Invocation Read online

  Before I was ready, Lady Drusilla knocked on my door. The lord and lady of the house had completed dinner preparations and awaited our pleasure. She took my elbow and steered me down the short hall. I stopped when we reached the top of the staircase, a familiar sensation of pain striking my limbs.

  “Lady Drusilla, I have forgotten something in my bedchamber. If I can just go back …”

  “Your Highness,” she began brusquely. “We do not have the time. Lord Gilbert is of rather advanced years and will find it most rude if we’re late for dinner! I’m sure whatever it is cannot be of any real importance. You must wait until after our meal.”

  Not giving me a chance to disagree, she rushed down the stairs, her firm grip on my elbow forcing me to keep up. Silent in my dismay, thinking, if only the lady understood what she now asked me to endure, I complied.

  I breathed through my nose, attempting to hold the pain at bay, pushing it into a place where I might ignore it, but it proved impossible.

  After a servant rang a small bell, the lord and lady entered the sitting room where we waited. Lady Drusilla made the introductions. They greeted me with perfect civility, though Lord Gilbert’s bow was stiff with the pain of his advanced years. He was tall and bony with wrinkled hands, covered in age spots, and a cloudy gaze. A few white strands clung with stubborn insistence to his otherwise bald head. Lady Susannah was less than half his age, with bluish grey eyes and wispy blonde hair: a woman of unremarkable features, despite heavy embellishments of rouge and kohl. With a pretentious air about her, she invited us to enter the dining room.

  The number of servants waiting matched those dining, and they stepped forward to help everyone take their places. The servant behind me pushed in my chair. Only when I saw all their stares did I realise this was expected. I lifted a little and let him push the seat against the back of my knees. When he moved to wait against the far wall, I shifted to get more comfortable.

  Lady Susannah controlled the conversation, exhibiting clear dislike for her husband every time he tried to steer our discussion to other topics. I understood then why he insisted on a timely meal. Like me, he longed to return to his bedchamber, but for a vastly different reason.

  We were both forced to listen to the women gossip and talk of their children. Before that moment, I had not known Lady Regina had a child, a boy of some eight years of age. I might have paid more attention to the conversation, but the ache permeating every part of my body was insistent. Even sitting still, resisting the urge to pace or move to ease it, was only achieved through pure force of will.

  “You look awful, Princess Anne,” Annette observed with false sympathy.

  I resisted the desire to tell her just why I looked so terrible, remembering Lady Drusilla’s concerns the last time I made such a public display of this affliction. “I am tired, Lady Annette. That is all,” I said, understanding it would be preferable not to begin my marriage with rumours of ill-health.

  “Well, tomorrow advise your servant to add more colour to your cheeks. If she needs any instruction, I’m sure one of my two servants will be happy to teach her how to make you appear more attractive.”

  I bit the inside of my lip until I tasted blood and then forced myself to smile. “Thank you, Lady Annette, for your thoughtful offer.”

  She wanted to wound me with her vicious barbs, that was clear enough, but it little compared to the agony pounding through every fibre of my being. I found it difficult to engage in any kind of meaningful conversation in such a state; reduced to nods and smiles, or simple one-word answers to questions.

  I watched Lord Gilbert for signs he was ready to retire for the evening. When the last plates were cleared, he glanced about, as if searching for an acceptable reason to end this dreary meal. I covered my hand and feigned a yawn, catching his look and smiling apologetically.

  He pounced on the excuse, citing my obvious need for an early night after such a long day of travel, bringing the dinner to a close. As soon as he left, I slipped out the door, racing to my assigned bedchamber. Frantically I searched for the dress I had worn earlier and, when I couldn’t find it, burst into tears.

  Misery, and the agony of the distance between us, consumed me. I crawled over the rug to the end of the bed and collapsed against the base, clutching my middle. Eadred’s presence was palpable in every single pulse of my heart, each breath of pain, both far from and near me in that moment. If he had somehow not worked out what was happening to me, I would never have survived even a week without him. How then to survive a lifetime?

  Adele’s short blonde hair and concerned blue eyes came into view. She crouched beside me and queried if I was unwell.

  Desperately I asked, “Adele, where are my tria beads? They were in my dress.” She lifted the lid of the second trunk left outside the room and reached inside. I sighed as she pressed Eadred’s prayer beads into my palm. As she helped me get ready for sleep, I was docile with the sweet relief of pain alleviated.

  Adele turned to put away my clothes, and I climbed onto the bed, landing on something long and hard below the blankets. Curious, I pulled up the sheets and found the strange pan lying there. A substantial amount of heat came from it.

  I reached to open it, to see what was causing such warmth, when Adele said in her accented Tellen, “Your Highness, please do not touch this! It burn you.” Alarmed, I stared at her and she explained, “There are hot coals in it.”

  “I did not know,” I whispered.

  She pulled the strange pan from my bed, using the long handle, and placed it carefully upon the floor. Her face tender, she tucked the sheets over my shoulders, singing a lullaby familiar to every child in Chartelyr, soothing me. I fell asleep, clutching the tria beads, the tears drying on my lashes.

  In the morning, I asked if Georgette might travel in the carriage with us, and Lady Drusilla agreed readily enough. By the time we reached Fultham, her mood was improved and our minor disagreement was forgotten.

  At Fultham, and then Yolan, we stayed in the houses of courtiers well known to Annette and Regina, though both families had already left for Sidem to prepare for my wedding.

  Our journey was nearly over, with only one more stop in Vird before we reached the capital city. There we were to stay with Lord Darius Sturl and his wife, Lady Silwen, in their manor house.

  The road took us east, leading away from the coast and towards the mountain range appearing in the distance. I had convinced myself of my ability to handle the cold, only to shiver uncontrollably as the path, twisting and turning in odd ways, climbed higher on the mountainside. The landscape changed, more densely forested now with pine and spruce trees. White patches stood out on the towering peaks and Georgette explained it was snow.

  We arrived at Vird in the early afternoon, our party travelling over their long drive, packed hard with grey gravel and lined with yew trees sculptured into round orbs. The light was muted, an overcast sky lending a palpable sense of gloom to the atmosphere. A bitter wind, seeping under the edges of the carriage door, made me shiver and draw the fur blanket tighter over my knees.

  A large and imposing manor waited at the end of the drive, two stories high, square in design, with long and narrow windows spaced across the facade, and a covered entry framed by marble pillars. Constructed of grey brick, layered together in a staggered formation, the material used to join the bricks was an off yellow, laden with wind-blown dirt and, in some places, the green of moss.

  Lady Silwen came out to greet us. She was a beautiful woman, with long auburn hair curling over her shoulders. She smiled warmly and dropped into a graceful curtsy. I met her keenly observant brown eyes, seeing the marked intelligence in their depths.

  Lord Darius, his expression inscrutable, bowed over his paunchy stomach. When I drew closer to him, I saw fine red veins over his cheeks gave his skin a ruddy glow. His eyes, where they should be white, were tinged with yellow.

 
Their daughter, Annabelle, raced to the door, excited by our arrival. Her hair was the colour surely of her mother’s youth: a bright auburn shot through with crimson strands. The large blue eyes she had inherited from her father lent a prettiness to her appearance they did not give him.

  Though I soon learnt she was only a year younger than I, there seemed between us a vast distance in age. She possessed the same youthful exuberance I lost the moment my papa whipped his riding switch against my brother’s cheeks.

  The ladies wanted to join Lady Silwen in her drawing room before getting ready for dinner, but I suggested a walk. The higher we had travelled into the mountain passes, the more I had noticed the strange rock formations all around. There, beyond their manor, in a large clearing, were three standing monoliths, with rocks capped above them, creating two natural arches.

  I told Lady Drusilla I wished to see them up closer, and Georgette expressed her interest as well. With a small frown, the older lady gave her agreement, sharply ordering some soldiers to accompany us.

  Tightening the shawl over my shoulders, we strolled towards the standing stones. Georgette shivered and remarked, “It’s always so dour in this part of the country. I’m glad my family estate is in warmer parts.”

  “Where does your family live?”

  “Close to Brondly. It’s a town on the coast, near the border.”

  “I know it!” I said, happy we had this small thing in common. “We passed through it on our way to Arnil Wale. I did not find it particularly warm then, though I suspect I would be more comfortable now.”

  She laughed and agreed, “It’s certainly more pleasant than here.”

  We followed a garden path, bordered by a short hedge, into the clearing. Nearer to the stone arches I saw how the lichen covered the sides of the brownish, grey monoliths. They were ancient, weathered by an unfathomable passage of time. How many centuries I could not guess.

  Each monolith was the height and width of a tall man. The two stones that capped it were just as wide, if half the length, providing space for a single person to walk through, or a couple if they entered either side. Etched across the middle stone was a strange symbol. A circle on a narrow wand, framed by two wings.

  “This place is …” Georgette did not finish, shuddering and clawing at the shawl over her shoulders, as if for protection. “I don’t like it.”

  The grey light darkened further. Something cold and wet landed on my forehead. I put out a hand. A thing, white and fluffy, settled there, dissolving the instant it touched my warm skin. More white flakes descended around us in quiet drifts. I heard them falling, the faintest whisper, the soft touch of a rain that was not rain, pattering in easy swells. Even the wind had died down, as if all of nature were holding its breath.

  Georgette shrieked, breaking the mood and hurrying to the manor, only to stop when she realised I was not moving. I asked if it was snow and she confirmed it. “Your Highness, you’ll get soaked if we stay out here!”

  The wind gusted briefly, causing the white flakes to fall at a faster angle. They struck a little harder against my exposed face and neck. We both rubbed at our arms, beginning to shiver. Georgette shrieked again, saying, “I can’t stand it! I’m sorry, Princess Anne. It’s too cold and strange in this place!”

  The soldiers who watched us exchanged looks, debating if they should advise me to go inside too, but I ignored them.

  The fluffy snow increased in volume until it dropped thickly, so dense it blocked my view of the men. Soon Georgette’s departing figure faded to white and yet, when I turned back, I found my sight of the standing stones to be unimpeded.

  I stared at the way the snow fell to the ground behind the monolith, settling like a soft blanket. It called to me, the urge to enter overwhelming. Seconds later, with steady steps, I walked through the arch on the left, warmth filling my chest and a buzzing vibration in my ears.

  On the other side, snow did not fall, and the sun was hot upon my skin. A gentle breeze blew across green grass. Red butterflies, their wings edged in black, rose as one and hovered in the air.

  So is Division Sown

  There were many churches and cathedrals in the city, but we visited the one closest to the palace. The largest of all the cathedrals, there was private accommodation behind it, used by Bishop Richard and the higher-ranking clergy.

  The second biggest structure in Sidem, it had two tall towers on either side of the central section. High above the entrance were the dark outlines of three arched windows. Raised from the street by a steep set of stairs, designed in that way to make supplicants and worshipers ascend to God, the building was an impressive sight.

  The architecture, a mismatch of ongoing improvements and renovations spanning many centuries, had grown the church from a modest place of worship into the fine cathedral it was to this day.

  Elron creaked as he followed me, the leather cuisses he’d strapped to his thighs as extra armour not helping, while I bounded up the stairs. The grunts he so favoured this morning were expressive. Usually he would wait outside, but his level of apprehension was higher since the attack, so he stayed close by.

  Inside, beams curved across the vaulted ceiling, accentuating the magnificent interior. Wooden pews were arrayed before the massive triquetra hanging above the altar. Behind the triquetra were nine circular windows of stained-glass, representing the movements of the tria. Each one was as beautiful as the domed windows above the entrance. Those arched masterpieces expressed, in exquisite imagery, the story of the Three Times Blessed and the gifts he gave all of God’s people.

  A young priest cleaned up the altar, the morning service finished some time before. His black robes and white belt sent a pang of sorrow through me as he hurried over to see how he could assist us.

  He bowed after I introduced myself, saying, “I’m Father Celwin.” The tall and gangly man folded his hands and waited. Celwin’s dark hair, combed forward severely, lay flat to his head. He was so thin I imagined the slightest breeze might blow him over.

  “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, Father, but a priest was killed in the palace yesterday.” Suddenly I didn’t have the words to explain, the grief at his loss rising within me. I tried again. “His name was Father Siv Tyrell, and he died saving my life.”

  It was too much. I gazed at the sixth movement, thinking on his sacrifice and swallowing down the sorrow choking my throat.

  Elron stepped up, bluntly asking, “What you would like us to do with the body?”

  “Please, follow me and I will take down the details,” Celwin replied.

  We followed him through the door behind the altar. It led into a small vestibule and then an office. Celwin sat down at his desk and drew some papers towards himself, starting to write. I hesitated, and he looked up expectantly. “Please provide as much detail as you can, Lord Eadred.”

  “I’m aware Bishop Richard is in Shom, but is there someone else in a higher position I might speak to? This matter isn’t an easy one to understand.”

  He put down his stylus. “Lord Eadred, I’ll relay any message you have to Bishop Richard. While I’m sure he’ll be keen to discuss it further with you, my concern at this moment is preparing Father Tyrell’s body for burial.”

  There was something in his tone. “You knew him.”

  “I did,” he confirmed with a gentle nod. “He was a good friend.”

  “Then you’re taking the news of his death remarkably well!”

  He took in my frown and smiled. “My grief is not for public display, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel his loss deeply. Remember, Lord Eadred, it’s not your place to judge me, only to give me the information I require.” He pointed towards the empty chair.

  I told him everything, watching as he jotted down notes and answering his questions as best I could. At my description of the five little girls in white, he glanced up, eyes widening in alarm. Celwin then a
sked Elron to leave, implacably staring him down when he refused. With another unhappy grunt, my friend said he’d wait in the vestibule and left.

  “Bishop Richard informed me of your frequent blessings. This was one?” My jaw clenched. It was infuriating how these men of the Church talked about me amongst themselves.

  At my nod, Celwin wrote something down. He requested a detailed description of the woman, how the men were consumed by flames and what I believed was the cause. On that matter, I was mute. He then asked about the spear.

  “It’s in my room at the palace.”

  “Please place it with Father Tyrell’s belongings.” He folded the paper and put it aside. “We’ll collect his body later today and prepare it for burial.”

  “I want to be there for his funeral,” I told him.

  “There’ll be no funeral, Lord Eadred. Siv was a modest man, his request was always for a quiet service, with only his brothers in attendance.”

  “He was my friend!”

  Celwin stood and said, “We will respect his final wishes.”

  Before I knew what was happening, he hustled me from the office, collecting Elron on the way. We walked with quick steps past the rows of pews to the cathedral entrance. He bowed and turned to go inside.

  “That’s it?” I called after him. “You’ll collect his body and I’ll have nothing more to do with him? Given no chance to say goodbye?”

  Celwin twisted back around. “Yes, that is it, Lord Eadred.” His pitying gaze sent a bolt of sudden anger through me. Just as fast, it faded into despondency.

  As he turned, sunlight fell on a scar low upon his neck. “That scar. Father Tyrell had one in the same spot,” I blurted out.

  He stopped, raising a hand to cover it reflexively before dropping it to his side. “It’s nothing.”

  I watched as he slipped away into the dark interior and murmured, “That’s what Siv said.”