“The pledge of fortune,” said the benison.
The chests opened again, and two great necklaces of state were lifted out, heavy with jewels. The gems in the state necklace of Bethany were rubies and diamonds, while the royal necklace of Canderre was set in emeralds as green as the province’s fields.
The benison took the necklace of Canderre and placed it carefully around the neck of Tristan Steward, who bowed. He then placed the necklace of Bethany around Madeleine’s neck and she bowed as well.
“Well, there you have it. With a simple exchange of jewelry and maps the destinies of two lands are decided,” Rial said quietly. “The people of the province, through the various nobles who own their lands, swear fealty not to a person, but to a necklace, a chain of jewels that passes from generation to generation without regard to the wisdom of the person wearing it. Tristan has just received the pledge not only of his wife, but of all the people of her land, just because she has given him a necklace. It seems odd to me.”
Llauron nodded. “In the days of their ancestors, the Lord and Lady were always confirmed by the people themselves through the Great Moot in which they met. The land on which the Moot was built was magical; it had the power to count the affirmations of the people, and confirm or deny a claim to the throne. But, like almost everything else about those days, the meaning has been lost. Much like the Patrician religion itself, where the individual prays to intermediaries, who pray to highter intermediaries, who pray to benisons, who pray to the Patriarch, who alone has the right to pray to their God.”
Rhapsody said nothing. Raised as a peasant in a human farming village, she had never seen the political process of a land at work, so none of the rituals of the passing of power surprised her; it had always been outside of her understanding. She remembered her mother, as a Lirin among humans, having the same befuddlement as Rial now expressed.
“The pledge of family,” said the benison.
A murmur rippled of excitement through the crowd. At each edge of the carpeted aisle a soldier appeared; they were dressed in the uniforms of Canderre and Bethany. The two men drew their swords simultaneously and came down the aisle, where they saluted the couple.
“What’s happening?” Rhapsody whispered to Rial. The Lord Protector inclined his head in the direction of the altar.
“The sealing of the blood,” he said.
The little pages reached into their wooden chests again, and drew forth sheets of white cloth the size of large handkerchiefs.
“I don’t think I want to watch this,” Rhapsody said.
“As you can see, the crowd considers this the best part,” Llauron said as the couple bared the backs of their wrists. “It is considered highly fashionable for the bride to faint.”
Rial’s face bore a look of concern. “If this is truly upsetting to you I can escort you out,” he said.
Rhapsody grimaced as the wedding couple drew the backs of their wrists across the blades of the soldiers’ weapons as the men held them stationary, then joined them. “I am certainly not disturbed by the sight of blood—but at a wedding?” She watched in bewilderment as Madeleine calmly wiped the back of her hand off on the linen handkerchief held by her page, and then sank dramatically to the floor.
“ ’Tis a symbol of the joining of the royal bloodlines, of the pledge to favor the future by producing children,” said Rial. “I witnessed the wedding of Lord Stephen in Navarne fifteen years ago, and he and his wife chose to kiss at this part instead, as do most couples of the Patrician faith, I would wager. Perhaps the Lord Roland wishes to ensure that he has a large brood.”
“Madeleine and Tristan’s children, hmmm, now there’s a cheerful thought,” Llauron murmured as the Lord Roland lifted his bride from the floor of the basilica. Rial chuckled.
Rhapsody shook her head. “You two are worse than a pair of fishwives. Honestly.”
“By the Fire, it is done,” declared the benison. The newly married couple were handed a brass pole that held a long wick. Together they dipped it in the fire of the altar, then kindled a bowl of oil at the end of a channel that ran to the roof of the basilica. A flash of flame ignited, then quickly spread along the channel and up to the circular ceiling of the temple, erupting into an enormous brazier, blazing in fire taller than a man’s height. As the crowd roared, the royal couple waved, joining hands beneath the burning image of the sun.
“There will now be a good deal of merriment, dampened by long and ponderous speeches,” Llauron said, turning toward the palace, where the colors of both Bethany and Canderre were flying in the stiff winter breeze. He turned to Rhapsody and smiled warmly.
“I hope, my dear, that you will favor your old mentor with a dance or two.”
It was hard to resist the warmth of his voice, their past history notwithstanding. “Of course.” She leaned forward and spoke into his ear. “After I eviscerate you for leaving me to die of exposure.”
The Invoker laughed, ignoring the subtext of truth in her statement. “Not I, my dear—Khaddyr. Please don’t blame him; his patrol met with misfortune on the way to help you.”
Rhapsody’s look of suspicion tempered to one of concern. “Oh no—was he killed?”
Llauron’s eyes glittered, but his expression did not change. “No, no, thankfully he survived. Now, though I know you are in a hurry to return to Ylorc, I have a boon to ask of you.”
“Yes?”
“Would you accompany me on a short journey on the morrow? I thought since we were here in Bethany, near the end of the Cymrian Trail, that you might like to see some of the historic landmarks that commemorate the founding of this land after the refugees from Serendair landed here. I believe I told you about them when first you came to study with me. They have fallen, sadly, into disrepair, and it is my responsibility to see that they are maintained. Would you grant me this favor, my dear? It would only require a few days’ delay of your return, and would mean a great deal to me. At my age, it is not wise to travel alone. Please?”
Rhapsody turned as a Bethanian page appeared in the Ring to shepherd the guests from the basilica to the palace where the wedding feast would take place.
“I have been gone a very long time,” she said uncertainly. “I promised Achmed I would return as soon as possible.”
“We can send him a missive by avian messenger from the palace. If you are reluctant, however, I will certainly understand. I am old enough, certainly, to look after myself.”
Rhapsody studied his face. There was none of the glint that she had seen before in the gray-blue eyes that signaled his hidden annoyance, just a mild, fond expression.
“All right,” she said, pulling the hood of the velvet cloak up in preparation for the exodus from the basilica to the palace hall. “I can certainly spare a few days to keep you company. Perhaps on the journey you can tell me what happened to the reinforcements that were supposed to meet me in the southern forest.”
“Indeed,” Llauron agreed, taking hold of her elbow as they followed the crowd of guests. “I will be certain to tell you the whole story.”
48
Ashe struggled to breathe steadily, his wounds stinging his skin and lungs. It was not too much farther to the room in the abandoned cistern, and he prayed Rhapsody would remember this place as a meeting spot. He had sought her at the wedding hall and at the basilica in Bethany, but she was not there. Perhaps she had forgotten their arrangement to meet clandestinely at the wedding; it would be more than he could stand if she had.
The demon’s minions had been townspeople, blacksmiths and carters, not soldiers, an especially difficult group to fight, as he did not want to kill innocent civilians. Despite this, they had fought fiercely at the bridge over the Phon, as intent on crossing as he had been on holding it. He had prevailed, but at great cost.
He opened the door wearily and smiled. She was there, nestled in the old chair with the threadbare arms, still in her wedding finery. Her dress was the color of smoky amethysts, and it was bunched around her as sh
e slept, her golden hair swept up in a swirl atop her head, just beginning to come down.
One of her slippers had fallen off and lay on the floor below her tiny bare foot. At her throat was a jeweled choker; a large amethyst, the same color as her dress, surrounded by tiny pearls, was held in place by three strings of the same milky-white jewels. In her lap rested a pair of earrings and two crumpled gloves.
He stood and stared at her for a moment, drinking in the sight of her, and was overwhelmed with longing and emptiness as he had not been since before she had come into his life.
And then the pain was gone as the realization finally caught up with him that she was really here, waiting for him. He hurried to her and lifted her carefully out of the chair, holding her tightly to his chest as his lips brushed her hair and face. He breathed in her scent, reveling in her sweetness, her softness, as she stirred in his arms and awoke, smiling.
“I missed you,” she said, her eyes beaming at him in the way that always touched his soul. “Did you get waylaid?”
He carried her to the bed and set her down. She could see that it cost him some effort where normally it did not.
“Ashe?” she said, concern sweeping over her face. “What’s the matter—are you hurt?”
“It’s nothing,” he said, sitting down beside her and taking her back into his arms. But her eyes darkened with worry and she ran her hands over his chest, looking for signs of injury. She gently pulled his shirt open and gasped in horror at the slash-wounds and bruises, now beginning to heal.
“What happened?” she asked in alarm, removing his shirt completely and pulling out of his embrace to examine him more closely.
“Rhapsody, please, don’t pull away,” he said, trying not to grimace. “I need to hold you—I’m all right. Just hold me in return—please.”
Carefully she wrapped her arms around him, trying not to touch the wounded places. “I hope you’re not going to make a habit of this,” she said, a humorous note in her voice. “I really do have better things to do than to be constantly fixing your sore chest.”
His answer was a long, deep sigh, and he rested his head on her shoulder, overwhelmingly glad to be back in her arms. She stroked his hair and began to hum a wordless tune that chased his headache away and made the throbbing irritation of his wounds recede. Her hands gently rubbed the muscles at the base of his neck and the top of his shoulders, bringing comfort and ease to his body and soul.
How much time passed he was not sure, but when he woke he was lying on the bed with his head in her lap and she was still singing softly to him, in words he understood only intermittently. He made a half-turn onto his back and looked up at her, smiling down at him, inverted above him, and noted that she was every bit as beautiful upside down as she was straight on. Her hair was now straining against its bonds and threatening to fall about her shoulders at any moment.
Never one to take a threat lightly, Ashe reached up and carefully pulled the jeweled clip from the back of her head, smiling as the long waves of golden silk tumbled from above her neck and down her front to below her waist. He blinked in astonishment; the move to unbind her hair had been both pain-free and effortless, as though his injuries had never happened. In addition, the exquisite locks he was so fond of and had been so intimately acquainted with were vastly longer than they had been only a few months before, when last he had seen her. Had she been standing, they would have brushed the back of her knees.
“What’s this?” he asked, holding a long strand in his hand, puzzled.
“I believe in your language it is generally called ‘hair,’” Rhapsody replied, mischief in her eyes. “Do you need any additional information, like where you are, what year this is; your true name perhaps? I can answer the first two questions, but I don’t have enough time to get into the third; it’s longer by itself than most twelve-verse folktales.”
Ashe sat up and faced her, his dragon senses wandering over her. He could feel the remnant of pain in her torso, like a series of wounds that were almost healed. He took hold of her bodice in a panic and pulled it down, shock crossing his face as he saw his own injuries mirrored on her body, faded to a pale pink as though they were just about to disappear.
“Gods, Rhapsody! What have you done?” he demanded, his voice choked with panic. Rhapsody glared at him and pushed his hands away, pulling the stiff taffeta back over her camisole.
“Excuse me,” she said, annoyance in her tone. “You could at least send flowers first. What kind of girl do you think I am?”
“A reckless one, at least,” he answered, touching the rim of the wound that peeked over her low neckline. “How did you do this?”
“It’s a new little trick I learned a while back,” she replied, slapping his fingers away again. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
“A new little trick? Empathetic healing?”
“Useful, isn’t it?”
“You’re insane,” he said, calming a little as he determined she was not seriously compromised by the technique. “You had no idea how those wounds were inflicted, or how serious they were.”
“No,” she admitted, rising from the bed and brushing out her skirt, her hair cascading down behind her. “But it didn’t matter. Do you feel better?”
Ashe stood and followed her, taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face him. He looked down at his wife, a wife who thought of him only as a past lover, and a wave of tenderness crested inside him. She was putting him first, as she always did, unselfishly and at her own expense. He bent to kiss her but she backed away and turned from him again, crossing to his chair and picking up her scattered belongings.
“I do now,” he said encouragingly, hoping to bring her back. “Gods, Rhapsody, the memory of you is marvelous, but it doesn’t do justice to the reality. What happened to your hair?”
“It grew,” she said simply, folding the gloves and putting the earrings on his bureau. “I’ll tell you about it later. How did you get hurt?”
“I ran into a group of Bethanian villagers, demonic thralls, on their way to the wedding, planning to ambush some of the guests, and thought it might be a good idea if they had a last-minute change of plans,” he answered, unconsciously rubbing his shoulder. “By sheer coincidence, the Phon River spilled over its banks, sinking them up to their waists in mud. I wish I had thought to use the power of Kirsdarke before they beat the stuffing out of me. I assume if their command was to disrupt the wedding that they will be released from the thrall of the F’dor now that it is over. By the way, how was the wedding?”
She was putting on her shoes, and his question made her excited; she swayed in the heels and almost toppled over, like a baby learning to walk.
“Oh, it was beautiful,” she said, her face glowing. “So many candles and such lovely music; and they looked so handsome, the bridal party. And the ballroom was filled with the most exquisite clothing I’ve ever seen in one place before. It was very different from any wedding I’ve been to. I’m sad that you weren’t there; I think you would have enjoyed it.”
“I’m certain I would have,” he said, watching the memory dance through her eyes and make them sparkle like sunlight on water.
“The wedding gown must have weighed an earthsweight; it had a train that was a league long, long enough to still be following her down the aisle of the basilica when she was already at the Altar of Fire. I have to admit, I would never want anything like that. I’ll bet her back hurts tomorrow.” She chuckled wickedly at her naughty subtext. “Anyway, I’m sorry you missed it. She really was the most beautiful bride you ever would have seen.”
Ashe smiled with her, feeling her joy innately. “No, I don’t think so,” he said tenderly, recalling her in another moment of which she had no memory.
She went to the closet and pulled out a covered wicker basket. “Are you hungry? I thought you might like some supper.”
Ashe considered her question. “Yes,” he said, “I suppose I am.”
“Well, by all means, help yours
elf,” she said, pulling the cover off the basket and offering it to him. “There’s some cold ham and fruit, and a bottle of Achmed’s best vintage—no nasty comments, please; it’s actually not bad.”
“I would never be so ungrateful as to insult anything you brought me,” he answered, taking the basket from her and setting it on the small table in the corner. “How about you? What would you like?”
“Just wine and a little bread, please,” Rhapsody answered, settling in his worn chair again. “I ate an embarrassing amount at the wedding.”
“Now, that is something I would like to have seen.” He set about arranging their meal, handing her a glass of wine with a proper military bow. “How are you feeling? Are the wounds gone yet?”
Rhapsody peeked inside her bodice. “All gone.”
“Prove it,” Ashe said playfully.
She smiled at him but did not comply; instead, she took a deep draught of wine. He returned his attention to the basket, knowing the distance she was keeping was due to her belief that they had put an end to their relationship as lovers, and he silently cursed his father and grandmother once more for it.
“So, what made your hair grow so fast?” he asked, sitting on the bed with his plate of food.
Rhapsody took another sip, then lowered the goblet. “It didn’t grow fast, actually,” she said, her eyes darkening. “I’ll tell you about it, but it has to do with another matter I need to discuss with you. I don’t know if that will be a conversation that you will like, so if you want to have a few more moments’ peace, perhaps we should wait to talk about it. After we’re done, I have to be going. I am going for a walk with your father in the morning.”
Ashe’s stomach turned. “Tomorrow? You’re going with him tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Llauron and I met up at the wedding. We’re taking a walk along the Cymrian Trail, the places that the First Fleet Cymrians stopped after they first landed. It should be interesting.”
Destiny Page 43