Annatrice of Cayborne by Jonathan Davison Read Free Book Online Page B

speed with relative ease.
    The evenings brought about a more informal recreational period. Some of the girls spent their quiet time playing musical instruments or table games; some were escorted outside to ride. Annatrice spent the first few days exhibiting caution on all levels, she had yet to hear from the sadistic ruler or be summonsed to his presence. It was a rational and tangible fear that grew by the day. How long could it be before Tragian remembered the impudent wretch that so clearly humbled him in front of his revered guests? Annatrice was not so naïve to imagine that any plans the Regis had for her would be brutal at the very least and in some ways inescapable.
    Prayers were a part of everyday life that seemed the most alien to Annatrice. Taurlin, her father had spurned the Gods and insisted that they were not spoken of at home. Annatrice grew up with the comfort of knowing that her life was her own and that she would never be judged for her actions in that respect. It was a comfort that did not extend to death. Annatrice found no comfort in faith now her father had been killed. Her reality was that everything her father was had now perished in the blink of an eye. This did not stop her from silently talking to him in times of solitude, but she was intelligent and aware enough to know that this was more for her benefit as a comfort than for his. When the time came to pray, she took the proud stance of abstaining and although this shocked the other girls, Marianne let it ride as long as it was not having a detrimental effect on the group.
    At night, the darkened dormitory would come alive with excitable whispers and devious scheming. Annatrice's first few days of living with other girls were enlightening to say the least. Little did she know about what motivated the average young woman and what extraordinarily brazen comments would pass their lips in the seclusion of a darkened room. It was in the middle of one of these hilarious moments when there was a sudden lamplight at the door and a silhouette.
    “Annatrice?”
    The voice was familiar but it was laden with anxiety and the ensuing hush of the girls did little to help Annatrice feel that this was the moment that she had long awaited with a sense of terror.
    “Annatrice, please...will you get up a moment?” Marianne's voice was breaking under the strain. Annatrice pulled the covers back and stood, hurriedly pulling on some clothes.
    “May the Gods be with you Annatrice.” Her neighbour Lehona whispered as she could hear the hard and fast breaths of her terrified new friend. As Annatrice edged her way through the dormitory, other whispered prayers were being offered. The solidarity of her new friends did little to aid her apprehension as behind Marianne, the tall figure of a robed man stood ominously waiting to escort the King's new plaything to the royal parlour.
    As Annatrice passed Marianne, the elder woman reached out and embraced her, whispering into her ear.
    “Remember what we talked about. Remember the tree, so proud it stands, so strong, so defiant.” Annatrice felt her guardian's hot face pressed against hers and the tears that Marianne shed as they were smeared on her cheeks.
    Annatrice walked on spurning a prolonged embrace and Marianne smiled with some renewed hope that her newest daughter had the inner strength to come through her ordeal. Knowing what was to come; Annatrice did not even give the robed escort the pleasure of grasping her wrist as she pulled it away quickly. In silence, she walked forth knowing that the pain and indignity Tragian was about to bestow upon her would only make her stronger and her vow to avenge her father even more unquenchable.

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    When Annatrice presented herself the next morning at breakfast, her face haunted by blackened eyes and the long, reddened streaks of vindictive scratching and tearing, it was clear that Tragian had suitably fulfilled himself in revenge for the humiliation that Annatrice