Annatrice of Cayborne (17 page)

“Yes, what is it?” Sophima reverted back to her slightly abrupt manner.

“A terrible accident has transpired milady, t'is the King. He has fallen from his horse!” Sophima stood immediately and flew from the room leaving Constance behind to regard Annatrice who could barely open her eyes.

“And if you don't mind me saying so milady, drinking in the morning is frowned upon here.” Constance's words may have come across as a little maternal and an inebriated Annatrice waved her away.

“Be gone peasant woman.” She gurgled, chortling at her own drunken immaturity. Constance shook her head and walked out of the room in dismay; the King had suffered a terrible injury and was not expected to survive. Annatrice wallowed in her own self pity and a comforting stupor; it would only be later when the ramifications of the King's battle to survive became quite apparent that it would be personally linked to the young visionary's future.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Stormwater castle was a solemn place in the dark days that followed Deo Canthi's most punishing of injuries. Despite his high level of riding skill, his stallion had been startled whilst on a leisurely hunt and had thrown the King from his back on to an outcropping of hard rock. His skull smashed by the blow, he was not expected to live through the night. Couriers were dispatched to all corners of the land in search of the most eminent physicians and many prayers were offered in the hope that he would cling on to life until their arrival.

The first night passed and the King still lived, breathing shallowly and in an unreceptive coma, Petrus, his elder son was called for from his castle domain in Alqueteria. It was perhaps time for the ascension of a new King to rule over Suleyman.

Sophima amongst others kept a faithful vigil at his side until on the second day; the medicine men began to arrive to bring their expertise to the fore. Initial observations seemed to be positive in their design, the King had survived the initial impact and although his brain had suffered a colossal impact, his vital bodily functions had remained intact. The King was alive but in an indefinite slumber. Physicians warned of false hope, he was not out of danger yet but it could be hours or days before the true extent of his injuries would be found. Even if he did not die from his wounds, he might succumb to starvation or dehydration if the coma was sustained.

Annatrice was sent for on the third day. Constance stood; arms folded her foot tapping whilst her mistress struggled to lift herself from her bed. Constance could not work out what was more distressing, the King lying in such torment or a young girl so befuddled by the stupor of liquor that she cared not what happened in the world about her.

“How do I look?” Annatrice slurred unable to stand up straight without swaying about.

“Foul. You should be ashamed of yourself.” Constance pulled no punches.

“Then I am perfectly suited to your company.” She retorted, annoyed by her maid's high moral lecturing.

“In a few moments you are to stand before the gravely wounded King of Suleyman milady, drunk and dirty like a cheap whore.”

Annatrice rolled her eyes in indifference.

“Nobody's perfect.” She replied with a smile.

“I will not let you go before the court of the King in this state, come, let me bath you and fill you with sobering water. If I cannot clean your mouth of foul words, at least I can rub the filth from your body.”

Constance grappled with her mistress and dragged her kicking and screaming to the bathroom where a tub of cold water lie in readiness. Constance had seen fit not to light the fire which heated the tub on this occasion. A less subtle moment of clarity was required for the feisty drunk. As Constance overpowered her young mistress, she lifted her clean off the floor and plunged her head first into the deep and expansive tub. The expected splash ensued followed by the gurgled screams of shock and humiliation. Annatrice's head surface and she quickly pulled the hair from her eyes and roared in anger.

“You treat me like a dog!” She yelled, coughing wildly.

“If you behave like an animal I will treat you like one!” Constance growled and walked away knowing that her rage was getting the better of her. Annatrice went to continue her rant but then the realisation hit that she was about to stoop to a new level of shame. Even her cussing bore no relevance as her ability to pluck the weaknesses from her opposition was numbed by the Nerwarna. The liquor had relieved her torment but had only offered her further indignity.

Annatrice pulled herself from the tub and pursued her maid, her wringing wet clothes dripping all over the pristine floor.

“Constance!” She cried out, hoping to halt her disgruntled maid in her tracks.

“Please forgive me...again.” She had the forlorn tone of a naughty child who had realised they had crossed the line of acceptability. Constance stopped and turned to her.

“I cannot see you in such terrible pain; I cannot live with the responsibility. If the King were here I’d offer my resignation, I cannot take this anymore!” Constance was in tears, she had reached her breaking point.

“No Constance, I need you! If it were not for you, I would have surely given in by now.” Annatrice pleaded her to return, she knew she had treated her maid despicably.

“Annatrice, you are a soul in torment. You need more than just my aid, I fear that you will one day send me over the edge, at times I hate you with such a passion that I could...”

Constance stopped herself before she said anything she regretted.

“You...
hate
me?” Annatrice suddenly broke down into hysterical tears, her sudden loss of composure brought Constance back to her side.

“No, I...I did not mean it milady. I was at a loss for words, t'is my lack of education; I cannot find the words...” Constance knew she had ripped the heart out of the young girl by her careless speak. She did not hate her, but she hated some of the things she did when in the throes of torment.

“Come...let us get warm, clean and in a fresh gown. We will tell the court you are ailing and that you will be tardy.”

Constance walked with the snivelling girl back into the bathroom; her skin was blue with the cold. Constance stoked the flames and soon the tub was steaming. The time to reflect on the past few days was useful for Annatrice who stood statuesque, her feet wallowing in a puddle of cold water.

“I am so confused Connie.” She whispered as her maid busied herself around her.

“So am I milady, so am I.”

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Annatrice arrived at the court of King Deo Canthi an hour later than expected, the hushed frustrations of the collected nobles and officials was palpable even to Annatrice whose blood was still addled with the damned liquor.

The mighty golden throne which was perched high upon a carpeted plinth was empty but every other seat was occupied. The small girl stood alone in the chamber with one hundred eyes searing her skin. She longed to feel what they felt, to understand how to tackle this tremendously emotive situation. Aside the empty throne, on one side Annatrice recognised some of the faces from the house in Horstock. Drayk the slithering general with whom she did not trust one iota, Devinn, another burly commander attached to the Royal Guard, then a string of robed officials, judges and scribes. To the other side, Sophima sat nervously next to another man with whom Annatrice did not know but assumed to be Petrus, the eldest son and heir. To the left and right of her in the galleries, a collection of noblemen and women sat quietly. The distinctive moustache of Charleroux caught her eye and he nodded in recognition of her presence.

“Annatrice of Cayborne, we have summoned you here today under a cloud of great fear and dread for our King lies at the mercy of the Gods.” The voice was that of Drayk, his recognisable sneer was a characteristic that seemed to be ever present, even in the most light of conversation.

“What say you in light of these terrible events?”

Annatrice stuttered. She barely understood what the warrior commander was getting at.

“T'is a deeply upsetting thing Lord General.” Annatrice had been out of the loop and now her ignorance was coming back to haunt her. There was a hushed silence, for some reason Drayk had expected something considerably more.

“The King lies in the deepest of slumbers, he battles to find his way back to the land of the living, we long to know of his progress.”

Drayk once again put the onus upon Annatrice.

“I am sorry Sire; you might be more specific...” Annatrice stumbled and pulled herself upright quickly, coughing quietly to hide her weakness.

“Is it not obvious? You have the power to search a man's thoughts, to manipulate at your will. We demand that you aid us, we are at war with our grief!” Drayk stood and waved his arms around demonstratively.

“And I shall offer any help I can.” Annatrice replied, her heart thumping hard in her chest.

“Then come hither and tend to the King for he lies in the chamber next door, barely alive.”

The courtiers began to nod in approval and whisper amongst themselves. Annatrice felt the sudden dread of knowing that she was powerless to help, her mind still quite numb to her sensitivities. Walking slowly into the ante-chamber, a small crowd gathering around her she set eyes on the King who lay peacefully under a pristine sheet, his crest embroidered upon it in gold thread. Sophima walked up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. The look of horror in return was enough to tell the princess that she was in no state to perform any kind of metaphysical exploration.

With a hushed silence and the pressure telling, all eyes were on the young girl who began to sob.

“What is it child, do you feel his pain?” Drayk inquired believing her to be performing the process.

“I cannot, I am not ready.” Annatrice called out much to the disarray of the nobles. An enraged Petrus stepped forward. He was exceedingly tall, fair in hair colour and had a look about him of a physician or similarly intellectual profession.

“What is this outrage? Who is this fraud that we have been pandering to with such gay abandon?” Petrus was distressed at his father's demise that much was clear. Annatrice clutched at her temples in desperation.

“It cannot be done; I must wait until the morning! I have been most selfish and have drunk of the Nerwarna fruit. It has addled my thoughts...I am at a loss!”

A noisy murmur began as the nobles began to denounce the young seer. Drayk was not a sceptic, he had seen her power. Sophima was seen to be talking to her brother and calming him, his own sister taking some of the blame for her new friend's inaction. Drayk roughly grasped Annatrice's arm and pulled her to one side, his sharp fingers causing her to wince.

“You will return tomorrow morning at first light. If the King perishes in that time, you will surely swing by your neck from the parapets the very same day.” With that he let her go and swiftly marched from the room, his entourage following him. It was the first time that a threat had been made on her life with such vigour. It rocked Annatrice to her core and she stood shaking. Sophima could only look at her; she was also devoid of words for the moment. She laid her arm around Annatrice and led her out of the chamber and back into the custody of Constance who waited patiently outside the court in the grand hallway.

“Constance, deliver her back here at sunrise, sober. Her very life depends on it.” Constance's face depicted her own worry as the pressure was once again heaped back upon her to keep her mistress away from the bottle. It was going to be a very long night.

Tossing and turning in her bed as the soothing effect of the liquid drug ebbed away, Annatrice was left not only with the increased buzz of her constant irritation but also the fragility of withdrawal. Her lower back ached with a dull, subdued throb and her hands shook persistently. Constance kept a vigil, sitting at her bedside. She kept a watch over her mistress and in the most difficult times, was there to placate her. As her head cleared, Annatrice had begun to scratch herself beneath the sheets, covertly hiding her actions away from her maid whose eyelids drooped with fatigue. When the morning came, Constance awoke still on the chair where she sat all through the night and Annatrice was pacing around the room, her arms red raw as if she had been savaged by a rabid dog.

“Oh Annatrice, what have you done?” Constance croaked as she stood and moved to hug her most unwell Lady.

“What I had to do, I must see the King at once.”

Annatrice looked shattered; Constance wondered if she had slept at all.

“Is that for the benefit of the King or your own?” Constance braved the question knowing how much Annatrice required the more satisfying slash of a blade.

“If it suits us both then let us go and be done with it!”

Constance escorted Annatrice to the court where a vigilant aide called for Drayk who no doubt would want to be present. When Annatrice entered the King's presence, she found Sophima slumped across him, barely awake and exhausted from her own vigil. Drayk and an edgy looking Petrus arrived on cue and Annatrice suddenly felt the pressure once more and the weight of expectation. Looking down on the broad bulk of the King's peaceful form, Annatrice was firstly and most fervently delighted that he was still alive and breathing.

“He even moved at one point...” Sophima said, her voice breaking up, her throat sore with the emotion.