Annatrice of Cayborne (14 page)

The King was questioning Constance who was vehemently protecting her own self interests and rightly so, she had much to lose from falling out of his favour. Constance recalled every moment from the last two days in fine detail, her account of the night of the blood and the dagger being the most keenly analysed. Annatrice despaired at her most jealously guarded secret laid bare; it was the mystifying element of her condition that she did not want to share. Even at her tender age, she knew that this aspect was her continuing and growing weakness, one that could be easily exploited by an unscrupulous master. Annatrice felt Charleroux's continued hurt and confusion. Somewhere in a most superficial soul, there was a tenderness that remained deeply buried under layers of greed and materialism. She heard his bold and forthright speak but shared in the lack of self confidence which so starkly contrast his outer and inner most thoughts. Annatrice could also feel the curiosity and scepticism of the King's men who were keen to see her skills in action. They questioned the usefulness of Annatrice and posed the query that all were keen to answer the most: what was the extent of her unique powers and how far was she willing to go in order to aid them topple Tragian's regime? They discussed tests, trials to see how far they could push her, they wished to know the range of her powers but most of all they sought to understand how they could capture the essence of her trait to use in isolation, to use without the need for pandering to her every whim.

The experience of watching, hearing and feeling the secretive meeting was wholly negative for the already fragile mind and Annatrice's frustration and rage at being used as a tool for the quest of power only drove her further into a fevered hysteria. She began to punish herself physically for the need to know more and it only spurned her on in her search for greater and greater agonies. She felt out of control, suicidal. She stood at the open shutters and looked down to the street, it was a significant drop, quite high enough to crush and break every bone in her body. The need to be far away from the squabbling minds below pulled her closer to the plummet but then her inner strength welled and her own defiance began to take command of her actions. Striding to the door, she opened it and began her descent down the tight and uneven staircase. To leave the house she would have to walk through the very room where the King and his entourage sat in debate, somehow though she knew that they would not see her and as she approached the ground floor chamber as she had envisioned in her mind, the collected Lords and generals had decided to vacate the room, all at once in favour of the latrine! Still wearing the most meagre of outfits, she parted the front door and skipped away into the freezing air of the street, the night casting its blackened vale across the town, its fires burning bright.

Confusion, embarrassment and anger reigned as the King, Charleroux, Constance and a number of nobles and generals were suddenly lucid and all standing tightly packed within the confined and malodorous room wholly unfit for royalty. Nervous laughter was met with cries of outrage as they realised they had all somehow, quite willingly risen and walked under their own power to the small chamber. Sensing that this was in some way Annatrice's doing, Charleroux rushed upstairs to her quarters which were empty, the cold night air blowing hard through the window.

“She is gone!” He cried out in both annoyance and surprise. The King surveyed the people around him.

“I want her found. Wake up your guard Devinn; I want her returned this hour. I don't care if you have to search the whole town, get her back here now!”

The King was as beguiled as he was furious.

“Keep your wits about you, she has the charm to turn your head and blind you to her presence.” Charleroux stated despite it being quite obvious now.

“Pardon me for saying sire, but she hears every word we say and every notion that passes through our heads but she cannot do it without the pain.” Constance stuttered, unnerved by Deo Canthi's brutish appearance and stern eyes.

“That much has become quite obvious woman. This girl is not our foe; she is our most prized asset. We must recapture her faith and take away that pain.”

One of Deo Canthi's generals stepped forward into the conversation. His bald head bore a scar from a devastating blow to the skull; it was clearly a miracle he had survived.

“Whilst our minds play tricks and our attention is turned, the girl walks by us and we are oblivious. I am sure the King can see the ramifications of such a skill used in battle? With the right kind of research, it is not inconceivable that her powers can be channelled and focused, perhaps even to encompass and enfeeble an entire army?”

Drayk, the softly spoken but sinisterly scarred warrior spoke from the position of a general about to send his troops into conflict. He did not see in Annatrice a vulnerable young woman, barely out of childhood, vexed by her condition and seeking solace. He saw an indirect weapon of infinite destruction. A weapon that if used wisely could not only protect the realm from attack but to also conquer and unite the Protathaian Isle's under a single banner; that banner being the orange and gold standard of Deo Canthi. The King nodded but remained silent, conquest of the world was not high on his agenda, fulfilling his quest to unite the southern lands was always his quest first and foremost. The tantalising thoughts of his right hand man were compelling however, how could they not be? Annatrice of Cayborne was an extraordinary find and how the King punished himself for letting her slip through his fingers so easily.

The small hours of the night passed and Charleroux wandered through the desolate back streets of Horstock, unfamiliar with the town and its intricacies. It had occurred to him that if she chose to remain aloof then she would have no problem in doing so. Her will to feel the urgent presence of her seekers would ensure that she remained far away and never found. There was little point in calling out for her, Charleroux knew that only sleep would close her mind to her pursuers and he was not even sure of that.

Charleroux was tired and he yawned repeatedly as he tried not to catch the frills of his sleeve upon the flaming torch which he clutched in his hand. The softly flickering flames were warming on an otherwise bitter night. Charleroux feared for his wife, attired in so little and so vulnerable. He might not have loved her like a conventional wife, but he cared for her well being and sought her no harm. He stopped for a moment and closed his eyes, if he could sleep whilst standing then he would. He did not want to seem ambivalent to the Kings most urgent request but his mind was giving up and he could feel the numbing sensation of fatigue creeping into his body.

Charleroux's eyes flicked open, there was a feeling, a familiar feeling which he had grew to recognise. Closing his eyes again, he chose not to call out but to formulate his words in thought.

“Annatrice, where are you? I am worried. I seek you not for the King but for my own comfort.”

Charleroux did not expect to hear some disembodied reply; it did not work like that. Instead, he was drawn towards a set of stables lining a large building close to the town's outer limits. It was a pull that Charleroux could not describe, a kind of beacon which glimmered for a moment and then was lost. Quietly entering the stable, the warm flicker of the torch brought him nose to nose with a tall and handsome stallion which retreated with the nearing heat of the flame. Its accompanying smell left him in no doubt that he might have to proceed with caution and watch his step if he did not want to ruin a fine pair of shoes. Standing at the horses flank, Annatrice silently petted the animal which seemed reassured at her presence.

“He is a magnificent mind, full of playful exuberance; he does not enjoy being detained in this place. I understand his sentiments.” Annatrice said as she stepped forward and held the stallions chin up.

“He is born into servitude and knows no other life.” Charleroux replied understanding that his wife felt aggrieved at being used as a tool.

“I feel it matters not, we are all born to be free. Our destiny is not to be shaped by the desires of another.”

Annatrice's statement was profound and Charleroux knew that a philosophical argument was pointless. Indeed, any intentions to mislead her or withhold information were also fruitless.

“Please, come back. It is freezing; there is no dignity in remaining here.”

Annatrice was cold. She wore a nightgown and long silken long johns. Her lips were blue, her usual pale completion even more drained of colour than was normal.

“I see no point in going on, I cannot live with the torment, nor do I wish to be a puppet in the King's sideshow. There is no peace for me in your request.”

Charleroux realised he was fighting a battle of wills.

“Do you not see that when your efforts are focused on seeking your vengeance, your life will once again find purpose? After that is done, you will be released from your matrimonial bonds and we will part company with my most sincere gratitude and respect. Contrary to what you may believe, I seek no harm to befall you. I am sincere in my apologies for behaviour ill fitting of a man of my status; some of the things I have said are regrettable.”

Annatrice felt ashamed that Charleroux had to stoop so low to appease her. It was she who had much to apologise for as her criticism and brazenness had gone unchecked.

“I believe that you are a good man Charleroux and I too have great regret on reflection. My emotional turmoil is no excuse for the humiliation I have brought upon you. I will return with you on the condition that when this is all done and Tragian has been usurped, you must make best efforts to keep me from the hands of Deo Canthi and see to my absolute freedom, wherever it may lie.”

Charleroux barely heard her conditions, so relieve he was to hear her intention to return.

“We must get you in front of a blazing fire, and bathe your wounds.”

He stepped forward and took her ice cold wrist. Removing his jacket, he wrapped it around her as they left. She looked back to the grand horse that had soothed her in her time of need and he whinnied softly acknowledging her comforting companionship.

No words were spoken as Annatrice returned to the house where the King and his entourage huddled around the roaring fire with chalices of sweet wine. She did not care to look at them as she was escorted up the stairs and back to her warm bedroom. Constance nodded a nervous greeting as she parted the sheets upon the bed and tended to the smaller fire which smouldered in the corner.

With tiredness, Annatrice's mind was subdued and sleep although bringing respite did not wholly stave off the unwanted intrusions. Her dreams remained vivid and dark, where there was hope and ambition prior, there was now pessimism and stagnation. The feeling that a new day would bring new promise was now almost intangible. Her final thoughts as she drifted off were of an oppressive asphyxiation, a struggle to break free from a cold and heavy hand over her mouth. It was the same vision she had endured for some time except that it had now changed. Where the face of her attacker had always been that of the rogue King Tragian, it was now the bearded bulk of the more benevolent Deo Canthi. She did not understand the meaning of the vision but its vivid nature was persistent through the dark night and into the morning light.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A cold draught ran across Annatrice's leg which was protruding from the heavy winter sheets and she retracted it sharply. She murmured and rolled around like a playful puppy as her body stirred into motion and her mind became active. It was then that she felt a presence with her in the room and she opened her eyes.

“Morning Annatrice.” The voice was distinctive and she recoiled. The sight of another monarch violating her personal space was much to bear.

“What do you want?” She blurted out in a manner not befitting her royal visitor.

“Annatrice, I apologise for the startling sight. My wife has risen with the same expression of horror and tone of voice for the past ten years.” Deo Canthi laughed at his humorous attempt to break the ice.

“The difference being that I am not your wife.” Annatrice made that clear.

“Indeed, yet you are under my care and I have a duty to ensure your good health. I trust that you are feeling better this morning?”

Annatrice nodded. She did feel better, the noises in her head simmering nicely for once.

“And so the question that we have all longed to ask must finally be spoken...”

Annatrice sighed; at least he was getting to the point without meaningless pleasantries.

“You want to know how I am to aid you. You want to know how far to push me before my mind snaps like a fallen twig underfoot.”

Annatrice's cynicism was rather evident.

“I feel that this can be a mutual arrangement, the more you are inclined to aid us, the more we will offer you in return. I am a generous ruler with the power to grant you great fortunes, palatial houses, acres of rich and fertile lands. I can provide you with the power to command your own estate, to have the protection of a garrison of soldiers, to have a thousand ordinary folk revere you and serve you as your subjects. Aside from the notion of revenge, what is it that you really want?”

Annatrice knew that Deo Canthi was clever but she had underestimated him. Catching her cold, without the means to harm herself into clarity, she was at a loss to look into his eyes and know exactly his motives.

“All the riches in the world could not rid me of this curse. I seek only the comfort of silence again. I want to be free to live my life how I see fit, to go wherever I want without the scrutiny of an interested party prying into my affairs. I want such simple things, things that I have missed out on since my father died; even the wealthiest of Kings cannot buy me happiness.”