It was a warm August afternoon when I bent over Erimon's cradle. My son was nearly five months old, and was already enchanting the court with his bright blue eyes, toothless grins, and happy gurgles. "You are a regular charmer, little one," I said, picking him as he cooed and chortled.
"I'm blushing, Arrania."
I glanced over my shoulder to see Ed leaning against the nursery's doorjamb. "Hello, Ed. Did the alliance talks go well?"
"Without a single mishap. I'm happy to say that King Cor is just like old Lune. Carrying on his father's legacy brilliantly well, I might add."
"What did I tell you?" I replied with a grin. "Archenlandians are famous for their level-headedness."
"Well, most Archenlandians, anyway," he rejoined pleasantly, coming over.
Erimon waved his legs about and squealed when he saw his papa, so I placed him in Ed's arms. "Just for that, Ed, you're going to carry him to my father's for me. I figure that Erimon's old enough to cheer him up."
"How is he doing?" Ed replied, instantly losing his teasing manner. He shifted Erimon to his shoulder.
"Not well," I said quietly.
Ed put his free arm around my shoulders and squeezed. "Come along, Arrania. Erimon will do him good, I'm sure."
"Erimon? Who's Erimon?"
"He's your grandson, Papa," I replied softly. "Don't you remember?"
My father's blank look answered my question.
"Would you like to hold him?" I continued.
"I suppose, so long as he leaves Ileana's pearl necklace alone."
I handed Erimon to my father and sat on the side of the bed. Poor Father. He was so far gone that even my mother, dead for nearly sixteen years, was alive to him again.
But then, as Erimon cooed and gurgled in his arms, Father looked up at me with clear grey eyes—eyes that were not clouded with confusion or bewilderment. "Arrania, daughter, listen to me. I love you very, very much. But even that love cannot keep me in this world longer than what the Lion has decreed. Therefore, you must be strong—don't let sorrow cloud your view."
"I won't, Papa," I whispered, tears filling my eyes. Father patted my hand affectionately, and then looked at Edmund.
"Edmund," he said, still holding my hand, "I need you to be there for my daughter and grandson. Love them with all your heart and fill for them the void that sorrow will make, as long as you are able."
"Don't worry. I will, Lord Dorovan."
Father smiled, then stroked Erimon's cheek and handed the child back to me. He sank into his pillows, and the clouds covered his eyes again.
"Goodbye, Papa, I love you," I said, and he fiddled absently with his tunic.
"Don't take the necklace," he called, and I got up. He was lost to me, once again.
"Don't cry, Arrania," Edmund said softly as I shut the door behind us.
I tickled Erimon's stocking feet, not looking up.
He took the child from me and braced him against his shoulder. "I think Mama needs a story, don't you, Erimon?"
Erimon cooed and sucked his finger, peering curiously at me from over Edmund's shoulder.
"Once upon a time," Edmund began, "there was a great and powerful country, ruled by two wise kings and two compassionate queens. They were very happy for a long time, and the country was well pleased. However, the younger king began to find himself discontented. But he didn't know why."
Erimon waved his arms at me and whacked Ed's shoulder with his pudgy little hands.
"So the king tried everything he could think of: great and glorious conquests, impressive feats of arms, new and better alliances with neighboring countries, even better horses and weapons. But nothing helped. What was our poor king to do? He was wealthy in many, many ways, but penniless in matters of the heart."
"Ed," I said, my voice dripping with as much reproach as I could manage.
"Just—just let me finish," Ed replied. "I think the boy will really learn from it."
I glanced at Erimon, who was drooling happily on Ed's tunic, and shrugged.
"So anyway, the king finally learned to hide his lonesomeness, and no one was the wiser after he did. He and his fellow king and queens continued to rule their country wisely and kindly. But one day—and this is where it gets interesting, Erimon, so listen closely—he was minding his own business and walking over a sunny bridge when—out of nowhere, a girl in green sailed around the corner and promptly fell on her face at the sight of him.
"Well, this is what he first thought, but then, next moment, he realized that her beautiful harp was soaring through the air. So he caught it and helped the girl up, fully intending to give it back and send her on her way. But the way she chose her words made him look closer—she had very clever brown eyes that, though they were guarded because he was a stranger, spoke of good judgment and wisdom, but it was a spark of mischief that caught his attention. And then, the king's sister showed up, and, before he knew it, the girl was saying goodbye with a promise to come to the grand banquet the next night."
"Ed," I began, "Erimon's—"
"Ssh, Mama," Ed said, rubbing Erimon's back. The blue-eyed baby was nodding off, but Ed continued with his story—one that sounded strangely familiar. "The next night, the girl played her lyre for the king and his siblings, and it made the king very happy and sad, at the same time. But then the girl excused herself and ran off. The girl's father asked the king to make sure she was all right, so the king went out to the battlements and found the girl crying as though her heart would break. The king was very sad for her, but she soon revealed how impish she could be. The king realized that maybe she could be a great friend. And he forgot how lonely he really was.
"As the months passed, the king and the girl indeed became fast friends—so close that the king told her everything, and she him in return. But there was one thing the king didn't tell anyone—and that was how peculiar he felt whenever the girl smiled at him. Or how the sound of her name could bring him out of the deepest melancholy. Then, one day, the king knew—he loved the girl very, very much."
Erimon gave a great yawn, and I took him from Edmund's arms and cradled him in my own. "Lovely story, Ed."
"I'm not finished yet," he said cagily. "The king didn't know how to tell the girl, because he'd rather suffer alone with her as a friend than to lose her forever. One day, however, she told him that she had something important to tell him. The king decided that he would tell her his big news, too. But then, she told him that she was to be betrothed to another. The king was devastated, but, before he could stop himself, he kissed her, despite the fact that she was no longer unclaimed. Even he as king could do nothing about it. But then, when the girl asked why he'd kissed her, he couldn't bring himself to make up any sort of lie. So he told her the truth, about how much he loved her. She excused herself hastily, and the king prepared himself never to see her again.
"But then, Erimon, he was walking by himself the next day when he came around the corner just in time to see the sick, slimy man that the girl was obligated to marry ask for her hand in marriage. The girl took a breath, then looked over the man's head and saw the king. And the way that she looked at him brought a light like a candle to the despairing depths of the king's heart. But then, when she'd refused the man, he looked over and saw the king, too. He became enraged, and threatened to kill the king. The king grew furious, and before he knew it, he had challenged the other man to a duel.
"The next day, the king put his sword on and went onto the field. The slimy man dared to ask for the girl's pledge, but she turned and gave it to the king instead. And so the two men fought. The slimy man stabbed the king, but then the king remembered the girl, and he kept fighting. Finally, he won, but the wound left him severely weakened, so our poor king walked off the field and went looking for help."
"Ed," I said softly, "Erimon's asleep. But that's a lovely story," I added with a small smile.
"I take my ideas from real life," he replied smugly.
"Which is probably the reason that Erimon's asleep," I rejoined. "Ah—don't touch, I've got the baby, remember?"
Ed scowled.
It was late at night—or perhaps early morning—when I woke suddenly from a deep slumber, hot tears dripping steadily into my ears. The soft sheets were wrapped around my legs like ghostly tentacles, and I kicked them off as quickly as I could. What woke me? I wondered, wiping the tears from my temples. I gave a shuddering sigh.
Next to me, Ed stirred and rolled over, the whisper of the sheets as loud as thunder in the dark, quiet room. "Arrania? What's wrong?" he asked sleepily.
I looked over at him, his face only partially visible in the soft glow of the moonlight shining through the window. "I—I had a bad dream, is all." The empty grief that obviously had been caused by something in my dream still lingered, however, and the tears I wiped away were all too soon replaced by fresh ones.
"Well," he sighed, sitting up, too, "you're safe here—my sword's hanging on the bedpost, remember?"
I reached out and buried my face in his shoulder. "I don't think this is something even you can protect me from, Ed."
He sighed again and put an arm around me. "Well, Arrania, I'll try."
Suddenly, there was a sharp rapping at the door, and the sound echoed through the dark room, sending my heart racing.
"Stay here," Ed said, and he slid out of bed and went to the door. "Who is it?"
"It's Finehas, sir," came the voice on the other side. "Please, sir, I have urgent news from the lady Carilana."
At this, I, too, leapt out of bed as Edmund opened the door. "What is it, Finehas?" I asked, hurrying to Edmund's side.
The elderly faun clutched his handkerchief in front of him and looked down at the floor. "Please, my lady, you won't be at all thankful to hear this news…"
"Do tell me," I pleaded. Something dark and heavy settled in the pit of my stomach.
"It's about your father," Finehas began, and my stomach lurched and tied itself in knots. "He…he's…he has departed this life, my lady, in his sleep. He's…dead."