Annatrice of Cayborne (8 page)

Marianne swallowed hard, it was a sensational moment of clarity that both excited and terrified her. Marianne went to speak but was interrupted by Annatrice.

“I know, I'm sorry.”

The pre-emptive answer to the question that was never asked was enough to convince Marianne that a turning point had been reached in Annatrice's life and somehow things would and could never be the same again.

“Do you know what I did last night?”

Annatrice asked Marianne whose head was bowed low in contemplation.

“I visited all my girl friends in their dreams. I stood with them on grassy mountains, I watched as they courted and cavorted with the soldiers from the garrison, I sat with them as they ate from their parent's dining table. It was beautiful, compelling but then the nightmares came and I tried to run but could not escape, caught in a trap, our sleeping minds joined as one.”

Marianne held Annatrice's hand.

“T'is a blessing and a curse. I know not what to say.” Marianne shook her head; she could barely comprehend the nature of this girl's power but feared that there may be more disturbing revelations to come.

“And what prompted such a beating dear thing?” Marianne knew that the King's temper was legendary. Annatrice took a long drawn out breath and looked up to the high ceiling.

“I had to know the truth, I had to know why my father was killed, I had to know that I was capable of searching Tragian's mind, for if ever I am to escape his bondage, I must surely find a way to put an end to him.”

Annatrice was emotional and sniffed up a long run of mucous which hung from her nostrils. Wiping her face with her sleeve she looked at Marianne. She could feel that her guardian was in some way protective of the King and that maybe her transparency might not be wise at this point in time. A sudden wave of realisation took hold of Annatrice there and then and she looked down and up into her guardians eyes which seemed to be in an inseparable gaze at the floor.

“It cannot be true!” Annatrice whined as Marianne fought hard to protect her innermost secrets.

“You knew!”

Annatrice pulled her wrist away from the soft wrinkled hand of Marianne who turned away in shame. Annatrice clutched at her forehead and shook her head in disbelief.

“You knew all along who my father was and why he was exiled. You knew of the King's treachery and his plot to besmirch my father's good name and his birthright to the throne. How could you? How could you tend to me with such devotion and care knowing my lineage, knowing that I was next in line?”

Marianne looked up, her face full of anguish, a stream of tears trickled across her face.

“Search my feelings Annatrice, they do not lie! You must see that I saved you! Was it not
I
that persuaded Tragian to keep you in my care instead of tasting the executioners axe? Was it not
I
that promised him on my very life that I would never reveal your secret or allow you to become a threat to his reign?”

Annatrice's emptiness saw no boundaries as her world began to crumble before her eyes. Marianne spoke the truth and her transparency was clear yet this did not quench the fires of betrayal that raged inside of her.

“And yet you still protect the King as if he were your own son? Can you not see that he is the wrongful heir to the kingdom of Araman, a cheat and a murder who has attained his position through skulduggery and stealth? Oh how I kid myself, of course you know these things, you are one of his most loyal servants seemingly willing to extend your services to exploitation and treason!” Annatrice was furious and her tongue moved freely and without restraint. Marianne had no defence, she was being laid bare, her soul wide open for scrutiny.

“If it is a kingdom you want, then you will no doubt have it soon enough, what mortal being can stand up to your prying heart?” Marianne grew angry, it was her shame speaking more than her natural self, her only defence was to try and right some of the wrongs, something she had tirelessly gone about over the last year or so.

“I do not wish a kingdom or the poisoned chalice of rule, I seek only justice on the part of my father and I will have it!”

Marianne pulled herself to her feet and looked down upon the girl with whom she had come to cherish as a daughter.

“I would not deny you the right to revenge.” Marianne cleared her throat, steadying herself and attempting to retain her calm authority.

“However, should you wish to pursue this, please make sure you get it right, for I am as good as dead if you should fail?”

The very matter of fact the way Marianne pleaded with Annatrice disturbed the young woman. She knew as well as Marianne that she could not afford to make an error in her vengeful plot. Marianne turned and walked away, pausing at the exit of the dormitory in order to collect herself before once again addressing her students. Annatrice slumped back into her bed, as much as she thirsted for her revenge; she loved her maternal guardian in almost equal measure. Annatrice closed her eyes and curled up into a tight ball. She could feel Marianne’s shame and her poor attempts to hide her sorrow, she could feel the other girl's nervousness around her, she could feel the heart pounding of the swine in the sty outside as the cook approached with the cleaver. The worlds thoughts were hers to know, it was only a matter of how she chose to use this most precious and unique of gifts.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A season passed and the torrid winter months drew in, immersing the castle in a frosty grey blanket of misery. Annatrice had kept herself to herself in that time and Tragian had not called for her since the last violent encounter. Much to Annatrice's amusement, the King had been rumoured to be under some considerable pressure, the people disenchanted by the shallow ruler whose glorification through a prolific campaign of propaganda did not match up to his skills as a leader of men. The tension between Araman and Suleyman had continued to build spilling over into reported scuffles at the boundaries of Araman territory. There was talk of a full scale war in the offing. Tragian was stuck in the middle of a possible invasion from the West or an uprising from all sides. The King had made it clear that he preferred the distraction of all out war to clear the minds of the populace. His annual speech to the collected nobility was apparently noteworthy for its lack of substance. Even his fellow nobles were becoming jittery and that meant trouble to the King whose claim to the throne was tentative and discounted by those brave enough to voice their opinion. When Tragian looked around his table and saw thirty faces hungry for power, he knew that he might have to resort to drastic measures in order to regain some kind of order and respect.

Annatrice spent more of her time in the selective company of only the most trusted or ignorant of associates. Despite her close proximity to Marianne, their relationship had appeared to have cooled and the other girls gossiped and conjectured about what really happened that fateful morning. Annatrice was maturing all the while, becoming more interested in politics, history and the social strata of the land she called home. Marianne cautiously and perhaps unnoticed by Annatrice had stocked their small library with a number of more factual tombs, far from light reading, this was the fuel for Annatrice's fire, the flames to ignite her burning ambitions.

A turning point in Annatrice's self discovery seemed to materialise when it was agreed that a feast be held to celebrate the festival of Retormigan. Retormigan was a mythical seer who had by all accounts aided the small village of Ferrinhally in their victory over the marauding hordes of the Northern Territories and the impassable mountains of Prima Tak. It was a weak story, fanciful at best which had somehow found its place in the annals of time and had grown into a widespread excuse for the consumption of ale. It benefited Tragian for some revelry to be in order; it took the people's attention from more pressing matters. It was remarkable that so many did not even notice the unusual scheduling of the festival considering the King had brought it forward by a number of weeks.

It was always a rare event that saw Marianne's ladies take to the public eye and allowed to mingle within reason with fellow revellers. When news broke that a feast was to be held in the Royal Court with the invitation of the eager young women a probability, it became a focal point of small talk and high hopes for days to come. Now of marrying age, the majority of Marianne’s girls were curious to meet many of the noblemen who would no doubt make up the short-list of available suitors. Being married off was the least of Annatrice's concerns, her future was of some issue however. Until now she had not foreseen what lay ahead but now it seemed that only conflict and turmoil remained. Once she had deposed Tragian, what then? Did she put forth her claim to the throne or find solace elsewhere living in a self styled exile? Did she even care to take the throne if it was available, in her eyes she was in no position to rule the land, she still felt too young for the magnitude of her position.

The night of the feast, Marianne's ladies spent an inordinate amount of time dressing and applying lotions and various perfumes to their skin. Annatrice was not one to decline such feminine paraphernalia but she would admit herself that motivation was startlingly lacking that evening. Annatrice, like the other girls had no real concept of what marriage was all about. Their collective experiences of men and their nocturnal fascinations were limited only to the King's attention and this was nothing to get excited about. Marianne had always reiterated to her girls that men were not all made in the same mould and happiness would prevail in the end. Marianne's assured optimism provided hope to her children however false it may have been and only served to increase the frenzied enthusiasm of her young, hormonally charged ladies.

Annatrice wore a plain white gown; she did not tie her hair back or pleat her locks like the others. The season of the feast coincided with the blustery weather and the driving rains that she associated always with the passing of her father. This was a thoroughly depressing time of the year for Annatrice and in recent days, the pressure had been building within her heart to take action. If recent events counted for anything, it may not be too long before Annatrice was cast away from Fontayne into the hands of a young noble and her opportunity for vengeance lost. The desperation of her plight often seemed to dictate that a less subtle end to Tragian might be in order. It was all well and good biding her time, plotting his downfall and humiliating him as he had done to her father but sometimes, the searing heat of a molten poker or the icy nip of a secreted dagger might have done the trick. At the end of the day, it was a question of what Annatrice wanted to do with her life and whether she felt it necessary to lose it in the pursuit of this foul being. If she did choose to sacrifice herself in such a manner, would that not count as a victory to Tragian whether he be dead or not?

The feast was held in the Royal Court. It was the grandiose chamber that Annatrice had once set foot in during in her first days there but not since. The resplendent ruby red carpets and the ugly raised throne were the most memorable aspect followed by the high ceiling, the decorative fabrics and the raging log fire as its centrepiece. As ever before a more public event, the ladies were addressed by a senior court official who laid down a set of rules which must be adhered to. It was always clear to Annatrice that the women were decorative items and not for interaction. Any talk of the King or his affairs was punishable in the most severe terms and it was noted that they were being observed at all times. The ominous tones of the official who looked pompous in his long white socks and wig did little to inspire a feeling of merriment, but the ladies had become used to this ritual. They knew where the boundaries lie and indeed when not to cross them.

Annatrice stood with Lehona in the corner at the end of the absurdly lengthy table, filled with delicacies from across the land. The room hummed with idle chatter and a piper filled the air with tinctures of melody, almost lost however under the guffaws of laughter. In the chamber, men and women of nobility arched their backs in humorous engagement, especially when the Regis made merry. It seemed a courtesy to laugh even at the most innocuous statement and watching the tiresome kissing of their King's rear quarters sent Annatrice into a funk that she remained in even with the best attempts of her friend to lighten her mood. Small groups of colourfully attired men pranced around the room like mating birds and Annatrice wondered why noblemen were all so camp and thoroughly unattractive. Where were the more rugged and robust men who commanded respect from their wives and put a blush on their cheeks with feats of prowess and courage?

Lehona wandered off to engage with some of the other girls who were dancing under the watchful gaze of a gaggle of young men and Annatrice leaned back against the carved stone column, kicking her heel up and folding her arms.

“Fair maiden, tarry with me pray?”

A voice from beside her caught her unawares, her mind filled with darker thoughts.

“Huh?” She said, bored of the pompous small talk of the well groomed nobles.

“Ah forgive me, I did not wish to raise my voice in your illustrious company, but the room resounds with the most abhorrent noise.”

Annatrice's top lip curled at the poetic but unoriginal and thoroughly uninspiring speak. Her admirer was a man old enough to exhibit a wisp of grey above his ears but young enough to wear a dark, trimmed moustache. He wore a jacket of green trimmed with gilded threads and tight fitting pearl white britches. He was the embodiment of nobility, a strutting self obsessed fop or so Annatrice thought.