by Jeff Wheeler
It took entirely too long for her to hit the water, and then she was sheathed in liquid ice that seemed to stab through her gown, through her skin, and freeze her very marrow. Where was the surface? Had she screamed on the way down? Thoughts jumbled in her mind. Images of her life came in rapid succession. The trees. The falls. The boulder. Sir Thomas’s bloody hands.
Her head popped above the surface, her muscles hardening from the cold. Isybelle was shouting for her, but the water was in Ankarette’s ears, in her nose. She saw the duke’s daughter waving for her, looking so proud of her for the accomplishment. She saw Spark, claws tethered with leather thongs, flapping wildly, but firmly attached to a dead log. Why was the bird so frantic?
Ankarette sensed the presence of another person.
Part of her mind opened, and despite the violence of the waterfall, the unrelenting thunder of water in her ears, and her freezing limbs, she was aware of another presence. The impression was as forceful as if a spike of silver had been driven into her mind. There, hidden in the woods beyond where they’d settled, swathed in the shadows and mist . . . someone was waiting and watching.
Ankarette pumped her arms and legs, her dress weighing her down. The current was not difficult to fight, as Sir Thomas had said, and she reached the bank where she found him waiting to seize her arm and pull her free of the water’s grasp. Her mind was in a fog from the chill, and she wondered why he hadn’t jumped in himself. His clothes weren’t wet. Had he abandoned the idea at the last minute? But her thoughts were soon pulled away by the strong sensation that all was not right. She still sensed someone and felt a pulse of danger and warning.
“You did it!” Isybelle said with wild joy. “Your skin is blue. You can wear my cloak for warmth. Here, let’s wring some of this water out of your gown.” Her hands gathered up bunches of Ankarette’s dress and she squeezed them unselfconsciously, twisting the water free.
Ankarette tried to speak, but her words were slurred. She babbled incoherently.
“I told you it was cold,” Sir Thomas said, kneeling next to her. “Not one man in twenty has the courage to actually jump. I’ve seen lads older than you quail and climb back down. Well done, lass!”
She tried to speak again, but her jaw was chattering too much. Looking past them both, she gazed into the woods, expecting to see someone there.
“Should we build her a fire, Sir Thomas?”
“Best to get her back down to the castle,” he answered with confidence.
Ankarette grabbed his tunic front and jerked it hard.
“What is it?” he asked in surprise.
“Th-th-there is s-someone. O-o-ver there.”
She raised a trembling arm and pointed.
“Spark is going wild,” Isybelle said worriedly, suddenly noticing.
Sir Thomas gripped Ankarette’s arms, his fingers firm and powerful. “Did you see someone, lass?”
She hadn’t. But she could sense them moving away now. Moving away quickly. “I thought I did,” she answered. It was a half-truth, but she could think of no better way to explain it. While working as a midwife, she’d occasionally experienced flashes of insight related to the birthing process—the notion that a babe would come early or that a birth would go easier if the mother paced during labor. Since coming to Dundrennan, the insights she’d experienced had all been related to political machinations. This was the first one that had warned of danger.
Her words were enough to get Sir Thomas moving. He quickly scooped up his sword belt and buckled it on. He drew his sword from its sheath as he marched toward the woods.
“Strange,” Isybelle said. “These lands are forbidden from hunters, save the king and the nobles. It might have been a poacher.”
The feeling was gone. While Sir Thomas scouted the woods, always staying within sight, Isybelle helped Ankarette back to the small camp where Sir Thomas dressed the falcon’s kill. Spark was preening, no longer squawking and trying to escape.
After a few more moments, Sir Thomas came back looking concerned. “We’ll not be hunting here with the king tomorrow,” he said plainly. “In fact, it’s best if we head back quickly. Don’t cover the falcon, my lady. We might need him to get back safely.”
“What’s wrong?” Lady Isybelle asked fearfully. “Was it man or beast?”
He shook his head. “I thought it might be a bear or wolf at first. But I found tracks by that tree over there. Footprints of a man. They’re heading deeper into the woods. I’ll send some Espion to follow the tracks when we get back.” He stood, arms folded, and gazed at Ankarette with deep respect. “Good eyes, lass. Someone followed us out here. And I believe they meant us harm.”
I did not realize, when I was summoned to Dundrennan, what would unfold in my life. The duke was an impressive leader, both in temperament and wealth. The game of Wizr was his favorite, and he thought of the world in terms of strategies and movement on the board. Little did I know what complex machinations were at work inside his mind. He knew how to make a man do something against his own interests—and be happy for it. He had a mighty reputation throughout all the realms. Everyone wanted to treat with him, to earn his favor or condescension. But there were others who sought his downfall.
It was while I was living in the duke’s household that I began to hone my own intuition. I began to see the difference between what people said and what they meant. At the time, I didn’t really understand what those stirring thoughts really meant. I came to realize that later.
It was during those innocent days in Dundrennan that I was first exposed to what lay concealed in the shadow of politics. I met my first poisoner without even realizing it. A man whose shadow crossed mine often in those early days. And I didn’t know it until it was too late.
—Ankarette Tryneowy
CHAPTER SIX
The King
When they returned to the castle, Ankarette was no longer dripping wet, but she was cold and uncomfortable and they found the castle in commotion. A page shouted in passing that King Eredur had arrived earlier than expected, accompanied by the Deconeus of Ely.
Ankarette watched as Isybelle’s expression shifted in reaction to the news. Her face flushed, but then her mood turned somber and she started fidgeting. She gave the falcon to the hunting master to secure in the mews.
Sir Thomas was approached by one of the Espion, who bent his head low and began talking to him in an urgent undertone. Ankarette noticed this, but she wasn’t close enough to hear what they were discussing. Then she felt a tug on her sleeve.
“Let’s go back to my rooms and get you into something dry,” Isybelle said. “Mother will be furious if you come to the great hall like this.”
The two quickly slipped into the castle, although Ankarette glanced back at Sir Thomas before following her friend inside. The troubled look on his face seemed a bad portent.
After stripping away her sodden garments, Ankarette dressed in a blue-and-silver gown—the colors of the duke’s servants—and with Isybelle’s help, her damp tresses were tamed and braided in the Northern style.
“That will do nicely,” Isybelle said, smiling at her in the mirror. “Best if we get this over with now.”
“Are you nervous about seeing the king?”
Isybelle smoothed her dress and feigned a composed look. “Why should I be nervous? I’ve known Eredur my whole life.” But she was still fidgeting with her dress. “Did you hear what the page said? The Deconeus of Ely is also here. John Tunmore. I didn’t know he was coming. He and Father have long been allies. I think he’s going to be invested soon as the deconeus of Our Lady in Kingfountain.”
Ankarette knew nothing about the deconeus and didn’t care to. She was far more interested in learning about the king and Isybelle.
The two young women hurried to the audience hall. The duke was still in Occitania, so the duchess was duty bound to provide hospitality to the king and his companions in her husband’s absence.
The state of the hall was boisterous. Servan
ts were bustling in and out, providing trays of meat, nuts, and cheese and flagons of wine in abundance. The duchess was attentive to the king’s whims, standing nearby and watching him closely to try to anticipate his every need.
The king had bright flaxen hair and skin that had been darkened by the sun over countless hours in the saddle. A man of twenty-two, he was strong and bulky but surprisingly light on his feet, able to snatch a goblet from a passing serving girl without sloshing a drop on the floor. The king was bantering with his youngest brother, Severn. They were about as opposite as a hawk and a crow, but there was no mistaking the camaraderie between them.
A tall man in ceremonial robes stood near the brothers, at a somewhat awkward distance. Deconeus Tunmore, then. It had to be.
Isybelle suddenly squeezed Ankarette’s hand, her eyes fixed on the king. She seemed to be steeling herself, building up her courage. Then she released her grip and walked deliberately toward her mother, who had finally noticed their arrival. Someone else had noticed them as well, a man who was a stranger to Dundrennan. Or at least, he had not darkened the castle’s halls since Ankarette’s arrival. The man wore a fashionable tunic from Occitania and combed his hair forward in their style. He was speaking to the castellan, Lord Horwath, but his gaze had found and followed Ankarette and Isybelle. He was probably thirty, judging from the creases around his eyes, and had a bright, easygoing manner. This was definitely a man who used his hands to speak. She made a mental reminder to ask about him later.
“There you are,” the duchess said, meeting them partway. She examined Isybelle’s dress and frowned. “I thought you changed before coming down. It looks like you just came from the woods.”
They were close enough to the king for Ankarette to hear Nanette’s voice. “Severn caught three rings on his spear,” the girl boasted. “But then the quintain hit him on the fourth try and knocked him off!”
Ankarette was struggling to observe everything at once—the conversation underway between the king, his brother, and the girl; the intent deconeus; the duchess’s displeased look; and the tension between the mother and her elder daughter.
“There wasn’t time, Maman,” Isybelle whispered, flushing slightly.
The duchess gave her daughter an icy look, promising they would have words later, but her anger melted away as she turned her attention back to the king. Giving him a beaming smile, she nodded as if she’d been paying attention all along. He didn’t appear to notice.
“Three rings?” Eredur said, impressed. “I’ve been knocked down my share of times.” He gripped Severn’s shoulder and gave him a friendly shake. “But it makes it that much harder to have girls around to laugh at you. Admit it, Cousin,” he said, winking at Nanette, “that was your favorite part.”
“No, my lord!” Nanette said sincerely. She sidled closer to Severn. “I was ever so proud of my cousin when he took the rings on the spear.”
“I’m just jesting with you, lass,” the king said, mussing up her dark brown hair. The familiar gesture brought on another icy look from the duchess.
“Pray, my lord,” the duchess said, interrupting. “Did you see Lord Warrewik before he departed for Pree?”
The king turned and caught sight of the new arrivals at last. “I did indeed. We consulted very closely on his upcoming negotiations, and I saw him to his ship in person. The new deconeus of Our Lady was also with us.”
“Indeed, my lord,” Deconeus Tunmore said graciously, taking a step forward.
Severn’s voice always had a sarcastic edge to it. “Aye, and they immediately made plans to come hunt in the duke’s lands while he was gone, no doubt.”
There was a double meaning in his words that Ankarette caught. She saw the duchess stiffen, her smile wilting.
Eredur looked abashed for a moment, as if the comment pained him, but he wrestled down any resentment he might have felt and then turned and put his arm around Severn’s neck, not altogether gently. “With that tongue of yours, Brother, you never need carry a whip to urge your horse faster. Now, all the world knows the best game is in the North, so it shouldn’t create too much of fuss that I felt compelled to follow it. And I did,” he added with a warning glare at his brother, “seek my uncle’s permission ere I came.”
The duchess looked nervous. “You never need ask, my lord king. You are welcome to come whenever it suits you, of course.” She bowed formally.
The king gave her a polite nod but he clearly wasn’t interested in talking with her further. He shifted his gaze to his cousin, Lady Isybelle. “A pleasure to see you again, Cousin.” He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. It was a respectful gesture, not a lover’s kiss. His words seemed carefully chosen and fraught with meaning. “Is this your new maid?” he asked, shifting his gaze to Ankarette. “The one your father mentioned? The midwife’s daughter?”
It took every ounce of composure within Ankarette not to buckle under the weight of his gaze. He was perhaps the most handsome man she’d ever met. She’d seen him before, riding through the streets of Yuork in his glistering armor, his knights parading behind him with banners displaying the Sun and Rose.
The king knew of her. She would not embarrass herself. She dropped into a deferential curtsy.
“Yes,” Isybelle said with warmth in her voice. “This is Ankarette Tryneowy, my new companion.”
“An interesting name,” Tunmore said with a look of interest. “Atabyrion, is it not?”
“Indeed, Your Grace,” Ankarette said, then coughed, her throat suddenly very dry. “My father was from Edonburick.”
The conversation shifted as the king turned his attention back to his young brother and Nanette, who continually tried to vie for everyone’s notice. The girl was only nine and prone to chatting. As she listened to the ebb and flow of the conversation, Ankarette found some nuts on a tray and began to eat them, trying to remain aware of the room and what was going on. But she stayed near Isybelle, keeping especially sensitive to her looks and how they might reveal her feelings. The duke’s daughter continued to cast glances at the king, mostly covertly, and with eyes that were sad and regretful. Ankarette noticed the deconeus was also paying close attention to the people in the room.
Eventually the Occitanian man separated from Lord Horwath and approached the duchess. His accent was smooth and refined, and it bore the marked accent of his Occitanian heritage. “If you will permit me, Duchess, to introduce myself again. I am Lord Hux, the herald of His Majesty King Lewis of Occitania.” He bowed deeply. He wasn’t tall, but he was stately and had the elegant manners of a man quite accustomed to the privileges of rank.
“Yes, I do recall you. Welcome once again to Dundrennan. I know that you have been greatly involved in the correspondence between my husband and your king.”
“But of course!” he said with a cheerful smile and another bow. “I saw him immediately upon his arrival on our fair shores, and since I was bound already for Dundrennan, I promised I would deliver to you, on his behalf, the assurance that he arrived safely, thanks be to the Fountain.”
“Thank you, it is most welcome news. Do you plan to stay long in the North? Visitors often come from distance kingdoms to enjoy the pleasant views of our valley.”
“They are most exquisite, Duchess!” His hands moved as he spoke, the gestures conveying his ardor and wonder. “With your permission, I may linger a day longer than my charge. Perhaps even join the king on his hunting expedition, if it is permitted?”
“You are indeed welcome to stay,” the duchess said.
The king interrupted them. “I won’t be hunting after all,” he said. Ankarette noticed Sir Thomas had joined the company. “On the journey here, I found a quaint little village along the road to Kingfountain. I was tempted to stay there for the night and hunt in those woods, but didn’t wish to risk offense by not coming here as I had originally planned. I won’t trespass on your hospitality for more than a day, my lady. I had thought to hike up beyond the cliffs and see Mount Helvellyn closer, but perhaps
another time.”
“What village was that?” the duchess asked with curiosity.
The king shrugged and looked baffled. “I cannot remember the name.”
“Was it Huntstanton?” the duchess offered.
The king snapped his fingers. “That’s the one! Sometimes the crowd at court can get overwhelming. I never go hunting, but I so enjoy spending time out in nature.”
“You will be missed,” the duchess said politely.
“Not likely,” Severn muttered under his breath, his eyes glinting with pleasure at his remark. He’d spoken it just loud enough for the duchess to hear it and her smile wilted again.
“If I told you to behave, Severn, would it do any good? I highly doubt it.” The king shook his head and laughed ruefully. “’Tis a pity to come all this way and not spear a boar, eh my lord duke of Glosstyr?”
Severn frowned but he knew the barb was intended for him. His badge was the White Boar. “It is illegal in my duchy to hunt them.”
“I don’t make hunting roses illegal. To each his own,” the king replied. He grabbed another wine cup and tipped it toward his brother, wagging his eyebrows playfully.
After the evening meal, the telling of tales by the hearth, and an easing of tensions, it was time for everyone to retire for the night. Ankarette helped brush loose Isybelle’s hair after they’d both changed into nightgowns. The duke’s daughter sat on a chair in front of her vanity. The angle of the mirror showed the night sky, and judging by the slant of the moon, it was not yet midnight.
There was a subtle, gentle knock on the door. Isybelle stiffened, her hand gripping the handle of the small mirror she’d been using to examine blemishes on her chin. She set it down, her hands trembling to the point that it rattled as she released it. Ankarette quickly strode to the door.
“Who is it?” she whispered loudly enough to be heard on the other side.
“Sir Thomas,” he replied, his voice muffled.
