I little liked his parlour, and the painting was one reason. Another was the company he kept. Once, when requested to present myself, I was compelled to walk past Jorda Hewt reclining on a lounge. She had worn a thin robe, gaping open to her navel, and had pouted at my arrival. Because of it, I refused to sit there, even when he ordered me to. I think it amused him, my refusal, for if it had annoyed him he would surely have forced the issue.
A short hallway led to his bedchamber, twice the size of mine. Where my sheets were white, his were a decadent maroon and black. Three doorways opened to other areas. One his garden, another to his small dressing room and the third to the bathing area.
He lounged on his bed, already in his night clothes, a goblet of wine in his hand. The black hair of his wig, bunched up on the pillow behind his head, shifted to fall around his shoulders as he turned to watch my entry. There was a certain careful assessment in his gaze, filled with expectation but also lingering reservations.
My grip on the beads tightened in preparation for what was ahead.
“I heard you were looking for me.”
I walked to the door leading to his roof-top garden, twin to mine. “Perhaps we might talk outside, Sire?”
Edmund scowled, scratching at the hair on his chin. “I don’t want to. Come.” He patted the bed beside him. “Sit with me, Anne.”
“I want to ask why you amass troops at the border of our country. My brother, Willem, has noticed and would like answers.”
He sat up, spilling the wine, and slammed the goblet on the table beside his bed. “He has no right to question me!”
“Why not? He is my brother and will one day be King of Chartelyr. This disagreement between you has gone on too long.”
Edmund leant back and beckoned me closer. I did as he bid and when I was close enough he reached for my arm, dragging me towards the red expanse of sheets. I resisted before giving in, cautioned by the anger banked in his light brown eyes. He deposited me onto his bed with a hard shove.
“It’s not the place of my wife to ask such things.”
Primly arranging myself on the edge, I stared over at him. “I have no choice but to ask these questions, for you will not answer my papa or Willem yourself. You ignore their correspondence even as you take steps to strengthen your borders.”
“Your borders! Our borders, Anne,” he reminded me.
“Our borders.” I met his gaze with unflinching determination, allowing the correction. “The question is why?”
“Because it damn well pleases me to do so.”
“Tell me what began this disagreement between you and my brother. Perhaps I can help resolve it. Before we make mistakes that cannot be taken back.”
“What is it with you? I call you in here and you think you can lecture me!” he burst out, his ire rising. He undid the ties of my dress, struggling with the knots. “Why are you still dressed? You know what I need you for.”
Edmund wrenched at the cloth and, when he was done, I started to slip the sleeves from my shoulders. He was too impatient and forced me to stand before ripping it down my body. I stepped out of the circle of material and tried to kick it under his bed, but he picked it up, throwing it across his bedchamber.
That aching sensation of Eadred’s absence hit with instant agony. I gave a cry of dismay and rushed to pick up the dress, searching until I found the pocket. The tria beads held close to my chest, I sighed in relief.
Oblivious to his stormy passage, I experienced a jarring shock as Edmund’s hand struck viciously into mine. The beads tumbled to the floor. “What is it with you, Anne? There’s no time for God when you have your duty to perform!”
His fingers, digging cruelly into my arm, wrenched me away just as I attempted to grab the prayer beads again. Those nails continued to bite as he dragged me to his bed. Any humiliation for my nakedness was nothing compared to the all-consuming agony of Eadred’s absence. “Please.” I reached out a hand. “Let me hold them. They comfort me.” I could endure what was ahead, I truly believed it, if only I could keep the beads.
Pushed onto the mattress, he loomed above and squeezed my cheeks with his fingers, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Leave it,” Edmund ordered. I strained to get away, angering him further. He placed his forearm over my neck and put his weight behind it. My heart thumped in my chest. “What will it be, Anne? Do you truly wish to disappoint me?”
I did not know if he meant to be cruel or if he simply did not care for my well-being. When he looked at me with eyes filled with such indifferent malice, I feared for my life. Head shaking in frantic denial, praying he would ease that crushing force against my throat, I accepted then that my fear of him was powerful enough to negate the ache of separation filling my body. “Forgive me, Sire,” I gasped.
There was desire on his side, I did not have to play to it, I only had to submit. His show of dominance was exciting for him in a way I could never fathom, and for a time I was his plaything. Edmund’s kisses made me gag, but I hid my reaction. Worse, his every touch caused my skin to crawl.
I survived it by closing my eyes, a bright memory held before me, and imagined he was someone else. The man whose singular kiss had induced my heart to beat not in fear, but in need.
And then it seemed a betrayal to think of Eadred when my husband took possession of my body in the way Church, State and Kingdom Law gave him the sole right to do.
It hurt as I did not think it should. Every time, until I seized up tighter and tighter, muscles rigid with pain. It was not only the agony of being parted from Eadred, feeling the distance between us with each breath and beat of my heart. No, there was something wrong inside of me.
Edmund finished, and I drew the maroon sheets over my body. He was looking at me, a frown drawing his brows together, studying the way I clenched my hand in a white grip of pain around the top of the sheet. “Does it hurt you, Anne?”
“It does,” I admitted, and then quickly added, “Sire.”
He sighed, softened enough by our marital activities to offer, “You can call me Edmund, you know.”
I tried it out tentatively. “Edmund.”
“If you relax, you’ll find it’s so much better.” His hand stroked across my shoulder, still held with a rigid tension. “You might even enjoy it.”
I pressed my lips together and took in a deep breath. With a stiffness borne from discomfort, I explained, “I have little knowledge of these matters, only what you have taught me.” He looked at me, considering the idea that he was partly to blame. “Edmund, it is very painful for me. Like knives inside. Is it always this way?”
He glanced away, troubled. “No. It isn’t.”
“I want to … please you, but how can I when I feel such agony? I think I need to see a physician.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Anne. I’ll ask Roache to organise it for you.”
“Send for Lord Eadred.” He got up to put on his night clothes. I hurried off the bed seconds after him, not to dress but to grab the beads from the floor and wrap them around my fingers.
“No.”
“You heard that professor from Birne. He said he has never known a more apt student.”
“That is all he is, a student. No, Anne, we’ll send for a proper physician.”
“I will not feel comfortable talking to anyone else. Lord Eadred knows me. He was kind to me and … I trust him with this delicate matter. Please.”
He checked his black, curly wig was in place, an unconscious movement. “You may leave now. Come in something easier to remove next time. Is that clear?”
I nodded and dressed. His eyes were heavy on me as he climbed into bed. Despite what passed between us, he desired me. I could see it in the bold way his gaze travelled up my body. There was little else, not even the start of a friendship. Still, this was the first time in our marriage that Edmund appeared interested at all in what I said.
“I cannot fulfil my duty as a wife. Not in the manner you need me to. I want to make this right.” Edmund opened his mouth, but I continued, “Send for him. I will trust no one else. He is family and will keep this to himself. I know it as do you.”
With a frown, he gave in to my request. “Very well. If he can leave his studies to tend to you.”
“Lord Eadred is your cousin, he will not let you down,” I promised.
Edmund only snorted his disagreement and rolled over. With soft steps, the ties of my dress loose, I departed his bedchamber, checking if anyone saw, but the guards were already gone. The walk to my bed always left me with a lingering sense of shame.
My smile returned at seeing the framed picture of the box cypher newly hung on the wall above the mantelpiece in my private drawing room. It reminded me, despite my low mood, of happier times.
I prayed beside the mattress, not ready for sleep, asking for intervention and God’s guidance to see my way forward. Deep in my heart, I feared personal happiness was forever lost to me.
Sleep was impossible. Not even Eadred’s tria clutched in my hands helped. My eyes travelled over to the panel marked by the symbol. Lit only by the flickering flames of the fire in my bedchamber, it beckoned me with an invitation to explore. Apathy faded, anticipation taking its place.
The events of the day ran through my mind. The chief minister and my husband spying on me. My every move watched and private belongings searched.
A longing to be free and unsupervised pushed me from my bed. I tiptoed my way through the bathing area, dressing room and then closet to find my riding cloak, the one with a hood.
Candle held aloft and the cloak wrapped over my shoulders, I pressed the secret panel open. I left it ajar, not wanting to get lost on the first night of my exploration.
Mustiness tickled at my nose as I breathed in, holding the flame up and studying the interior. Wooden beams, covered in dust, crossed the inside of the walls. Cobwebs fluttered above, moving with the draught coming from my bedchamber. No spiders scuttled from their webs to investigate, and I let out a quiet sigh of relief.
The ground was just as dusty as the beams. I lowered the candle and discovered the scuff marks of someone’s passage. Not mine, for I had not ventured far. Alarmed, I retreated to my bed, not prepared to meet anyone else.
The following night, gathering my courage, I returned, and every evening for the rest of the week, discovering most areas were not as thick with dust but with spiders aplenty. If the owner of those footprints was around, I never met him. Or her.
Quiet and careful, a candle held aloft in my hand, I counted my steps, slowly memorising all the turns. Sometimes I climbed down a ladder, taking only five steps before the passage forced me to ascend another. A map began to form in my mind, working out where I was on the top level, realising those ladders were designed to go around doors or windows. Longer ladders led to the lower levels. Not knowing my way as well around the offices or staterooms, I was easily confused about my location.
I sacrificed sleep for the sake of my exploration. Regina and Annette often commented about how tired I appeared; venom hidden behind sweet tones. Georgette would then stare at me with pity, ashamed of their behaviour but unwilling to say anything against them.
Once I was sure of the route, I explored the passage in other ways, testing for concealed entrances. I discovered most rooms were accessible through panels marked with that odd symbol. Discreet holes, such as the one in my bedchamber, allowed me to peer inside to check if they were occupied and whether it was safe to open the door.
A compelling new world opened before me, revealing parts of the palace I might never otherwise encounter. Sometimes I witnessed people engaged in private activities. Things I had no business spying on. I found it extraordinarily unnerving and never lingered long. But even the excitement at my strange discovery could not distract from a growing worry about Eadred’s lack of reply to my letter. Tortured with thoughts of his reaction to my dream, I diverted myself with an obsessive single-mindedness, focused on expanding my knowledge of the passages.
By day I sometimes lost track of what was happening around me, enough that my ladies in waiting noticed. They grew bolder in their sniping until they did not even attempt to hide the contemptible way they spoke by pretending it was all said in good fun.
I had larger worries than Annette and Regina.
Called to attend my husband, I asked if he had requested Eadred return to Sidem. He ordered me to stop badgering him. The pain was excruciating that night. I returned to my room, clutching the beads in my hands, deeply worried that something was very wrong.
When my monthly flow came it was heavy, with cramps that kept me in bed for days. Adele fussed over me and worked hard to clean everything, never complaining. When the ache faded and the bleeding eased, I felt drained of energy.
Chief Minister Roache organised for a physician to examine me. At first I refused him entry, angry Edmund had broken his promise, then gave in, too tired for a prolonged protest.
The physician was a middle-aged man with a cheerful disposition and cold hands. I answered his questions, becoming mortified when he pressed for details I did not wish to share. His icy fingers probed at my wrist as he stared at the far wall with a distant expression on his face. They then moved to my throat, testing under my jaw. For what I could not guess.
He pushed into my stomach, asking if I felt anything, but there was only a slight discomfort. With a sound of satisfaction he straightened, telling me there was not a thing wrong that having a baby would not fix. Until then I was to chew feverfew leaves to relieve the pain.
I watched him leave my bedchamber, his attitude thick with self-congratulation for easing the worries of the Queen.
Miserable at the knowledge nothing would change, I fought back tears. It was Eadred I needed. His healing and, I hoped, his understanding.
A letter from Willem was delivered soon after, advising of his wedding within the month. The news lifted me from my unhappy thoughts.
I sent a note, via Adele, to inform Edmund. I was in my royal closet, considering which dresses to take for the visit home, when she returned, a folded piece of paper in her hand. My heart sank once more into despondency as I read my husband’s reply. He would not permit me to attend my brother’s wedding to Vivica.
Never had the acknowledgment of my imposed confinement, lack of freedom or will, descended upon me so darkly.
I blinked away the moisture pooling in my eyes and wrote to Willem, telling of my regret and wishing him all the best for such a joyous occasion.
To distract from my sadness, I continued with my explorations when all but a few souls were abed. Armed with a candle, the tria beads in the pocket of my nightdress and hairpins stuck in a messy bun, I entered the secret passageway.
It was only the second night I attempted to venture out into the main building, leaving the safety of the hidden hallway. I enjoyed visiting the thoroughfares of the palace without my passage being noted. The servants, now their jobs were completed for the day, were asleep. The upper floors I discovered were far more likely to be busy with secretive comings and goings. For that reason, I avoided the hall near the courtier’s rooms. But here on the lower floor, where all was quiet, I felt truly free.
Muffled voices echoed through the empty hallway and I stopped to listen, trying to work out which direction it came from. A thump followed by a dragging sound and low, mocking laughter. Whatever this was, they were getting closer.
I hurried back to the hidden entrance of the passage but was not quick enough to escape. Three men appeared, coming around the corner. Startled, I dropped my candle, the noise swallowed by their jeers as the light sputtered out.
One carried a torch and, with his companion, harassed a man of slighter build. Hastily drawing the deep hood over my face to hide my identity, I pressed as flat as I could against
a recessed wall, held in shocked stillness and barely daring to breathe. They did not appear to be servants. I wondered by what right they were in the palace.
They did not see me. Not even when the shorter one stumbled and fell at my feet. They stood over him, brandishing their daggers. The man with the torch kicked at his leg. “Get up. Tell us where you hid Roache’s letters!”
“I know nothing about it.” He was strangely confident, smiling at his assailants as he pushed up to lounge back on his palms.
“It was you!”
The one on the ground asked, “How much is he paying you?”
“More than you ever did!”
“I told you it was a mistake getting involved with him, but you didn’t listen, did you?” The man’s nonchalant smile widened.
“We need those letters. Get up. Take us to where you hid them.” A dagger was jabbed towards him, again eliciting little reaction.
He curled his legs under his body and stood, shoulders pushed back in defiance. “Make me.” Such confidence was surprising considering they both towered over him and that he carried no weapons.
“Time for some arm twisting, Bert?” the one carrying the torch suggested.
Bert gave a sinister smile and stabbed low. The shorter man skipped out of reach and struck Bert’s hand. The dagger fell to the ground. He swept his foot out, and Bert crashed onto his bottom with a loud grunt of exhaled air.
Shockingly, the slight man looked at me and I realised he was not as oblivious to my presence as I first thought. “I would appreciate your help. Any time now.”
He little needed it. Yet, my heart racing at the excitement, I pulled out the pins, allowing my hair to tumble down into the hood. I slashed at the one holding the torch, cutting across the top of his hand. The dagger fell from his grip and clattered to the stone floor.
Invocation Page 15