Annatrice of Cayborne (15 page)

Deo Canthi rolled his head from side to side as he sat on the bed, the wooden frame creaking under his weight.

“But wealth can bring much joy; you have yet to discover its allure it seems. T'is neither here nor there, what is important is that you feel fulfilled by our agreement and feel no coercion in its makings. This morning we ride for Stormwater; t'is my fortress in the Hallun Hills, a strategic stronghold near the Araman border. There we will plan Tragian's demise and there you will discover a little of what I have to offer you in exchange for your...service.”

“Or compliance?” Annatrice added sharply.

“Annatrice, you are an intelligent girl, there is no point in making light of such things. We need your talents, you are important to the people of both realms. Without you, a full scale war is inevitable. With your aid and as you have rightly dictated before, the bloodshed can be reduced significantly. T'is in your best interests to aid us if it is the people that you seek to protect...as I do.”

Annatrice nodded, the King knew how to play to her sensibilities.

“If there is anything I can do to ease your discomfort then you must come to me, a contented Annatrice of Cayborne is a contented Deo Canthi of Suleyman.” The King chuckled as he slapped his knee and rose slowly lest his knees give way.

“We are away by midday. I will have Constance warm you a soothing bath and see to your wounds. That is if you can tolerate her presence. I personally would have had her strung up by the neck for her behaviour but your forgiving words softened my heart a little.”

Annatrice jumped in quickly at any thought of such severe punishment.

“No sire, I would request Constance anyway. She is exceptional in her position; I just...pushed her too far. I am ashamed of my conduct and will offer my repentance.”

Deo Canthi snorted.

“Do not grovel though child, she must know her place!”

The King offered a casual wave as he exited the chamber and Annatrice lay back down, her mind eased a little by the King's words. How easy it was to take words for truth when there was no way to analyse every nuance. It was a blissful ignorance and a mercy.

That afternoon, Annatrice rode with the King's entourage to Stormwater, a journey which lasted till the sun was just about to disappear behind the Hallun Hills. Annatrice noted the significance of being out in the wilds, the remote location significantly reducing the turmoil she felt. It was easy to piece together the clues; the less people there were in the vicinity, the lesser the disturbance to Annatrice's thoughts. The rural offerings of barren moorland and large expanses of water comforted her to the point that she almost remembered how life used to be when her thoughts were so singular and devoid of intrusion. She pondered over the development of her affliction as she chose to call it. She wondered if this was to be the limit of her abilities or whether there was more to come. Her coming of age, from child to woman seemed to have been intrinsically linked to her sensitivities, she hoped that at some point, like a rash of acne, that it would fade and become more controllable, maybe even fading altogether. If her hopes were not to play out in this way, then how could she possible continue to live in such strife?

Stormwater Castle was built high up on a plateau overlooking a swathe of grassy moorlands and in the far distance, the tree lined area which marked Araman territory was visible. The castle was ominous in its appearance, whereas Fontayne and the other fortresses of Araman were square in their appearance, Stormwater was jutting and angular, its many spires pierced the clouds and Annatrice already felt humbled by it. The last minutes ride was the toughest for her mare, the steep incline would be even more difficult for an attacking force. Annatrice imagined a hail of arrows spewing from every orifice across its fascia.

The King, who rode superbly despite his bulk, looked over to Annatrice who was clearly enjoying the experience.

“No force has ever reached the castle walls alive, magnificent is it not?” He bellows with a satisfied grin.

Annatrice smiled in return, Stormwater was indeed the most incredible building she had ever laid eyes upon. Fontayne suddenly looked small in comparison and a little archaic.

On approach, the royal standard was hoisted and several hundred archers could be detailed watching closely from behind the crenulations. A short wait ensued until the most daunting of portals opened; a heavy iron portcullis protected a reinforced wooden gate which stood as high as three men.

As Annatrice's horse ambled into the compound, the buzz of the castle's staff begun to intensify in Annatrice's ears, it was almost as if the building was alive and emanating a resonant throb, like a relaxed murmur, indecipherable but content. The King's party was instantly surrounded by staff, stable boys, personal assistants, officials. The King rolled from his horse into a reception of attentive, bowing subjects eager to carry out his orders.

“Tell my daughter I have arrived!” He yelled almost loud enough for her to hear with her own ears. Annatrice was invited to climb down, a good looking young stable hand quickly offering his assistance although Annatrice declined sharply. She had yet to understand and accept the attentions of her male peers but there seemed many more opportunities to learn in this place. Constance handed her horse to a diminutive red haired boy and stood before Annatrice.

“I am to take you to your chambers.” She said. The confidence not yet quite at the level it once was. She brushed the wisps of blonde hair from her face as she smiled awkwardly at her mistress.

“Thank you Constance.” Annatrice replied, not yet having a chance to fully clear the air with her maid. As they walked off in the direction of the towers the King placed a hand upon Annatrice's shoulders and stopped her in her tracks.

“Stormwater is a safe place for you Annatrice and you shall have the freedom to go where you please. Take the time to linger in its halls for the people are benevolent and trust worthy, they will be keen to know who you are and what you stand for.”

The King slapped Annatrice's back and wandered off as if he had addressed his own child. Annatrice resumed her walk to the tower mulling over the King's display of paternal informality.

“The King likes you, I can tell.” Constance said as she acknowledged two finely dressed guards at the entrance to the tower.

“I do not know why after the trouble I have caused.” Annatrice said being a little self deprecating.

“Maybe it is
because
you cause trouble, you are a challenge for him.” Constance chuckled hoping she was not again crossing the line of acceptability.

“The King has children does he not?” Annatrice asked despite knowing the answer from previous forays into the King's mind.

“Indeed. The eldest is Petrus, he is naturally the heir to the throne; he is an intellect, a very reserved kind milady. There is a daughter called Sophima who lives here in Stormwater; she is a little older than you, and then the youngest is Nashrey who dwells far across the land in the west, he is a great warrior.” Constance all the while led Annatrice through a great hall where a number of life sized statues peered out from their alcoves, their bodies finely honed and muscular, their modesty covered by the merest of garments.

“And of who are these depictions?”

Annatrice was fascinated by the artistic prowess of the Suleyman people. It seemed that they took great pride in their surroundings.

“These are the King's of Suleyman's past.”

Annatrice laughed.

“And why are they all so heroically figured?”

Constance shrugged her shoulders.

“You have yet to see the statue of Deo Canthi milady!” Constance laughed out loud and Annatrice could only imagine what the King's physique would look like portrayed in stone.

Much like Fontayne, an arduous ascent of a great spiral staircase lifted them high above the earth and into the realms of the Gods. Annatrice wondered why her chamber must always be so high in these monstrous castles. On reaching level ground, Annatrice wondered no longer why all of the castle staff looked so fit and in rude health.

“This is the Greghor level; each floor is named after a Suleyman landmark milady.” Constance performed her tour rather well.

“T'is the floor above Sophima's chambers, I expect you will meet the Princess in due course.”

Constance stopped and open her hands to a magnificent hallway with alcoves either side. Grand columns rose to the ceiling and a textured and complex mosaic surrounded a central pedestal where a giant stone creature of legend sat, its wings outspread and its eyes glinting with the encrustation of precious gems.

“The Gods! What is this place?” Annatrice marvelled with her mouth open and her eyes wandering around the gilded mural which adorned the ceiling.

“These are your chambers milady.”

Annatrice almost spat as she spluttered an expletive of profound surprise.

“I have never seen anything of the like. It makes Tragian's most opulent quarter seem poor in comparison.”

Constance smiled.

“We are taught that since our two lands parted, it is we, the Suleyman that have grown stronger.”

Annatrice could not argue with that. Suleyman was a cultured place or at least that is how Annatrice had perceived it. She remembered her mud covered existence back on the farm, the primitive hovel in which she dwelt. On the face of it, it seemed a foregone conclusion that any war between the two sovereign nations would end only in a Suleyman conquest and she wondered why it had not already transpired.

“Is there anything I can fetch for you milady? I believe a feast has been arranged this evening, perhaps I can bring some finery for you to wear as t'is quite an occasion generally?”

Annatrice nodded approvingly, feeling much more comfortable now in Constance's presence who scurried off to perform her duties. Annatrice wandered off to explore every nook and cranny of the maze of chambers which included several plush bedrooms and the most magnificent bathroom. Annatrice remembered Deo Canthi's words regarding wealth. He was right, she did not understand the meaning of such riches at that time but now it was starting to become quite clear how the elite of the world lived.

CHAPTER TWENTY

For the first time, Annatrice was excited about attending a royal feast. Whilst she sat in an extravagant crimson gown, Constance saw to her hair with the skill of an artisan. It was a good day, she felt calm and the abrasive pandemonium inside her thoughts was at a level which although still noticeable, was controllable. Annatrice wished there was some kind of pattern to the affliction, some way of understanding why some days were better than others but then there was little in life that was so predictable or at least in her life.

Annatrice's entrance to the hall was reserved yet did not go unnoticed. Whilst she marvelled at the high ceiling and the many glass works that reflected and enhanced the light of candles, there were more than a few men that marvelled at the sight of her in all her finery.

Charleroux was there, he looked even more pompous than normal and he quickly claimed her as his own much to the dismay of a number of foppish nobles who stood around in clusters.

“You look spectacular.” He said as he took her hand.

“Thank you.” She replied allowing herself the pleasure of a little flattery.

“I must introduce you to everybody.” Charleroux said with a nervous excitement.

“Must you?” She replied not feeling the same urgency to mingle.

Striding over to a small group of exquisitely preened people, it was immediately obvious that there was royalty in this group. They all turned to look at Annatrice as she approached, their eyes glistening with curiosity.

“Ah, she approaches. What natural beauty!” One wiry and angular featured man whined as he held an eye glass to his face in order to inspect her more closely.

“Lord Saramin, may I present my wife, Annatrice of Cayborne.” Charleroux was proud of his statement yet Annatrice was distinctly uncomfortable being announced as such.

“Exquisite, look at her eyes, they are akin to the black pearls of the Southern Shores and her hair like the Messin River, glistening like ripples of velvet.”

Annatrice raised her eyebrows at Saramin's extravagant observations.

“She certainly is a pretty picture.” A tall, lean red haired young woman added her tone slightly more cynical than her adoring courtier.

“Princess Sophima; I bid you warm welcome to Stormwater.” The young woman continued and Annatrice lowered her head in respect but did not speak.

“I have heard much about you, I long to know more about your fabulous adventures.”

Sophima's was wide of the mark. Annatrice huffed and restrained herself from revealing the truth of her hardships.

“Not quite adventures my Lady.” She replied courteously.

“No, maybe not. I am told life can be harsh beyond the border, it is a land of barbarians and tyrants I am told.”

Annatrice grimaced, was the princess trying to rile her?

“I fear the Lady may be misled, the people of Araman are peace-loving for the most part. Maybe not so cultured or fortunate to have such a benevolent ruler...”

Sophima was a curious entity; Annatrice felt that she greeted confrontation with some relish.