Annatrice was sent for on the third day. Constance stood; arms folded her foot tapping whilst her mistress struggled to lift herself from her bed. Constance could not work out what was more distressing, the King lying in such torment or a young girl so befuddled by the stupor of liquor that she cared not what happened in the world about her.
“How do I look?” Annatrice slurred unable to stand up straight without swaying about.
“Foul. You should be ashamed of yourself.” Constance pulled no punches.
“Then I am perfectly suited to your company.” She retorted, annoyed by her maid's high moral lecturing.
“In a few moments you are to stand before the gravely wounded King of Suleyman milady, drunk and dirty like a cheap whore.”
Annatrice rolled her eyes in indifference.
“Nobody's perfect.” She replied with a smile.
“I will not let you go before the court of the King in this state, come, let me bath you and fill you with sobering water. If I cannot clean your mouth of foul words, at least I can rub the filth from your body.”
Constance grappled with her mistress and dragged her kicking and screaming to the bathroom where a tub of cold water lie in readiness. Constance had seen fit not to light the fire which heated the tub on this occasion. A less subtle moment of clarity was required for the feisty drunk. As Constance overpowered her young mistress, she lifted her clean off the floor and plunged her head first into the deep and expansive tub. The expected splash ensued followed by the gurgled screams of shock and humiliation. Annatrice's head surface and she quickly pulled the hair from her eyes and roared in anger.
“You treat me like a dog!” She yelled, coughing wildly.
“If you behave like an animal I will treat you like one!” Constance growled and walked away knowing that her rage was getting the better of her. Annatrice went to continue her rant but then the realisation hit that she was about to stoop to a new level of shame. Even her cussing bore no relevance as her ability to pluck the weaknesses from her opposition was numbed by the Nerwarna. The liquor had relieved her torment but had only offered her further indignity.
Annatrice pulled herself from the tub and pursued her maid, her wringing wet clothes dripping all over the pristine floor.
“Constance!” She cried out, hoping to halt her disgruntled maid in her tracks.
“Please forgive me...again.” She had the forlorn tone of a naughty child who had realised they had crossed the line of acceptability. Constance stopped and turned to her.
“I cannot see you in such terrible pain; I cannot live with the responsibility. If the King were here I’d offer my resignation, I cannot take this anymore!” Constance was in tears, she had reached her breaking point.
“No Constance, I need you! If it were not for you, I would have surely given in by now.” Annatrice pleaded her to return, she knew she had treated her maid despicably.
“Annatrice, you are a soul in torment. You need more than just my aid, I fear that you will one day send me over the edge, at times I hate you with such a passion that I could...”
Constance stopped herself before she said anything she regretted.
“You...hate me?” Annatrice suddenly broke down into hysterical tears, her sudden loss of composure brought Constance back to her side.
“No, I...I did not mean it milady. I was at a loss for words, t'is my lack of education; I cannot find the words...” Constance knew she had ripped the heart out of the young girl by her careless speak. She did not hate her, but she hated some of the things she did when in the throes of torment.
“Come...let us get warm, clean and in a fresh gown. We will tell the court you are ailing and that you will be tardy.”
Constance walked with the snivelling girl back into the bathroom; her skin was blue with the cold. Constance stoked the flames and soon the tub was steaming. The time to reflect on the past few days was useful for Annatrice who stood statuesque, her feet wallowing in a puddle of cold water.
“I am so confused Connie.” She whispered as her maid busied herself around her.
“So am I milady, so am I.”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Annatrice arrived at the court of King Deo Canthi an hour later than expected, the hushed frustrations of the collected nobles and officials was palpable even to Annatrice whose blood was still addled with the damned liquor.
The mighty golden throne which was perched high upon a carpeted plinth was empty but every other seat was occupied. The small girl stood alone in the chamber with one hundred eyes searing her skin. She longed to feel what they felt, to understand how to tackle this tremendously emotive situation. Aside the empty throne, on one side Annatrice recognised some of the faces from the house in Horstock. Drayk the slithering general with whom she did not trust one iota, Devinn, another burly commander attached to the Royal Guard, then a string of robed officials, judges and scribes. To the other side, Sophima sat nervously next to another man with whom Annatrice did not know but assumed to be Petrus, the eldest son and heir. To the left and right of her in the galleries, a collection of noblemen and women sat quietly. The distinctive moustache of Charleroux caught her eye and he nodded in recognition of her presence.
“Annatrice of Cayborne, we have summoned you here today under a cloud of great fear and dread for our King lies at the mercy of the Gods.” The voice was that of Drayk, his recognisable sneer was a characteristic that seemed to be ever present, even in the most light of conversation.
“What say you in light of these terrible events?”
Annatrice stuttered. She barely understood what the warrior commander was getting at.
“T'is a deeply upsetting thing Lord General.” Annatrice had been out of the loop and now her ignorance was coming back to haunt her. There was a hushed silence, for some reason Drayk had expected something considerably more.
“The King lies in the deepest of slumbers, he battles to find his way back to the land of the living, we long to know of his progress.”
Drayk once again put the onus upon Annatrice.
“I am sorry Sire; you might be more specific...” Annatrice stumbled and pulled herself upright quickly, coughing quietly to hide her weakness.
“Is it not obvious? You have the power to search a man's thoughts, to manipulate at your will. We demand that you aid us, we are at war with our grief!” Drayk stood and waved his arms around demonstratively.
“And I shall offer any help I can.” Annatrice replied, her heart thumping hard in her chest.
“Then come hither and tend to the King for he lies in the chamber next door, barely alive.”
The courtiers began to nod in approval and whisper amongst themselves. Annatrice felt the sudden dread of knowing that she was powerless to help, her mind still quite numb to her sensitivities. Walking slowly into the ante-chamber, a small crowd gathering around her she set eyes on the King who lay peacefully under a pristine sheet, his crest embroidered upon it in gold thread. Sophima walked up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. The look of horror in return was enough to tell the princess that she was in no state to perform any kind of metaphysical exploration.
With a hushed silence and the pressure telling, all eyes were on the young girl who began to sob.
“What is it child, do you feel his pain?” Drayk inquired believing her to be performing the process.
“I cannot, I am not ready.” Annatrice called out much to the disarray of the nobles. An enraged Petrus stepped forward. He was exceedingly tall, fair in hair colour and had a look about him of a physician or similarly intellectual profession.
“What is this outrage? Who is this fraud that we have been pandering to with such gay abandon?” Petrus was distressed at his father's demise that much was clear. Annatrice clutched at her temples in desperation.
“It cannot be done; I must wait until the morning! I have been most selfish and have drunk of the Nerwarna fruit. It has addled my thoughts...I am at a loss!”
A noisy
murmur began as the nobles began to denounce the young seer. Drayk was not a sceptic, he had seen her power. Sophima was seen to be talking to her brother and calming him, his own sister taking some of the blame for her new friend's inaction. Drayk roughly grasped Annatrice's arm and pulled her to one side, his sharp fingers causing her to wince.
“You will return tomorrow morning at first light. If the King perishes in that time, you will surely swing by your neck from the parapets the very same day.” With that he let her go and swiftly marched from the room, his entourage following him. It was the first time that a threat had been made on her life with such vigour. It rocked Annatrice to her core and she stood shaking. Sophima could only look at her; she was also devoid of words for the moment. She laid her arm around Annatrice and led her out of the chamber and back into the custody of Constance who waited patiently outside the court in the grand hallway.
“Constance, deliver her back here at sunrise, sober. Her very life depends on it.” Constance's face depicted her own worry as the pressure was once again heaped back upon her to keep her mistress away from the bottle. It was going to be a very long night.
Tossing and turning in her bed as the soothing effect of the liquid drug ebbed away, Annatrice was left not only with the increased buzz of her constant irritation but also the fragility of withdrawal. Her lower back ached with a dull, subdued throb and her hands shook persistently. Constance kept a vigil, sitting at her bedside. She kept a watch over her mistress and in the most difficult times, was there to placate her. As her head cleared, Annatrice had begun to scratch herself beneath the sheets, covertly hiding her actions away from her maid whose eyelids drooped with fatigue. When the morning came, Constance awoke still on the chair where she sat all through the night and Annatrice was pacing around the room, her arms red raw as if she had been savaged by a rabid dog.
“Oh Annatrice, what have you done?” Constance croaked as she stood and moved to hug her most unwell Lady.
“What I had to do, I must see the King at once.”
Annatrice looked shattered; Constance wondered if she had slept at all.
“Is that for the benefit of the King or your own?” Constance braved the question knowing how much Annatrice required the more satisfying slash of a blade.
“If it suits us both then let us go and be done with it!”
Constance escorted Annatrice to the court where a vigilant aide called for Drayk who no doubt would want to be present. When Annatrice entered the King's presence, she found Sophima slumped across him, barely awake and exhausted from her own vigil. Drayk and an edgy looking Petrus arrived on cue and Annatrice suddenly felt the pressure once more and the weight of expectation. Looking down on the broad bulk of the King's peaceful form, Annatrice was firstly and most fervently delighted that he was still alive and breathing.
“He even moved at one point...” Sophima said, her voice breaking up, her throat sore with the emotion.
“I must be alone; when I do this other minds may only serve to confuse me in my efforts.” Annatrice said as she laid a hand upon the King's chest. Petrus stepped forward.
“It shall be as your word dictates.” The King's son waved everyone from the chamber including Drayk who looked displeased at missing the action. On leaving, Sophima leaned over and kissed Annatrice upon the cheek and squeezed her hand. The hopes of so many weighed heavily upon the young woman’s shoulders.
“I will need something...” Annatrice whispered in return. Sophima knew what she was referring to but she did not have anything sharp to hand.
“A candle, the pain will be fierce and the pain prolonged.” Annatrice suggested. The thought of Annatrice burning her own flesh to save her father was a profound and chilling blend of horror yet admiration. Sophima reached up to a large candle which sat upon a mounted plinth high on the wall.
“I am so proud of you.” Sophima said as she left Annatrice to her own devices and finally the King and the young girl were left alone.
Outside the chamber, a gathering collection of officials, royalty and even castle staff began to gather as if they felt they could offer their help in some way. Of course the greater the throng outside, the more difficult it would be for Annatrice to get inside the deeply buried consciousness of the comatose King. Petrus clung on to Sophima as the first cries of anguish were heard from within the small room. A second agonising wail chilled the bone all those who were spectating. The torture continued and Sophima even muttered aloud in horror as Annatrice's agonies were clearly heard if not felt by the expectant souls that were drawn to this place. The quickly drawn breaths of the seer could be heard now, the convulsions of her weeping and the high pitched whining all brought great distress to those outside and at one point Sophima broke free of her brothers grasp and stated her intent to stop the nightmare. Drayk clutched at her arm and stopped her in her tracks, there were few who would dare lay their hands on a member of the Royal family. Suddenly, every single one of the people who had gathered outside were afflicted by a curious sensation, a feeling of mutual sharing, of togetherness. Annatrice's mind was becoming more powerful by the day and Drayk's eyes widened with intrigue as he struggled to understand the curious sensation. As the people whispered amongst themselves, wondering what strange phenomena had just taken place, they had almost not noticed that the shrieks of pain had ceased. Petrus looked over to Drayk who motioned to enter the chamber and discover precisely what had happened but not before Annatrice emerged. Her face streaked with tears and her arms blackened and charred. Sophima held her hand to her mouth and most shamefully wretched as she smelled the burnt flesh.
“Oh the Gods, what have we let you do?” She spluttered realising the cost of her family's coercion.
“Bring the physician at once.” Petrus called out seeing the disturbing sight. Drayk was less sympathetic.
“And the King? Speak girl!”
Once again, a hundred eyes bore down upon her only this time; Annatrice could feel every pounding heart beat and every nervous quiver.
“The King remains in the deepest of slumbers.”
Drayk threw his hands in the air in exasperation; his demonstrative actions belied his pleasure at the King's continued inaction. Annatrice could not but help lash out despite being fearful of this man.
“I am surprised Drayk that you find this so displeasing, you have enjoyed most sincerely the thrill of command in your King's absence.”
Drayk's face stiffened and his outrage was clear yet he dare not get embroiled in this argument before the King's offspring and the collective courtiers. Drayk felt feelings of vengeance for Annatrice's defiance and she could feel his hatred pulse through her veins.
“Please, continue Annatrice, we have been shamed in standing by whilst you have suffered so greatly...” Sophima interjected. She knew Drayk was power hungry but he had been a loyal servant to the King and had led Suleyman to many a glorious victory.
“The King's thoughts are not his own to command. He is in a dream-like world, he longs to leave but it is comforting to stay. He is perplexed; he is torn between the satisfaction of oblivion and the pain of reality.”
Annatrice's account brought silence to the court.
“So we must wait whilst my father battles to be free, not knowing if he will prevail?” Petrus asked a rhetorical question, not even Annatrice knew what the outcome would be.
“The King feels safe in his world, he does not understand that his body cannot be sustained, he has no inkling that he is in peril.”
“Can you not communicate with him; tell him to escape this hellish place?” Someone unknown to Annatrice called out, a bleary eyed noble who had been pulled from his bed by an excitable servant.
“This place is not hellish, it is heavenly. It is for the King to decide when he wishes to leave. I have tried to communicate to him the dangers of remaining but his mind is not mine to control.” Annatrice did well to be coherent, she stood shaking, the distress of her pain evident.
“Perhaps you cannot b
ear to administer enough of the pain which feeds your vision, perhaps with some...aid, you could grow powerful enough to call out to him in his most desperate hour?” Drayk spoke and the courts whispers fell silent. No one was in any doubt what the General was angling at. Annatrice knew also what he intended.
“You seek to restrain me and torture me to the limits of my sanity.” Annatrice stated as her face began to demonstrate her intense fear of the man and her tears began again.
“No! This is outrageous!” Sophima cried out.
“Annatrice has already suffered enough. Do you not see that she has given enough to our cause already? She is innocent, she is but a child. Would you seek to destroy her for the slim hope that her powers could resurrect our King?” Sophima voiced her horror with no restraint.
“Look around you my Lady, you see a score of nobles who are indebted to our most wise and gracious ruler with their very lives. The King has brought us great fortune and peace; he is the stability from which our land flourishes. For the sake of the people of Suleyman, the King must be saved. Their prosperity lies in the hands of this simple girl, her powers ours to command. Forgive me if I seem dispassionate but I am a man of logic, I see the world not through the eyes of the King's progeny but through the cynical eyes of a simple soldier. If I tasked any man of Suleyman to choose between the life of the King and the discomfort of this girl, I know what their answer would be.” Drayk spoke so quietly, he need not raise his voice; he commanded the respect of many who gathered there, some had their lives to thank him for.
“Of course, it is not my decision to make...” Drayk knew that it was Petrus as heir apparent that held the final word. Sophima looked up to her tall brother who suddenly felt the weight of expectation upon his shoulders. Annatrice looked into his mind and already knew his answer, she cried out with a scream that would remain forever scored into the hearts of all those who heard it, and with that she dropped to the floor, her will to continue gone.
Annatrice of Cayborne Page 13