Introduction


 * Introduction**

Margo had been young when she married. She’d had to be; her father was dying and she was an only child and a girl to boot, so an unfit heir. She had married a Duke who had been hastily chosen and yet turned out to be possibly the best choice that could have been made. For a suitor for Margo and also as the King of Regar that he proved to be after the death of Margo’s father.

He was kind, patient and compassionate and yet despite the affection which grew between Margo and her Duke and Margo’s youth, it was years before they produced a child, and even then there was little doubt that the tiny creature would not last to his first birthday. This was the first of many times that Nicholai would defy expectations. He grew to a small, shy little boy and then to a reserved, strong young man. Somewhere in between he discovered the strength of character and will which, combined with his father’s qualities, turned him into the finest king to watch over Regar since the times of Thim some three hundred and fifty years ago. He had passed the strongest of his virtues on to his children, with strength of will being most evident in his eldest child, Airea, which was being displayed so nicely as she was carried down the corridor by her father. Kicking and screaming she was screaming every name a nine year old cares to learn. Nicholai had ordered his children not to visit their grandmother whilst she was ill as she needed rest and time to recuperate, something which little grandchildren so rarely give.

“But I //want// to see her!” Airea demanded, punctuating each word with a stamp of her little foot against the hard tiled floor as her father placed her in the doorway to the nursery. “But I //want// to see you in //here//.” He responded, mimicking her desperate little plea. “But I promised I’d go and see her today!” Airea explained desperately. “Yes Rea, but your grandmother is very ill and needs to rest.” He explained gently. Airea opened her mouth to argue again, but her father held up a hand for silence and continued, “I’ll tell her you tried and that I ordered you back here.” Airea nodded her head sadly. “I won’t however tell her about the childish display in the hallway,” he raised his eyebrows at her – the only reprimand she would get or need – “and I’ll try extra hard to hide all my nasty bruises from my nasty daughter.” He teased, ruffling her hair. She nodded sadly again, so serious her father had to hide his smile, and reached up to hug him before sweeping into the nursery, leaving him in the hallway.

Airea was still upset as her mother sang her to sleep that night, a scowl eminent on her delicate face. “You’ll see her soon.” Her mother consoled, as she stroked her forehead, “When she’s better.”

Her parents’ words comforted her somewhat, however, the fact remained that Grandmother was ill an awful lot these days and Airea and her siblings were seeing her less and less. So much so that the next time they were allowed to visit her in her rooms she looked completely different. Her shiny black hair released from its pins into a dull black fan around her on her pillows, her round pleasant face turned hollow and weak, her stout comfortable form reduced to thin bones under layers of blankets. In short, Margo was dying.

It was known throughout the castle and yet nobody had the heart to tell her dear grandchildren that they would soon lose her. They had picked up hints, bright as they were, although their belief in the child-like fantasies we are all victims to at some point over clouded their logic. The people we love live forever.

It wasn’t until she called them into her room separately and said her final goodbyes did they accept that sometimes, people have to die.

She had spoken to them in reverse age order, the littlest first and Airea last. Airea’s younger brother, Carión, came out with red eyes and a lost expression on his face. She touched him on the shoulder briefly and looked to make sure their mother was nearby before slipping into the dimly lit rooms.

Her Grandmother was propped up on a dozen pillows with her blankets spread neatly across her, hanging down equally on both sides, crisp and precise. She stretched a hand to Airea who rushed to be close to her.

“Ah, my dear.” Margo’s voice was soft and weak, closer to a whisper than any other sound. “We have much to say to one another and yet our time is short. I am dying and you must grow up: We can be playmates no more.”

Airea was silent. She could sense that what her grandmother had to say in the next few minutes would be some of the most important words she would hear. However, when she spoke, her voice suddenly became urgent and commanding. “There is a box hidden behind my dresser which will shortly belong to you. I have left instructions inside it for you.”

Airea blinked. She had expected loving words, the wisdom of a dying woman. Not instructions for a treasure trail.

“Not everything in that box will always be yours, but the box itself is yours for now, until you find the other Keeper. They will have no idea of its existence, as it has been hundreds of years since their side has been allowed to know, but it is time it returned to the hands of both of the Keepers.” Grandmother’s grip had tightened on Airea’s hand as her whispers grew more intense. “You must make him aware. I don’t know who exactly it is, but the box will tell you when you open it. Airea nodded her head quickly, her mouth slightly open in surprise.

“Oh!” The whisper somehow became even raspier. Airea gasped as her Grandmother gripped her even more tightly, and then letting go completely. “You will need this.” She reached her hands up to her neck and lifted her long necklace over her head and handed it to her granddaughter. Airea wouldn’t have been more surprised if she had taken her nose off; grandmother was never without her necklace. No one in living memory had seen her without it; a small square locket, intricately detailed in gold and sapphires.

Her hand shook slightly as it held out the locket her Airea who took it reverentially and carefully pulled the long chain over her own head.

“Beautiful.” Grandmother smiled. “Now, my dear, you mustn’t take the box until after I am gone. It won’t respond to you otherwise. Now, now!” She said reaching out a hand to wipe away her tear at the thought of losing her grandmother. “Come close my darling.”

Airea climbed up onto her Grandmother’s bed and crawled into her embrace. “You will be magnificent.” She whispered “and I will always love you my wondrous child. Be strong, my love, and look after your father for me.”

-

Three days passed in the castle in almost complete silence. Nobody spoke more than necessary as surplus words seemed to draw tears. At midday on the fourth day, the King walked solemnly to the nursery and informed his children of their grandmother’s death. The little ones cried, but Carion and Airea didn’t. They both knew that their pain was eclipsed by their father’s.

Their mother found the lot of them an hour later, curled together on the floor, arms around each other.

That night after tears subsided to sleep, Airea snuck out of the nursery and shuffled down the hall to her Grandmother’s empty room. Chills swept over her as she looked around at her Grandmother’s treasures and a lump formed in her throat. She blinked away her tears and scuttled to the dresser where all Margo’s fine jewellery was laid out; along with her silver hairbrushes he used to soothe Airea when she was upset. Behind the dresser there was a small space big enough for Airea to reach her hand behind it. She smoothed her hand along the wall until she felt an indentation in the wall. She felt all around it, but there was no space big enough for a box as special as Grandmother’s. She reached for the back of the dresser directly opposite, but instead of wood, felt cold metal. She scrabbled at it but couldn’t get hold of it due to it sliding back each time she tried to grab it. She stopped and thought for a minute about boxes and holes and the size of Grandmothers’ arms. Then she reached her hand back in to the little hole and instead of trying to pull the box out, she pushed it with all her might. It appeared a second later on the marble floor in front of the dresser on a scrap of silk, cloth.

She gasped, picked it up quickly and clutched it tightly to her chest. She ran with it all the way back to the nursery where she tucked her feet back into bed and pulled the covers over her head.

The box sat in her lap, the cool of the metal seeping through her nightdress to her legs. She pulled the necklace over her head and opened it out carefully, pressing it to the locket shaped key hole on the box. With shaking hands she opened the box. Light and her Grandmother’s instructions fell out.