Ashe knew her dilemma. “Oelendra, I know and admire your loyalty to Rhapsody, but you must know that the decisions she is making she is deciding in the dark, without some very important information. Instead of doing what she asked of you, please consider doing what she would want you to do if she had all the facts. Don’t you think it will hurt her more if she takes any action that will compromise what she decided on that night six months ago? What do you think will happen to her when she eventually finds out what we have promised each other, if she has married another in the meantime?”
Oelendra got the point. Ashe watched the conflict in her eyes, holding his breath. Finally he saw her decision register.
“Where do you think she would go to hide, to find comfort, where no one else might find her?”
Ashe understood. “She’s in Elysian.”
Oelendra smiled. “I wish you luck, m’lord.”
As she crossed the edge of the plain that led into the pass to the Cauldron, Rhapsody glanced through the flickering light of distant torches and saw a dark figure packing up a dark horse. The man looked up at her and smiled broadly. Even in her desire to escape from the Bowl unnoticed, she felt compelled to stop and walked over to him, looking around to be sure the Cymrians hadn’t followed. They hadn’t; the wine was flowing now, along with the stronger spirits of the distilleries of Ylorc and Canderre, and loud drunken singing could be heard echoing off the Bowl.
Anborn stopped his packing for a moment and looked at her intently. “They certainly know how to celebrate, don’t they?”
“I suppose it comes from all those years of needing a reason to,” Rhapsody said, her eyes glittering in the dark. “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?” He withered under her knowing glance. “Oh, Gwydion? I meant what I said; he is the most suited to lead them. The gods know he has far more patience for that sort of nonsense than I do. Besides, I could envision us all spending the rest of our lives in that damned Moot. The First Fleet would have felt compelled to argue at least a hundred years before they would agree to listen to anything I had to say, and frankly, I have better things to do.”
Rhapsody’s hand came to rest on his arm. “Why do I think it was more than that?”
Anborn sighed and threw his saddlebag over the horse’s back. “Because, despite your tendency to put yourself in extraordinarily stupid situations, you are actually an extremely wise woman, one wise enough not to ask any more than she really needs to know.” He looked directly into her eyes and smiled; she understood what he was saying.
“You’re not staying for the rest of the meeting?”
Anborn shook his head. “I’m not the head of my House, and besides, I think I’ve done enough here, don’t you?” They both laughed. Then Anborn took her hands as his face grew serious.
“I have to ask something of you, something that will be harder than anything I ever remember doing.” His eyes twinkled within the serious expression. “Knowing my history as you do, you know that’s saying a great deal about how difficult this will be.”
Rhapsody’s face grew solemn. “Ask anything of me; it’s yours, without question or hesitation.”
“Ah, ah, careful, my dear; I warned you a long time ago about making promises rashly, especially to someone who has wanted you from the moment he laid eyes on you. I could take you here quite easily; the ground is soft and relatively warm.” Blood rushed to her face, and Anborn laughed. “I’m sorry, Rhapsody, that was rude. This is what I have to tell you: I must ask you to release me from my promise to wed.”
Rhapsody’s face went blank for a moment, and the blood that had flushed her face spread throughout her body, leaving her weak and feeling a little sick. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “May I ask you why?”
The great warrior gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “For three reasons. First, the Cymrians have chosen you for their Lady, and the truth is I passed up the Lordship because it would be a bore. As you know, the thing I cherish most in this world is my freedom. I might have had that as your husband, but if I had to fulfill a role of my own, that freedom would disappear under a hill of responsibilities and duties. I couldn’t allow that, Rhapsody, not even for you.”
She nodded. “I understand,” she said, her eyes filled with respect for his honesty. “Will you tell me the other reasons?”
Anborn sighed and examined the ground. “Well, as much as I agreed to the terms and understandings we set forth, I have to admit I don’t think I’d much like being wed to someone who is in love with another man. You have done a good job of hiding it, my dear; I doubt anyone else knows. But I can tell; it’s in your eyes. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I think I would be very jealous.”
Rhapsody’s face went red again, but the expression she found in Anborn’s eyes was mild and understanding. The tension broke and they smiled at each other again.
“And the last?”
Anborn hesitated, then spoke. “I’m afraid I cannot live up to even the first condition you asked for. If I recall, the main reason you chose me is that I didn’t love you.” He looked away, and Rhapsody felt a tinge of pain rise in his throat.
She put her arms around him in a warm embrace. “That’s ironic,” she said softly. “I guess I can’t live up to the terms myself.”
Anborn laughed and returned her clasp. “Words a man could die happy upon hearing from you,” he said. He pulled back and looked down at her; the roughness of his features softened for a moment, and he knelt down before her. “You have my allegiance, Rhapsody—my sworn allegiance, whether as Lady Cymrian or the Lady of the Lirin, or just as a lady. My sword and life are yours for your protection and need.”
Rhapsody understood the significance of this pledge. “I am well and truly honored,” she said softly, as she helped him rise. “Thank you, Anborn.”
“And now, if you’ll allow me, I’d like to kiss my almost-wife goodbye and be on my way before I give in to my baser nature and change my mind.” Rhapsody smiled and came into his arms; they were strong and rough, as he was, and yet gentle as they wound around her waist.
His lips took hers warmly, gently at first, then with more insistence. She felt the heat from the fire inside her begin to rise and fill the spaces within herself that were reaching out, calling for him. The feeling shocked her, but she gave into it, sad in the knowledge that it would never come to pass. She could never be in love with him, or any man again, but she had grown accustomed to the prospect of living as his wife in comfortable friendship. She would miss him.
The kiss grew intimate, and she could feel Anborn’s heart begin to race. He pressed her closer, then abruptly pushed her away.
“Not a good idea,” he muttered to himself. “Will make for uncomfortable riding. Goodbye, m’lady. You know how to reach me on the wind if you should ever be in need of me.”
“Please remember that it works both ways,” she said, giving him one more heart-melting smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”
Anborn laughed. “You needn’t fear that, my dear. Goodbye, and enjoy your newly conferred royalty.” He mounted his great black charger; the horse snorted and danced in place as he turned to look at her once more.
“Oh, and by the way, Rhapsody, welcome to the family.” He gave her a rakish wink and galloped off toward the west, leaving her staring at him in bewilderment as he rode out of sight.
Across the plain a mile away, still trapped within the rim of the Bowl by the circulating crowd, Ashe felt her lips press against Anborn’s, and he let out a shriek of despair that caused the Cymrians standing near him to part hastily and make a path for him. He ran through it and blindly into the night, hurrying, as she now did, for Elysian.
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 bee
n.
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 associations, 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 re-create 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 yo
u,” 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.