Annatrice's entrance to the hall was reserved yet did not go unnoticed. Whilst she marvelled at the high ceiling and the many glass works that reflected and enhanced the light of candles, there were more than a few men that marvelled at the sight of her in all her finery.
Charleroux was there, he looked even more pompous than normal and he quickly claimed her as his own much to the dismay of a number of foppish nobles who stood around in clusters.
“You look spectacular.” He said as he took her hand.
“Thank you.” She replied allowing herself the pleasure of a little flattery.
“I must introduce you to everybody.” Charleroux said with a nervous excitement.
“Must you?” She replied not feeling the same urgency to mingle.
Striding over to a small group of exquisitely preened people, it was immediately obvious that there was royalty in this group. They all turned to look at Annatrice as she approached, their eyes glistening with curiosity.
“Ah, she approaches. What natural beauty!” One wiry and angular featured man whined as he held an eye glass to his face in order to inspect her more closely.
“Lord Saramin, may I present my wife, Annatrice of Cayborne.” Charleroux was proud of his statement yet Annatrice was distinctly uncomfortable being announced as such.
“Exquisite, look at her eyes, they are akin to the black pearls of the Southern Shores and her hair like the Messin River, glistening like ripples of velvet.”
Annatrice raised her eyebrows at Saramin's extravagant observations.
“She certainly is a pretty picture.” A tall, lean red haired young woman added her tone slightly more cynical than her adoring courtier.
“Princess Sophima; I bid you warm welcome to Stormwater.” The young woman continued and Annatrice lowered her head in respect but did not speak.
“I have heard much about you, I long to know more about your fabulous adventures.”
Sophima's was wide of the mark. Annatrice huffed and restrained herself from revealing the truth of her hardships.
“Not quite adventures my Lady.” She replied courteously.
“No, maybe not. I am told life can be harsh beyond the border, it is a land of barbarians and tyrants I am told.”
Annatrice grimaced, was the princess trying to rile her?
“I fear the Lady may be misled, the people of Araman are peace-loving for the most part. Maybe not so cultured or fortunate to have such a benevolent ruler...”
Sophima was a curious entity; Annatrice felt that she greeted confrontation with some relish.
“Well you most certainly have captured the heart of our ruler; I only hope you live up to his lofty expectations.”
Sophima supped on a heady fermentation, the chalice transparent and unlike anything Annatrice had ever seen.
“I can only offer what I can offer; I am under no pressure to meet any expectations.” Annatrice took offence to Sophima's attitude.
“Oh but the weight of the world is bore upon your tiny shoulders my love, I can see it in your eyes. Let me lift some of that burden.”
Sophima giggled and offered the young girl her drink. Annatrice felt bound to accept the offering and she took a small sip of the exceedingly potent beverage.
“Is it not delectable? It is a fermentation of the fruit of the Nerwarna bush. It is a rare and revered libation; I have a personal stock for occasions such as these.”
Annatrice's face flushed at the strength of the drink, even the most meagre of sips could be felt to warm the insides of her belly. Sophima clicked her fingers and within seconds, a servant arrived with a platter of similarly decorative chalices filled with the extraordinary liquid.
“Take care Annatrice, it is to be taken in small quantities only.” Charleroux said his protective instincts on show for all to see.
“Piffle! Live a little Charleroux, Annatrice has suffered greatly, why must she continue to be stifled by self important nobles...come girl, drink with me and tell me of journey.”
Sophima threw her arm around Annatrice's bare shoulders and drew her to another part of the chamber, away from the stuffy establishment. Annatrice was not alarmed by the princess' self confidence but she was wary that the occasion did not get the better of her.
“So, Annatrice of Cayborne. Daughter of an exiled noble, servant to the tyrant King and wielder of mystical powers...it is not often we receive such exciting company. You must not feel compelled to silence here; you are in the presence of friends. To tell you the truth I am bored of the bureaucracy and the endless numbers of feeble suitors that seek my hand. Tell me, are the men of Araman rugged and intriguing or are they as predictable and tiresome as the Suleyman men?”
Annatrice was taken aback by Sophima's candid nature.
“I am afraid I am no authority on the men of any land. They offer no comfort to me, they are selfish and driven by distasteful thoughts, and I have no time for them.”
Sophima reeled at Annatrice's pessimism.
“Oh what a shame, one with such beauty has seen such ugliness. I shall let you into a little secret...”
Sophima's secrets would on occasions such as these be Annatrice's for the taking but tonight, her sensitivity to others thoughts was strangely lacking. It was a good thing; Annatrice was compelled by conversation rather than being dulled by it. Sophima leaned close to Annatrice and whispered.
“I do not feel bound by the traditions which others revere, t'is a cold night without the warmth of a man in my bed.”
Annatrice raised her eyebrows; such a confession would have enraged the King. Sophima must have been only five or six years older than Annatrice, yet she had admitted to engaging in bedroom activity with men out of wedlock. Aside from her surprise, Annatrice was intrigued by Sophima who knew her own mind so well and cared not what others thought.
“How is it that you are not wed my Lady?” Annatrice inquired, jealous of the princess' extended liberty.
“Through my own choosing. I am one for variety in my life, why should I be encumbered by the familiarity of one lover when I can have many?”
Annatrice laughed out loud and took a larger swig of the strong drink.
“I would like to know what it is about being with a man that you find so compelling? In my experience, t'is a painful and distressing thing.”
Sophima raised her eyebrows in horror.
“Then you have never truly been with a man! Charleroux is your spouse; he is also brutish in the bedroom?”
“I have not given him the opportunity. Our marriage is...complicated.” Annatrice was slightly ashamed by it all.
“If his performance equals his charm, then he will offer much by invariably disappoint.”
Annatrice wondered why Sophima was so cutting in her observations. She would love to get inside her head for she was unlike any other woman she had met. Annatrice took a moment's pause to ponder, and then unable to resist, she ran a sharpened thumbnail down the side of her first finger hoping the twinge of discomfort could prise the briefest of moment's clarity. Curiously, there was not even the most meagre flicker of sensitivity. It was not that Sophima was immune; it seemed that Annatrice's powers had been suppressed and even the simplest creatures, the dogs that lazed in front of the roaring fire were impossible to breach.
“Are you tired? You look preoccupied.” Sophima said looking deep into Annatrice's glassy eyes.
“No, sorry. I am...quite well. Just thinking.” Annatrice was on one hand delighted that her thoughts were not addled by the bristling energy in the room but distraught that her usefulness might be at an end if her powers had been lost.
“Perhaps you just need to drink more!” Sophima enthused as she once again clicked her fingers to the attentive servant.
“I think this curious liquid has already taken effect!” Annatrice laughed as she felt woozy already.
“Good, it will get better. It will numb the most grievous of pains and relight the fires of your passion.”
Annatrice coul
d not help feel like she had let herself become too embroiled in the concerns of world, maybe Sophima was right and it was time to let her hair down a little. Annatrice plucked another drink from the servants platter and looking into Sophima's eyes, took the whole glass in one go, struggling to swallow the intensely fiery brew. Sophima laughed loudly and put her hand to Annatrice's rosy red cheeks. The girl from Cayborne could not help but feel great comfort and camaraderie from the princess who already appeared as just another girl in her eyes. Any illusions of pompous royalty had long been dispelled.
The drink continued to flow that evening and Annatrice steadily lost herself in numbing warmth. For the first time in many months, she felt alive and her own master. Blurred faces and unpronounceable names passed her by as the drink took effect and she had no understanding of how others perceived her as a stupor of inevitable paralysis took hold. The spinning room faded away and a terrible nausea eventually subsided as a welcoming sleep washed over her, her contempt for reality her last waking thoughts.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Annatrice examined her dark, reddened eyes and straggly hair in the long and fascinating glass wall, her reflection as perfect as a pond which lies in the stillest of air. Her head pounding, she wretched as another surge of nausea overcame her. There was little more to come, she had vomited the last vestiges of liquid from her stomach but her body demanded more as if it were seeking some kind of revenge for the abuse it had endured the previous evening.
She saw Constance stand behind her, once again bringing water for her Lady's insatiable thirst.
“I am so ugly.” Annatrice said as she wept in front of the mirror.
“Not so milady. T'is the effect of the drink, I have seen this before.”
“I have shamed myself.” Annatrice's head ache was fuel for her rampant thoughts and she saw in Constance a conversation with another member of castle staff. Annatrice's behaviour at the feast was the main talking point.
“I believe that those who were there understood that the drink was the cause. Nothing to be ashamed of milady. We’ve all taken our first sup and not known when to stop.”
“But I am not a child any more, I am a guest of the King, I have responsibilities!”
Constance was in no doubt of the breadth of Annatrice's responsibilities.
“Yes but you are young and we have all been there milady.”
Constance was comforting and Annatrice felt her genuine compassion.
“It was Sophima's fault, she spurred me on.”
Annatrice found comfort in blaming the princess, it eased the load.
“Sophima is noted for her 'unusual' behaviour at times. The King will not be pleased with her; their relationship is a little...changeable.”
Annatrice nodded at her maid who handed her another chalice of cool water, she imagined Sophima to be a difficult child.
Flopping to her bed, Annatrice held her palm to her forehead.
“When will this feeling subside?” She asked hopefully, the after effects doubled with the incessant noise of the castles occupants, was all encompassing.
“Drink water and rest milady, then when the pain eases, take a little bread.”
Constance wandered off and her every footstep was amplified to extraordinary degrees. Annatrice covered over her ears in an attempt to shut out the din. In spite of the dreadful consequences of taking the drink, it had a dulling effect that was unequalled in its potency. Annatrice could not help but wish she had more of the thick black liquid to hand, if so perhaps she could once again return to the comforting and oblivious stupor.
Several hours passed and Annatrice lie in the darkened room tossing and turning in obvious discomfort. Despite the feeling that she had been poisoned and with every inch of her body aching, she craved pain for the tempest above her eyes was a torment far worse than the physical maladies. Repelling her masochistic thoughts she fought to keep control of her body, she longed to throw herself to the ground or impale herself upon the nearest sharpened object. As she writhed around she felt a nearing presence, it was that of Sophima who was on her way to apologise for her less than regal behaviour on the express orders of the King himself.
“Do not come near me for I will tear your thoughts from your soul and lay them bare!” Annatrice cried out, knowing she was in a similarly erratic mood as before when she so disgracefully upset her maid. Sophima was alarmed at the nature of her friends request, the angst in her voice clear.
“Do not fear Annatrice, I come to comfort you.” Sophima called out as she saw the dark shape of Annatrice tumbling and flailing around in the enormous bed which was strangely circular in shape, much like the tower itself.
“The only comfort you can bring is in the shape of a cask or a sharpened dagger!” The reply came, intense and desperate. Sophima stood over Annatrice's bed and sat down touching her leg as she did so.
“It aggrieves me to see you in such turmoil, it is all my doing. I would do anything to help you rest easy.”
Annatrice sat up and looked into Sophima's eyes; it was true she was most repentant.
“If you wish to placate me there is something you can do, bring me a vessel of the liquor, it should calm me for I am in torture.”
Sophima puffed her cheeks, it was a bizarre request. Even the smell of the poison was too much to bear this morning but Annatrice was insistent.
“I assure you that will not help.” She replied positive in her statement.
“No you do not understand, it is the only way, if not I will have to bleed myself till I am an inch from death!” The urgency in Annatrice's voice was enough to send Sophima scuttling across the room and for the medicine which her friend sought. The Princess need not look far across Annatrice's body to see the raw and recent lacerations to her arms and legs.
Several minutes passed and Sophima was once again stood over the writhing form of Annatrice who sat herself up and clutched at the corked vessel. Glugging at the neck of the bottle with little care for etiquette, she lay back down and roared with spice of the liquor burning its way down her throat. She coughed and spluttered as the liquid was taken in to her body and dispersed into her blood. The effect was not instant, but within a minute, the cacophony eased and all that was left was the dry, throbbing fever, the physical effects were nothing in relation to the mental strife she had endured.
“Thank you my Lady.” Annatrice murmured as she lay back flat on the bed, her clammy limbs exposed to the air.
“They say you are a witch but I know it not to be true.” Sophima held Annatrice's hand and smiled. It was an unusual treasure to be accepted and Annatrice smiled back in return, her head once again numbed.
“You are a princess...” Annatrice mumbled, the Nerwarna fruit beginning to soothe to the point of incoherence.
“Yes.” Sophima replied. “Yes, I am although you would not believe how many times I have wished I was not!”
“I am a queen.” Annatrice replied smiling and then laughing. Sophima laughed also, not for one moment taking her friends words seriously.
“That is not what you were telling people last night!” Sophima laughed with a glint of mischief in her eye. Annatrice pursed her lips and then cackled with glee at the thought of being so outrageous and unrestrained.
“Oh, well...that was a long time ago.” She said struggling to recall.
“Do you remember the servant boy and the stuffed crane's egg?” Sophima tittered trying not to give away too much. Annatrice's head rolled around on her shoulders.
“You will be the end of me.” She said playfully to Sophima who caught a sniff of the liquor and recoiled.
“Pardon me milady?” A familiar voice came from the bedroom entrance and Constance stood, white as a sheet nervously wringing her hands.
“Yes, what is it?” Sophima reverted back to her slightly abrupt manner.
“A terrible accident has transpired milady, t'is the King. He has fallen from his horse!” Sophima stood immediately and flew from the room leaving Consta
nce behind to regard Annatrice who could barely open her eyes.
“And if you don't mind me saying so milady, drinking in the morning is frowned upon here.” Constance's words may have come across as a little maternal and an inebriated Annatrice waved her away.
“Be gone peasant woman.” She gurgled, chortling at her own drunken immaturity. Constance shook her head and walked out of the room in dismay; the King had suffered a terrible injury and was not expected to survive. Annatrice wallowed in her own self pity and a comforting stupor; it would only be later when the ramifications of the King's battle to survive became quite apparent that it would be personally linked to the young visionary's future.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Stormwater castle was a solemn place in the dark days that followed Deo Canthi's most punishing of injuries. Despite his high level of riding skill, his stallion had been startled whilst on a leisurely hunt and had thrown the King from his back on to an outcropping of hard rock. His skull smashed by the blow, he was not expected to live through the night. Couriers were dispatched to all corners of the land in search of the most eminent physicians and many prayers were offered in the hope that he would cling on to life until their arrival.
The first night passed and the King still lived, breathing shallowly and in an unreceptive coma, Petrus, his elder son was called for from his castle domain in Alqueteria. It was perhaps time for the ascension of a new King to rule over Suleyman.
Sophima amongst others kept a faithful vigil at his side until on the second day; the medicine men began to arrive to bring their expertise to the fore. Initial observations seemed to be positive in their design, the King had survived the initial impact and although his brain had suffered a colossal impact, his vital bodily functions had remained intact. The King was alive but in an indefinite slumber. Physicians warned of false hope, he was not out of danger yet but it could be hours or days before the true extent of his injuries would be found. Even if he did not die from his wounds, he might succumb to starvation or dehydration if the coma was sustained.
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