Fan Fiction ❯ Spirit of the Dragon ❯ Snowy Winter ( Chapter 12 )

Chapter Twelve

Winter was upon Azalea in an instant. After one cold night the palace denizens awoke to find their city covered in snow. Once lush hills stretched out like an endless white plain.

Crowe spent these days out in the garden, bundled up in three layers of cotton (Daisy refused to let her go out, otherwise), while Oria taught her to play. She was glad to discover that music came naturally to her callused fingers.

Even with a new season, the little courtyard dazzled in splendor, for each delicate rose blossom was encased in ice. Bursts of rainbows spiraled into the atmosphere where the sun hit crystal pedals.

It was on a particularly snowy day that Acanthus braved an encounter with her again. She was in the middle of a lesson at the time; perched sideways on a bench while she struck the chords of a newfangled melody. It sounded better than usual. And for this she felt a touch of vainglory.

Crowe pretended like she didn't see him, but she was acutely aware of those glittering emerald eyes. It was not until her song was over that he approached. He wore a velvet cloak of deep green, which swayed grandly as he sat beside her.

"That is a lovely sound."

"Thanks." Her grip on the lyre loosened.

"She has come very far along…" Oria spoke; it reminded them of her presence.

"That she has…" He drew a hand to his hood and dropped it away from his face. Soft breaths curled from his lips in whispery clouds as he tilted his head upward. He had the look of someone who had a purpose but was pretending he didn't, and so attempted to mask his convictions by seeming casual.

She could see right through people sometimes.

"I was wondering…" He began, "…if you would join me for a walk. I have something I wish to discuss with you."

There it was. He was finally going to question her about Gardroth.

"I would…" She looked over at him, rosy-cheeked in the cold, "But I'm in the middle of a lesson…"

"I think we should end on that note." So Oria would not save her…"It sounded much better, child."

"Very well." Crowe tried to hide her grimace as she packed away the little harp. She wished wistfully that the instrument was her own. Then she could play at her heart's desire.

"Come." Acanthus said gently. If he noticed she was trying to stall their time together, he said nothing of it.

"Perhaps I should help you to your room." Crowe said over to Oria.

Oria chuckled lightly. "I'll be fine, dear. Go speak with the Prince."

Crowe reluctantly stepped over to the blind woman and relinquished the lyre. After it left her fingertips, she watched it for a moment with a kind of regret.

The pair then departed voicelessly, and Crowe listened to each of their crunching footsteps with a kind of dread. She would have to tell him everything. And afterwards, never could she face her people again.

He must have recognized the look on her face, for he said, "You seem so crestfallen, Miss Crowe. Is my company that dreadful?"

"No, it isn't that. It---well, when are you going to ask me?"

He stopped. "Ask you what?"

"About Gardroth. About our plans. About everything."

His eyes were amused by her assumptions. "Do you really think that little of me?"

"But surely you would want…" A raised hand silenced her.

"My intentions lie elsewhere, milady." He lifted a boot and continued across the buried walkway. She kept a few strides behind. "They are much more…personal." The two of them moved on in silence for what seemed an eternity. Where was he taking her? Just when Crowe thought she could bear it no longer, he stopped again in front of a hulking wooden door. For a moment he was an effigy beneath the swirling snowflakes.

"What is this?" She wondered.

He turned to face her. Silver flakes dappled his long dark lashes. "You shall see." There was a twinkle in his eye.

Crowe shuffled a foot in the snow while he unlocked the mysterious chamber. When she heard the door creak open, her eyes focused on the entrance. All she could make out was an interior constructed of dark polished wood.

"Go ahead." He assured her.

She didn't know what she was expecting. But it certainly wasn't this: "It's--it's amazing!" Crowe found herself in a comely bedroom. Curtains of green, gold, and deep burgundy were draped everywhere: from the walls and over the canopy bed and across the little bay window. There were other various furnishings scattered about, including a stone fireplace in the corner. It sat alongside an armchair piled with pillows.

She went to the chair and was pleased to find a bookshelf behind it. Her hands reached out to the bindings, sweeping the spines with a delicate touch.

"I searched the castle libraries for a time, seeking out what I thought would suit you…" He looked embarrassed for some reason.

"So this place is mine?"

"Only if you want it to be."

Crowe came across a gold-trimmed hardback and freed it from its companions. She flipped it over in her hands.

"Of course, it would be that one…" He grumbled.

A book of love sonnets.

"A month ago, I would not have put it there." He explained hastily, "But your recent pastime leads me to believe you are poetic at heart…" A hand came up to leaf through the pages. "And see, it is in here, wait…there…" He pointed to a line in the book.

"'Lament for Crysthia'…" Crowe read out loud, "These are the words?"

"Correct. And here is the music." A series of notes were scribbled down beside it.

Crowe smiled. "Thank you, Acanthus. You obviously put a lot of thought into this." She put it away. "I'd like to read more, but I've been keeping my eye on that stairway." She had not missed the spiraled planks to her far left.

He smiled back. "Yes, I was saving the best for last…" They traveled upward, and at the top there was nothing but a bare circular room. "The window." He explained at the sight of her puzzled expression.

Crowe crept to the pane and pressed her palms to the glass, as she had done the first day she spoke to him.

It looked out onto the rose garden, although it was opposite to the infirmary. And she was much higher up, so she could also see distant mountains arching the speckled cerulean sky, moving farther and farther away until they faded into soft contours.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it."

"I am glad." He seemed nervous now, as if he had something important to say.

"Is there anything else?" Her back was still turned to him.

"Well…my Coming-of-Age celebration is approaching shortly. It is to be an unbearably long turnout, I am afraid. Full of feasting, and dancing, and all sorts of horrid festivities. But…since I must go, I would be honored to have you as my personal guest."

"Meaning…?"

"Oh will you have me come out and say it? I would like to escort you there, milady."

"You mean like a date?"

He blushed gracefully. "Yes, I suppose you could call it that."

She shrugged. "I don't see why not."

"Really? That is…that is splendid."

She looked over at the youth who was supposed to be her enemy. "Would this thrill your people, to see me there?"

"There are supposed to be thrilled by whatever pleases me. And it would please me very much to have you on my arm."

That answer was good enough for her, so she grinned. "It was quite a tactical advantage, wasn't it? To proposition me in the room you just treated me to?"

Another blush. "I suppose I did not leave you with much choice, as you speak the truth."

"It's no matter, Prince." Crowe cocked her head at him. "I would be delighted to take part in this `unbearably long turnout', as you so appealingly put it."