charleroux had to stoop so low to appease her. It was she who had much to apologise for as her criticism and brazenness had gone unchecked.
“I believe that you are a good man Charleroux and I too have great regret on reflection. My emotional turmoil is no excuse for the humiliation I have brought upon you. I will return with you on the condition that when this is all done and Tragian has been usurped, you must make best efforts to keep me from the hands of Deo Canthi and see to my absolute freedom, wherever it may lie.”
Charleroux barely heard her conditions, so relieve he was to hear her intention to return.
“We must get you in front of a blazing fire, and bathe your wounds.”
He stepped forward and took her ice cold wrist. Removing his jacket, he wrapped it around her as they left. She looked back to the grand horse that had soothed her in her time of need and he whinnied softly acknowledging her comforting companionship.
No words were spoken as Annatrice returned to the house where the King and his entourage huddled around the roaring fire with chalices of sweet wine. She did not care to look at them as she was escorted up the stairs and back to her warm bedroom. Constance nodded a nervous greeting as she parted the sheets upon the bed and tended to the smaller fire which smouldered in the corner.
With tiredness, Annatrice's mind was subdued and sleep although bringing respite did not wholly stave off the unwanted intrusions. Her dreams remained vivid and dark, where there was hope and ambition prior, there was now pessimism and stagnation. The feeling that a new day would bring new promise was now almost intangible. Her final thoughts as she drifted off were of an oppressive asphyxiation, a struggle to break free from a cold and heavy hand over her mouth. It was the same vision she had endured for some time except that it had now changed. Where the face of her attacker had always been that of the rogue King Tragian, it was now the bearded bulk of the more benevolent Deo Canthi. She did not understand the meaning of the vision but its vivid nature was persistent through the dark night and into the morning light.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A cold draught ran across Annatrice's leg which was protruding from the heavy winter sheets and she retracted it sharply. She murmured and rolled around like a playful puppy as her body stirred into motion and her mind became active. It was then that she felt a presence with her in the room and she opened her eyes.
“Morning Annatrice.” The voice was distinctive and she recoiled. The sight of another monarch violating her personal space was much to bear.
“What do you want?” She blurted out in a manner not befitting her royal visitor.
“Annatrice, I apologise for the startling sight. My wife has risen with the same expression of horror and tone of voice for the past ten years.” Deo Canthi laughed at his humorous attempt to break the ice.
“The difference being that I am not your wife.” Annatrice made that clear.
“Indeed, yet you are under my care and I have a duty to ensure your good health. I trust that you are feeling better this morning?”
Annatrice nodded. She did feel better, the noises in her head simmering nicely for once.
“And so the question that we have all longed to ask must finally be spoken...”
Annatrice sighed; at least he was getting to the point without meaningless pleasantries.
“You want to know how I am to aid you. You want to know how far to push me before my mind snaps like a fallen twig underfoot.”
Annatrice's cynicism was rather evident.
“I feel that this can be a mutual arrangement, the more you are inclined to aid us, the more we will offer you in return. I am a generous ruler with the power to grant you great fortunes, palatial houses, acres of rich and fertile lands. I can provide you with the power to command your own estate, to have the protection of a garrison of soldiers, to have a thousand ordinary folk revere you and serve you as your subjects. Aside from the notion of revenge, what is it that you really want?”
Annatrice knew that Deo Canthi was clever but she had underestimated him. Catching her cold, without the means to harm herself into clarity, she was at a loss to look into his eyes and know exactly his motives.
“All the riches in the world could not rid me of this curse. I seek only the comfort of silence again. I want to be free to live my life how I see fit, to go wherever I want without the scrutiny of an interested party prying into my affairs. I want such simple things, things that I have missed out on since my father died; even the wealthiest of Kings cannot buy me happiness.”
Deo Canthi rolled his head from side to side as he sat on the bed, the wooden frame creaking under his weight.
“But wealth can bring much joy; you have yet to discover its allure it seems. T'is neither here nor there, what is important is that you feel fulfilled by our agreement and feel no coercion in its makings. This morning we ride for
Stormwater; t'is my fortress in the Hallun Hills, a strategic stronghold near the Araman border. There we will plan Tragian's demise and there you will discover a little of what I have to offer you in exchange for your...service.”
“Or compliance?” Annatrice added sharply.
“Annatrice, you are an intelligent girl, there is no point in making light of such things. We need your talents, you are important to the people of both realms. Without you, a full scale war is inevitable. With your aid and as you have rightly dictated before, the bloodshed can be reduced significantly. T'is in your best interests to aid us if it is the people that you seek to protect...as I do.”
Annatrice nodded, the King knew how to play to her sensibilities.
“If there is anything I can do to ease your discomfort then you must come to me, a contented Annatrice of Cayborne is a contented Deo Canthi of Suleyman.” The King chuckled as he slapped his knee and rose slowly lest his knees give way.
“We are away by midday. I will have Constance warm you a soothing bath and see to your wounds. That is if you can tolerate her presence. I personally would have had her strung up by the neck for her behaviour but your forgiving words softened my heart a little.”
Annatrice jumped in quickly at any thought of such severe punishment.
“No sire, I would request Constance anyway. She is exceptional in her position; I just...pushed her too far. I am ashamed of my conduct and will offer my repentance.”
Deo Canthi snorted.
“Do not grovel though child, she must know her place!”
The King offered a casual wave as he exited the chamber and Annatrice lay back down, her mind eased a little by the King's words. How easy it was to take words for truth when there was no way to analyse every nuance. It was a blissful ignorance and a mercy.
That afternoon, Annatrice rode with the King's entourage to Stormwater, a journey which lasted till the sun was just about to disappear behind the Hallun Hills. Annatrice noted the significance of being out in the wilds, the remote location significantly reducing the turmoil she felt. It was easy to piece together the clues; the less people there were in the vicinity, the lesser the disturbance to Annatrice's thoughts. The rural offerings of barren moorland and large expanses of water comforted her to the point that she almost remembered how life used to be when her thoughts were so singular and devoid of intrusion. She pondered over the development of her affliction as she chose to call it. She wondered if this was to be the limit of her abilities or whether there was more to come. Her coming of age, from child to woman seemed to have been intrinsically linked to her sensitivities, she hoped that at some point, like a rash of acne, that it would fade and become more controllable, maybe even fading altogether. If her hopes were not to play out in this way, then how could she possible continue to live in such strife?
Stormwater Castle was built high up on a plateau overlooking a swathe of grassy moorlands and in the far distance, the tree lined area which marked Araman territory was visible. The castle was ominous in its appearance, whereas Fontayne and the other fortresses of Araman were square in their appearance, Stormwater was jutting and angular, its many spires pierced the clouds and Annatrice already felt humbled by it. The last minutes ride was the toughest for her mare, the steep incline would be even more difficult for an attacking force. Annatrice imagined a hail of arrows spewing from every orifice across its fascia.
The King, who rode superbly despite his bulk, looked over to Annatrice who was clearly enjoying the experience.
“No force has ever reached the castle walls alive, magnificent is it not?” He bellows with a satisfied grin.
Annatrice smiled in return, Stormwater was indeed the most incredible building she had ever laid eyes upon. Fontayne suddenly looked small in comparison and a little archaic.
On approach, the royal standard was hoisted and several hundred archers could be detailed watching closely from behind the crenulations. A short wait ensued until the most daunting of portals opened; a heavy iron portcullis protected a reinforced wooden gate which stood as high as three men.
As Annatrice's horse ambled into the compound, the buzz of the castle's staff begun to intensify in Annatrice's ears, it was almost as if the building was alive and emanating a resonant throb, like a relaxed murmur, indecipherable but content. The King's party was instantly surrounded by staff, stable boys, personal assistants, officials. The King rolled from his horse into a reception of attentive, bowing subjects eager to carry out his orders.
“Tell my daughter I have arrived!” He yelled almost loud enough for her to hear with her own ears. Annatrice was invited to climb down, a good looking young stable hand quickly offering his assistance although Annatrice declined sharply. She had yet to understand and accept the attentions of her male peers but there seemed many more opportunities to learn in this place. Constance handed her horse to a diminutive red haired boy and stood before Annatrice.
“I am to take you to your chambers.” She said. The confidence not yet quite at the level it once was. She brushed the wisps of blonde hair from her face as she smiled awkwardly at her mistress.
“Thank you Constance.” Annatrice replied, not yet having a chance to fully clear the air with her maid. As they walked off in the direction of the towers the King placed a hand upon Annatrice's shoulders and stopped her in her tracks.
“Stormwater is a safe place for you Annatrice and you shall have the freedom to go where you please. Take the time to linger in its halls for the people are benevolent and trust worthy, they will be keen to know who you are and what you stand for.”
The King slapped Annatrice's back and wandered off as if he had addressed his own child. Annatrice resumed her walk to the tower mulling over the King's display of paternal informality.
“The King likes you, I can tell.” Constance said as she acknowledged two finely dressed guards at the entrance to the tower.
“I do not know why after the trouble I have caused.” Annatrice said being a little self deprecating.
“Maybe it is because you cause trouble, you are a challenge for him.” Constance chuckled hoping she was not again crossing the line of acceptability.
“The King has children does he not?” Annatrice asked despite knowing the answer from previous forays into the King's mind.
“Indeed. The eldest is Petrus, he is naturally the heir to the throne; he is an intellect, a very reserved kind milady. There is a daughter called Sophima who lives here in Stormwater; she is a little older than you, and then the youngest is Nashrey who dwells far across the land in the west, he is a great warrior.” Constance all the while led Annatrice through a great hall where a number of life sized statues peered out from their alcoves, their bodies finely honed and muscular, their modesty covered by the merest of garments.
“And of who are these depictions?”
Annatrice was fascinated by the artistic prowess of the Suleyman people. It seemed that they took great pride in their surroundings.
“These are the King's of Suleyman's past.”
Annatrice laughed.
“And why are they all so heroically figured?”
Constance shrugged her shoulders.
“You have yet to see the statue of Deo Canthi milady!” Constance laughed out loud and Annatrice could only imagine what the King's physique would look like portrayed in stone.
Much like Fontayne, an arduous ascent of a great spiral staircase lifted them high above the earth and into the realms of the Gods. Annatrice wondered why her chamber must always be so high in these monstrous castles. On reaching level ground, Annatrice wondered no longer why all of the castle staff looked so fit and in rude health.
“This is the Greghor level; each floor is named after a Suleyman landmark milady.” Constance performed her tour rather well.
“T'is the floor above Sophima's chambers, I expect you will meet the Princess in due course.”
Constance stopped and open her hands to a magnificent hallway with alcoves either sid
e. Grand columns rose to the ceiling and a textured and complex mosaic surrounded a central pedestal where a giant stone creature of legend sat, its wings outspread and its eyes glinting with the encrustation of precious gems.
“The Gods! What is this place?” Annatrice marvelled with her mouth open and her eyes wandering around the gilded mural which adorned the ceiling.
“These are your chambers milady.”
Annatrice almost spat as she spluttered an expletive of profound surprise.
“I have never seen anything of the like. It makes Tragian's most opulent quarter seem poor in comparison.”
Constance smiled.
“We are taught that since our two lands parted, it is we, the Suleyman that have grown stronger.”
Annatrice could not argue with that. Suleyman was a cultured place or at least that is how Annatrice had perceived it. She remembered her mud covered existence back on the farm, the primitive hovel in which she dwelt. On the face of it, it seemed a foregone conclusion that any war between the two sovereign nations would end only in a Suleyman conquest and she wondered why it had not already transpired.
“Is there anything I can fetch for you milady? I believe a feast has been arranged this evening, perhaps I can bring some finery for you to wear as t'is quite an occasion generally?”
Annatrice nodded approvingly, feeling much more comfortable now in Constance's presence who scurried off to perform her duties. Annatrice wandered off to explore every nook and cranny of the maze of chambers which included several plush bedrooms and the most magnificent bathroom. Annatrice remembered Deo Canthi's words regarding wealth. He was right, she did not understand the meaning of such riches at that time but now it was starting to become quite clear how the elite of the world lived.
CHAPTER TWENTY
For the first time, Annatrice was excited about attending a royal feast. Whilst she sat in an extravagant crimson gown, Constance saw to her hair with the skill of an artisan. It was a good day, she felt calm and the abrasive pandemonium inside her thoughts was at a level which although still noticeable, was controllable. Annatrice wished there was some kind of pattern to the affliction, some way of understanding why some days were better than others but then there was little in life that was so predictable or at least in her life.
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