Token of Loyalty

Chapter Sixteen - Found Friendship

"No, they were trained by people who aren't around anymore," he stated, somberly. He sighed, then turned to walk with Calanthe. "By that, I mean the deceased Tarynians and Ikshanarians. They're cared for by their descendants to honor their past loved ones."

"Is it a tradition?" Calanthe's teeth chattered as he and Hrafn walked to the Southern tower they'd come from. "I–I'm interested t–to know mo–more."

Hrafn chuckled, then smiled. "How about after we warm up by the fire in our living chamber?"

Calanthe couldn't agree more. The amount of snow and ice that clung to Calanthe's eyelashes, cloak, and boots was outrageous. Calanthe thought of himself like a snowman. Hrafn appeared the same, yet was resilient to the freezing temperatures. He barely shivered unlike Calanthe who shook like a leaf in the wind.

The thought of a toasty fire kept Calanthe's willpower alive.

***

When Hrafn and Calanthe had reached the living chamber, Calanthe released a sigh of relief. The traverse through the castle had taken ages. Hrafn had been silent the way over, leaving Calanthe to the intricate workings of his creative mind.

The route Hrafn had taken him passed by ancient portraits of old rulers of Taryn. Calanthe had spotted Sindri's mother, Ursa Halvard. In front of her portrait were potted blue lupines, flourishing and as grand as ever. The clay pots were painted in gold and red hues, shimmering under the firelight of the scones. She must've been an honored ruler to have received the purest of flowers. She had died seventeen years ago as history had told.

Now the next one Calanthe had passed had him curious. It was of a fair maiden, young and beautiful. Her hair was a fiery red, curly and lustrous. Could it have been Ragna Halvard? Calanthe knew Ragna was in her thirties, but this portrait appeared to have been painted when she was much, much younger. She had a child named Eahlstan who was Aelfgar's only child. That alone stirred discomfort in his chest, knowing they had to be prisoners of Aelfgar's.

Before they had left the hall of ancestors and descendents, Calanthe spotted corn marigolds. The line of them were in a box planter and were as dry as could be. He couldn't wrap his thoughts around why those flowers were uncared for while the blue lupins thrived.

Back in the living chamber, Calanthe craved to discuss the portraits and plants, but Hrafn had been hesitant before to discuss old family matters. Calanthe decided to put that idea to bed, returning to a more pleasant conversation.

"So about the tradition," Calanthe began as he removed his journal from his cloak. "I'd like to know more, if you wouldn't mind."

"You're as inquisitive as Giselle." Hrafn laughed, the laughter reaching his eyes. "Perhaps you should join her for her lessons one day and learn from our tutors. I doubt you were allowed to learn much when you were in Eglantine."

Calanthe balked at the mention of his former kingdom, then calmed. "I wasn't permitted lessons, no. Eleanora was the only one allowed while I..." he trailed off, remembering the times he had been locked inside his room for hours on end. Sometimes he wasn't permitted books in his room and when he was, he had to hide them from Hyacinth. "I don't wish to speak of it. It brings me a great deal of discomfort."

"That's perfectly okay," Hrafn replied before he gestured towards the couch. "Have a seat while I light the fire in the hearth."

Calanthe nodded, then shrugged off his cloak, laying it over the back of the couch.

The living chamber was huge, bigger than one he had seen before. Several arched windows lined the wall opposite to the hearth and couch. The windows were stained-glass, creating rainbow effects along the cobblestone walls. Then there were seats in the windows, pillows upon pillows laid on them with fur blankets. Off to the far right corner were chests, overflowing with hand-carved toys and stitched dolls. A pretend castle, made of oak, took up half the floor near the boxes. The castle itself appeared identical to the Tarynian one.

"Do your children play here?" Calanthe pondered aloud, slowly making his way to his seat. "I never had anything like this as a child."

"The city folk spoil them as if they were their own," Hrafn stated, then crouched before the fireplace. He spoke as he went through the motions of lighting the fire, "They'll come along soon enough. Their caretaker Gyda will shuffle them in eventually since it's far too cold outside for them."

Calanthe sat criss-cross on the couch, then gazed towards the fabric. It was sewn with threads of red, gold, and white, forming into a flowing pattern of flowers and swirls. The sight sparked a memory. He remembered himself sitting alone in his bedchamber, knitting for hours on end. Those were the days when Hyacinth had confiscated his books and had thrown knitting tools at him.

"Knowledge is only for Eleanora. Put yourself to good use and make something!" she shouted.

Calanthe blinked around, checking where he was. He was in Taryn, not Eglantine. Hyacinth had been confirmed deceased months ago. He was safe where he was and that was that.

"Hrafn," Calanthe mumbled.

Hrafn paused in his warming of himself in front of the hearth. "Yes, Calanthe?"

"You wouldn't ever demand me to do something, would you?" Calanthe fidgeted in place, playing with a loose string on his shirt. "I'm safe here, right?"

"Dearest Calanthe," Hrafn began before he stood, moving to the couch. He grabbed a fur blanket and placed it over Calanthe's shoulder, then smiled. "You're free, darling. Don't you remember what happened the night we left Eglantine?"

"I..." he drifted off in his thoughts, then shook his head. "I don't wish to remember. I only know a lot of bloodshed happened and I–"

"It's okay." Hrafn shushed him, soothingly. "You're experiencing panic right now. I want you to think of three good things in your reality that you can feel, touch, and name."

Calanthe breathed in and out before he gazed into Hrafn's eyes. "Hrafn," he named, then he rubbed the fur blanket between his fingers and allowed the heat of the fire to penetrate his bones, "This blanket and the fire."

Hrafn leaned into the couch, then kicked his boots off. He outstretched his legs and sighed. "You can continue if it makes you feel better."

"That painting above the hearth," Calanthe stated, pointing upwards. The large painting was of the sun setting behind hills and in the distance was a body of water. Calanthe squinted, spotting a small boat drawn into the landscape's background. "It's beautiful. Who painted it?"

"I did, actually," Hrafn replied, fondly. "I made it when I first came to Taryn. Sindri had the servants place the painting there. I suppose he liked it enough that he figured it deserved a place on the wall."

"It's a story telling when you arrived in Gharash, isn't it?" Calanthe's eyes widened before a smile broke out across his face. "You're talented, you know. You should continue to paint."

Hrafn laughed. "If only I had the time. I miss it dearly. I used to garden as well, every plant you see in this castle was planted by me." He grabbed an extra blanket and pulled it over himself before he added, "The upkeep became too much. Our gardens have fallen into ruin now. I'm hoping next Spring that I will be able to regrow everything there. The garden itself is a memorial."

"Oh, the traditions," Calanthe gasped. "Is that a Tarynian or Ikshanarian tradition?"

"The gardens?" he asked, then Calanthe nodded. "No, that is a Jiāhào tradition. Gardens are memorials to us. We plant our dead amongst flowers and create life amongst them. It's sort of like reviving their spirit through beautiful creations."

"How do you pronounce..."

"Jiāhào?" He smiled, thrilled that Calanthe wanted to learn his homeland's language. "Chyah-how."

"Jiāhào," Calanthe repeated, fumbling through the sounds.

Hrafn bursted into laughter. "You'll get there with me as your guide."

Calanthe grew red before he grinned. It was good to have found friendship in a trust-worthy soul who appreciated his company and wished to teach him everything he knew.

A/N: All my languages do have translations and can be found in my Eras Kalgor (guide to my world) book. Again, there are spoilers in it pertaining to future books, but it would be insightful. If there are errors, I apologize since I am in the process of correcting them all.