Invocation Page 6

  “Noble blood,” he scoffed, brown eyes cruel. “No respectable lady would dress in such a manner! She’s nothing but a whore! They have no chaperone, and why not? So he can have his bit on the side. And what he dangles before me, I too will take a bite of!” Inwardly I flinched at such towering arrogance.

  A guard was walking towards Edmund from behind, his gaze warning us to keep quiet.

  “Sire, please return to your apartment,” I begged.

  Ignoring the hands I held to ward him off, Edmund reached for Vivica. “Stay out of this, Cousin. Or did you not learn the last time you dared to defy me?”

  The guard, his mouth set, hammered the hilt of his dagger against the King’s head, knocking him out cold. Silent, we all watched as my cousin fell down in a messy heap and not one of us moved to catch him.

  Relief for the guard’s timely intervention swept through me. “My thanks, friend.” Blue eyes grave with comprehension of the monumental risk he’d taken, the man nodded. “What’s your name?”

  “Thomas.”

  “Thomas …?”

  “Just Thomas,” he answered impatiently, staring down at Edmund.

  “Elron, help get the King to his bed.” I glanced down the hall. “Are there other guards?”

  Thomas shook his head and grabbed under Edmund’s shoulders. Elron took his feet. It would be a long walk for them, carrying my cousin’s prone weight all the way to his apartment on the eastern side of the palace.

  Once they were out of view, I twisted around to face Vivica. “Let me carry you.” Her teeth worried at her lip as she decided if she should trust me. “I won’t hurt you. I only want to take you to Prince Willem.” Vivica nodded, and I lifted her into my arms. She trembled uncontrollably, and I felt shame for Edmund’s actions. “Which way?”

  “Down there,” she said, pointing towards the northern end of the west wing. When we walked past an open door, she averted her gaze and I saw the white cloth lying on the ground before it.

  “This is your room?”

  “Yes.”

  That white cloth, and her answer, established the veracity of a scandalous rumour spread through the palace for many a year. Until now, I’d never imagined it was true. It was said servants, in the employ of the King and certain nobles, placed such cloths outside the doors of women the men were attracted to, so they could find their room late at night. The interest was supposed to be reciprocated, the ladies equal partners to the liaison.

  She made a small sound when we reached Prince Willem’s apartment. Holding her with one arm, weight balanced on my raised knee, I knocked and waited.

  Willem wrenched the door open. Blonde hair still mussed from sleep and expression twisted in annoyance, he demanded, “What in God’s name is it?” His oval face descended into dark anger as he took in her tears and the ripped state of her clothes. “What have you done?” he growled.

  “Willem,” Vivica whispered. “Lord Eadred has done nothing wrong. He saved me.”

  “From what?”

  “It’s not wise to leave us in the hall like this,” I pointed out.

  He stepped aside and swung the door wide, revealing the drawing room and two flickering candles on a low table. Gently placing her on the lounge, I noticed a splash of red on the lower part of her nightdress. My stomach churned. Willem’s cheeks shifted to white and then green as he saw it as well.

  I crouched before her. “Lady Vivica, did he …?” She knew what I asked and, gaze sliding quickly away, gave a shake of her head. “Where does the blood come from then?”

  “I think there’s a cut there. I’m not sure from what.”

  “May I look?”

  Willem snarled, demanding I keep my hands to myself as I went to lift the dress. I glanced at him and explained, “Your sister surely told you I’m to be trained as a physician. I can help.”

  “No,” he answered firmly.

  I tried another approach. “Lady Vivica, do you feel comfortable enough to tell us what happened?”

  “I was asleep when he came into my room. He climbed onto my bed, trying to get his pants off. I scratched his face and shoved him away. He grabbed my nightdress and ripped it as I escaped into the hall.” She still held the material up with a shaking hand, her emotions fluctuating between shock and fear. “He kept saying something to me over and over, but I didn’t understand. And then Lord Eadred found us. Thank God you did.”

  Vivica began to cry. The Prince pushed me aside and gathered her into his arms. I closed my eyes for a second before moving away to give them privacy, despairing for all our futures. Willem asked, “Who?” I heard his uncertainty then. That he would not be capable of comforting her, the woman he planned to share his life with.

  “The King.” His rage grew at her answer.

  “Leave us,” he ordered with a snarl, classifying me with the enemy, cousin to the man who assaulted his love.

  “I can’t do that. Her reputation …”

  “Has already been destroyed by Edmund!” he accused.

  “Do not blame him. He tried to warn us!” Vivica said through her tears. “Why didn’t we listen?”

  “Shh, it is not our failing. It is the fault of a king with no honour. A pig! I will kill him for this!”

  “Willem. Willem!” He looked down at Vivica, face constricting with pain as she reminded him, “You cannot. He’s marrying your sister.”

  “Anais will not marry that monster!” he cried out, beyond reasonable thought, filled with emotions I understood all too well.

  “What will you do?”

  “I will tell Papa it cannot go ahead!”

  I leant against the wall, pressing my head against the hard surface. Hollowly I asked, “Do you really believe you could stop their wedding? A marriage both Tellenel and Chartelyr have been building towards for years. One, I’ve reliably been informed, the Triune themselves have blessed.” He started at that.

  “Willem, I don’t want it to go further than this room. I couldn’t bear the shame! You can’t tell your sister or papa.”

  “It is not your shame to bear but that swine’s.”

  “But no one else will see it that way. Only those of us who are here.” She glanced over at me, brown eyes beseeching.

  He kissed the top of her head and sucked in a calming breath. “King Edmund has shown he lacks honour. I will explain to him what he must do to regain it. This is the only thing that will assuage the blood between us.”

  I sighed, muttering, “He’ll deny it even occurred.” Though I knew it would put me further in Edmund’s disfavour, I offered, “I’ll be your witness should you need it.” Willem gave a curt nod and bade me leave once more. I left with one last worried glance.

  Elron was waiting outside my room. He looked to me for answers, something I wasn’t sure I could give him. “What will happen now?”

  I shrugged helplessly. “I only pray it doesn’t lead to war.”

  “War?”

  In a low voice, I said, “If you were the man who loved her, would you be able to forgive?”

  I awoke to the sound of my bedroom door swinging open. Head throbbing and mouth dry from too much alcohol, I didn’t look to see who it was, thinking it was likely only the servant. I discovered my error when strong hands wrapped with crushing pressure against my throat.

  “What did you do, Cousin?” Edmund sneered with menacing fury. Unable to speak, I made a low sound of distress, eyes bulging in alarm. He squeezed harder. “Who hit me? Who?”

  I tapped at his arms, and then more urgently when he didn’t move. “Can’t …” I croaked.

  He relented a little, easing the pressure on my neck. He looked unkempt, the orbs of his eyes bloodshot, a small scab on his cheek from Vivica’s nails, and wig askew. Spittle flew onto my face as he yelled, “Who hit me? Tell me!”

  “I didn’t see.”


  Edmund’s mouth opened in disbelief. “Liar. Was it him? Was it Willem?”

  “No.”

  “Liar!” he accused, fingers contracting.

  “Stop.” The word came out garbled, more a moan.

  I tried to tear off his grip, fearing he would truly kill me, able only to communicate via my frantic gaze, begging him to ease the pressure. Cruelly he put all his weight behind it and blackness crept at the corner of my sight, narrowing to a small pinprick of light. Soon even that faded. Unable to breathe, my ineffective pushes slowed and then ceased, lids shutting with long blinks, the dark closing in.

  Edmund let go. I sucked in sweet air and coughed convulsively. My throat felt swollen, too large for my neck.

  Warily I sat up in the bed, watching as he stepped back, face still filled with rage, but tempered by something. Pity? Remorse? Or simple common sense? Perhaps he understood there was nothing to be gained from killing me.

  “Was it Willem?”

  “I’ve already told you. It wasn’t Prince Willem.” My voice sounded hoarse and scratchy. I cleared my throat to ease it, but it only made the pain flare even more. “Why do you think it was him?”

  Brown eyes narrowing to mere slits, he inhaled through his nose. “Because he demanded an audience this morning.” He threw up his hands and I noticed then he still wore the same clothes from the night before. “Willem had no right to make such a request! I refused. Roache told me he left the palace shortly after with his mistress.”

  “Lady Vivica isn’t his mistress. One day that woman will be a queen …” I closed my mouth on the words when Edmund pointed his finger, telling me to say no more, not wanting to hear the truth.

  “Who hit me? Tell me!”

  “I think you tripped.” My look challenged him to dispute it. Infuriated by my answer, he swore, calling me out on it, but I wouldn’t budge from my stance. “You tripped when you stepped forward and hit your head on the wall. We carried you back to your apartment.”

  “Don’t lie to me!”

  “Or what? You’ll have me hanged? Perhaps even strangle me yourself?” When he made no reply, I crossed my arms, gritting my teeth to prevent more unwise words from spilling out. “Is that all, Your Majesty?”

  He considered me for a long moment, taking in the obstinate set of my jaw. “Are you sure, Cousin, that’s all you wish to say?” I nodded, acutely aware of how much further the rift between us had widened because of it. Gaze thick with loathing, Edmund sneered at my obstinance. “I won’t forget what you’ve done. How you interfered in my affairs. You walk a perilous path. It just might get you killed one day.” Edmund allowed the ominous warning to sink in and then said, “You’ll never speak of this again. Is that clear?”

  I nodded, not taking my eyes off him, and exhaled in relief when he left, slamming the door.

  Elron let himself into my room. “I’m sorry, Red. The guards held me back. What did the King do?”

  I rubbed a hand across my sore neck. “He wanted to ask a few questions, is all.”

  He didn’t press further, his grave expression saying he understood all too well. Not long after I finished getting dressed, he came in carrying a small wooden chest. “From Prince Willem,” Elron told me.

  Inside the box was a book with recipes in Chartel and ten small cloth bags. When I opened one, I found a yellow powder. It gave off a strong smell, not unpleasant, as it hit the back of my nose.

  A letter accompanied it.

  Lord Eadred, you showed us the only true kindness in our time in your country. In the worst way, I now understand your concerns. That I did not listen is a regret that will stay with me for the rest of my days. I thank you for your role in saving the woman I love. You give me hope that honour yet remains in your noble family, though he has none. But please, for the sake of her marriage, tell my sister nothing of what has occurred.

  The herbs, spices and recipe book are for her to pass on to your palace cook. For you are most astute, we all find your Tellen food tasteless and bland. Farewell, Prince Willem

  “What does he say?” Elron wanted to know.

  I scrunched the paper in my hand. “Nothing good.”

  Unavoidable Duty

  Startled, the woman spun about, butterflies swarming around her protectively. Her skin was alabaster, plump lips a dark maroon. The brown of her short hair was shot through with warm, fiery lights and her eyes, as they took me in, were the colour of loamy earth.

  She wore a bright red frock of homespun wool, the edges of it frayed and trailing to the ground. There were no shoes on her feet, sunk deep into the soft grass, yet her skin was unmarked by dirt.

  She studied me for a long moment, tilting her head from one side to the next, almost bird-like in her movements. Finally, she said, “You should not be here.” Her voice was a bright blade of sound, crystal and cutting, and it froze me where I stood. A wondering smile, just beginning to form on my lips, melted away.

  “Forgive me if I trespass. Please, would you tell me where I am?”

  I stared at the green grass and hovering butterflies. Behind her, stretching over the breadth of a low hill, was a twisted maze with a gleaming statue in the middle. The bronze figure towered over the hedge. I squinted to make it out, unable to identify if it was male or female. Maybe it was neither, but an animal instead. When I looked back I saw the standing stones and through them the cold whiteout of snow.

  It made no sense.

  “Where you should not be.”

  A tunnel spun around me, the woman at the centre. “How did I get here?” My query resonated oddly, the butterflies catching every word, and I pressed fingers to my temples to grab hold of my scattered thoughts.

  She smiled, a dimly seen wonder, and said, “Now, that is a good question.” She stepped closer. The black and red butterflies, smothering and hovering, came to surround me. They touched the outer rim of being and popped into nothingness.

  A whimsy of every dream yet dreamt swum thickly upon the air. Tangible and real. I stretched out my fingers to take hold of any figment. Bring a happening to life. My breath spiralled away into this nebulous sea, lost to me, and I ached to have it back.

  Something, someone whispered in my ear from a star sparkling in the distance of my mind. Strangeness. Delusion. The illusion forming.

  “Wrongness. This. What is.” Vowels and consonants stretched into earth and scattered. Stuck and then struck within wonder. Pulled apart in blinding, mindless spurts.

  The inadequacies of words screamed and then streamed in blind rushes. Fingers scratched and clutched. Existence remade. I sparked and heaved. “Help. I. Save please. You. Will.”

  Grabbed upon thought. Succour. Blinking away with each breath and slowly coming forward to being. The woman held my head in her hands. I came back into myself and sighed in shuddering relief.

  “What was that?” Struck with a visceral fear, I stared at her eyes, the stars contained within those depths and the fire sparking along the ends of her short hair.

  “The loss of all that you are, Anais Cygnaevarte. Mortal flesh and thought cannot stand the maelstrom of this place. This is why you should not be here. Though …” She rubbed her thumbs over my temples. “It should not surprise me you possess the power to breach the veil. Part of your gift is to glimpse what was, while his foretells what is to be.”

  “My gift? I do not understand.”

  The stars in her eyes dimmed and her palms were a crushing weight against my ears. “Understanding. A blade of brightness, each cut leads only to more questions for the unenlightened.”

  She stepped away and that sensation of losing myself to this place returned. Desperate, I grabbed for her, returning the contact that saved my sanity from such fracturing horror. My heart pulsed loudly, throbbing beats echoing over my entire body. Those frantic beats calmed as her touch restored me. “Forgive my ignorance. Please tell
me, who are you?”

  “A reflection only and thus should remain nameless.” The woman smiled, and now her fingers stroked gently over my hair. “But perhaps you may earn it. Hold out your hand.”

  I did as she asked and a single butterfly, more red than black with only a dark outline around its wings, settled upon my palm.

  “Do you know what they call this butterfly?” I shook my head against the silken weight of her touch, still stroking. “It is called the sovereign butterfly. So named by your ancestor. But which one?”

  I waited, but she said nothing else. “What do you wish me to do with it?”

  Between one breath and the next, I faced the monolith and looked through to the snow. Across the capstones were strange phrases, grouped together oddly. I thought my grasp of Tellen was good but still could make no sense of its message. I memorised the words so I could try to discern their significance at a later time.

  What I read confused me: fled row; bland din; wan swill; grin buoy; hop he fort and a fat hind.

  The woman held my shoulders, her grip tight. “When you see the butterflies for what they are, you will remember our encounter. And this warning: the false branch will not bear fruit.”

  With a sharp push, she sent me stumbling through the arch on the right. The frosty air hit me with the full force of the wind.

  I blinked as the falling snow snagged on my lashes and drew my shawl tighter. I walked towards where I had last seen the soldiers, their outlines gradually coming into focus. Something small was in my hand. A glass bauble with a tiny red and black butterfly trapped within. I rolled it across my palm. While I did not remember finding it in the snow, logic told me I must have when the foul weather came in.

  I felt as if I waded through a miasma for the rest of the afternoon, throughout dinner and until the next morning. I only found my way out of it when we entered Sidem, travelling down the lower edges of the mountain and riding across a flat plain dotted with more of those odd rock formations.

  As we passed through the gates of Sidem and onto wide streets thick with the smell of smoke, it hit me. My wedding was only days away and I could not imagine my fate beyond it, despite all the efforts of Lady Drusilla to prepare me. A fog of uncertainty loomed ahead. An entire wall of it, larger even than the barrier surrounding the city, extending from one far horizon to the next.