ANNORA

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Near a month had passed since Annora had come to live with her new acquaintance, a girl she could now honestly call friend. The small room they shared in the dormitories of the Adeltian Academy of High Manners had been transformed from what must have been a fortress of solitude to that of camaraderie. Ethel had confided in Annora, among many things, that she had hoped to gain respect from her fellow students by remaining in the shared housing rather than requesting a separate royal quarters—as was well within her right. But there seemed nothing Ethel could do to gain any acceptance among her peers, an undertaking Annora had come to appreciate as futile. Even the servants responsible for the upkeep of the main building showed Ethel no courtesy, knowing that there would be no repercussions.

Of the activities they partook, Annora most enjoyed Ethel’s reading aloud her favored stories. It was not that Annora had grown fond of books; that which she looked forward to the least was being forced by Ethel to read aloud herself, the result of which was a story so broken by interruption that its meaning was lost. Even when Ethel smiled as if Annora had said something correctly, Annora then had to replay the sound in her head repeatedly before recognizing the words. Spicelanders were never meant to read and write, a thing she tried to impress onto Ethel, but the girl was steadfast in her resolve to prove Annora wrong in that.

There had been no reading of late, however. The little light that peered through the mostly drawn curtains was not enough to break the spell of anguish cast on the once-happy room. Since hearing the fate that had befallen her mother and half brother, Ethel had been in mourning.

“Drink this,” Annora said, having brought Ethel some tea, a strong, semi-sweet brew that they normally both enjoyed while breaking their fast.

“You may leave it by the bedside.” It was as good as Ethel having refused the drink.

“I will not.” Annora’s accent flared as it always did when she became angry, but her embarrassment only strengthened her resolve to stir Ethel from her perpetual grief and slumber. For the past three days she had eaten nothing and drank only sips of water. Annora was afraid not only for Ethel’s safety but for her own, should something happen to her. “You will drink this for me and have something to eat so that you do not die and condemn me to the same fate as your mother.” Annora felt a twinge of guilt at having said the last bit.

Ethel slowly sat up in her bed and took the cup from Annora’s hand. She stared straight ahead, avoiding eye contact and scowling, but at least she appeared as though she’d finally drink more than water.

“Thank you,” Annora said in mild apology.

Ethel had spoken to Annora about her mother prior to learning of her imprisonment, but not near so much as her father. “I am afraid you would not like her, my mother, if you were to meet her,” Ethel had confessed. “She is very much what you might expect of a highborn lady. She is not a bad woman… She is just very…particular. My father helped me understand that she is not the hateful woman I’d once thought her to be. He is a good man. I know you would love him as I do.”

Ethel never spoke of Alther as anything less than a true father, and there was never any mention of some latent longing to know her birth father. Ethel explained how Alther had adopted her as his own and how embarrassing it must have been for him. She was the bastard child of some Adeltian man, and he was a Rivervalian conqueror. He had every right to have her drowned or exiled. Instead he’d suffered every silent ridicule and mocking expression without so much as blinking, and in doing so, gave Ethel the strength to do the same. So when Alther had knocked at their door days prior, and Ethel lashed out at him in anger, Annora knew the seriousness of her dejection.

“Leave me be, you coward,” she had screamed at him through the door. “How can you let him destroy our family and do nothing?”

It was all Ethel had to say to stop her father from further pursuing his attempt to console her. He left without another word of his own.

Annora knew Ethel referred not only to the imprisonment of Stephon and her mother, but also of Lyell’s advances on Ethel herself. Ethel was convinced that her grandfather planned to marry her, and with Alther powerless to prevent Crella from being jailed, it was obvious he would also be unable to stop such a marriage, should it be Lyell’s intention. A good man perhaps, but what good can such a man accomplish without the strength to act? It was a sentiment she knew Ethel must share but had never spoken.

“What food is there?” asked Ethel. Annora fetched the nearby tray of all Ethel’s favorites and held it out to her. Ethel reached for a rolled pastry with a crumb filling of sugar and nuts. She finished it quickly and went for another.

It was pleasing to see her finally eat, but as Ethel turned to meet her face, Annora saw the tears. Annora sat beside her on the bed and held Ethel as she cried into her chest.

“I should not have spoken to him in that way,” Ethel sobbed.

If it drives him to action, it will have been worth it. Annora did not know how things were done among the ruling parties in the Adeltian Kingdom, but she understood enough from her own land to realize there was little one could do to challenge a king’s verdict short of killing him. Voicing this would be of no comfort to her friend. She remained silent and stroked Ethel’s hair with her fingers.

“I feel like a prisoner.” The words did not sit well with Annora who stopped stroking her hair upon hearing them. I am a prisoner. Having recognized her mistake, Ethel looked up at her with an implicit apology.

“Are you not free to leave?” Annora asked her.

“Where would I even go?”

It was a fair question. The thought of a young, pretty highborn girl setting off with a purse full of coin and meeting with anything but ill fortune did not seem rooted in reality. Ethel had none of the experience gained by commoners as they eked out their meager existence, learning to sense, by instinct, signs of potential danger, and to avoid showing the signs of weakness that invite that same danger—neither of which can be taught or defined by words. Without protection it would simply be a matter of time before men would take all that she had. Annora had no answer for her.

“Where would you go then?” asked Ethel. “Back to the Spicelands?”

“I do not know. But not there.” Annora considered whether she should reveal just how much she had planned. “I would dirty myself and put on the most common clothing I could find. I would cut my hair short like a boy. I would steal as many small items of value as I could and bring them with me to pay for wagon rides and inns. I would search for a safe, honest community, far from the city, where I would be free from the immediate threat of harm. Some place I could work as a farmhand or apprentice for some tradesman.”

She did not know how Ethel would react to what she had told her. For a servant to admit to planning to steal and flee would be grounds for severe punishment in any other setting. She could not look at Ethel, though she could tell Ethel stared at her. The thought of toiling in the soil would turn any highborn’s stomach. She would not blame Ethel if she resented her for wishing to work in the dirt when she had been given such a comfortable life here in the Throne.

“You must promise to never leave me,” said Ethel. “And if you do go, you must promise to take me with you.”

Annora looked down into her pleading eyes. She knew she could not make such a promise honestly. It would be difficult enough to abscond by herself, let alone with a member of the royal family. But Ethel had been hurt enough these past few days. If a harmless lie would help her, then she would give her that reprieve.

“I promise.”