Destiny: Child of the Sky

79

The Elysian gardens were in full bloom, overgrown from neglect, wild with the sweetness of maturity. Rhapsody had spent the last month before the Council with Achmed and Grunthor in Ylorc, sleeping at night alone in her solitary, windowless quarters within the Cauldron, across the hall from where Jo’s room had been.

She hated it, but she felt protected there. In a close call she had returned to Elysian from the Bowl one day, after greeting and accommodating some of the later arrivals, to find a loving note and a bouquet of winter flowers on the dining-room table. Apparently Ashe could still infiltrate the Heath, but he couldn’t broach the security of the Teeth and the Cauldron. So Rhapsody had stayed there, knowing it would keep him away.

She opened the door of the dark house, feeling the scent of spicy herbs and dried flowers rise up to greet her. Despite its vulnerability and bad as sociations, Elysian had a comforting feel to it, a sense of home like none she had ever owned.

Rhapsody hung up the satin cape and pulled off the matching shoes, the soles worn and split from hours of standing on the rock ledge. With a tired hand she rubbed her foot and then made her way in the dark up the stairs to her bedroom. She opened the door and found it as she had left it, the bed still made.

She crouched before the bedroom fireplace; it was clean and fuel for a fire had been laid, though not lit. Today she was grateful, whether to Ashe or Achmed; she didn’t have the heart to build a new one. She spoke a single word, and the fire kindled, the tiny twigs snapping and hissing as they came to life for a moment, only to disappear in smoke and dissolve into ash.

Rhapsody looked around her bedroom as the light began to take hold. The fireshadows swept across the beloved furnishings and into familiar corners, bringing memories up from her soul, memories whose beauty stung as they touched the surface of her heart. As much as she loved Elysian, as much as she had missed it when in Tyrian, she knew she would not be able to stay here long; it was just too painful.

As the darkness receded and the room became bright, a glimpse of white caught her eye. Hanging over the folded dressing screen in the corner of the room was the white shirt, the shirt she had intended to ask Ashe for the night he confiscated her memories. Obviously she had remembered to do so, and he had complied. Rhapsody went to the painted screen and took down the shirt. She examined it for a moment, then brushed it against her cheek. It still carried his scent, clean and windy, with a touch of the smell of salty ocean spray. The scent brought tears to her eyes; she cursed herself for being vulnerable to it. Even the guilt that followed the tears into her eyes couldn’t make her put it down.

Rhapsody stood for a long time, caressing her face with the garment. Then, as the warmth in the room grew, she felt exhaustion and sadness begin to take her over. She slung the shirt over one shoulder and went into the bathroom. She pumped a basin full of icy water and touched it, raising its temperature to a comfortable level, then washed her face vigorously, as if to rub off the invisible tearstains and the serene face she had worn as a mask most of the day.

She stared at her reflection in the glass; it was a human face, unremarkable to her eyes, with a weariness that permeated the pores of the skin made pale by exhaustion. Not a beautiful face; she could not for the life of her understand the reaction she was getting. Must be the crown, she thought. I guess a blinding halo of circling stars will make anyone stare in awe.

With a detachment caused by increasing tiredness she pulled the combs from her hair and brushed it slowly, trying to sort out the events of the day. She brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth with a tonic made with anise and peppermint, hoping to banish the bitter taste in it, but it was no use; the acidity was coming from deeper inside her. With a final shake of her head to relax her long tresses, she went back into the bedroom.

The fire was burning steadily now, and leapt in welcome as she came back into the room. Rhapsody tossed the shirt onto the bed, went to her closet, and rummaged for her buttonhook. Oelendra had helped her dress that morning, but now she was alone to struggle with the numerous tiny buttons that ran down the back of her gown. When Ashe was there she never had need of a buttonhook; the assistance in dressing was one more thing she would have to get used to being without, although more often than not his help was detrimental to her attempts to become clothed anyway. She laughed to herself at the picture of the Lirin queen, the new Lady Cymrian, crawling around on the floor searching for tools to pry her body loose from its garments.

Finally she located it on the floor behind some hatboxes—Ashe had had a detrimental effect on the organization of her closet as well. She slid the buttonhook down her back, unfastening the stays with a familiar ability that came back from her days alone; there was some comfort in knowing she could go back to being by herself and life would still go on. The gown slipped off her shoulders and she stepped out of it; Rhapsody stared at it a moment, and then, for the first time in her life when alone, left her clothes in a heap on the floor.

She pulled her camisole over her head, tossed it into the pile for good measure, and returned to the bed. She lifted the shirt and stared at it; the cuffs were frayed at the ends, and there was still a tiny white wine stain on it where he had spilled his glass at dinner that night. He must have been nervous, she mused, the memory of his handsome face coloring with laughter. How she had loved to see and hear him laugh.

Loss welled up in her throat again, and she hugged the shirt to her naked chest, trying to dispel the pain. The sensation of the linen against her skin was a pale reminder of holding him in her arms; clothed in nothing but her lower undergarments, she put the shirt on and hugged herself, trying to recreate the feeling.

It didn’t work, but his scent filled her lungs, and she rolled up the sleeves, enormously long on her. The shirt itself hung down almost to her knees; it was a little like an embrace. Rhapsody knew it was all she had left of him, and it would have to suffice. She pulled back the flowered coverlet and turned down the sheets, crawling in between them in her odd nightwear. Then she gave herself over to tears of despair, hoping that if she let them all out she would cleanse her heart of him once and for all.

It was thus that he found her, curled up on the bed, under the quilt, wrapped in his shirt, sobbing as though her heart would break. She hadn’t even heard him come in, nor had she sensed his presence. He was wearing his mist cloak and so had passed undetected, and in her misery she didn’t notice until he was almost upon her.

“Aria? Are you all right?”

Like an arrow from the string Rhapsody shot out of the bed, a look of shock and horror on her face. She darted behind the dressing screen, her tears stanched by the surprise.

“Ashe! What in blazes are you doing here? Gods; get out! Please.”

A jumble of emotions swept over Gwydion as she ran past; pain for her suffering, amusement at her reaction, longing to hold her, desire at the sight of her, particularly attired as she was. He struggled to wipe the smile off his face and hold a serious tone.

“Sorry. I guess I should have knocked first.”

“No, you just shouldn’t be here. Gods, what were you thinking I don’t care if you are the Lord Cymrian. Please leave immediately.”

Ashe removed the mist cloak and hung it on the coatrack near the door, then took a large, glowing pearl from the top drawer of the dresser and set it on top. He went and sat in one of the wing chairs by the fire, where he had a better view of the dressing screen. He put his feet up, then looked at the crumpled clothes on the floor, and laughed aloud.

“Why, Rhapsody; I’m rubbing off on you! You’re becoming a slob.”

“Get out,” she ordered more forcefully. “What do you think you’re doing, coming here?”

“Introducing you to my wife,” he replied, his amusement mounting. “If you recall, I told you I would do so after the Cymrian Council.”

Rhapsody gasped aloud in panic. “What?! You brought her here? Gods, what’s the matter with you? The Council isn’t even over yet. I thought you meant some time after, like days, weeks—”

“Months, years—I know you did, and I didn’t trust that you would stay put long enough for me to make the introduction. You forget, I know you very well, Rhapsody.” His eyes sparkled in the firelight; he was relishing the joys of domestic conflict.

“How dare you,” she whispered, angry tears reappearing in her eyes. “You have no right to tell me what I will and will not do. This is my house, in case you’ve forgotten. Now get out.”

Gwydion leapt to his feet. “Wait; don’t say it,” he said seriously, knowing her next words: You’re not welcome here. The last thing he needed was to have her Naming lore make that true. “I’m sorry. Please, just come out and we’ll talk.”

Rhapsody was beginning to panic. “Where is she? I can’t even feel her presence in my house. Oh no. Oh no. Please, Ashe, please just leave now. We’ll talk tomorrow at the council; I promise. We have to deal with each other eventually, anyway. Now, please go, both of you.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you come out and talk to me. And there is no one else here; we’re alone. Now, come on. Face this as you do everything else, Rhapsody; it’s not like you to hide.”

Her anger deepened. “It is no concern of yours what I’m like, or what I do from now on, Ashe, in any arena but the political one.”

“Wrong. Come out. I’m not leaving.”

“And I’m not appropriately dressed.”

“I noticed; all the better. Come out. Please.”

She looked out at him from behind the screen. Her facial kaleidoscope shifted from anger, to shock, to fury, and Gwydion laughed uproariously at the comical permutations her beautiful countenance was undertaking. Rhapsody picked up a book from the shelf built into the wall by the fireplace, and hurled it at him, smacking him squarely on the head.

“What is it about your family?” she asked in amazed rage. “They name you Lord Cymrian, and instantly you turn into horses’ arses.”

“Hey!” Gwydion shouted in mock annoyance. “Is that any way to speak to your Lord and fellow sovereign?” The screech of wrath from behind the screen reminded him of a whistling teakettle, and he doubled over in merriment.

“Get out!”

“All right, all right, Rhapsody,” he said, bringing his mirth under control. “I’ll make a bargain with you: You come out and hear what I have to say; then, if you still want me to leave, I will do so immediately, without another word. I promise. Fair enough?”

“No. I’m not dressed.”

“You look fine. Now come out.”

“Gods, you’re a married man; have you no shame?”

“Not one bit. Now, come out right now or I’ll demand the return of that shirt immediately.” He moved closer, positioning himself between her and the closet.

For a moment no sound came from behind the screen. Then he heard a deep, sad sigh, and she finally came out, abject humiliation on her face.

Gwydion’s heart wrenched. “Oh, Rhapsody, I’m sorry,” he said, coming to her and taking her hand. He walked her to the chair he had occupied and handed her one of her quilts to cover up with. He sighed himself as the exquisite legs disappeared beneath the blanket.

She stared at the fire, saying nothing. Gwydion could see the toll the months of sorrow had taken on her spirit, and he cursed himself for playing with her feelings.

He sat on the floor at her feet, exactly as she had the first day she called him to this place. From his pocket he drew forth a small box and opened it, looking inside for a moment. Then he turned it toward her. “Do you remember this, Aria?” he asked her, his voice gentle. Rhapsody glanced at it, then her gaze returned immediately to the fire. “No.”

“Look at it more carefully,” he urged, trying to draw her attention back. “Is it familiar at all?”

She looked down into the box again. It held a tiny ring, composed of infinitesimal fragments of the Lirin diadem’s gemstones, with a small, perfect emerald in the center. She took the box to get a closer look, and at her touch the diamonds blazed with fire, sparkling to life the way the crown had. The emerald caught their light and shone like a star-sprinkled sea.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, handing it back to him. “But no, I don’t remember it.”

Gwydion sighed. “Oh. Well, put it on.”

Rhapsody’s brows drew together in a frown. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life. Please put it on.”

“Neither have I. No.”

I

He had not anticipated this. “Rhapsody, in order—”

She rose, clinging to the blanket. “All right, I’ve heard what you had to say. Now I want you to leave. Immediately, and without another word. That was what you promised.”

“Ar—”

“Ah, ah,” she interrupted, holding up her hand, “stop right there. You have just assumed the lordship of the united Cymrian peoples; it would not do to break your word within a day’s time. You promised; now go. I will speak with you in the morning, or at least some time during the Council, assuming we don’t have another riot on our hands.”

He stared at her in utter disbelief. His joking humor had been his defense against his overwhelming need to seize her and never let go again. For three interminable months he had roiled in agony, man and dragon, missing her magic, missing her love—just missing her. He had counted impatiently through every day, stalking the edges of the Teeth, hoping for a glimpse of her. Finally he had put as much distance as he could between them, comforting himself with the knowledge that this moment was coming.

And now that it was here, she was afraid of him, embarrassed in his presence. He had foolishly believed that it would be as simple as putting the ring back on her finger. He had tried to ease her back into it, taking it as slowly as he could stand, to avoid overwhelming her with so much conflicting information. And for his pains he had just banished himself from her company for at least another day, during which he expected she would find reasons to talk to him, but, for propriety’s sake, never alone.

Tears welled in his eyes, and rolled down his cheeks. He tried to maintain his composure, but he couldn’t. He turned from her and walked to the coat-rack, grabbed his mist cloak, and ran down the stairs. He cursed himself again for laughing at her tears a moment before; now she surely was unmoved by his own.

As Gwydion reached the threshold of the front door he heard her call from upstairs.

“Ashe?”

He turned and walked back to the bottom of the steps, looking up at her. Her eyes were wide with alarm, and her hair, mussed and glistening, tumbled around her shoulders. She was still clothed only in his shirt, looking like Man’s ultimate fantasy in distress.

She came down the stairs slowly, and when she stood a few steps above him her hand, hidden by the cuff of a sleeve much too long, moved to the collar of the shirt she wore, her graceful neck with its golden necklace widely exposed by the largeness of the garment. Her motions were hesitant, but her eyes were filled with sympathy.

“I release you from your promise,” she said. “What did you want to tell me?”

“I love you,” he said. The words came, unbidden, from the loneliest place in his heart, and though it was not what he would have said given but one chance, it was the most truthful answer to her question, and the only thing he could bring himself to say. The words resonated with longing, and depth, and all the pain that the oceans together would be stretched to contain. They spanned two worlds, two lifetimes, and their poignancy filled Rhapsody’s heart with sorrow and her eyes with tears again.

“You should go,” she said gently.

He barely saw her tears through his own. “Are you telling me you don’t love me anymore, Aria?”

She looked at the floor. “No,” she said to her feet. “I told you I always would. Always. That will never change. But it doesn’t matter.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Rhapsody; it’s the only thing that does matter. The only thing.” He sighed and felt the pain abate a little, and warmth begin to return to his soul. “Please; I know I have no right to ask this of you again, but will you trust me just once more? Will you just listen to what I need to say? Until the end this time?”

Rhapsody recognized the intensity in his eyes. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “But then will you please go?”

“Yes; if you still want me to, I will go. I promise.”

A unwilling smile came over her face. “You know, you should stop promising things you really don’t want to do.”

“More than you would ever believe,” he said. “Can we go back upstairs? I don’t think the stairwell is the best place for this conversation.”

Rhapsody blushed. “I suppose so,” she said, looking embarrassed again. “Can I at least put on a robe?” She looked down at her bare legs, and color flooded the rest of her body. She turned and started up the stairs.

“Why bother?” he asked, a hint of the old humor returning. “I may be leaving in a moment; it’s hardly worth the effort.”

Rhapsody returned to the chair, and drew the blanket back over herself. Gwydion sat on the floor again, and pulled the ring box out once more.

“Now, where were we? Oh yes, I had asked you to put this on. You see, Rhapsody, if you do, you will understand everything. It will save us hours of arguing. And though I admit I enjoyed the conflict, I could live without being brained by a book again. So please; humor me, your fellow reluctant monarch. I swear to you, my wife will not be compromised in any way by your doing so.”

Rhapsody smiled in spite of herself. “All right,” she said, and she took the ring from the box. In her hand the gems sparkled with a brilliance that reflected in his eyes; it made her think of other eyes and a night sky in another lifetime. She squeezed it for a moment, feeling the music that came forth from the ring; the whole of Elysian seemed to be tuned to it, humming softly as if preparing for the overture of an imminent symphony.

“Left hand,” Gwydion instructed gently. She looked askance at him. “Please. Just trust me.”

Rhapsody slipped the ring on her finger. For a moment she stared at it, waiting for a great revelation, but none came. Across the room, the glowing pearl began to hum. The sparkling of the diamonds and emerald in the ring intensified, and she had to look away. When she did, Gwydion raised up onto one knee and leaned over her, kissing her lovingly in the radiant glow of the ring.

The music she had heard grew louder, and each note was joined, one after another, by the next harmonic tone; it swelled, filling the room, then the house, then the island, then the grotto and finally the whole of the underground duchy that was Elysian with the most beautiful song she had ever heard. It built to a thundering crescendo, and diminished into the slightest of sounds, maintaining its harmony. Then, as a flag released from its tether in a high wind, it broke free and soared off, dancing in the air and throughout the lake, touching every corner of the cavern with gladness.

Her eyes returned to Gwydion, who was watching her intently, and as she looked into his face she saw it again in her mind’s eye, vague pictures of him from the lost night returning to be recalled, varying expressions gracing his countenance, all of them joyful. She was ill prepared for the onslaught of memories that caught her off-guard, blowing her backward. She reached for him; he caught her as she swayed in the chair, her eyes pleading for help before they rolled back and the world went dark in the roar of the flood.