Challenge Entry
Here's my entry into the Rannon contest, titled Of Promises Kept. After being exiled for years, Rannon gets a surprise visitor. Might not be entirely accurate character wise, it's the first time I've worked with these guys so I apologize for any inconsistencies. Quick little story, I've been busy with commissions lately. Hope everyone likes.
Rated PG, I think.
A soft melody carried itself through her rest. Gentle, beautiful, it awakened the crown princess. She rubbed sleep from her unseeing eyes as she sat up in her silken sheets.
Porcelain fingers stretched to the source of the song and brushed against a cold bisque shell. Puzzled, the child picked it up and she turned it over, fingertips searching the surface and discovering a small crank in the side.
“You can still hear things, can you not?”
The dry voice rose just above the tune, startling her. Of them all, only he could enter Isokell’s room with such soundless grace. “Y-Yes,” she stammered, exhaling. “I’ve never heard the like of this music before.”
“It’s a music box. From the north. Pink and white, like the rest of this homage to…femininity.” Rannon’s pause was laden with disdain as he walked into Isokell’s room. Soft moonlight played ghostly across her pale face. “Do you not like it?”
“It’s beautiful. I can feel how delicate it is. You’ve never brought me anything like this before. Why…?”
Rannon stood at the edge of her bed, looking down at the blind heir. “It matters not why. Listen to it. Listen to what it’s playing. I’ve told you of this melody before. Remember?”
She did indeed as she turned it over in her hands, the music slowing. “Yes, it’s the song written during the civil war. The one people used to play as a send-off to one they loved…” Her voice slowed in thought and she finally understood its meaning. “Then…Father, he was serious before when you and he were shouting earlier…”
“Yes.” The syllable was ice and the fallen tyrant pulled a chair close to her bedside. “Sunrise, tomorrow morning.”
“I-I see.” There was a catch in the girl’s voice and Rannon could see the glimmer of tears she was attempting to hold back. “He cannot do this, I don’t understand why!” she burst out.
“Nor do I.” Rannon attempted to keep his voice neutral as he leaned back in the chair. “But tears will not do anything to prevent it, Isokell. Stop that at once.”
She swiped furiously at the burning tracks that streamed down her cheeks. “I’ll...I’ll come with you then, we’ll go together, I’ll be good, I promise!” Suddenly, she was a child again, pleading for fate to be kind in exchange for her cooperation. Was she not so distressed, Rannon might have chuckled at her innocence.
“You’re doing nothing of the kind. Places of politics are not appropriate for eleven year old little girls. Rylerion has seen to it that I’ll be well out of the way for some time.”
Clutching the music box to her like salvation, Isokell sniffed back further tears. “Then…Then will you stay here with me, just until I’m asleep?”
“You’re not a babe anymore. I’ll not cater to such a ridiculous notion. You’re perfectly capable of doing things alone, no matter what those air-headed nursemaids tell you,” Rannon muttered as he stood. “Good night, Isokell.”
She was accustomed to his acerbic nature and did not protest as he walked from the room. The music had ceased by then, and she found the crank, winding it until the tune was strong again, filling the empty room. Thinking herself alone, the young princess mumbled aloud, “Then I’ll come find you some day, I promise.”
From the doorway where he watched, Rannon heard her speak. He waited until her head drooped against the pillow, then came back in to take the music box gently from her hands and put it on her bedside table.
It was the closest he would come to saying a proper good-bye. Pondering her promise, he walked from the room once more with something that could have passed for a smile.
***
The Arani lands were not known for their hospitable winters. After shivering out a miserable three hours on his pallet, the pale lord rose from his it, blankets wrapped about him like an old maid.
The single candle the servants had provided on his table burned low, its wax dirtying the cloth under it. The fire that had kept the hearth warm was never lit that night and Rannon swore under his breath as he noticed there weren’t any logs to fuel one either.
For almost seven years, it had been the same. Each winter turned into a soggy spring, each spring into a burning summer. Autumn was an afterthought before freezing into another intolerable winter. He could hardly stand the cold and wind. Hearing it howl between the cracks in his windows, he wondered dryly why he hadn’t been driven mad by now with it.
Nursing the sputtering candle flame, he knelt before the small table, holding his hands out to see what warmth could be gained from it. His fingers were icicles and he could still see, very faintly, the mark left behind by the family ring he’d once worn on his right digit.
“Is it true that Father took a ring from your finger instead of killing you that once?” He recalled a tiny Isokell, blonde milky snippet of a creature, all of four years old and shadowing his every step.
It was the first time she’d spoken to him directly. Usually flanked by her coterie of nursemaids or her overprotective father, the princess was never allowed for more than a minute out of anyone’s sight. Turning to see her follow him as best her working senses would allow, he’d snapped out the first thing that came to mind.
“Have you nothing better to do than follow me like an addled ylvain? Go back to your caretakers and have them tell you what you wish to know!” Was his shame such common gossip that even children were talking of it?
She halted as though struck, large tears welling in her blue eyes. “You’re mean, wait until I tell Father how mean you are!”
It was clear she expected him to cuddle her, apologize and be contrite. He stood back and permitted her to cry, stamping her small feet. Throughout her tantrum he remained aloof until she could see that histrionics gave her no leeway. Once she had calmed, puzzled, he addressed her again.
“Good, you’ve stopped that frightful bawling. Children should be seen and certainly not heard. You ought not to eavesdrop on conversations your betters are having. Unbecoming, especially for a princess. I know you were brought up with more manners than that.”
The conversation would have gone on if one of the child’s frantic nursemaids hadn’t come to sweep her off, glowering daggers at Rannon all the while. A round face peered over the nursemaid’s shoulder as she was carried off. Isokell looked at her grand-uncle with awe.
No one had ever spoken so plainly to her before.
Their second meeting was almost a year later. He was out in the garden among the summer flowers, seeking some shade and a decent book from the library to while away the afternoon with. Pouring over a passage dedicated to military failings during the civil war, he startled as small hands tugged without warning at his pant leg, feeling out the leather cover of the book, the pages, feeling its weight.
“Why are you reading such a big book? What’s it about? Will you read some of it to me too?” Peering over the edge of the tome, heart still pounding, Rannon found his grand-niece’s curious expression .
“How in the names of the gods did you find me?” he questioned, knowing that she could not have seen him.
“Easy. I remember from before a long time ago that you wear a funny perfume. You’re the only one that does. And I have to listen real hard, but you walk quieter than anyone else, too. I really have to sit still and listen. I was in the parlor when you walked past and I followed you out here. The nursemaid left me alone and I got lonely.”
Stunned, Rannon was thankful she couldn’t see his face. Of course the child would rely on her other senses. He managed to find his voice. “I see. Well, if you really have to know, it’s a book on the civil war. It happened before you were born, so I can’t imagine such a book being of any interest to you, child. And it’s cologne, not perfume.”
The small features scrunched up thoughtfully. “Father says a civil war’s when people that live in the same place fight each other. I asked him about the ring after I asked you because I heard him talk about it one night, and he told me he took it from you. I told him that wasn’t nice and he told me to go to bed. The civil war started when the shantu of the Lion Circle died, right?”
Rannon almost dropped his book. How did such a fragile sheltered thing know that? “That’s correct. I’m afraid this book is still a little long winded and dull for a little girl though. Run along. Go pick flowers. Do something else.”
Not to be dismissed so lightly, Isokell plopped herself on the ground at his feet, gown and all. “I’ll be good. I wish to hear more. Please?”
”Suit yourself then. It won’t be my affair when you grow weary of it, and I won’t countenance any whining when you do.” Thinking that Isokell would give in and wander away after a few minutes, he began to recite the words on the page to her, stopping to explain larger words to her as she sat at his feet.
He didn’t realize they were at it for hours until the sun began to set and the princess’ head grew heavy, leaning against his leg. Looking down, he closed the book and picked her up, placing her in the chair for her gaggle of caretakers to find. No sooner had he begun in than they swept out, gathering her up and fussing over her as they carried her inside. Finding his own chambers, realization swept over Rannon as he prepared for dinner.
The conversation with the little one was the best he’d had in ages. It struck him as odd, but that was a fact.
It did not end there. As the princess grew in both beauty and body, he found that she preferred to spend time alone with him, asking him of what he knew and whiling her hours at his side. He taught her to play chess, recited some of the more insightful books the library held to her and told her as much as she could absorb in a day. She had a quick mind, he found, always eager to hold new information. With each passing year her wit sharpened and her determination grew.
It was a change that disturbed and worried Rylerion. One evening he found and cornered his uncle in the corridors alone.
”I see Isokell has taken quite a liking to you, uncle.” The dark lord’s colorless eyes narrowed as Rannon folded his arms, shrugging.
“I did not invite the girl to tag along on my every walk or ask me thousands of questions each day, nephew. She simply does so of her own accord.”
Rylerion’s discontent sharpened. “I hear that you’ve been encouraging her to do dangerous things. I’ve tried to suffer you around her, but it’s clear that having your influence here is improper for her. She’s a fragile youth and I won’t have you pushing her to do more than what she’s capable of.”
Something in the young ruler’s words sparked a cinder of irritation in the former tyrant. “More than what she’s capable of? Rylerion, I’d strongly doubt you have any idea what she can do despite the fact you’re constantly looking after her. Treating her as though she may break at any time. You underestimate her, as you do everything else.”
“I didn’t underestimate you, dearest uncle.” The other’s words were shards of ice. “I have proof. Remember that little metal band? I won’t have you around her anymore. She’s becoming a young woman and the next queen. I won’t have you steering her down any undesirable path.”
Rannon gritted his teeth. The wick of his temper was smoking. It wouldn’t be long before it was in full burn. “That metal band you speak of is nothing but jewelry, not proof. I could easily take it from the box in your chambers if I desired. But, this isn’t about me, is it? You can’t shelter her and expect her to become a respectable queen. It would be more hindrance than help.”
“As though you would know anything of a successful leadership.” Rylerion smirked as he regarded his uncle. Rannon’s temper broke and his sea-colored eyes flashed.
“I believe I have more experience, yes. You say that your daughter was cursed, her sight taken from her before she even had it by the gods in payment for your crimes. I would say she’s cursed, Rylerion, but not by the gods. I would venture to say her only curse is having you as a father.”
Their argument had risen to a pair of ears they did not know was listening. From the other end of the hall, Isokell heard each word and both perceived she was there only when, too late, her running footsteps and sobbing betrayed her position.
***
A gentle rapping at his door drew Rannon from the unpleasant memories. Glancing up sharply, he realized he had fallen into a light sleep. The knocking continued as he pulled the blankets tighter around himself and rose to turn the knob.
“It’s about time someone came to stoke the hearth, I’ve gone all night without…” the lord grumbled as he opened the door. Then, words died.
Clothed from head to toe in white, she was a wraith from his past. Taller than he last remembered her, the top of her head came about midway to his throat. Her sleek locks were golden, her eyes carrying the same undampened shrewdness. Her figure was a woman’s, curves where none had been before. Slender, the color of snow, her red gloves were flashes of blood as she held them out to cup his chin.
“Just like I remember you.” Her tone had grown warm with maturity, lower than it had been the night he’d left her. “You haven’t changed at all. It’s been so long. I’ve missed you so.”
“Isokell.” Struck by the changes time had made in her, he stood gaping. “You came all this way? What would your father do if he knew you’d come to see me?”
“I’m of age now, so it matters not what he thinks. He can no longer control me,” the young woman smiled. “I hear your surprise.”
Rannon felt blood come into his cheeks as he stood aside, guiding her in. “Since you’ve come all this way, you might as well come inside. Not that it’ll be much warmer than the outside. Servants around here know not the first thing when it comes to making a fire.”
She stepped in, closing the door and sweeping her snowy cloak from her shoulders. Finding a peg by the door to hang it on, she seated herself across from him, full lips making a delicate smile. “At first I didn’t think I’d be able to find where you were staying. I asked so many people. I was prepared to stay as long as it took if it came to that. I told Father I was coming to Arani. He allowed me one last trip abroad before I’m crowned.”
A frown creased her comely forehead. “My servants and nursemaids insisted on coming. I told them all to remain behind at the inn we’re staying at. I cannot tolerate being treated like an invalid child anymore. I wish Father would realize that.”
“There are many things Rylerion has yet to understand despite the wisdom he purports to have,” Rannon told her dryly. “You should not have come here. He won’t appreciate your interrupting what he calls a…what it was…ah yes, ‘delicate diplomatic situation.’ “
“I can do what I please when I please,” the royal retorted. “You always led me to believe that. I wanted to come to show you something and to invite you to my coronation. It’s only a few weeks away, the start of spring.”
Before he could answer she had gone back to her cloak, fishing around in one of the pockets until she found what she was looking for. Assuming her seat again, she presented it to him.
Taking his ring in his hand, Rannon could see that time had tarnished it but it was otherwise unharmed. Holding it in his palm, he dared not put it back on his finger. “Where did you find this?”
“In Father and Mother’s room, on Father’s dresser. He isn’t so clever when it comes to hiding things sometimes. I wanted you to have it, to wear when you come home to see me take the crown,” Isokell replied.
Rannon laid the ring on the table, the family crest burning into his eyes. “I hear the way people speak of me. Some still remain that would kill me the instant I set foot on your father’s soil. Why would you want me to return?”
“It matters not why,” Isokell grinned, taking the words he had said long ago and turning them against him. “I won’t have you out here when it’s to be a day of celebration for everyone, you included.”
“I…” Rannon paused before pushing the ring closer to her thin fingers. “I cannot, Isokell. It would not be an easy time of things. You would be the queen, yes, but your father and I would not have our feelings toward each other changed, no matter the occasion. It would be impossible.”
“You always used to tell me nothing was impossible unless you made it so yourself,” Isokell returned softly. “Since the day you left, I swore to myself that one day when I was old enough I would come to find you, become queen and take you home with me, back to where you belonged.”
“As I knew you one day would,” Rannon sighed. “I know you’re no fool, Isokell. Surely you can see what friction that would cause if I came back. People are waiting in the wings to kill me. It was a risk even when I lived with your father. Now with leadership changing hands, it would be the perfect time to carry out any ill wishes against me.” He gave the ring another nudge. “Take this and go home.”
“I won’t. It’s still yours regardless of if you want it or not. I…” The young princess colored, the blush livid in her pale cheeks. “I have something else for you, too.”
“I don’t need gifts,” Rannon huffed. “I need peace of mind and a warm fire. That and a few hours more sleep would suffice. A moldering ring doesn’t do me much good. Now, I know you know your way here. I hope you can find the way back just as well.” Rannon hid his discomfort in the dismissal. Too much of the past was returning too quickly.
“I see.” Isokell’s features were hurt as she stood another time to retrieve her cloak. “I’ll give you this last gift then, and let the servants outside know you’d like a fire made. I’ll be here a few days more, and if you change your mind, I want you to send for me. You’ll always be welcome in my halls once I am monarch. Remember that.”
Removing the second present from her cloak, she laid it on the table next to the ring. Quietly, she slipped out to become one with the snow.
Rannon looked to the music box a minute before winding it. Unaffected by time, its song filled his chilly room, warming him in a way a fire could not.
It was the closest she would come to saying goodbye.
Rated PG, I think.
A soft melody carried itself through her rest. Gentle, beautiful, it awakened the crown princess. She rubbed sleep from her unseeing eyes as she sat up in her silken sheets.
Porcelain fingers stretched to the source of the song and brushed against a cold bisque shell. Puzzled, the child picked it up and she turned it over, fingertips searching the surface and discovering a small crank in the side.
“You can still hear things, can you not?”
The dry voice rose just above the tune, startling her. Of them all, only he could enter Isokell’s room with such soundless grace. “Y-Yes,” she stammered, exhaling. “I’ve never heard the like of this music before.”
“It’s a music box. From the north. Pink and white, like the rest of this homage to…femininity.” Rannon’s pause was laden with disdain as he walked into Isokell’s room. Soft moonlight played ghostly across her pale face. “Do you not like it?”
“It’s beautiful. I can feel how delicate it is. You’ve never brought me anything like this before. Why…?”
Rannon stood at the edge of her bed, looking down at the blind heir. “It matters not why. Listen to it. Listen to what it’s playing. I’ve told you of this melody before. Remember?”
She did indeed as she turned it over in her hands, the music slowing. “Yes, it’s the song written during the civil war. The one people used to play as a send-off to one they loved…” Her voice slowed in thought and she finally understood its meaning. “Then…Father, he was serious before when you and he were shouting earlier…”
“Yes.” The syllable was ice and the fallen tyrant pulled a chair close to her bedside. “Sunrise, tomorrow morning.”
“I-I see.” There was a catch in the girl’s voice and Rannon could see the glimmer of tears she was attempting to hold back. “He cannot do this, I don’t understand why!” she burst out.
“Nor do I.” Rannon attempted to keep his voice neutral as he leaned back in the chair. “But tears will not do anything to prevent it, Isokell. Stop that at once.”
She swiped furiously at the burning tracks that streamed down her cheeks. “I’ll...I’ll come with you then, we’ll go together, I’ll be good, I promise!” Suddenly, she was a child again, pleading for fate to be kind in exchange for her cooperation. Was she not so distressed, Rannon might have chuckled at her innocence.
“You’re doing nothing of the kind. Places of politics are not appropriate for eleven year old little girls. Rylerion has seen to it that I’ll be well out of the way for some time.”
Clutching the music box to her like salvation, Isokell sniffed back further tears. “Then…Then will you stay here with me, just until I’m asleep?”
“You’re not a babe anymore. I’ll not cater to such a ridiculous notion. You’re perfectly capable of doing things alone, no matter what those air-headed nursemaids tell you,” Rannon muttered as he stood. “Good night, Isokell.”
She was accustomed to his acerbic nature and did not protest as he walked from the room. The music had ceased by then, and she found the crank, winding it until the tune was strong again, filling the empty room. Thinking herself alone, the young princess mumbled aloud, “Then I’ll come find you some day, I promise.”
From the doorway where he watched, Rannon heard her speak. He waited until her head drooped against the pillow, then came back in to take the music box gently from her hands and put it on her bedside table.
It was the closest he would come to saying a proper good-bye. Pondering her promise, he walked from the room once more with something that could have passed for a smile.
***
The Arani lands were not known for their hospitable winters. After shivering out a miserable three hours on his pallet, the pale lord rose from his it, blankets wrapped about him like an old maid.
The single candle the servants had provided on his table burned low, its wax dirtying the cloth under it. The fire that had kept the hearth warm was never lit that night and Rannon swore under his breath as he noticed there weren’t any logs to fuel one either.
For almost seven years, it had been the same. Each winter turned into a soggy spring, each spring into a burning summer. Autumn was an afterthought before freezing into another intolerable winter. He could hardly stand the cold and wind. Hearing it howl between the cracks in his windows, he wondered dryly why he hadn’t been driven mad by now with it.
Nursing the sputtering candle flame, he knelt before the small table, holding his hands out to see what warmth could be gained from it. His fingers were icicles and he could still see, very faintly, the mark left behind by the family ring he’d once worn on his right digit.
“Is it true that Father took a ring from your finger instead of killing you that once?” He recalled a tiny Isokell, blonde milky snippet of a creature, all of four years old and shadowing his every step.
It was the first time she’d spoken to him directly. Usually flanked by her coterie of nursemaids or her overprotective father, the princess was never allowed for more than a minute out of anyone’s sight. Turning to see her follow him as best her working senses would allow, he’d snapped out the first thing that came to mind.
“Have you nothing better to do than follow me like an addled ylvain? Go back to your caretakers and have them tell you what you wish to know!” Was his shame such common gossip that even children were talking of it?
She halted as though struck, large tears welling in her blue eyes. “You’re mean, wait until I tell Father how mean you are!”
It was clear she expected him to cuddle her, apologize and be contrite. He stood back and permitted her to cry, stamping her small feet. Throughout her tantrum he remained aloof until she could see that histrionics gave her no leeway. Once she had calmed, puzzled, he addressed her again.
“Good, you’ve stopped that frightful bawling. Children should be seen and certainly not heard. You ought not to eavesdrop on conversations your betters are having. Unbecoming, especially for a princess. I know you were brought up with more manners than that.”
The conversation would have gone on if one of the child’s frantic nursemaids hadn’t come to sweep her off, glowering daggers at Rannon all the while. A round face peered over the nursemaid’s shoulder as she was carried off. Isokell looked at her grand-uncle with awe.
No one had ever spoken so plainly to her before.
Their second meeting was almost a year later. He was out in the garden among the summer flowers, seeking some shade and a decent book from the library to while away the afternoon with. Pouring over a passage dedicated to military failings during the civil war, he startled as small hands tugged without warning at his pant leg, feeling out the leather cover of the book, the pages, feeling its weight.
“Why are you reading such a big book? What’s it about? Will you read some of it to me too?” Peering over the edge of the tome, heart still pounding, Rannon found his grand-niece’s curious expression .
“How in the names of the gods did you find me?” he questioned, knowing that she could not have seen him.
“Easy. I remember from before a long time ago that you wear a funny perfume. You’re the only one that does. And I have to listen real hard, but you walk quieter than anyone else, too. I really have to sit still and listen. I was in the parlor when you walked past and I followed you out here. The nursemaid left me alone and I got lonely.”
Stunned, Rannon was thankful she couldn’t see his face. Of course the child would rely on her other senses. He managed to find his voice. “I see. Well, if you really have to know, it’s a book on the civil war. It happened before you were born, so I can’t imagine such a book being of any interest to you, child. And it’s cologne, not perfume.”
The small features scrunched up thoughtfully. “Father says a civil war’s when people that live in the same place fight each other. I asked him about the ring after I asked you because I heard him talk about it one night, and he told me he took it from you. I told him that wasn’t nice and he told me to go to bed. The civil war started when the shantu of the Lion Circle died, right?”
Rannon almost dropped his book. How did such a fragile sheltered thing know that? “That’s correct. I’m afraid this book is still a little long winded and dull for a little girl though. Run along. Go pick flowers. Do something else.”
Not to be dismissed so lightly, Isokell plopped herself on the ground at his feet, gown and all. “I’ll be good. I wish to hear more. Please?”
”Suit yourself then. It won’t be my affair when you grow weary of it, and I won’t countenance any whining when you do.” Thinking that Isokell would give in and wander away after a few minutes, he began to recite the words on the page to her, stopping to explain larger words to her as she sat at his feet.
He didn’t realize they were at it for hours until the sun began to set and the princess’ head grew heavy, leaning against his leg. Looking down, he closed the book and picked her up, placing her in the chair for her gaggle of caretakers to find. No sooner had he begun in than they swept out, gathering her up and fussing over her as they carried her inside. Finding his own chambers, realization swept over Rannon as he prepared for dinner.
The conversation with the little one was the best he’d had in ages. It struck him as odd, but that was a fact.
It did not end there. As the princess grew in both beauty and body, he found that she preferred to spend time alone with him, asking him of what he knew and whiling her hours at his side. He taught her to play chess, recited some of the more insightful books the library held to her and told her as much as she could absorb in a day. She had a quick mind, he found, always eager to hold new information. With each passing year her wit sharpened and her determination grew.
It was a change that disturbed and worried Rylerion. One evening he found and cornered his uncle in the corridors alone.
”I see Isokell has taken quite a liking to you, uncle.” The dark lord’s colorless eyes narrowed as Rannon folded his arms, shrugging.
“I did not invite the girl to tag along on my every walk or ask me thousands of questions each day, nephew. She simply does so of her own accord.”
Rylerion’s discontent sharpened. “I hear that you’ve been encouraging her to do dangerous things. I’ve tried to suffer you around her, but it’s clear that having your influence here is improper for her. She’s a fragile youth and I won’t have you pushing her to do more than what she’s capable of.”
Something in the young ruler’s words sparked a cinder of irritation in the former tyrant. “More than what she’s capable of? Rylerion, I’d strongly doubt you have any idea what she can do despite the fact you’re constantly looking after her. Treating her as though she may break at any time. You underestimate her, as you do everything else.”
“I didn’t underestimate you, dearest uncle.” The other’s words were shards of ice. “I have proof. Remember that little metal band? I won’t have you around her anymore. She’s becoming a young woman and the next queen. I won’t have you steering her down any undesirable path.”
Rannon gritted his teeth. The wick of his temper was smoking. It wouldn’t be long before it was in full burn. “That metal band you speak of is nothing but jewelry, not proof. I could easily take it from the box in your chambers if I desired. But, this isn’t about me, is it? You can’t shelter her and expect her to become a respectable queen. It would be more hindrance than help.”
“As though you would know anything of a successful leadership.” Rylerion smirked as he regarded his uncle. Rannon’s temper broke and his sea-colored eyes flashed.
“I believe I have more experience, yes. You say that your daughter was cursed, her sight taken from her before she even had it by the gods in payment for your crimes. I would say she’s cursed, Rylerion, but not by the gods. I would venture to say her only curse is having you as a father.”
Their argument had risen to a pair of ears they did not know was listening. From the other end of the hall, Isokell heard each word and both perceived she was there only when, too late, her running footsteps and sobbing betrayed her position.
***
A gentle rapping at his door drew Rannon from the unpleasant memories. Glancing up sharply, he realized he had fallen into a light sleep. The knocking continued as he pulled the blankets tighter around himself and rose to turn the knob.
“It’s about time someone came to stoke the hearth, I’ve gone all night without…” the lord grumbled as he opened the door. Then, words died.
Clothed from head to toe in white, she was a wraith from his past. Taller than he last remembered her, the top of her head came about midway to his throat. Her sleek locks were golden, her eyes carrying the same undampened shrewdness. Her figure was a woman’s, curves where none had been before. Slender, the color of snow, her red gloves were flashes of blood as she held them out to cup his chin.
“Just like I remember you.” Her tone had grown warm with maturity, lower than it had been the night he’d left her. “You haven’t changed at all. It’s been so long. I’ve missed you so.”
“Isokell.” Struck by the changes time had made in her, he stood gaping. “You came all this way? What would your father do if he knew you’d come to see me?”
“I’m of age now, so it matters not what he thinks. He can no longer control me,” the young woman smiled. “I hear your surprise.”
Rannon felt blood come into his cheeks as he stood aside, guiding her in. “Since you’ve come all this way, you might as well come inside. Not that it’ll be much warmer than the outside. Servants around here know not the first thing when it comes to making a fire.”
She stepped in, closing the door and sweeping her snowy cloak from her shoulders. Finding a peg by the door to hang it on, she seated herself across from him, full lips making a delicate smile. “At first I didn’t think I’d be able to find where you were staying. I asked so many people. I was prepared to stay as long as it took if it came to that. I told Father I was coming to Arani. He allowed me one last trip abroad before I’m crowned.”
A frown creased her comely forehead. “My servants and nursemaids insisted on coming. I told them all to remain behind at the inn we’re staying at. I cannot tolerate being treated like an invalid child anymore. I wish Father would realize that.”
“There are many things Rylerion has yet to understand despite the wisdom he purports to have,” Rannon told her dryly. “You should not have come here. He won’t appreciate your interrupting what he calls a…what it was…ah yes, ‘delicate diplomatic situation.’ “
“I can do what I please when I please,” the royal retorted. “You always led me to believe that. I wanted to come to show you something and to invite you to my coronation. It’s only a few weeks away, the start of spring.”
Before he could answer she had gone back to her cloak, fishing around in one of the pockets until she found what she was looking for. Assuming her seat again, she presented it to him.
Taking his ring in his hand, Rannon could see that time had tarnished it but it was otherwise unharmed. Holding it in his palm, he dared not put it back on his finger. “Where did you find this?”
“In Father and Mother’s room, on Father’s dresser. He isn’t so clever when it comes to hiding things sometimes. I wanted you to have it, to wear when you come home to see me take the crown,” Isokell replied.
Rannon laid the ring on the table, the family crest burning into his eyes. “I hear the way people speak of me. Some still remain that would kill me the instant I set foot on your father’s soil. Why would you want me to return?”
“It matters not why,” Isokell grinned, taking the words he had said long ago and turning them against him. “I won’t have you out here when it’s to be a day of celebration for everyone, you included.”
“I…” Rannon paused before pushing the ring closer to her thin fingers. “I cannot, Isokell. It would not be an easy time of things. You would be the queen, yes, but your father and I would not have our feelings toward each other changed, no matter the occasion. It would be impossible.”
“You always used to tell me nothing was impossible unless you made it so yourself,” Isokell returned softly. “Since the day you left, I swore to myself that one day when I was old enough I would come to find you, become queen and take you home with me, back to where you belonged.”
“As I knew you one day would,” Rannon sighed. “I know you’re no fool, Isokell. Surely you can see what friction that would cause if I came back. People are waiting in the wings to kill me. It was a risk even when I lived with your father. Now with leadership changing hands, it would be the perfect time to carry out any ill wishes against me.” He gave the ring another nudge. “Take this and go home.”
“I won’t. It’s still yours regardless of if you want it or not. I…” The young princess colored, the blush livid in her pale cheeks. “I have something else for you, too.”
“I don’t need gifts,” Rannon huffed. “I need peace of mind and a warm fire. That and a few hours more sleep would suffice. A moldering ring doesn’t do me much good. Now, I know you know your way here. I hope you can find the way back just as well.” Rannon hid his discomfort in the dismissal. Too much of the past was returning too quickly.
“I see.” Isokell’s features were hurt as she stood another time to retrieve her cloak. “I’ll give you this last gift then, and let the servants outside know you’d like a fire made. I’ll be here a few days more, and if you change your mind, I want you to send for me. You’ll always be welcome in my halls once I am monarch. Remember that.”
Removing the second present from her cloak, she laid it on the table next to the ring. Quietly, she slipped out to become one with the snow.
Rannon looked to the music box a minute before winding it. Unaffected by time, its song filled his chilly room, warming him in a way a fire could not.
It was the closest she would come to saying goodbye.