Invocation

by Nicole Warner

  He dumped the torch and cradled the damaged hand to his chest, looking towards me. “Who the hell are you? Where did you come from?”

  The slight man picked up the discarded weapons and smiled. “Meet my new partner, lads.” The men tried to peer beneath my hood, but I ducked my head lower. “Make no mistake, our business arrangement has ended. Now, get out of here!”

  They were confused, exchanging worried looks before glancing at my sharp hairpins and their own daggers held by the short man. Retreat the best option, they ran, leaving the torch behind.

  The man turned to me and bowed. He tucked the two weapons into the sides of his belt. I saw in the dim light that he was smiling. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Queen Anne. I thank you for your help.”

  Caught off guard, I did not know what to say. I began edging down the hall, hoping to find a way out of this dangerous situation.

  I studied, beneath the rim of my hood, the ordinary features of his face. Blonde hair bordering on light brown, eyes a colour I could not make out, he was neither ugly nor handsome, but something in between. His skin was unlined, so he was young then, maybe six or seven years older than my sixteen. He wore dark grey clothing, simple and unadorned. There was little about him that would generate much attention, except perhaps for his height and slight build.

  Short only, I discovered as he drew closer, in comparison to those men, for he was taller than I by a few inches. “Come now, Your Majesty, don’t be shy. I mean you no harm.” My gaze travelled down to the daggers in his belt. He put up his hands.

  I attempted to deepen my voice as I said, “I am not who you think.”

  “Good try, but I know exactly who you are. If I may?” He reached for the edge of the hood. I raised my weapons, warning him to keep his distance. “No need for that, Queen Anne.” As the material fell away, he beamed, transforming his features into something almost memorable. “Ah, there you are!” Strangely reassured by that smile, I lowered the hairpins and moved to return my unbound strands to neatness. “I’m more excited than I can express to meet you. Neat trick,” he said with much admiration, watching as I twisted my hair into a bun and stuck the pins through it.

  He held out his hand. I hesitated, then put out mine. He did not lift it to his lips in the courtly way I was used to, instead shaking it up and down. “My name is Warren.”

  “How did you …?” I started to ask.

  “Know who you are? It’s my business. I’ve seen you scurrying about of late and knew our paths would soon cross.”

  He picked up the torch and my fallen candle, handing it over after lighting it. “Shall we return you to your apartment?” Warren clicked open the panel. With a gallant wave he offered to let me go in ahead of him but I refused with a quick shake of my head, still wary.

  With unerring focus, he headed for my bedchamber, taking a shortcut I was unfamiliar with. He tapped the spy hole stuffed full of moss. “The second clue.”

  “And the first?” I put the candle on the mantelpiece, stepping from the fire to watch him.

  “You’re easy to see coming, what with the way you go about carrying your light in there.” He smiled, putting his free hand behind his back and peering about the bedchamber.

  “You were in there at the same time?”

  “I was. In a manner.” I frowned my confusion, and he explained, “Your candle heralded your arrival long before you came into view. I’d make a quick retreat and watch you go by.”

  “Just you?” I followed his gaze to the spying hole. He lifted an eyebrow. “Is there anyone else who knows about this?”

  “A few. All in my employ.”

  “Your employ?”

  He tapped the side of his nose knowingly and gave a low bow, saying, “Let me introduce myself properly. Warren Lightfoot at your service. Self-taught spy and master of disguise. It’s the game I love. And the money that comes with it. The currency of my trade. I’ve been in search of a patron. One such as yourself who has found the secret ways of this palace would make a fine one. Perhaps you’ve time to listen to my proposition?”

  “Why? I cannot see what benefit it would hold for you, especially as I have no easy access to royal funds. Besides, I little like the thought of an arrangement with someone tangled in Roache’s business.”

  “Ah. I heard of your altercation with him. Spying on you, wasn’t he? Using three inept chambermaids.”

  “What do you know of it? What happened to them?” On this matter, Roache had dismissively informed me it was all taken care of.

  “They’ve been handed over to the local magistrate on trumped-up charges. Probably won’t see the light of day for years to come. It was very well played by you. Quite extraordinary, in fact. It’s rare for anyone to take Roache by surprise, but you managed it.”

  He strolled closer to the fire, banked now and burning with a hot glow. The heated brilliance consumed the wood, changing from fiery orange to burnt black in quick flashes. Warren threw the torch in and it flared brighter, flames growing to lick at this new fuel.

  “I’m not involved with Roache, nor am I after money. At least, not from you. You intrigue me. When you discovered the secret of the inner passages I was, in every way, impressed.”

  “I do not comprehend how I can help you, Mister Lightfoot.”

  “Oh, but you can!” He clapped his hands in excitement, those indefinable eyes alight with glee. “An ambition to expand has overtaken me, you understand. I’m prepared to offer all my considerable resources for your particular use, whatever that may be. I’ve a large network of contacts and informants spread throughout the city. All I require is a patron who’ll allow me certain freedoms.” His gaze shifted to the door. In a lower voice he finished with, “For the pursuit of my personal interests.”

  Adele knocked with quiet taps. “Your Majesty. Is everything well?”

  I rushed over and opened it a fraction. “Adele, it is late.”

  “I heard voices.”

  “Only mine.” I forced a laugh and told her, “I have been reading from a book.” She frowned, not looking convinced, so I changed tact. “I am sorry if I disturbed your rest.”

  “No, Your Majesty, it’s my fault for disturbing you! Forgive me.” Adele gave a quick curtsy.

  I waited until she was out of sight before closing the door and, placing a finger over my lips, walked out to the garden. I wheeled around to face him, a hairpin back in my fist. To say I was a sceptical would be an understatement. “If I were to believe a word you are saying, and I do not, why would you choose me as your patron? I can think of no reason.”

  “You can’t?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “The lonely young Queen. Trapped in her cage of luxury and wealth, yet so deeply unhappy it’s plain for anyone to see.” My mouth dropped open. “There are opportunities here for both of us. What do you have to lose?”

  “I am no dullard, believing the lies of a man with a silver tongue.”

  Even in the darkness of the garden, only the stars above to give us light, I saw his smile. “Oh, I’m well aware you’re no dullard. I’d hazard a guess you’re highly intelligent, or you’d never have worked out how to use those panels.” Warren took a step closer, confident I would not hurt him.

  That silver tongue continued to lay out his proposition. “I offer you an opportunity to open your eyes to a side of the world you might never otherwise see. To gain an ally with formidable resources at his disposal and make yourself the equal to your husband in every way. To challenge and teach you things about Tellenel you’ll have little hope to discover while locked away in your gilded cage. I present you with freedom, but most importantly, a chance to think for yourself.”

  “How can I trust you?”

  “You can’t, my dear Queen Anne. Not yet. But I’ll earn it.” His air of confidence bordered on arrogance. As if the time for discussion was ended, he told me, “Advise R
oache you’ve found a suitable seneschal to manage your affairs. I’ll present myself with impeccable references tomorrow.”

  “He will not know who you are?”

  “While I’ve seen Derwent Roache many times, believe me when I tell you, he’s never laid eyes on my face! Now, be a good queen and do as I say.”

  “You are giving me an order?” I asked, astounded.

  He laughed. “Oh, my dear Queen Anne. One day you’ll be the master in this relationship. But, for now, you’re the pupil and I’ve much to teach you!” He let himself out, still chuckling.

  The following morning, I sent a message to Roache, informing him of my recent appointment.

  After an interview with the chief minister, Warren presented himself in the Queen’s drawing room. He bowed, attired in his new uniform: cream doublet, white lapel edged in lace, a blue crown over the heart, black pants and boots. I introduced him to Annette, Regina and Georgette. His manner was charming and affable, winning them over with ease.

  He asked if he might speak to Adele to familiarise himself with my routine and requirements. I agreed it would be wise if he did so. With another bow, this time accompanied by a small grin of mischief for my benefit, he left to do just that.

  My ladies in waiting wished to spend the rest of the afternoon playing games on the lawn with Edmund and a group of lords. I begged off from joining them, citing my recent malady.

  When I expressed a desire to read, Georgette offered to accompany me, despite her keenness for the other activity moments before. “My thanks, Lady Georgette, but some solitude is just what I need right now.”

  In the library, I searched for books on the history of the palace, hoping for one that might speak of the secret passageway, more for personal curiosity than anything else. I flicked through a book detailing the earliest buildings in Sidem, when the sound of scuffed footsteps drew my attention.

  A courier in a dusty grey uniform glanced around with searching eyes. He entered the row when he spotted me. There was upon his face a certain vagueness I was becoming familiar with. He handed over a letter, looking a little lost. I thanked him and sent him on his way.

  I returned the book to the shelf, holding Eadred’s missive in my hand, not at all worried that anyone would see. All too often, I had witnessed people’s eyes fill with an empty vagueness, as if to them the letters did not exist.

  I was still careful when I broke the seal in my study. Once Adele noticed one just as I was about to burn it. At seeing what I was doing, she had made a sound of surprise and then stared with curiosity at the paper held before the flames. I had dropped it into the fire, making no comment, and she had curtsied, asking for my forgiveness for the interruption.

  Dearest Anais,

  It’s all true, everything in your dream, though I still can’t fathom how you saw it. There are things I cannot tell you, and so many reasons why it must be kept a secret. For my sake. And for yours. I don’t know who that woman is or why she has carried out multiple attempts on my life. Why she continues to send men and assassins after me. I can only say that, as was made clear in your dream, there’s a force that seeks to protect me and that’s the only reason I’m alive to this day.

  Father Tyrell knew something of it. In the moments before his death, he said these words to me: raise filial heart and revolt.

  I can make no sense of it. Let me know if you can decipher it. I believe it’s important. To us both.

  Anais, it can’t be a coincidence you’ve been able to dream of past events, for I’ve been cursed my entire life with visions of the future. Even remembering some destroys me, knowing as I do that they will all come to pass. That’s not the worst of it. I wish I could warn people but, for reasons I’ve never understood, I cannot. On this my voice is muted.

  I too have dreamt about you. Many times. Most were wishful thinking, in the way of all the very best dreams. Others were something more.

  Here his writing became messy, with three crossed out attempts to start the sentence.

  I dreamt we danced at a masquerade ball, an immense and unknowable secret held between us. We were happy for that one bright, shining moment in time.

  Such a dream gives me hope.

  Until my last breath, Eadred

  His final hurried scrawl made me laugh. Seconds later, I was kissing where he had written his name and reading it again, trying to comprehend this great burden of his. The attachment between us was stronger than anything I could have imagined and as mystifying. Nothing had changed. I was still married to his cousin but, like Eadred, given cause to hope.

  I began to grasp a tiny fraction of the way it was all connected. The need for secrecy. The letter from the Mother. My dreams and the pain that overwhelmed me at Eadred’s absence. His visions, ability to heal and being Three Times Blessed.

  I wrote the strange quote onto paper and burnt his letter. His list, the one those spying chambermaids had dismissed, was changed to: healing, future, visions.

  Sleep eluded me that night. I gave up the attempt, getting out of bed and carrying a candle to my study. For hours I worked on the line: raise filial heart and revolt. I tried substitution cyphers, making anagrams out of the words, all without legible results.

  In my left hand I rolled the small bauble found in the snow at Vird, finding the motion soothing, as my thoughts feverishly struggled to come up with any viable solution.

  On my last attempt of the night, the heavy call of sleep dragging upon my body, I attempted to decipher the message by treating the entire quote as an anagram. A few words came to mind and then more. Some made no sense but others fit together with a growing rightness. Time passed quickly while I worked, the stub of my candle low and the fire in the room reduced to smouldering coals.

  I formed a final rearrangement and sat back. An emotion I could not name unfurled deep within me. Horror. Resignation. Fear. Wonder. Awe. It carried elements of them all.

  The flames flared for a bright moment as the papers of my workings were consumed. In my letter to Eadred, I wrote my answer using a code. There was power in those words, and I did not want to take any chances of anyone else reading them.

  Unable to guess what he would make of it, aware only of the way it shook me to the depths of my soul, I shared this burden with him. If there was any truth to the phrase uttered to him by a dying priest, it meant we were at the heart of events greater than anything I could ever have imagined.

  That Unbreakable

  Connection

  Elron joined me, taking a chair on the other side of the small table I occupied at the Broken Sail. His shoulders were stiff, jaw tense. A quick nod and almost grunt were all he gave in greeting, before waving a hand to Rosa for a round of drinks. If he was already in a bad mood, my news was sure to make it worse.

  The bar Rosa both served at and lived above possessed a decidedly nautical theme. Thick rope, in sailor’s knots, fell in hoops from the ceiling. The helm of a ship, spokes running through the centre, graced the area behind the bar. Conch, clam and cockle shells, hundreds of them, were strung up on lengths of twine and covered every patch of wall, some in twirling patterns, others in straight lines. While it took a while to get used to the clutter on all sides, the charm of the place was unmistakable.

  A section was open to the beach, allowing fresh sea breezes to pour into the room. Tentative glimmers of moonlight, reflected from ocean and sky, battled lanterns set around the walls.

  I pushed the scrap of paper across the narrow table, dodging sticky patches of old beer. “I found this.”

  Dark brown eyes narrowing, he glanced down. “On whom? A dahlia assassin?”

  “News travels fast then,” I said, grimacing. Elron lifted his shoulders, opening his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. “Don’t get upset. No one could have expected such an open assault. Especially by a dahlia assassin.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”


  Unhappy at his reminder of the attack in the palace, I frowned, looking away. Waves, faint in the moonlight, crashed against the shore, beautiful and wild. Rosa brought over two tankards, and I pulled myself out of my thoughts enough to thank her. She rubbed her hands over Elron’s shoulders and gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek before heading back to her duties.

  The brew was bitter and satisfying. I drank half before turning to my friend. “What do you think?”

  He picked up the scrap to study it, flipping the paper over and holding it to the light. “I’m not sure. You got this off the assassin?”

  I nodded, uneasiness and a touch of fear coming through. “Could it be true?”

  “That King Edmund hired someone to poison you?” Elron dropped it on my side of the table. “See how the edges all around are torn? It doesn’t seem his style.”

  “It’s his handwriting. I can attest to that.”

  “But it might be ripped from a much larger letter and taken out of context. Something that goes like: I could kill my cousin, Eadred, for hitting me. The way the k isn’t a capital fits in with that, start and end of the sentence both gone.”

  I understood what he was suggesting, the same idea crossing my mind after I got over my initial shock.

  Elron continued, “If so, who was the original letter for? And how did this part get in the hands of a dahlia assassin?”

  I considered the scrap, trying to make sense of it. “Are you implying someone is setting up my cousin to take the blame? But why? He could order my death next week and there’s little anyone could do about it.”

  “Your father would never allow that to happen. Banishment is more likely if the King and council agree you deserved punishment.” He saw my expression and hastily reassured me, “Which you do not. You’ve done nothing wrong. What’s clear from this attack is that someone wants to muddy the waters by pushing a further wedge between you and King Edmund. In fact, everything about this feels off. It’s why you should inform Prince Earon. We’ve kept these attacks from your father for too long.” And now he thumped his finger on the table. “You need extra protection.”