Of Crows and Courage

[Rayna Star 167]

“THE KING IS DEAD.”
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Isabel Stafyr’s fingers fly across the pianoforte keys in a futile attempt to drown out that ugly refrain of words playing incessantly in her head, along with the accompanying chorus of gasps and sobs that had permeated the crowded ballroom that fateful night.
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“He’s dead.”
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The familiarity of those words sickens her… a glaring reminder of her own pain and loss that she’d rather forget. A betrothed killed in a never-ending war. A five-month marriage brought to a close by her husband’s terminal illness, robbing her once again of the happiness and contentment that seems to evade her at every turn.
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“I may not know you well, though I wish to say how impressive your strength has been despite everything that has occurred to you, Lady Isabel.”

“Thank you, my Queen. It has been hard, but we all must share in the pain of this world, da?”
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If only time could be turned back so the Queen would not have to share in this pain. Isabel blinks away the tears as she plays on, hating the harsh reality that their common bond will now be young widowhood. Why must the world be so cruel? Her Majesty had been impressed with her strength on that night long ago at the Masquerade, but the unspoken truth was that Isabel had never been more grateful to have the festive mask conceal her feelings of profound loneliness in a room full of merriment.
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“It seems that I taught you well, my princess.”

“Papej, you have indeed, although the music is not quite the same when played alone… It cannot be helped though.”
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A wave of guilt and shame washes over Isabel, as she realizes the self-pity that has crept into her thinking, her hands lifting off the keys as she finishes her song. She closes her eyes, offering up a prayer for the Queen and her five children, saying an extra prayer for young King Otto, who will too soon have to bid farewell to childhood and bear the full weight of a King’s crown.
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“I believe I’m going to ready myself for the rescue expedition now. I bid you a good day, Lady Isabel.”

“Good day, Your Majesty. And Godspeed to you.”
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Isabel closes the lid to the pianoforte as she remembers those final words exchanged between herself and the late King. How often is it that we speak with the assumption that we will have the chance to say more later? Death is like a savage vagabond who comes under cloak of shadow, striking when we least expect it. Perhaps it is best that we treat each moment as if it is the last one we will ever have. Only then will we be able to truly live without regrets.
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Rest in peace, King Andrik. You shall be dearly missed.