Author's Note: I hope you brought your raincoat, because the storm is about to break loose!
Chaper 10
Eventually, Isabelle stopped crying, and Trestan let her out of his embrace. "Where did you find the candles," Trestan asked.
"They were here, all I did was to polish the candelabra, and clean the room a little," Isabelle sniffed.
"Thank you," Trestan said, "These are a luxury. Only the kings have candles as many and fine and smokeless as these…t" Trestan finished distantly. The man was quiet for several moments.
"What is it?" Isabelle said expectantly.
"A memory," Trestan said, as surprised that he remembered this as he was at his reverie, "A Christmas feast, when I was small. There were candles like this, music, dancing. Merry, busy people or, at least, people who were good at pretending to be merry," he snorted, then continued. "It was the only time I wheedled my way into staying up late, and that was a close call in itself."
"It sounds lovely," Isabelle said enviously. Grand parties like this had been her dream during the long, cruel nights she had spent far from home. She wished that the memory was hers to cherish, instead of having a second-hand account of it.
"It was," Trestan agreed. Humming a playful melody, he stepped to the right three times, then shifted his weight from his front to his back foot, and attempted a promenade turn. He stumbled halfway through it, then, with a shrug, abandoned the attempt.
"Do it like this," Isabelle said, mimicking Trestan's dance and gliding through the promenade.
"You know this dance?" Trestan asked.
"Of course," Isabelle laughed, "Doesn't everyone?"
"That would be ridiculous," Trestan said playfully. He bowed deeply. "May I?"
With a nod, Isabelle curtseyed. They danced as much of the dance as they could remember, Isabelle eventually picking up the tune. Her lyrical voice intertwined with Trestan's humming.
"What was the name of the dance," Isabelle asked as they finished.
"The dance? Oh, it is to the national song of my homeland,"
"Which is?" Isabelle urged.
"The dance, or my homeland?"
"Both."
"I live in Conradia, and the dance is to the song 'Pelan's River,'" Trestan said, as if confessing a crime.
"Your last name is Conradi," Isabelle said, more statement then question. This triggered something in her memory. "What does your father do?" she added, with a sudden inspiration.
"He rules," Trestan said heavily.
Isabelle gaped; Trestan's father was the king of Conradia. This meant that he would be the heir to the throne, a prince of much power. She had spent months with the successor to the king of a rich little country. Isabelle immediately sank into a deep curtsey, remaining there until Trestan lifted her chin.
"Do not stand on ceremonies like this," Trestan begged. "That's most of why I left."
"But you are the prince," Isabelle insisted, in awe. "You are the heir."
"Don't you think that I know that?" Trestan snapped. "And eventually, I'm going to have to go back and contend with the machinations of the court, whether I am like this or no. My mother, bless her, is dead, so I need not worry about her, but I haven't seen my father in years. And I am supposed to rule when the time comes. Trestan the Bear-King. Lovely title," he added caustically, striding over to the huge stain glass windows. "Time is running out. There's nowhere for me to run, nowhere to turn. I'll be alone for my reign. I just hope it's short."
"Trestan," Isabelle said, approaching softly, "I will help you break your curse. Just tell me what I must do, whether it be to run around the earth in iron shoes, or to hunt a phoenix and bring you back its claws. You will not be alone anymore."
Trestan laughed; not a laugh of mirth, but a laugh of irony. "You can help me," he replied, "but it is much simpler than those gargantuan tasks."
"Tell me what it is," Isabelle pleaded, "I shall set off to do your bidding at this very hour."
"By goodness, no," Trestan said roughly. "That I cannot do. What you give me must be unwarranted, unasked for, otherwise, the magic in it is lost and shall do neither of us any good."
"You want me to give you something, but you cannot tell me what," Isabelle seethed with frustration. "Why all of the riddles. Please, just tell me. I shall do it, your curse shall be gone, you will go to be king, and I will find a way out of my own curse. Be sensible, Trestan!"
"You shall understand later in time," Trestan said finally. "It is late; take a candle and get some rest. Good night, Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, my lord," Isabelle said defiantly. As she left, she thought that Trestan was going to take her hand to stop her, but he did not. Somehow, she was disappointed.
Over the next few days, they spoke little, Isabelle always addressing Trestan as "My lord." Isabelle took on the tremendous task of cleaning the dishes from their Christmas feast. Trestan made sure that there was enough wood for the fire in the kitchen and poured over his books. Several times, Isabelle tried to make amends, but she was too proud to apologize completely.
Trestan seemed indifferent to her, no matter what she did. His eyes were distant, thinking of the things in his books. He took to coming late for meals, and to bringing the large, heavy tomes with him when he ate. Isabelle could not read, but she guessed that the books that Trestan was reading were not meant for pleasure. He was studying government and how to rule his people. This made Isabelle feel very small and very dull.
"Trestan," Isabelle said gently, "It is time to eat. Please put down the book and come before it gets too cold."
"I shall," the man said, still reading, "In a minute."
"No," Isabelle said coldly. "Come now. You always say that…Why have you changed like this?"
"Changed?" Trestan said, not even glancing up from his reading. "What do you mean?"
"Never mind what I said," Isabelle spat. "I will save you a plate, my lord." She stormed out of the library, biting her lip. Down in the kitchen, Isabelle saved some food for him on a plate and placed it on the shelf above the fireplace. She waited for a few minutes to see if Trestan was going to come and eat, then ate her meal alone.
Tired of waiting, Isabelle was scrubbing dishes when Trestan walked in. Her hands in the dirty, cold water, she nodded to where the plate was. Trestan sat and began to eat. When he finished, Isabelle wordlessly took his plate to wash.
"Thank you," Trestan said, more kindly than he had for days.
"You are welcome," Isabelle replied civilly.
"Isabelle," Trestan said cautiously, "Are you angry with me?"
"You finally noticed," Isabelle scoffed. "Good observation. Yes, I am angry with you."
"I am sorry for that," Trestan said stiffly. "Please, may I know my offense so I may repent of it?"
"Don't you know already?"
"No," Trestan said, puzzled. "I do not."
"I thought that your error was obvious," Isabelle said scornfully.
"Do not play games with me," Trestan said, fighting very hard to remain civil. "Please, what have I done wrong?"
"Why have you created this rift between us?" Isabelle demanded. "You are always pouring over your books that you enjoy less than I do. You barely speak to me, and when you do, why must you always hurt me?"
"Nice pun," Trestan said moodily.
"I didn't mean it like that," Isabelle said desperately. She took a deep breath. "Why will you not tell me what I can do to break our curses? I want to be free as much as you do."
"I cannot," Trestan said undeterred. "You are not to blame, it is me. Can we not forget this and go on as friends?"
"I need to know what it is that haunts you," Isabelle said, resolute. "There is so much more to you than you care to tell me. If you cannot tell me, then who?" She paused for a moment, and found, to her great surprise, a tear was trailing down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand. Isabelle picked up a candle and headed for the door. "Good evening," she called from across the room.
"Isabelle, wait." Trestan stood and dashed after her. "I hoped that we would part as friends."
"Part?" Isabelle asked. "You are leaving, aren't you?" She stated with a sinking feeling.
"Yes," Trestan said bluntly.
"Why?" Isabelle said frantically. "You said that we would stay here until spring and then go together. What about…"
"I am sorry. If I am to rule Conradia, I must know how to. I should learn from my father, he was always a good ruler. I know not how much time he has left. There will be enough food and wood here for you over the rest of the winter. I will leave tomorrow morning. I can get a good start then," Trestan's voice broke, he paused, then added too brightly, "Good night."
Isabelle brushed past him and hurried to her room. How could Trestan be leaving? What would happen to him if there were more winter storms? How could Isabelle survive the rest of the winter if something were to go wrong? Isabelle knew that she had been unkind to him, but she did not think that it was enough to make him leave. Isabelle crawled into her bed, where she lay for a very long time without sleeping.
Author's Notes: Thanks to In Christ-Billios, Watsonkat, and ihatejacob1 for reviewing, and kudos to everyone who has read, favorited, and story alerted. Thoughts, questions, cares, comments, concerns, typos? Review or PM me. A "good job" goes a long way! Also, vote on the poll on my profie to tell me which stories and one-shots that you'd like to see next! Please review!
Watsonkat: The curse isn't Trestan's fault-it was his father's. Trestan's father refused to marry a sorceress, so she cursed his firstborn. I explained it a few chapters back, but we'll touch on that again soon. It's not Trestan's fault, so he's trying to accept that. He's had a long hard road to get used to it... Maybe there's hope for the future.