Wyvern Tails and Phoenix Feathers

The Dance of Subterfuge, Chapter 3 - Annette

Annette had witnessed many men as they were dragged to the infamous dungeons of The Blue Keep. They often wore an expression of fear or sullen resignation. Sometimes she would see the men again as they were led to the hanging posts on the steps of the harbor. But more commonly, they would never be seen again. The dungeons were a place to rot and waste away. And the stench of that rot was enough to keep Annette from ever visiting.

She had overheard a Ravenshade diplomat once say that the mark of a great sovereign was a vacant dungeon. At the time, she remembered taking offense to the statement. Her grandfather was a great man after all, yet had no shortage of enemies. As she sat in her cell, staring at the ceiling speckled in blood and filth, she understood the sentiment. A jail should ideally not be a place for one to starve or be tortured; the ruling of justice should be enacted with haste and the sentencing should be fair.

The guards had taken pity on Annette and allowed her to share a cell with her mother. The cold stone vault was wet, slimy, and mossy. There were crawling things in the corner that Annette chose to avoid. Her dress was immediately stained in hideous shades of brown and green. But with her mother humming sweetly and braiding her hair, she could close her eyes and nearly forget the regrettable predicament.

"What happened to Papa?" she found herself asking.

Her mother paused mid-plait. Her hand tremored. Annette worried the question was enough to send her into a spiral. She regretted disrupting her peace. But after a thoughtful pause, her mother was able to answer.

"I cannot say for certain."

"But you have a good idea," Annette continued. "Or you were on the right path?"

"I wasn't on the right path," her mother replied. "Investigating your father's death led me away from you."

"That isn't your fault. Magister Toras sent you away. I'd like to know why."

Her mother sighed. Annette's hair was thin. She had run out of hair to braid. She combed it out with her fingers to start again.

"Your father had ideas for Iron Fen that many didn't approve of," she said. "He was never a fan of the disparity of wealth that runs rampant in our kingdom. If he had ever become king, he would have worked to change that. Men with wealth do not like to see it leave their hands. So Toras and others conspired to have him killed on his sacred crossing." She inhaled a breath, to swallow her grief or decide if she would share any more. "They desecrated his corpse, Annette. They wanted it to look savage... like the land had rejected him."

Annette didn't allow herself to dwell on the visual of her father's gruesome remains. Instead, she focused on the coordinated efforts of Magister Toras and other wealthy men who had successfully slain the heir to the throne of Iron Fen right under The King's nose.

"How do you know this?"

"At first, I didn't," her mother said. "I dreamt about it and then I dreamt of it again, and again. It was maddening, but it was just a nightmare- I had no proof. My mistake was yelling it to any ear that would listen. Magister Toras all but admitted it to me on the day he sent me away. Fools like him are wont to gloat."

Annette's hatred for the Magister intensified. It wasn't enough to see him banished or stripped of power. She needed him dead so that he could harm no one else. She considered accelerating the growth of moss to break apart the dungeon stones and tunnel away to freedom, but then she and her mother would be fugitives. She needed a more covert and quiet solution.

She fantasized of revenge and in the morning an opportunity arrived in the form of Heron Croix. He was carrying a wooden tray with a small loaf of bread and a couple of tankards filled with water. He was visibly nervous, chewing at the cuticle of his thumb before he spoke.