Invocation

by Nicole Warner

  Dearest Eadred,

  The sun flies west, six birds behind. Father Tyrell’s message was an anagram for:

  LYX UHUCM GCBY NBY NMCU ZIL UFF

  Can this be possible? If so, I confess I fear what it means. First, you tell me of your visions and give confirmation my dream was true. Strange enough. But you will surely consider it the lesser oddity once you decipher the code. I cannot understand any of it.

  It is not the only strangeness of late. Someone called the Mother left a message for me in a book in the palace library. When I finished reading it, the letter turned to dust. She somehow perceived what I had seen. Called it a true dreaming, and told me to speak of it to no one, except you who already knew. She warned against pursuing secrets defended with extreme zealousness. You also spoke of the need for secrecy. Coincidence?

  She gave me an essay written by Mariana of the Sancto Seers. The Mother said it would give me the answers I needed and, while it confirmed my suspicions you were Three Times Blessed, I am left feeling it serves a different purpose. Have you ever heard of the Sancto Seers? For I have not.

  If only we might speak privately. I am sure together we could work out what it all means.

  Forgive me if I ramble. I have been working on this for many hours and it is close to dawn.

  I have need of you for another matter, too delicate to write in this letter. Please, if your studies permit, return to Sidem. God go with you, Anais

  I folded the paper just under the cypher, deciphering the code on the blank side and revealing the message: Red Anais live the tria for all.

  Staggered, I dropped my head. Layer upon layer of complications, ones I couldn’t comprehend, unfurled before me. I sat with it for many minutes, contemplating everything contained in those words. This was why Father Tyrell had believed I was meant to marry Anais. His happy, gap-toothed smile in those moments before his death. He thought he was helping me.

  In the end it was all for nothing. In tiny increments, measured by breath and steadying beats of my heart, those fanciful thoughts faded. Anais was already married. The past couldn’t be changed. What was set in motion would not be altered, not by seven words, no matter how much I might wish it.

  Yet, where did the original quote even come from, and why did Father Tyrell place such stock in it? Especially in the face of everything else that told us of its improbability.

  If the Mother mentioned in her reply was of the Triune, it made sense that she’d ask Anais to keep her emerging gift quiet. What made less sense was why someone from the Church didn’t just go to see Anais and tell her of the Holy Path.

  We both deserved answers.

  I burnt her letter, the smell of charred paper filling the dormitory, and snuffed out the remaining embers with my boot. It was time to seek the truth.

  Bishop Richard, when Father Tyrell died, I found your letters to him. What was made clear was the way the Triune interfered in matters not normally under their sphere of influence. Father Tyrell also shared a phrase, one you dismissed too easily and called nonsense.

  Raise filial heart and revolt–is an anagram for–Red Anais live the tria for all.

  If anyone can understand what this means, it is you. And I suspect, so will the Triune. They cannot continue to deny me an audience. I trust you’ll assist with this.

  In your letter to Father Tyrell, you spoke of my connection with Queen Anne, but I don’t believe you comprehend the entirety of it. I must accept some responsibility for this. I was too quick to dismiss it in my original report to you, but no longer. Something is at work in our lives. I urge you to send someone to speak with her, Eadred

  I sent the letter the next morning, leaving off from replying to Anais until I had answers for her.

  The response came swiftly, only days passing in between. I read it in the central ward, standing in the corner of the long room beside a sleeping patient’s bed. Elron heeded my request for a little privacy and stood away.

  Dear Eadred,

  I fear you are confused. The phrase Father Tyrell put so much stock in is an old one, deciphered centuries ago.

  It will serve you well to remember your ancestor, King Ealfredwulf, was known as the Red Wolf. Often he was further given the diminutive of Red. From your letter, I believe you suggest you share this moniker with him. Of other interest is the name of his wife, Queen Siana. You’ll notice the fascinating coincidence that, when her name is written backwards, it becomes Anais. I understand your confusion and only seek to provide you with clarity. That phrase, of some antiquity, refers to your ancestors and all they did in uniting the peoples of our land. It cannot be interpreted otherwise, no matter how much you wish for it.

  I’m fond of you Eadred, always have been, but when you disparage the judgement of the Triune you only make a fool of yourself.

  As for their reasons for refusing you an audience, it’s simple; while they’re well aware of the Divine’s intervention to save your life, they’re also content to allow events to unfold as they will. May I strongly suggest you forget your attachment to the Queen lest you waste your entire life to the folly of pursuing it. I say this as your old mentor and friend.

  I trust this will be the last time I hear of this matter.

  With the sincerest wishes for your health and future happiness, Bishop Richard

  I ripped his letter into tiny pieces and dropped them in a bowl of water. As black ink smeared, wispy tendrils leaking from the parchment scraps and polluting the water, sheer disbelief churned through me. Just what kind of game were they playing at?

  A Bloodless Attack

  As I could not return to Chartelyr, Edmund brought the celebration to me by holding a banquet in honour of my brother’s wedding. Never sure of his true motivations, I still felt gratitude and expressed it, accepting this act of kindness on his part, though I sorely wished I could instead be with my family. Regardless of his reasons, anticipation fizzled down my arms and stomach, setting my heart to beating. Word had travelled to his ears of the markedly different cuisine of Chartelyr. For the first time in nine months of marriage, the rest of the court were to experience it. It was to be a grand affair, thirty courtiers in attendance, including Prince Earon and Lady Drusilla.

  I entered the banquet gathering room to find a good number of the lords and ladies already mingling in the large antechamber. Only the most prestigious events were held in this area. For smaller, more intimate dinners, Edmund preferred the royal supper room.

  I stared about, absently accepting a glass of wine, and reined in the emotions still prickling my skin. As with much of the palace, it was a magnificent chamber. Pristine white walls were decorated with silver and red filigree that branched across the ceiling and sides. Enormous chandeliers, brimming with candles, lit the area with more lights along the walls. The carpeted floor, a rich maroon, both thick and soft, swallowed up every step of my heeled shoes.

  A large canvas, taking up the entire height and length of the north wall, depicted the chaotic scenes as King Ealfredwulf forced the barons of the time to accept his rule. Angry faces, and those marked with hope, were turned on Ealfredwulf where he sat on his first throne of woven branches. A red tinge overlaid the scene, the colour of passion and anger, but around the man who sought sovereignty over the people of Tellenel, there was a golden nimbus, redolent of the dawning sun.

  Prince Earon waved, dragging my attention from the powerful artwork. He stood with Lady Drusilla, who looked elegant in a navy-blue dress of stiff satin. The bodice was embellished with a large brooch of rose gold and her thick chestnut hair was artfully arranged and covered in a net of smooth pearls. After proper courtesies were followed, I surprised the lady by leaning over and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  “Queen Anne, it’s wonderful to see you again,” she said with genuine delight. Her forthright hazel eyes studied me intently, and her lips firmed in slight chagrin. “Though you look a
little paler than the last time I saw you. Is everything well?”

  I hastened to reassure her. “It is, Lady Drusilla. I simply do not spend as many hours in the sun as I used to.”

  “Ah, that must be it.”

  Prince Earon, in his distinguished grey doublet and golden chain, smiled with a warmth that filled me with both sadness and joy, so like Eadred’s was his smile. “Queen Anne, as always, it’s a true pleasure. And for such a happy occasion, your brother’s wedding. Did you ever get to meet Lady Vivica?”

  I shook my head, explaining, “Willem was called home before my arrival in Sidem.”

  “We must ask King Edmund to organise a state visit so you may become better acquainted with your new sister.”

  “I would like that.” They were empty words, acutely aware as I was of the unlikelihood. The animosity Edmund carried for my brother was something I was considering asking Warren to investigate. Whatever had happened in those days before my wedding, it had involved Eadred. That neither he nor Willem would speak of it, told of its gravity.

  With much greater fanfare than my arrival, Edmund entered the gathering room, flanked by Fern Hathen. His silver doublet and pants, a little puffed out over the thighs, were the finest of the party. Lace spilled from the cuffs and across his shoulders. His heeled white shoes, the buckles glistening with diamonds, matched the belt on his waist.

  The men bowed with courtly flourishes. The women curtsied with delicate dips of their knees and graceful arches of their necks, skirts held out to either side. Fern Hathen, by dint of being the one on his arm, took this homage as hers. The smile she bestowed on the room was as hungry as it was beautiful.

  She wore a bright yellow gown. The décolletage sat low over her breasts. She gave those of us watching no choice but to take in everything she put on display. Her fingers, artfully caressing across the top of her chest, left me in no doubt that it was her intention.

  Edmund, after a brief rake of his eyes to mark my attendance, turned back to the beautiful woman at his side. I looked at Prince Earon, thinking to find his gaze on the alluring mistress of the King, but found his blue eyes yet trained on me. Flattered and a little gratified, I asked, “Will Lord Eadred be coming home soon?”

  He shook his head, smiling to take any sting out of his words. “Eadred’s studies keep him busy. I can’t imagine he’ll be able to return to Sidem until they’re completed.”

  “Oh.” Dismayed, I glanced away, sipping at the wine. There was no good reason to dwell on it or give in to the overwhelming desire to inquire further about his son. Yet … “Not even to see his papa?” Lady Drusilla’s lips pursed. Seeing a hint of her censure return, I gave a soft sigh, following her cue and speaking of other matters.

  Shortly after, we were summoned into the banquet hall where the servants, in their sharply pressed and formal uniforms of white and blue, stood at attention behind every chair.

  The banquet hall, connected to the gathering room through wide double doors, was similarly decorated, with spiralling flourishes on the walls in silver and red. The long table was set perfectly with matching plates and cutlery, a white cloth draped over the length. Silver candle holders and red flowers, interspersed with fresh fruit of every colour, ran along the centre of the table. Two chandeliers, not as heavy with candles as the adjoining chamber, but exquisite nonetheless, provided softer lighting above us.

  Tonight, the massive banquet table was in a shape something like a horseshoe. On other occasions, it had been placed in one long setting. Then I usually sat at the far end, opposite to my husband. I hesitated now, unsure of my standing, the elevation of his mistress shaking my confidence more than I cared to admit.

  Prince Earon tapped my elbow and, when I looked, waved towards the main section in the middle where Edmund glared with impatient disapproval. Fern Hathen, twirling a strand of black hair over a long and smooth finger, smiled snidely from her position on his right. A sick sensation quashed my earlier hopes for the evening. If this was done for my benefit, Edmund’s behaviour gave lie to his promised intent.

  I did my best to ignore all the eyes watching for my reaction, walking with steady steps to stand at Edmund’s side. We waited for him to take his seat and followed suit. Prince Earon took his place beside me, Lady Drusilla to his left. On the right of Fern Hathen sat Roache, rounding out those at the top of the table.

  Across from us were Lord Barnes and Lord Iodensen, the two councilmen in the middle, with Regina and Lord Trey a little further down, opposite Roache. Lord Darius and his wife were seated at the other end. Lady Silwen inclined her head towards me in greeting. They were not often in court but, when they did attend, Edmund was always sure to keep Darius close by.

  Conversations, happy and boisterous, flowed around the room.

  The first course was served: a passable attempt at a marinar bisque, though the fish they used was not flavoured as it should be. Nevertheless, the courtiers made every appearance of enjoying the unfamiliar dish.

  Prince Earon said, “I’ve heard King Stefan is unwell. Is there any truth to it?”

  My sad smile confirmed the veracity of the rumours. “So Willem and Rene tell me. Though my papa does not like to make a fuss and will never speak of it in his letters. I would have liked to have seen him at the wedding, but it was not to be.”

  His soft pat on my wrist expressed his sympathy. “I hope, Your Majesty, that it’s only a momentary illness.”

  “As do I.” My papa might yet recover. He was tenacious, in body and spirit. After losing his wife and raising three children alone, he could be nothing else. “I pray every night for his recovery.”

  The servants served a number of smaller courses, appetisers with bolder scents and flavours. Noses wrinkled up at tastes they were not accustomed to, but it stimulated the room.

  Conversations and questions about Chartelyr were directed at me, the courtiers wanting to know more about the country of my birth.

  Pleasure at their response had my guard dropping further. I laughed at Prince Earon’s witty observations as Lord Erik asked for another serving of patatas bravos. The red stain of his ruddy cheeks bled further into his blonde hairline as he dipped the morsel in the spicy sauce with relish. As a man disinclined to smile during the best of times, it was almost a shock to see that wide and merry lifting of Lord Erik’s lips. Not even Annette’s scowls of displeasure, that her husband dared enjoy such foreign fare, countered my growing happiness.

  Chille cordelle, a favoured meal of my childhood, was the main course. The delicious scents assailed my nose as they set plates before each courtier, bringing fond memories with it. I brought a forkful up to my lips and ate with pleasure, contemplating how Mistress Towers improved every time she made it.

  A sudden cough drew my attention, and then another. Red of face, our guests reached desperately for drinks and consumed them with uncommon eagerness. They cried out to the servants for water, yelling their throats were on fire. Sweat beaded on foreheads, trickling down cheeks as they dragged in hoarse breaths and waved hands before open mouths.

  Edmund and the Prince were affected as well. Roache, on the other side, clutched a hand to his throat and drank with the rest, though his discomfort did not seem as great. Women cried openly, drinking everything in reach, until it became too much and they rushed from the table, close to tripping over long skirts in their haste.

  I watched on, astonished. As their gazes turned to me, the only one unaffected, astonishment changed to consternation.

  “What have you done, Anne?” Edmund accused. “Poisoned us?”

  “Perhaps the chilli was too strong. It is not always to everyone’s liking.”

  “This is not strong but something designed to kill us,” Fern gasped, tears blotching her face until all appearance of beauty was stripped away. “You’re not in pain. You did this!”

  “No!” I denied the charge, appalled.
>
  How could my sense of taste be so different from theirs? I pulled Edmund’s plate closer, needing to confirm it, and ate a tiny portion. Soon I understood their discomfort, my tongue and throat seizing up with the searing heat. Excessive amounts of chilli were added to the course. I pressed my lips together, amending the thought. Only to their meals. Mine was perfect, just the right blend of spices without too much bite.

  I wanted to explain, but their eyes accused, finding me guilty of something I was not sure they could blame me for. They would not forget, their expressions declared, or forgive. Even with Lady Drusilla and Prince Earon I found no solace, normally kind faces revealing only hurt and reproach. I rushed from the banquet hall, stifling my tears, thoughts scattered and wild with mortification.

  Warren wasted no time in answering my summons to the apartment. Of course, he already knew. “Tell me, how is this possible?” I demanded. “Mine was the only plate unaffected. Was it Mistress Towers?”

  My seneschal paced before the fire, asking for details of the banquet. He surprised me, the way he considered all angles. While Warren had proven himself to be an able seneschal, he was aware he still needed to earn my trust in other areas. He did so now, covering every possible line of inquiry, and answered my question decisively. “Not Mistress Towers. She’s too obvious as the scapegoat. No, there’s bound to be a certain political motivation.”

  “There is only one conclusion to be made. Whoever is behind this wants to destroy my reputation in the court. What little standing I have,” I said, giving an honest assessment of my situation.

  “I heard. Fern Hathen was fair preening.” The short man laughed. “Until she was poisoned.”

  “They were not poisoned!”

  Looking askance at my protest, Warren only chuckled louder. “No, they weren’t. But I’d imagine most of them thought they were dying.”