“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.”
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 coatrack, 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 re
velation, 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.
80
“You know, I would never take you for the fainting type, but you certainly do a lot of it lately.”
Gwydion’s voice broke through the fog that surrounded her jumbled thoughts, clear in its tone. The other voices she was hearing were occluded by memory, fighting for dominance in her understanding. Rhapsody struggled for consciousness, but succeeded only in determining she was lying down on her bed, because her cheek brushed the stiff lace that trimmed the flannel pillowcase. She lost her battle to hang on to the Present, and succumbed to the contradictory, confusing voices and images from the Past.
She could hear the words of their wedding vows, beautiful in the way that only a Singer of her power and a dragon who had loved someone through two lifetimes could speak them. She had committed the song the vows created to the grotto, so that Elysian itself would bear witness to the love promised there. The song rang there still, now that the memory was returned, lighting the cavern with gladness.
Then the image shifted, and she saw other faces, heard other voices. I’m not seeing your son anymore, Llauron. I’ve done as you asked; we’ve parted company.
What a shame, and after I specifically gave him my blessing. A shame; I am sorry, my dear.
Rhapsody pitched from side to side in her coma-like state. They are all liars, Achmed had insisted. At least in the old world you knew who the bad guys were because they professed what they stood for. Here the allegedly good ones are calculating users; the ancient evils could never wreak the level of havoc that the Lord and Lady Cymrian did. And you want to hand yourself over to the potentially biggest liar of all on a silver platter.
Well, if I do, it is my choice to do so. I will take the risk, and live or die by my own volition.
Wrong. We may all suffer that fate, because you aren’t just compromising yourself, you are throwing all of our neutrality into the pot, and if you overbet your hand, we all lose.
She could feel hot tears on her neck, and arms holding her tightly, but gently. It’s all right, Sam. You won’t hurt me. Really. It will be all right.
Emily, I would never, never hurt you on purpose; I hope you know that.
Rhapsody? Rhapsody, please say something. Please.
Is your temper tantrum over?
I’m sorry; gods, I’m so sorry—
The hair that had fallen into her eyes was brushed back gently. Oi say we kill ’im. And if we’re wrong, an’ another one shows up, we kill ’im too.
You can’t go around killing people if you’re not sure whether you’re right.
And why not? Always worked for us before. Seriously, miss, this is too big to take chances with, if you’re not sure.
The shooting lighttone had touched the newly blooming flowers of her garden, absorbing their colors and spinning them skyward, exploding into shimmering fireworks as it impacted with the dome of the firmament. Ashe’s face smiled down at her in her memory.
Are you sure?
I’m sure.
Hazily she slapped away the hand that caressed her forehead. You seem to have appointed yourself the guardian of my heart, Rhapsody. Why don’t you make me the protector of yours? I promise I will keep it safe.
It was a hoax; Llauron is not dead; you were used. I’m sorry, I wish I could tell you in a more gentle way.
Please be what you seem. Please, please don’t hurt me.
I am. And I never will.
Please understand I would rather die at this moment than tell you what I am about to.
Why?
Because I know what I am going to tell you will hurt you.
He had picked her up from the spot where he had married her and carried her carefully over the threshold and up the stairs to their nuptial bed. He trembled as he leaned over to kiss her, and when he looked down into her eyes she saw the same boy she had fallen in love with a world before, on a moonlit summer night under the lacy shadows of a willow tree.
She could hear her father’s voice: When you find the one thing in your life you believe in above anything else, you owe it to yourself to stand by it—it will never come again, child. And if you believe in it unwaveringly, the world has no other choice but to see it as you do, eventually. For who knows it better than you? Don’t be afraid to take a difficult stand, darling. Find the one thing that matters—everything else will resolve itself.
Rhapsody opened her eyes. Gwydion was looking down into her face, worry on his own. When he saw her awake he grinned in relief; then his grin dimmed to one tempered with concern, and more than a touch of fear.
“Welcome back. Are you all right?”
She closed her eyes and put the heel of the hand to her forehead, endeavoring to drive the pounding headache out of her skull. “I don’t know; what happens now?”
“I guess that depends on how you’re feeling,” Gwydion said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “If you’d like my vote, I say we find a goat hut and go live happily ever after.” A look of undiluted love washed over his face for a moment, then was tempered by her uncertainty. “I love you, Aria; gods, I’ve been dying to tell you this for so long. But I don’t want to overwhelm you; I know you’ve had enough of that state to last a lifetime. So I’ll follow your lead. Tell me what you need to know, or what you’re feeling. Please, tell me what’s in your heart.”
Rhapsody looked into his face and studied his eyes. They were free from deception, or so she thought, with hope brimming beneath the surface; he seemed to be holding his breath, waiting for her answer. In her mind she tied up all her feelings of betrayal and resentment into a large mound and set them aside for a moment to be better able to discern how she really felt. That she still loved him she knew, had known all along; it seemed apparent that he still loved her, too. But there was something she had to learn before she could decide anything else. She sat up with great difficulty and a little help from Gwydion.
“I need to know something, but I am afraid to hear the answer, more than I have ever been afraid of anything in my life,” she said. She tried to give voice to the question, but after many moments of opening her mouth and then closing it again, she began to cry. “I can’t even bring myself to ask you,” she wept.
Gwydion took her in his arms and cradled her. “Let me see if I can both ask and answer it for you, so you don’t have to. Are we really married? Yes.”
Rhapsody’s tears ceased, but her face grew paler as she pulled away from him. “That’s not it,” she said.
“Very well, then, am I really your Sam, and are you really my darling Emily? Yes.”
“Ashe—”
“Not that one, either? All right. Do I still love you? Impossible to express how much, but yes.”
“Please—”
&
nbsp; “Am I, or have I ever been, married to or in love with anyone else? No.”
“Will you shut up?” Rhapsody snarled. Gwydion was taken aback, and dropped his hands from her arms. The pain on his face twisted Rhapsody’s heart, and tears sprang to her eyes again. “I’m sorry, Sam,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to say that. Please, just let me think a minute.”
Gwydion nodded numbly. She knew how long he had waited to set things right, how much he wanted their life back, but until she could answer one last question that was not possible. She closed her eyes and thought back to the words she had struggled so hard to drive from her mind.
Don’t be jealous, Rhapsody; the Rakshas liked, it so much better with you than with your sister. What, you didn’t know? Well, I’m not surprised. They did look identical, your two lovers. How fortunate for me that you fell in love with the son of Llauron; it made it so much easier for the Rakshas to have you. You don’t think it was always Gwydion who took you, did you? Once your sister told my creation about the two of you, it was easy. It is, after all, very dark in the Teeth at night, isn’t it, my dear?
Rhapsody grew pale and began to tremble, and the fear in her eyes went straight to Gwydion’s heart. “Just ask, Emily; whatever it is, I swear to you, I will tell you the truth.”
“I know you will,” she said, trying to remain calm. “All right. Do you remember the night in the Cauldron when I told you about Jo and the Rakshas?”
Gwydion shuddered. “How could I forget? Yes, unfortunately.”
“Tell me what happened after you left the Cauldron.”
He looked confused. “After I left? How would I know?”
Desperation came into Rhapsody’s eyes. “I don’t mean in the Cauldron, what happened to you?”
“I went off, at our mutual instigation, and left for the coast. Is this about my not being there for you when you were hurt, Aria?”
“No,” she said, beginning to shake. “Please, stay focused. Exactly what happened that night. You’re a dragon; I want a reasonable level of detail.”