Invocation Read online

  Copyright 2020 © Nicole Warner

  All rights reserved.

  The right of Nicole Warner to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.

  This book is copyright apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research and criticism or review permitted under the Copyright Act 1968. No part of this book may be stored, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author. Copyright infringement is against the law.

  A CIP catalogue record of this book is available in the National Library of Australia.

  ISBN 978-0-64889-952-5 (printed)

  ISBN 978-0-64889-953-2 (ebook)

  Cover design by Angus Warner

  Contents

  Reflections

  Challenging Times

  Resigned to Separation

  So is Division Sown

  Unavoidable Duty

  Pain in Division

  Unexpected Battles

  Safety is an Illusion

  Secrets in the Walls

  That Unbreakable Connection

  A Bloodless Attack

  Distance Breached

  Echoes

  Invocation

  The Second Movement

  Hear my faithful invocation: I am loyal, I am yours.

  Reflections

  Who can guess why the path of fate takes such unexpected turns, weaving our tales into something greater than ourselves? The way the present informs the past as much as it does the future, testing us with trials both dark and light, changing us in ways we can never foresee.

  So it was for us. Forced to set aside childish dreams for duty’s sake, our innocence torn asunder.

  Look away if you have not the stomach for it. I would not blame you.

  I only ask that you take solace. Our courage gave rise to the greatest part of us: our most precious hope and faith.

  Remember always, this story is yours.

  Challenging Times

  My fingers were sticky with blood. His blood.

  Frozen with disbelief, for a long time I was unwilling to allow anyone else near him, staring about the grand entry, searching for strands of black hair, any tangible evidence of his murderer. Five men lay dead. Two killed by fire, one by my blade, the other at Elron’s, the fifth body still cradled in my arms.

  Father Siv Tyrell, gone.

  Roughly shaking off those insistent voices, telling me to let others attend to this grim task, I pulled the spear from his body and threw it to the ground.

  The lingering stench of blood and burnt flesh coated the back of my throat as the bodies of the dead were removed from the grand entry. A captain of the King’s Guard barked orders to his men, efficient and precise. Soon we were the only ones left.

  Elron forced me to stand. “Red, we need to leave.”

  I saw then the courtiers gathering in a large crowd. The lords and ladies whispered behind raised hands, somehow both appalled and delighted at the carnage unfolding within these palace walls. Those interested in the macabre scene attempted to move closer, only to be blocked by guards.

  I glared at them, despairing at the way they only saw the excitement or scandal of the moment.

  “Lord Eadred!” one called out. “Prince Earon! Can you tell us what happened here?”

  Disgusted, I squeezed my eyes closed. What could I say that they would understand, unable to fathom any part of it myself?

  “We’ll take it from here,” the captain said, striding over and waving for two guards to pick up Father Tyrell.

  “No. I’ll do it.”

  Surprised by my forcefulness, the captain stared and then stepped aside. “As you wish, Lord Eadred.”

  “Where shall we carry him?” Elron asked. With all my attention on the still body of the priest, the captain’s answer didn’t register. Tightly gripping under Father Tyrell’s shoulders, I helped my father bear him down to the lower floor. Siv’s lifeless head lolled back. At first I averted my gaze, only to focus entirely upon those eyes, filled with his final rapturous sight.

  Elron walked ahead, carrying the spear, silent in the face of what we’d witnessed and experienced, swarthy skin strangely pale, features stiff with some deep emotion he sought to keep hidden. I felt it too, that sense of dread mixed with the profound sorrow gripping me in long, shaking quivers. Still buried in my bones, no one else knew it yet. I willed that inner tremor to stop, sensing the way it threatened to ripple out ever further.

  The shaking started within my fingers as we deposited his body on the plain, uncovered bed. It travelled up, lifting the hair on my forearms with stinging bumps, becoming visible to Elron and my father. Through sheer force of will I reached out and closed those eyes, still frozen with wonder.

  Father Tyrell died protecting me. I only struggled now with how I might honour his sacrifice without falling apart, at the mercy of overwhelming grief.

  “Why? Why did you do it?” My voice cracked as tears stung my vision. Wrung out, torn, stretched by emotions changing so fast it left me hollowed out and unmade, I couldn’t guess where I went from here.

  “Red.” I barely heard him. Elron’s hand clasped my shoulder. “You’re shaking.”

  Incapable of dragging my gaze away from the gaping hole in Siv’s chest, I struggled to breathe, considering with visceral horror the evidence of his suffering. The torn and flayed edges of his skin. The bones of his ribcage ripped into jagged points. His black robe ruined. White belt splashed with crimson streaks of drying blood.

  It was all my fault. He didn’t deserve to die this way. Not this kind man who only ever sought to give me guidance and help.

  “Let’s get him out of here. There’s nothing more we can do.” The hand on my shoulder squeezed. “Red, we have to go.”

  I didn’t move.

  Elron retreated, allowing my father to impose himself before my gaze. He said my name and pushed me from the side of the bed. I shuddered and exhaled, the terrible vision of Siv’s lifeless body lying on that cold and impersonal pallet replaced now by my father’s concerned frown.

  “Eadred,” he repeated, but gently, as if trying to wake me from a deep sleep. “Allow the servants to attend to Father Tyrell.” He tried to ease my steps away, but I resisted. His hand tightened on my arm, worried blue eyes searching, not liking at all what he saw in my face. “You can’t do anything more here. Let it go.”

  Detached from everything, I couldn’t take it in. Not his troubled frown, or Elron’s chafing disquiet. His voice didn’t reach me, lost as I was in this unending nightmare.

  Father Tyrell was dead because of me.

  My fault.

  The words tumbled endlessly in my mind, an unrelenting litany of blame.

  My fault.

  He shook me hard and then again when I made no response. “Eadred!” It was the tone of command, familiar and impossible to dismiss. I blinked, waking up to my surroundings.

  He led me towards the exit, saying to Elron, “Take him to his room. He needs to have his wounds tended.” My father studied the tremor in my hands. “And a warm bath will surely help.” He leant in closer and whispered something to my friend.

  At the door I stopped, twisting around to tell my father, “I need to speak with Bishop Richard.”

  “I’m sorry, Eadred, that won’t be possible. He’s in Shom on Church business.”

  Deflated by his answer, the shakin
g replaced by a cold numbness, I followed Elron.

  After delivering me, as ordered, to my room, my friend turned to leave, only to pause in the doorway. “I’ll find a physician to see to your bruising. It’s looking worse by the second.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  He stepped aside as the servant arrived and began filling the copper bath with hot water. “Prince Earon doesn’t want you wandering around the palace by yourself. Not after what happened. He plans to assign more guards to you, Red.”

  I sighed, running blood-stained hands over my face and wincing at the way the cut on my lip throbbed. I didn’t dare look in the mirror. “That won’t work for me.”

  “Don’t I know it,” he said, shaking his head in annoyance. “Can you at least promise you won’t go anywhere without me?”

  “Elron,” I began, weariness dragging at me, and then stopped. There was nothing to say, no promise I would make, knowing I’d only break it the second he left.

  He shrugged, as if to say it was worth the try. “Then you leave me no choice. I’ll wait in the hallway.”

  “Don’t be so damn stubborn!”

  “Stubborn?” he threw back.

  Somehow, and I don’t know how he managed it, he had me smiling. Enough to concede, “Fair point.” I struggled to find the right words to explain, finally coming up with something I hoped made sense. “The last two times they attacked, they waited weeks, a month even, in between. I’m certain I’ll be safe in the palace for a while.”

  “Don’t deceive yourself, Red. If you asked me yesterday, I’d have said there was no chance anyone would be stupid enough to plan an attack on palace grounds. We both know how that worked out.” Back resting against the frame of the door, he crossed his arms. “What the hell happened? Who was that woman? Where did those children come from? Where did they all go? How did those men catch fire?” The questions tumbled from him, evidence of his confusion and profound unease.

  With a weary shrug I asked, “Why do you believe I have any answers?”

  “Because I can see it in your eyes, every time you think about how Father Tyrell died. You know more than you’re willing to say.”

  “I’ve no answers for you Elron, only those exact questions.” I saw, through the opening leading into the bathing area, that the bath was nearly filled. The servant pumping hot water into it tried very hard to appear as if he wasn’t listening to our exchange. “Are things … improved with my father?”

  “Yes. He’s focused on other concerns right now.” He shared a crooked smile of relief, understanding I referred to my father’s earlier disappointment, believing Elron had failed to protect me from danger.

  “Good. You should suggest that he request extra guards for the wedding.”

  “He’s already planning on asking Chief Minister Roache to call in the city wardens, to provide additional security.”

  “But not for me,” I warned him.

  He made another attempt. “Red, I’ve a bad feeling about what happened, like I did the first time at the monastery. And I still think you’re hiding something.” His gaze reflected his commitment to protecting me, especially from what he saw as a stubborn disregard for my safety.

  “Lord Eadred, the bath is prepared,” the servant said.

  “You should go,” I told Elron.

  “This isn’t over.”

  “Stop!” I yelled and then subsided, ashamed by my outburst. “Please. Stop fussing over me.”

  He grimaced, uncrossing his arms and moving from the doorway, only to growl, “Have it your way. I’ll give you some space. But if you get yourself into trouble again, I’ll tie you up myself!”

  I handed my bloodied clothing to the servant and instructed him to leave. Submerged in the hot water, I made quick work of the bruising on my torso with a few probing pushes upon my stomach, healing it completely with my gift. My face was another matter. I washed off the blood, feeling the sting of my gashed lip. It was the only thing I healed, leaving the rest to discolour and fade naturally over the next few days.

  I walked to the wardrobe and pulled out a fresh tunic, pants and doublet. I kissed Anais’s triquetra and tucked it securely under the cream material, before heading out, at a run, all the way from the third storey, via the grand staircase and then the service one, to where Father Tyrell lay.

  There was a light shroud over his body. Through it I could see a servant had changed his clothing, leaving him attired in a clean, white tunic and pants. His bloodied robe was on the table near the bed. It comforted me, the respect and care they had given him, somehow bringing about acceptance of his willing sacrifice, tempering my grief.

  The spear, left leaning against the wall, drew my attention. There was a basin with fresh water and I used it to wipe the blood away, studying the weapon all the while. Except for possessing a tip honed to deadly sharpness, it was unremarkable. Simple in construction and design, with a wooden shaft but no engravings or maker’s marks, the spear was made more for function than show.

  I picked up his robe, stiff now in some places, and still wet in others. In his pocket, I found his tria beads. A plain wooden set, similar to the one I’d given Anais. I laid the beads upon the table. In the other pocket, I discovered four pieces of paper and nothing else. I washed my hands, removing the lingering smears of blood.

  They were letters from Bishop Richard, written on the finest parchment with official seals on all. I flicked through them with disbelief. Father Tyrell had been talking to Bishop Richard about me, and that esteemed member of the clergy had been less than happy with his inquiry. The last letter contained the strange words he’d uttered before his death: raise filial heart and revolt. Richard also made it clear he didn’t place any stock in the priest’s belief that the marriage shouldn’t proceed.

  But it was the mention of the Triune that caused my blood to run cold, never imagining such an authority would ever embroil themselves in kingdom affairs. It begged the question: why were they involved at all? I stuffed the letters into my pocket to read when my head was clearer and not as muddied with grief, having neither the inclination nor desire in that moment to make sense of it.

  His body had yet to stiffen, making it easy enough to move his icy hands to place his prayer beads between them. As I pulled the shroud over his face, I promised Father Tyrell, “I’ll never forget what you’ve done.”

  Taking the spear with me, I took the stairs to the floor above.

  Servants had cleaned nearly all signs of the earlier violence from the grand hall; the courtiers returning to normal business, only a few crossing the hall or using the staircase. Two women scrubbed at scorch marks on the pillars and walls where the burning men had run into them in their terror. I forced myself to look at it, at everything, memorising what I saw, as it was now, and had been in the heat of battle. Questions arose, much greater in number than those Elron had expressed, and every one of them only extended on my confusion.

  I heard a commotion beyond the entry, voices raised, clear even over the sounds of horses approaching. Pleased in some small way for the distraction, I went to discover what was causing the disturbance.

  A gilded carriage rolled to a stop in the drive before the palace. Twenty Chartel soldiers, in red uniforms with black half-capes draped over their shoulders, surrounded it. They stared contentiously at the King’s Guards who greeted them with drawn swords.

  I recognised the Chartel royal seal upon the door, two golden swans with necks entwined, and knew instantly who was in that carriage. Alarmed, I rushed forward, ordering the men, “Step aside, it’s Prince Willem of Chartelyr. This is no way to greet his Royal Highness.”

  With uncertain glances, the King’s Guards sheathed their swords. The opposing guards relaxed even further when I greeted them in Chartel with, “Greetings to you all. Welcome to Sidem.”

  A soldier dismounted, handing the rein to his neighbour, and pu
lled open the carriage door. It wasn’t Anais’s brother who first stepped out, but a young woman in a simple, flowing blue dress. My heart raced a little, recognising features I’d seen in a vision many years before.

  Dark hair tumbled in thick waves to her waist, brown eyes lively in an exotic and pretty face. She wrapped hands around her uncovered arms, rubbing warmth into them, and regarded me while she waited for the Prince. Her gaze lingered on my bruises.

  Willem emerged, suppressing a shiver as he stepped from the carriage, the thickness of his clothing also inadequate for our weather. He wore a black top reminiscent of the strange outfit Anais thought suitable for riding, with a long collar that folded down in two wings, unlike the Tellen style of tunic that started with a slim band across the neck. His pants were a pale cream and paired with high, brown boots.

  He was tall, with a whipcord strength clear in the way he held himself. Blonde hair cut short and combed back neatly, the resemblance to his sister was unmistakable, sharing her green eyes and colouring. A strong nose and mouth, combined with the masculine oval of his face, hinted at the man he’d one day become.

  Willem’s gaze fell on the spear I still carried. I passed it to the nearest King’s Guard to hold before bowing in greeting. “Welcome to Sidem, Prince Willem. I am Lord Eadred. It’s a great honour to meet you.”

  Willem’s eyes widened, recognising my name, before he too bowed. In halting Tellen he said, “Greetings, Lord Eadred. We are honoured to be here.” He chuckled, confessing in his own language, “That is as much as I can manage for now. I have not been given the advantage of as good a teacher as Anais was granted.”

  “You did that very well, Prince Willem. King Edmund will appreciate your efforts in learning something of our language,” I hastened to reassure him, glancing around. “Though it seems your arrival wasn’t expected this day.”

  “Strange, we sent word ahead more than a week ago.” He stared at the King’s Guards still watching his group with wary caution. “Your soldiers let us through at the gate. Why are these guards so aggressive?”