Fan Fiction ❯ Spirit of the Dragon ❯ Hope Blooms ( Chapter 10 )

Chapter Ten

Crowe was drowning in a pool of her own tears when she heard the lyre. Like an old friend, its melodies brought a bit of solace.

She rolled out of bed and crept to the window. The old blind woman sat beneath an overhang, plucking away as the last drops of the storm fell in the evening light. How long have I been crying?

Crowe pulled at the latch for a breath of fresh air. It smelled like rain outside.

She wondered if the woman knew anyone listened, or did she only play for herself?

It was getting a little easier to walk each day, so Crowe stepped out of her door. She discovered that no one seemed bothered by her wandering. Apparently, a gravid Gardrothian was the least of their concerns.

She left the infirmary and headed through a drafty corridor, following the music. It took her down a marbled stairwell, which was somewhat difficult to accomplish. By the time she had reached the bottom, her back was aching. The pain, however, was outweighed next to her sense of accomplishment.

Crowe had to round one more corner before she reached the garden. When she did she was in complete awe. It was filled with roses from every known region of the world. The scent was heavenly.

Propped up on a stool, the lone harper continued to play. Her fingertips touched the golden strings with surprising precision. A lifetime of practice had embedded every chord in her mind.

Crow watched shyly from the corner. It was amazing to see such flawless talent up so close.

When the woman was finished with her song, she stopped, folding her hands in her lap. "How long were you planning on standing there, child?"

Startled, Crowe took a step foreword. "How…how did you know I was here?"

The woman chuckled. "A little bird told me."

Crowe glanced at the starlings that hopped around at the old woman's feet. It was hard to know if a Drunesmerrian was serious when she said things like that.

"Your playing is beautiful. I heard it from above."

The woman's face crinkled into a smile. "Thank you. It's been a while since I've received any compliments." When she spoke, her hazel eyes tended to move upward, as if she were looking at things that weren't there.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Do you? You'd be surprised. People tend to keep their distance…from people who are different."

"Yes, I suppose I know a little about that."

The woman nodded. "I suspected you might." There was another stool nearby, and she motioned towards it. "Come take a seat, my dear. Tell me how life in Azalea's faired you."

"How did you know who I was?"

"I'm blind, not deaf, child. The walls speak of a Gardrothian captive. And Westerners never completely rid themselves of their accents…It is nice to meet you, Crowe. I'm called Oria." The woman extended a weathered hand, and Crowe shook it.

"How many songs do you know?"

A whispery laugh. It was as pleasant as the soft ring of winter bells. "Too many to count. Do you like music, Crowe?"

"Very much so."

"Do you want to learn how to play?"

"Of course!" She was enthralled by the prospect.

"It would be nice to have a pupil again. My last student was a bit…impatient. He was unable to concentrate and had a frustrating time, I'm afraid."

"Who was that?"

Oria grinned. "Prince Acanthus."

"Really?"

"Yes, believe it or not. He was trying to court a lady that was fond of music."

"Did it work?"

She shook her head of wispy white hair. "No, the poor lad. She was already in love with some lord and left the castle with him. It's been like that, for poor Acanthus. I keep hoping that someone will come along. Someone who's a little…different." Oria turned to her. "So would you like to learn?"

"Now? Alright."

"Come, take my place."

Crowe rose very slowly, bracing herself against the garden wall for a moment. She then inched her way into the vacated seat. The burden of the extra weight was becoming evident to her.

"How far along are you?"

"Pardon?"

"The baby, my dear…how long have you had it?"

Crowe blushed. "Is that another thing the walls are talking about?"

"There is a rumor. Apparently some of the soldiers heard Frostleaf say something when he examined you…but that's not exactly how I knew. I have a knack for sensing these things."

"Well, now that I've been here about a week, it must be four months…" There was an underlying sorrow in her words.

"You don't want it?"

"No, I do…it's just…" She sighed. "I had just hoped…this child could have a family. Something tells me I won't do so well on my own."

"Maybe you're not as alone as you think." Oria's vague words reassured her somehow. "Well, shall I teach you now?"

It wasn't long until the last bit of light faded from the sky, and they were forced to cut the lesson short. Crowe hadn't made much progress, but she still enjoyed it, as well as the kind woman's company. It seemed she had made a friend in this lonely place.

That night, Frostleaf had some of the servants draw Crowe a bath, and she felt all the better for it. It didn't even dismay her to observe that the bulge in her belly was becoming undeniable larger, and would soon be impossible to hide.

The same nursemaid that had cleared her ruined tray helped her into a white nightgown crafted of the finest imported silk, while she respectfully turned her eyes away as to give Crowe a bit of privacy. All of this treatment was more than she deserved, but she was grateful, and showed this gratitude with an attempted smile. This gesture startled the middle-aged woman, to say the least, and the events that followed involved an anomalously fulfilling conversation about dresses. This woman (who was called Daisy), somehow convinced Crowe that the palace tailors should make one for her. Crowe usually avoided such things as ribbons and lace. She despised anything she couldn't fight in, but when Daisy pointed out that combat did not seem like a practical prospect for her near future, she gave in.

"You have the prettiest dark hair." Daisy told her, brushing out Crowe's long wet tangles after she saw her to her room. "I bet if I braid it, there will be curls to show for it in the morn. Would you like that?"

It seemed Crowe had inadvertently recruited her own maid. But there was something to be said for being fussed over. She almost felt like royalty.

So after she was bathed and brushed and sent to bed, Crowe sneaked back to the clinic, gazing out at the garden through one of the many narrow windows. She was thinking of numerous things, as usual. Rono, of course, among them. But now there occurred the strangest of phenomena: for the first time since their fall out, she did not cry for him. Perhaps she would actually get through this. Gods, I think I might. With this revelation, a little bit of hope bloomed in her heart.