A clang crashed through the air, shattering the fragile calm of the castle. Arrenia threw herself upon her bed, clutching her pillow close as she wept into it. Body convulsing with sobs, she tore into the bright purple casing, delving her grasp deep into the feathery recesses. Pools of liquid dripped from her cheeks, dotting the cloth with droplets from the rain of grief.
A long creak whistled from the ancient hinges as the door cracked open. Small steps tip-toed across the stone floor, stealing to the bed. The mattress sagged with the weight of another being. Sniffing, Arrenia stifled her sobs.
Then the voice came, strong and impeding. “Arrenia, I must say that your conduct has embarrassed me with the utmost shame. He sought to marry you, which is more than penniless princess might expect from anyone! He was a guest- and an honored guest at that. And yet you disgraced him. I am ashamed of you, Arrenia de la Cornia- ashamed!”
Blood spurt upon her lip as Arrenia sank her teeth into it, clotting a cry in her throat. Every sinew twisted in a saddened knot, she lay stiff and unmoved. She clamped lids over her eyes, bracing herself against the memories suddenly flooding her mind. Resonating in her ears and echoing through her being, every nerve exposed to the acute pain. Castor’s rich voice thundered in her head, accompanying the images of melodic mirth with heavy harmony. Warm grass embraced her once more, only this time with the cold chill of belated warning. The sun kissed her cheeks once again, caressing them in its conniving light until the awaiting rosebud burst forth, only to watch the premature crimson splash dwindle slowly away.
Why hadn’t she remained in Sleyvink? For surely imprisonment in an enemy camp held more freedoms than the unseen and unsympathied confinement to a man for which one had only hate!
“How difficult would it have been, Arrenia? He is a man of great standing- a man many wish to marry and who comes at no low price. How kind he was to stoop this low and ask you to marry him, too! All he wished to be your bride-price was that worthless half-medallion that adorns your throat, saying that your fame, beauty, and sweetness of soul sufficed all other payment. And were it not for me, you would have turned him away like a dog gone astray!”
Arrenia jerked slightly, raising her head from the pool of tears, thoughts swimming through her mind. The medallion?! No! It couldn’t be! Castor had said to keep it safe!
She grasped it in the palm of her hand, enveloping it in a protective grip. Looking wildly up, she said, “No! He can’t have it!”
Illana glanced at her with a sharp scold. “And why not?”
Gulping, she shrank back slightly, recoiling into her thoughts. Sniffling softly, she clutched the medallion closer. Despair marked her fragile features. What could she say? Anything she could say about Castor her stepmother would take no heed to. Delicately tracing the golden outer ridges, she glanced down at it- the embossed edges, the green emeralds shining forth, the mysterious half-picture of an engraved Lamb, beckoningly calm in its unhampered ferocity.
The final memory of her mother, her rosebud cheeks like a faded flower, retiring into eternal rest. Light brown hair hallooing her head, thinned and tangled by the attenuations of disease. She recalled the little braids she used to place in those tresses, which were once so vibrant and full. String many jewels into it, she would, until it glittered in bedazzled splendor. Rubies, amethysts, turquoise…all adorned the sweet locks, including the emerald that was now set in the medallion. Could she really relinquish it?
“I…it…was my mother’s,” she stammered. “Her last present…and my only reminder of her presence.”
The woman paused for a moment. “Hmmph! Dearest Arrenia, I believe you are learned in our legends of old. Pray you, have you ever heard tell of a girl who would not exchange worn-out reminiscences for the prospect of a future most prosperous?”
Arrenia shook her head, cautiously beginning to throw up her internal shield.
A triumphant little laugh escaped the cruel one’s lips. “I thought not. ‘Tis a wonder, since memories are so dear to us after all. We are left to wonder why no one bothered to pen these tales into immortal retellings, are we not? Everything of a good substance must end happily. Well, dear, hearken to the tales untold and hear their unuttered stories. In them, there is no happy endings, which is why they were seen as unfit to lie atop the page.”
Pressing her lips together, the girl lowered the deepening ponds of her brown eyes. Her grip loosening around the precious object, her hand fell into her lap, gently clasping the other. She remained quiet, for indeed she felt there were no more words to say. Crushed and heartbroken, she sat in surrendered silence, the last ounce of rebellious nerve drained from her body.
“Your betrothal will be considered official,” Illana said, rising. “And, upon the day appointed by the court, you will give him your heart, your soul, and everything in your possession, should he so ask it. Like it or no, that is how it will be. And with that, I will take my leave.”
In a blurred rainbow of color, her dress swirled about her, its folds rustling their mocking secrets. Fists curling at the ends of her arms, Arrenia fought off their whispering voices, bracing herself against the berating battering breaking her being. Crumbling beneath its crushing force, she curled onto the bed and cried into its cushion of comfort. Pools puddled about her eyes, deepening as she sobbed from the depths of her grief.
Hand flying to her heart, holding gently beneath it the hurt of her whole being. Bittersweet reminisces clogged her memory, lancing her through with piercing poignancy. Sniffing, she lay there, completely helpless against the battle that within her raged.
“Castor,” she whimpered, savoring the sweet sound of his name. “Castor.”
In a flash, she saw Lucrious, his hidden face fired in the crimson hues of flames. Ghastly figures whirled through the dark expanse of her mind, spinning to the escalating screams. She clustered the silken covers in her hand, shutting her eyes against the scene. Snakes swerved before her, forked tongues flicking in and out, hisses shrieking from their mouths. A single strand of smoke curled into the inky blackness of the night. She felt Castor shoving her head into the soft recesses of the spring grass, the deathly words resonating wickedly across the world.
Die they must! Die they MUST!
Unbeknownst to the girl weeping upon her bed, behind the door a hand probed into the recesses of a swollen sleeve, producing a key kissed by the rust of the ages. Carefully inserting it into the handle, the long, thin fingers twisted and twined until a click- a quiet, cautious click- sounded from the throat of the hole.
Tearing at the blissful quiet of the night, a trumpet blasted the breaking of dawn. Castor stirred in half-wakefulness, tossing around, battling the day until he finally retreated into the covers. The first ray of light enveloped him in its crafty clutches, spreading its warmth over his body. Shakily, he shivered as bright brilliance invaded his senses, dancing before him with a mockish gait.
Rolling over, he threw a pillow over his head and pinned it down with a pinch of his fingers. A midnight hue crowded out all color, immersing him into the mindless mercy of the blind. He set his teeth. The hurting had already begun.
A small creak crept into the stillness. Occupying the crack in the doorway, the queen peeped around the corner, sending in a shaft of lighthearted merriment. She paused momentarily, then shook her head, slipping one brocade slipper into the room.
“Why so somber, oh son of the king?” Striding over to him, she peeled back his sheets. “Arise, oh valiant warrior!” She tossed aside his pillow and kissed his cheek softly. “For today, my son, you shall stand head and shoulders over the finest knights of the land.”
Groan gurgling from the back of his throat, he turned about, shielding himself from the invading sunlight. Just outside his window, metal rang upon metal as jousters prepared for the tournament ahead of them, draining his body of the puddle of energy as it sapped the strength from his arm. Slowly, his muscles relaxed upon the bed, the heavy weight of a sword still hefty in his mind. A soft, small breath slid between his teeth, hissing its way out into the world.
Sinking into the mattress, the queen pushed aside a strand of dark hair, unveiling the face beguiled in gruesome pain. Sighing, she traced her way down his cheek, cradling it in the palm of her hand. His wild brown gaze met her soft green one, stinging her expression with a smile of sweet tenderness. “Still lovesick, are you? Well, she was a very fine maid. One so fine is rarely seen, yet rarer still is she snagged in a heart’s trap like you for her at birth had laid. Oh, son, rid yourself of the questioning look and doubt not my word! Did you not think I did not observe the way she looked at you, the way you lightened the spark in her eye? Oh, hearten yourself and doubt not my words- you her mind shall not soon forget!”
Calluses dug into her caressing touch as his fingers embraced hers. “This is truly your thought, Mother? You believe it to be as you say?”
Emotion ebbed and brimmed in her voice as she stared at her boy, a thousand thoughts racing through her mind. Happy in her heart for his love requite, she yet grieved the bittersweet loss of the babe she once had beheld. Shimmering in the morning rays, a tiny tear tinseled her complexion with silver’s sparkling shine. Leaning, in she whispered, “Truly, lest I have not eyes to see.”
Folding his hard hand over hers, he said, “You are a good woman.”
She laughed. “Not so good as you would make me out to be, dear one. Now hurry. You have a competition to prepare for and I have some things I must see to.”
Patting him one last time, she rose from his side and exited the room. He lay there for one more lazy minute, squinting into the sunlight seeping its way around him. Then, with a sigh, he tossed aside his covers, slipped into the silky cloth of his garb, laced his fingers about his sword, and went out to practice his jousting.
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