The King of Anavrea

by Rachel Rossano - The Theodoric Saga 02

  Wakening each morning to her matron-in-waiting’s cold disapproval for sleeping late didn’t help either. Lirth spent most of the each day being jerked about and stuck with pins. Once she donned each costume, she perched precariously on a tiny stool while seamstresses poked and hemmed. Suffering silently as her icy-handed matron-in-waiting trussed her into and out of dress after dress, she was subjected to a litany of whispered gossip and backhanded jabs at her father, his court, and his lack of provision.

  “Imagine sending your only daughter to be wedded to the King of Anavrea without a selection of suitable clothing to fit her new status as queen of the most influential nation on the peninsula. What was wrong with the father? Something must be wrong with the child, aside from the obvious, of course.”

  She felt sorry for the seamstresses. The Head Dresser yelled, whined, and fussed. Lirth heard the blows falling about the girls’ heads and shoulders. Silent and unfazed they continued to work. Taking strength from their longsuffering, Lirth stood straight and silent through it all.

  Her new chambers appeared to be a constant thoroughfare. Lirth heard other ladies as they moved through the room, gossiping and laughing. She caught a few snide remarks about her lack of curves and the fact her ribs were showing.

  “I doubt she will last the week before she turns sick,” one woman said without bothering to lower her voice.

  Lirth ignored them. There was nothing else she could do. In prayerful silence, she waited as the handmaiden lifted the last dress over her head and began fussing with the stays compressing her waist. Soon she would be in bed and alone. Then she could confer with the Kurios in peace. She wasn’t sure she would make it through another day like this without help.

  Suddenly a hush fell over the women. The matron-in-waiting stopped her wrenching at the stays with a sharp intake of breath.

  Lirth strained her ears. An eerie sense of discomfort fell over her. Had someone entered that she couldn’t see or hear? Why had everyone fallen silent?

  “There is a gentleman to see you, Your Majesty,” a voice announced suddenly from the vicinity of her right shoulder.

  She jumped slightly and almost fell off the stool. The voice was male. He stood too close for propriety, even if she wasn’t only half dressed. A warm flush flooded Lirth’s face as she turned away from him. She wore only her stays and the strange new fashionable undergarments they insisted she needed. Why did these women let a man into the room while she was in such a state of undress?

  “A robe,” Lirth demanded with all the strength she could summon. Holding out her hand into nothingness, she waited expectantly. She couldn’t insist that the man leave. She doubted her authority with these women went that far. A robe would suffice.

  Apparently everyone was ignoring her. The only movement the Head Dresser made was to approach the man with a clatter of heel clicking. Her skirts rustled as if she were adjusting them.

  “Her majesty will not be ready to allow visitors for another few minutes. Let me escort you out.”

  Lirth finally lowered her hand as the doors closed behind them. Holding back tears, she closed her eyes as humiliation flooded through her. She resisted the impulse to sit and cry. At least when she remained a captive of the Baron, she possessed solitude in which to hide. She hated standing exposed on a stool, vulnerable.

  Suddenly freezing, she shivered as the matron-in-waiting pulled the last tie free and the stays fell away. Icy hands helped her out of her underthings and into her new nightdress, a delicate thing of silky material. It was going to do nothing to hold off the drafts of the grand bedroom. As the folds of an equally flimsy robe floated down to settle on her shoulders, the Head Dresser returned.

  “A councilor wishes an audience,” she announced.

  Straightening her shoulders, Lirth decided to put her foot down. Looking into the darkness in the direction of the woman’s head, she declared firmly, “I do not wish to see him.”

  Silence fell over the women. The matron-in-waiting lifted her hands from Lirth’s shoulders and stepped away. The Head Dresser stepped closer with sharp intake of breath. Lirth raised her chin firmly and lowered her eyes. She was not giving in this time. She wouldn’t expose herself once again to a man’s eyes in less than appropriate clothing. “I wish to speak with my husband.”

  The woman laughed. Her hot moist breath assaulted Lirth’s face with a stench of wine and something rotting. It took all the willpower Lirth possessed not to show her disgust.

  “You will see the Lord Councilor, Your Majesty.” She spat Lirth’s title like a slur. “The king is busy, much too busy to listen to your whining.” Then turning away in a swish of skirts the Head Dresser began giving orders.

  Lirth stood where she was, shoulders firm, back straight, chin held high until the room cleared. She had to do something and she couldn’t fight this on her own.

  Kurios help, she prayed as the door latched shut behind the last of them. Stepping down off the stool, she put out her hands and began the slow trip across the unfamiliar room to seek a door. She slipped through a door just as the main door opened.

  “She was just here, my lord.” The Head Dresser strode into the middle of the room. “I will go and check her bedchamber.” The woman’s clacking heels retreated and the room beyond the door fell silent.

  Then someone moved near the middle of the room. He spoke. “I know you are here, Your Majesty. Or shall I call you Brat for old time’s sake?”

  Lirth froze in horror. She knew that voice. Struggling to breathe, she closed her eyes. It haunted her dreams. She would never forget the voice of the kidnapper in her nightmares. Forcing air into her lungs, she crept toward the opposite wall. If she remembered correctly, a door from this room opened into the corridor. Despite her body’s instinct to escape, her limbs were uncooperative. She tumbled over a footstool. Praying the sound was muffled in the thick rug, she scrambled to her feet and continued on until the latch was in her hand.

  ~~~~~~

  “Good evening, sire.” Ireic reluctantly raised his head in acknowledgement of the greeting as he approached his rooms.

  “I believe it is morning, Isack.” He gave a halfhearted wave toward the nearest window. The sky beyond glowed with hints of red and orange among the hazy darkness of nighttime clouds.

  The large man smiled a warm reply. “But you are on your way to bed.” He opened the door to the royal chambers with one hand.

  Ireic smiled weakly. “Did Tretan retire?”

  “Hours ago, Sire. Would you like me to fetch him?”

  “No. I just wanted to make sure he had gone to bed. Goodnight, Isack.”

  “Goodnight, sire. Sleep well.” Isack closed the door behind him.

  Ireic stood in the center of his receiving room and listened for the soft click of the latch. Soaking in the darkness, he tried to slow his racing mind. Tretan might have initially left a lamp burning, but it used up its fuel long before. A soft light from the floor-to-ceiling windows in the study to his left cast a long door-shaped shadow across the center of the room.

  Ireic let out a soft sigh and let his shoulders slump. A bone weary tiredness swept over him. After twelve hours shut up with the council, he felt as though he had ridden the Rhynan border on horseback in one night.

  For three days, from the moment he and Lirth arrived at the palace in the Ana City, he had been with the council every waking minute. They had fought over every new law passed since taking the throne.

  Sick of unfriendly faces and argumentative old men, Ireic was tempted to ending the council’s fall session early. But if he did, there was no chance of regaining the ground he had lost by being away.

  Pulling the itchy, stifling formal cloak from his back, Ireic cast it in the direction of a chair and strode into his bathing room.

  The things they have implemented in the past few weeks without my consent should give me reason enough.

  He ran his fingers through his hair. At least he began to, but stopped when his hand encountered the cold
metal of his crown. Pulling it from his head, he stopped on the tile floor of the bathing room. He rotated it thoughtfully in his hands. The heavy, solid gold circlet cooled against his fingers. Within moments, not a trace of his body heat remained.

  If he let the council go unchallenged for the season, the people of his country would suffer. The guild registration act alone would destitute most of the populace. The proposed taxation based on how many acres a farmer planted would shrink the food supply to the point of starvation in most villages. It was as though the council wished to provoke riots in the streets.

  Testing the diadem’s weight with one hand, Ireic ran his fingers through his hair. He did not need a mirror to know he had ruined all the efforts of his barber to get it to lie flat and smooth. Directing his attention back to the diadem in his hand, Ireic contemplated throwing it just to see if it would dent. Even as he thought about it, Ireic knew he could never do it.

  The diadem was not as heavy as the ornate crown placed on his head during his coronation. That one lay in the treasury vault. A half foot high and covered with at least one sample of every precious stone imaginable, its weight made it impractical for any use beyond the coronation or a royal wedding. When the official placed it on his head that day, an even heavier burden settled on his heart. He had taken a small comfort looking up and meeting Trahern’s gaze from the midst of the crowd. The understanding in his brother’s eyes wasn’t of much practical use, but it helped to know someone understood, at least a measure, of the responsibility. Trahern understood the true weight of that piece of extravagance.

  Trahern should be doing this. The familiar thought marched across his brain. Shaking his head to clear it, Ireic rejected the thought. He already heard the reasons and arguments that kept Trahern where he was. His brother would not stand in Ireic’s shoes.

  Ireic rubbed his eyes with his free hand. If he was rehashing this issue again, he must really be exhausted.

  It is definitely time that I got to bed.

  Striding into his bedroom, Ireic immediately crossed to the special hook where his circlet usually hung. After placing it there, he turned back to face the bed and started shedding his robes. The embroidery on the collars of his royal function tunics rubbed his neck in all the wrong places.

  When he discarded the offending item and pulled his favorite tunic over his head, he crossed to the mirror to examine his neck. He began to turn, intending to discard his boots, when something caught his eye. Peering more closely, he recognized something in the reflection that made him whirl around and freeze as his tired brain caught up with his instinct.

  “Lirth?”

  The shadowy figure moved slightly, jumped perhaps, but otherwise did not acknowledge him.

  Is she hurt?

  Scanning her small form for any sign of injury, Ireic took a step toward her only to immediately stop. Dressed in a thin nightgown and covering, Lirth visibly shook. He could see the fear on her face, even from where he stood across the room.

  “Lirth?” He purposefully softened the tone of his voice to make the query just loud enough that she could hear it, but hopefully would not be startled.

  “Ireic.” Her voice trembled as she lifted her face toward him. The dawning sunlight reflected off the slick surface. He ran to her and gathered her into his arms. The small caress of comfort caused her to cry harder. Rubbing warmth into her arms and back, he gently rested his chin against her forehead. Slowly she warmed, easing against him to mold to his chest. Ireic waited for the tears to subside. Whoever caused them was going to pay.

  “You’re freezing.” He lifted her. Her bare feet came into view for the first time as they hung out beyond his arm. His anger burned even stronger. “Where are your shoes?”

  __________

  Chapter Six

  Lirth could sense Ireic’s anger, in spite of his controlled voice and the care with which he set her onto his bed.

  “Stay right there.”

  Lirth listened intently to the sound of her husband’s movements. First, he opened a trunk or container near where the foot of the bed was. The whisper of cloth on wood followed. Lirth suddenly found herself engulfed in a thick blanket. He tucked it around her so tightly Lirth wondered if she would be able to escape the soft confines. Not that she wanted to, considering her teeth still threatened to chatter.

  Then, he strode back through the rooms and opened the door to the hall. Even muffled by distance, Lirth made out the guard’s surprised response to his King’s sudden appearance.

  “Sire?”

  “Bring up more firewood.” Ireic closed the door with a muffled thud and came striding back into the bedroom. Crossing to where Lirth remembered a heavy chest stood against the wall, Ireic opened and shut drawers until he found what he sought. Shoving the drawer closed again, he crossed to the bed.

  “This should help.” A warm cloak was briskly pulled around her shoulders and tucked close to her chin. She listened to the muted falls of his feet on the carpeting. Lirth thanked the Kurios for providing such a man.

  “Now.” The mattress shifted as Ireic sat on the opposite edge. “Tell me the problem.”

  “He is here.” The words slipped out before she could form a thought.

  “Who?”

  “Five years ago, a man kidnapped me from my father’s country estate. He sold me to Baron Tor for a very high price, a fortune.” She swallowed carefully. “That man is here.”

  She shivered despite the warmth of the quilt. “He came to my chambers today and insisted on seeing me. The ladies granted him an audience even though I insisted I did not wish it. They left to fetch him. I hid in the nearest room. I heard his voice as I left and recognized it.” She licked her painfully dry lips.

  Ireic’s large warm hands enclosed hers under the blankets. “What did he do?”

  “Talked.” Lirth shivered. “They escorted him in and then went looking for me. He talked to me as though he knew I was just out of sight.”

  “Tell me what he said.” Ireic’s voice sounded as tight as Lirth’s shoulders felt.

  “He called me by my new title and then Brat like he does in my nightmares.” Another shiver shook her as memories of her nightmare mingled with reality. Ireic began rubbing her hands.

  “Did he leave after that?”

  “I don’t know.” His fingers caressing her palms soothed and distracted. “I ran.”

  “Here?” Ireic’s voice murmured softly, but Lirth could hear the control beneath.

  She nodded.

  “Where was Larissa?”

  Lirth ducked her face away from his eyes.

  “Lirth,” he insisted, “Where was Larissa?”

  “They sent her to the kitchens.”

  “What!”

  Lirth jumped.

  “Why?”

  “They told me that only noble women could serve me. Larissa’s rank of servant deserved only to scrub vegetables and haul refuse out for the kitchens.”

  “Those devious rats.”

  Ireic rose to his feet and paced by the end of the bed. He paused. “Did they comment on your difficulty?”

  “No one addressed it directly.”

  With thumping strides, Ireic paced the floor in silence. Lirth followed his path with her eyes by habit. One, two, three steps on carpet, she counted. One on tile, turn, carpet one, two, three, four. He stopped.

  “They have not broached the subject in the council.” He was facing her. “Instead, they keep us bound up in common law debates, new taxes, and new reforms. They use old games to advance the distance between the noble and the commoner.” He paused again.

  Lirth was not sure if she was supposed to understand him or not.

  Abruptly, he asked, “Do you think he is working alone?”

  “Maybe.” She considered it for a moment. “He has given me the impression of a loner.”

  “Why?” He crossed to the opposite side of the bed and sat on the edge.

  “He said he did not wish to share his reward when h
e finished a job.” Lirth tried to think back to the horrific hours spent in the man’s company many years ago. A soft thump came from Ireic’s side of the bed.

  “What did they call him?” The question was punctuated by another soft thump and the rustle of material.

  “Councilor– One of the women called him Councilor.”

  The bed shifted and dipped as Ireic moved. Lirth burrowed deeper into the heavy blankets wrapped around her as she reclined on the bed.

  “Anything is possible in this government.” He sighed wearily. “I will speak to your women and find out.”

  “And if they will not speak of him?” Lirth asked hesitantly.

  “They will.” The bed dipped again and a warm hand brushed Lirth’s arm. “Sleep. I will worry for the both of us.”

  ~~~~~~

  “Silence, Brat,” an oily whisper instructed Lirth.

  Her captor's foul breath flooded her senses. The mixture of bad ale and fish made Lirth’s stomach turn. If she lost her lunch now, she would drown in it. This man would not release her mouth with her brothers so close.

  “If they find us because of you, Brat, I will kill them.” The rasp of the man's voice and the stench of his sweat distracted Lirth from anything she might have heard. “Don't doubt that I will. I am only getting paid for fetching you.”

  Her heart fell as she heard the others approaching.

  “No!” Her heart screamed in agony as she heard the branches part. She felt the man holding her shift his weight. He was going to kill her brother! She struggled but could not move. “No!”

  ~~~~~~

  “Lirth.” A male voice harshly whispered next to her ear. Suddenly finding her hands freed, she flung her arm in the direction of the voice. It connected with something.

  “Let me go.” She jabbed an elbow in the direction of the person behind her. She had to save Aarint.

  “Stop, Lirth.” The man grunted as she found her mark. Then he grabbed her hands and immobilized them firmly. So she started screaming.