Wyvern Tails and Phoenix Feathers

The Daughters, Chapter 2 - Annette

Annette's mother excelled in embroidery. From a young age, she recalled sitting beside her, listening to the scrape of thread as it passed through fabric. The designs were of animals and flowers, rendered in brilliant colors and dotted with golden beads. And though she had seen the power of court magicians, her mother's gift of bringing images to life felt truly magical. Every piece she finished, Annette wished to claim as her own.

"This is for someone else," her mother told her one night. "I can't give you everything I make. You understand."

She did understand, even at seven years old. But Annette was also profoundly jealous of anyone who received an embroidered gift from her mother. Her mother freely gave of her heart through her artwork. She worried her mother had a limited supply of love and that others would drain her of what remained.

"You won't ever have another baby, will you mother?" she asked.

"Wouldn't you like to have a brother or sister?"

"No," said Annette. "I want to be your only."

The large piece she crafted for Annette still sat in a wooden frame on her mantle. Several red foxes leapt over yellow roses on faded blue velvet. Annette sometimes spent hours staring at it. No one had ever known Annette like her mother. Her sweet words and lullabies, while tucking stray hairs behind her ears, had a way of reaffirming Annette's identity.

That identity had become more in question since Magelord Setti's persuasive insinuation that Annette could be the second rising of the Dread Wyvern. And while The Blue Woman had assured her that she would have to want to become a wyvern to be a proper candidate, Annette couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom. Worry could be debilitating, she discovered, and no amount of wine could calm her; no true friend at the Blue Keep she could confide in. It was startling to miss the company of Eloise Glass. For all of their conflict, at least Annette could be honest with the woman.

When she returned to Port Shorishal, Annette informed her grandfather of Renard's death. Rumors spread that she had killed him herself, a cold-hearted play to remove her rival to the throne. Annette didn't mind. Such a rumor reminded her enemies at court that they were right to fear her; she was a rising power and not to be discounted.

A memorial was held for Renard in the courtyard. Annette wore red whereas others wore black. She stood bold and strong while her memories echoed Renard's dying screams on repeat.

It was during Renard's memorial that Annette decided she needed to visit her mother. Years had passed since she'd been carried off to live with the Cloistered Sisters west of Charn. Annette wrote a few letters, but never received any in return. There were those who said her mother's mind was irrevocably fractured, but while Annette refused to believe them, it was enough to keep her from traveling to see for herself. The threat of a wretched truth was an effective deterrent.

But if there was any person who could look into Annette's eyes, see her heart, and tell her confidently she was not the red falcon, not the inhuman monster who would become the dread wyvern, it was her mother. Resolved, she set off to the king's chamber to ask her grandfather for permission to travel.

The blue keep halls were emptier with every passing season of the war in the north, as more men were sent away to fight. As Annette reached the king's chamber, she passed only one castle guard, a stocky brown-haired man with an oddly shaped nose. She recognized him as the guard who had once been a stable boy. His cheeks were red from drinking ale. His belly puckered out from the bottom of his ill-fitting cuirass.

"Jona, yes?" she said to him.

He winced and shrank a bit upon hearing her address him. He seemed to have wished to have walked by unnoticed.