Destiny: Child of the Sky

24

Llauron threw another log onto the fire and stood for a moment, watching it begin to catch and burn. She would be down in a moment, and it was always interesting to see the way the fire changed in proximity to her, matching itself to her mood. It was an innate ability, one that Llauron looked forward to possessing himself, though on a somewhat grander scale.

In the darkness of his study Llauron felt a sense of peace descend, a rare feeling in these last days. He leaned against the doorframe. The time was coming, and soon the waiting, and all the unpleasantness associated with uncertainty, would be over.

Rhapsody appeared at the top of the stairs. She was no longer in the dusty garments she had worn when traveling, but had attired herself in a delicate white blouse of Canderian linen, embroidered with lacy patterns in white thread, and a rich, full skirt of wine-colored wool. Her hair had been brushed and was bound merrily up in a large bow that matched her skirt.

Llauron’s eyes glittered in affectionate warmth as she came down to greet him. He took both of the hands she held out to him, and kissed her on the cheek, then tucked her arm into the curve of his own as he led her to his study.

“You look fetching, my dear,” he said gallantly, holding the door for her.

“Thank you,” she answered, smiling. “It’s amazing how far a bath and a change of clothes goes in making you feel civilized again.”

“Yes, well, Vera has brought us a nice tray with our supper on it, and somewhere around here I have a lovely bottle of brandy I thought we could use to celebrate.”

Rhapsody leaned against the horsehair sofa in front of the fire, casting a hungry glance over at the tray. “Celebrate? What are we celebrating?”

“Well, I generally feel like celebrating when you’re around, my dear, even if you’re here on business that is less than pleasant, and particularly if you are here without your, ah, compatriots.” He pulled a bottle from inside his liquor chest and rummaged around, eventually producing two dusty-looking brandy snifters. “I wonder how your absence is affecting Gwydion. How do you suppose he is getting on without you?”

Rhapsody was surprised at his candid reference to Ashe. “I’m sure he’s fine,” she said, discomfort at the subject creeping into her face. “Actually I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

“Good; that’s good to know,” Llauron said, pulling the cork and setting the snifters on the sideboard. “Perhaps he is actually getting some of his work done, then, and attending to his responsibilities.” He poured a generous splash of the dark golden liquid into each glass.

Rhapsody could feel her face growing warmer as he spoke. “I hope you don’t think I’m trying to keep Ashe from his duties,” she said uncomfortably, wishing that for once she had chosen to remain silent. “If anything, the steps we’ve taken, Achmed and Grunthor and I, should put him in a far better position to deal with his responsibilities.”

The venerable gentleman lifted the glasses off the sideboard. “Those steps being—well, now, what would those steps be? Are you referring to the undoubtedly pleasant distraction you provided for so much of the summer, hiding him in some lovers’ nook and keeping him from the tasks I assigned him? I have no doubt that he enjoyed the duties you gave him far more than mine.”

“I don’t think you understand what I have been doing with Ashe at all, Llauron,” Rhapsody answered, struggling to swallow the offense she felt. “I’ve not kept him locked away anywhere; I’ve been working very hard to improve his situation.”

Llauron swirled the brandy in the snifters, then came back across the room.

“I do understand, my dear, that my son is very fond of you. And I’m glad; he has excellent taste. I am not unaware that he has physical needs that have to be met.”

Rhapsody felt her throat constrict under her mentor’s twinkling look; his words made her stomach turn. She fought to keep the insult she felt from coming through in her voice.

“Then you are also aware, Llauron, that by far the most pressing physical need your son had was the need to heal his wounded chest. And the physical aspect of that need was insignificant in comparison to its other factors.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” the old man said, smiling. He handed her a glass and sat down in his chair. “And I am eternally grateful to you and the others for the part you played in mending that situation. He will owe you quite a debt when he ascends to the seat of Lord Cymrian.”

“He owes me nothing, and I want nothing from him. Achmed and Grunthor’s aid was freely given as well. Ashe will have no debts to us because we did what was right.”

“That’s very magnanimous of you, my dear. Actually, it doesn’t surprise me where you’re concerned; you are a lovely girl and I knew from the moment I saw you that you had a noble heart. But do you really feel you can speak for your Firbolg companions? How do you know this?”

Rhapsody fell silent, looking into the brandy snifter and breathing in the bouquet of the liquid. “That was the agreement. I made sure of it from the beginning.”

“And what guarantees this agreement?”

She was beginning to lose patience. “My friendship with them. When all this is over, that is something Achmed will not compromise by betraying his word. Besides, I think Ashe will be more than capable of taking care of himself, even if Achmed were to press an old advantage. Our help has come o—without strings, Llauron. I know this is a foreign concept to you, but you are just going to have to trust me about this.”

She went to the window and looked out into the darkness of the forest, passing the hearth as she did. The flames roared angrily as she walked by, then settled into seething quiet again.

Llauron’s face grew intent. “And I do, my dear, far more than you realize. Perhaps you would be kind enough to answer just one more question for me, before we address the concerns you brought here tonight.”

She did not turn around. “What would that be?”

“I’d like to know what role you intend to play in my son’s life when this is over. I know that you will be honest in your answer, but I would also appreciate your candor—and some specifics.”

Rhapsody looked down at the windowsill, watching the reflection of the fire and the room behind her move in the glass. She stared into the darkness again.

“Ashe will always be able to count me as a friend and as an ally.”

“And nothing more?”

She finally turned and looked directly into his eyes. “Isn’t that enough?”

“It is for me,” Llauron said seriously. “Is it for you?”

The blood was pounding in Rhapsody’s ears, and it crept into her face, already rosy from the heat of the fire. “What do you want, Llauron? What is it you’re really asking me?”

Llauron stood slowly and came across the room. He stopped directly in front of her and looked down into her face.

“I want to know that you will not interfere between my son and whomever he chooses as his Lady. Though you are of common birth, I know you understand the destiny to which he is committed. I need to know that Gwydion will live up to his responsibilities as ruler of the united Cymrian peoples, and not allow his heart to jeopardize his duty.”

Rhapsody put down her glass; the grip with which she had been holding it had tightened to the point that she was afraid it would shatter.

“You asked me to be candid; very well, here’s my answer. First, I think this is none of your concern. Your son is a grown man, and a wise one, and I believe he has more than earned your confidence as far as the fulfillment of his duties is concerned.

“Second, I have never interfered in any way between a man and his wife in my life, and I never intend to. Whatever else you may think of me, Llauron, know that being of low birth does not mean one is without honor, any more than being born royal guarantees that one has it.

“Third, if your concern is that I will in any way try to attach myself to some vestige of your family’s royalty, you may rest assured. I care for your son in spite of his heritage, and not because of it. Having seen the unhappiness that heritage has bequeathed to its heirs, I am glad to be considered unworthy of it.

“Last, I believe I have proven myself a friend to your cause, the goal you cherish to the exclusion of everything else. It has cost me more dearly than you will ever know, and I may never forgive myself for it. May those who love you forgive you for what it has cost them as well.” She turned and faced the window once more, trembling with rage and anguish.

Llauron watched her for a moment, then raised the glass to his lips and emptied it. He walked back to the fireplace and set the snifter on the mantel, then turned to look at her again.

“Thank you for your honesty, my dear,” he said gently, “and for your wisdom in the choices you have made, whatever they cost you. My son is not the only one in this family who loves you, you know; in many ways you have been like a daughter to me. For what it’s worth, I believe you would make some lucky man a wonderful wife and an exceptional mother.”

Rhapsody didn’t look at him. “Apparently it’s not worth much.”

Llauron sighed. “No, I suppose not, in the grand scheme of things. I’m going to go see what’s keeping Gwen; she should have the disguise ready by now. Why don’t you have something to eat from the tray, and then we can plan your trip to get the gladiator, hmm? I’ll be right back.”

Rhapsody waited until the door had closed behind him, then leaned against the window and let out a deep, painful sigh. She rested her burning forehead against the coolness of the windowpane, missing Ashe desperately and feeling guilty for it. Her eyes sought the comfort of the dark sky, but through the cloudy pane no stars were visible.

She picked up her glass once more and drank the rest of the brandy, then walked to the fireplace and placed the snifter on the mantel next to Llauron’s. The curve of the bowls caught the somber firelight, a grim toast drunk to a future she wished would never come.