Destiny

by Elizabeth Haydon

  Rhapsody wrapped her arms around her waist as if she was going to vomit. “You let me lie, Ashe. You let me believe a patent falsehood and spread it, from my lips, across the land. Do you understand what that means?”

  He did. He just nodded.

  “It means I am no longer a Namer; that I’ve violated my oath. I have lost my ability to be believed, my credibility.” Rage took over her, intensifying her trembling into furious shaking. “Can you understand that, besides losing my profession, I’ve just lost myself, too? That I am a different person now than I was, because of this?”

  “No, Rhapsody, not if you don’t let that happen. You had no idea; you told the truth as you knew it.”

  “So because it was an unconscious lie, that makes it all right?”

  Ashe couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Rhapsody turned away from him and clutched her forehead with her hands. She ran her fingers roughly through her hair, trying to calm down. Ashe stayed out of her way, but the words that had been choking him finally made their way out of his lips.

  “I’m sorry, Rhapsody. I love you.”

  She stopped trembling and turned back to him, as still as a statue. “You know, despite the incredible irony, I believe you mean that.”

  “I do mean that.” His voice had a harsh tone in it that rang of his second nature.

  “Well, stop it,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t even know me anymore, Ashe; even I don’t know me. Besides, what happened to being unencumbered? I thought the ancient Cymrian woman you had picked as Lady deserved total fidelity and devotion, unhindered by thoughts of anyone else. Doesn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  Something in his eyes, a deep pain, caught her attention, and she knew he was hiding something. “What, Ashe? What aren’t you telling me?”

  It was becoming more and more a struggle to breathe. “Please don’t ask me, Rhapsody.”

  Her eyes cleared, and her breath grew shallow and regular. “You’ve seen her, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.” He turned away.

  “Look at me,” she said. Ashe swallowed, and looked back at her again. “Did you propose to her?”

  “Yes.” There was nothing else he could say.

  Rhapsody nodded. “And did she accept?”

  “Rhapsody—”

  “Just tell me, Ashe,” she said, patiently but firmly. “I’ve had all the lies I can stand for one lifetime.”

  “Yes, she accepted.”

  She nodded again. Ashe’s dragon sense picked up the increase in her heartbeat, the flush of her face as she turned away herself this time, the increased moisture on her palms. Her voice did not betray her, however.

  “So, you’re engaged, then?”

  “No.”

  Rhapsody turned in surprise. “No? What do you mean?”

  Ashe tried to think of a way to avoid telling her, to prevent the hurt, but the look in her eyes stopped him cold. “It didn’t seem a good idea to her to just become engaged.”

  It took a moment for what he was saying to sink in. When it did, the dragon could feel it, though again her face did not betray her. “You’re married.”

  Ashe choked. “Yes,” he whispered. “Rhapsody—”

  She smiled at him; it was a brave smile. Behind her eyes Ashe could feel a small explosion, much like the puff of fine crystal shattering. “It’s all right, Ashe,” she said comfortingly. “I’m glad you told me. It’s not like we didn’t know this was coming.”

  He found his voice finally. “Rhapsody, there is much you don’t understand. After the demon is dead, I will tell you everything.”

  “That isn’t necessary, or advisable, Ashe,” she said kindly. “You don’t owe me anything now. You never did, really. But you do owe her something; you owe her your full focus and attention—please don’t waste it on me. I don’t need it, nor do I want it.”

  He stood up as straight as he could. “After this is over—”

  “After this is over, I intend to call the Cymrian Council. It probably is best if you begin serious preparations to take on the Lordship, Ashe. It will undoubtedly come to pass as a result of the Council. Your life will be different, and better.”

  “When the demon is dead, and the Council is over, I will introduce you to my wife, Rhapsody, and then you’ll understand.”

  “We’ll see,” she said noncommittally. “I’m sure I’ll meet her eventually. In the meantime, I am going back to Tyrian. I think it would be a good idea if I can help work with the different Lirin factions to bring them back together. You should stop in Tomingorllo on your way to the Council. The legend there says if the Lord Cymrian can restore life to the pieces of the Purity Diamond that now comprise the diadem of the Lirin, they will recognize him as their Lord, too, and be one people with the Cymrians. That is probably advisable if you want to quell the racial hatred and border disputes.”

  He nodded. “I will see you there, then.”

  “No, by then I will be in Ylorc. Once I sound the horn I have to remain within the lands of Canrif until the entire Council convenes. I won’t be there, Ashe; it won’t be awkward for you and the Lady.”

  Ashe sighed, and said nothing for a moment. “Is there anything I can do for you, Rhapsody?”

  A sad smile crossed her face. “Yes, you know, I think there is something you can do for me.”

  “Name it; anything.”

  She turned and looked at him thoughtfully; the expression in her eyes contained no hate or anger, but Ashe shivered under the chill of it anyway. It was a look of ultimate resignation.

  “You can go away,” she said simply. “I don’t want to see you right now; in fact, I don’t want to see you until the Council meets. I may never want to see you again after that. I wish you every good thing, Ashe, I sincerely do, and you have my very best wishes for a long and happy marriage, but please leave.”

  Ashe’s face fell farther than Rhapsody thought a man’s face could. “Aria, I—”

  “Stop,” she said, and her tone was firm. “You asked what you could do to help me, and I told you. I did not make the statement lightly. Just go.”

  “I can’t go when you are this angry, Rhapsody.”

  A smile crept over her face, but the look in her eyes didn’t change. “Why not? You are only making it worse. I am still your friend, and your ally, and if you are chosen Lord I will be your loyal subject. When you seek to unite the Cymrians I will help you in any way I can. But right now the sight of you is only serving to remind me of all the lies, and all the manipulation, that led the Cymrians to their terrible war in the first place.

  “Perhaps it is your nature as a people, though I cannot fathom why. The stories of the Seren king I knew always celebrated his great love of the truth and his respect for unity. Maybe the demon has made it impossible for anyone to be honest, but somehow I think the only one that excuses is you. All I know is that I finally understand why Oelendra left the Cymrian Court in disgust and went to live forever with the Lirin; you are unable as a populace to tell the truth, especially to yourselves.” She stopped when the stricken look on his face became more than she could stand.

  “I’m very sorry, Ashe,” she said, and there was sympathy in her voice. “I’m sorry that you seem destined to live in constant self-deception, in addition to the deception in which others make you live.

  “Achmed was right. Believing there was a hopeful answer to this mess was my own self-deception. I guess I really am a Cymrian, gods help me. But I wish to be away from this. You knew that I could not be a Namer if I didn’t live a truthful life; even now that it is no longer my profession, I wish to live what’s left of it truthfully, anyway. I have done all I can to help you and your father. Now all I desire is peace. Please don’t come back.”

  Ashe choked back the tears and bile that rose within him. “Rhapsody, I hope you know that, whatever I’ve done, I never intended to hurt you.” He stopped at the expression on her face, a face that had borne the signs
of inestimable pain and sorrow when he first arrived, only to have the appearance deepen into abject disgust and loathing. She hates me, he thought, and for a moment worried about the possibility that the dragon might become enraged, but even that element of his soul couldn’t deny her right to feel that way.

  “What do you want me to say, Ashe? That’s it’s all right? You have hurt me. I’ll live. It was one of the first things Achmed ever taught me: tuck your chin, you’re going to get hurt, so expect it and be ready.

  “It’s my fault, really; I keep forgetting that the outcome is inevitable, and I let my guard down over and over. I think you would lose all respect for me if I were to tell you that it’s all right again. I know I would certainly lose respect for myself. I don’t want to spend one more second of my life listening to you apologize for having to lie to me, or knocking me into a wall, or frightening me. Let it rest, Ashe, please. Go back to your wife and let me heal. I’ll be over it sooner or later. Please, just leave now.”

  “Rhapsody—”

  “Go,” she said softly. She went to the stairs and began to ascend them. “Goodbye, Ashe. May your life be long and happy. Please close the door behind you.” She went upstairs, turning toward the turreted study.

  Ashe watched her go. He could sense her moving to the window, sitting on the window seat within the turret, waiting to see him board the boat and leave Elysian forever.

  He went to the fireplace and opened the door next to it, where the wood was stored. Quickly he built and lit a fire for her, unwilling to leave her alone in the cold house, chilled more by the happenings in their lives than by the freezing winter temperatures. Then he picked up Crynella’s candle from the floor, the token of remembrance she had thought to bring back for him; even in her devastation she was thinking of him.

  His throat tightened as he watched the fire begin to take. She had not even understood the significance of what she had done. Despite Khaddyr’s assumption that the power of the office was in Llauron’s oaken staff, it actually resided within the trinket he had kept on his belt, the ancient mixing of fire and water. The office of Invoker belonged to Ashe now.

  When the flames had caught he took his leave, walking to the boat without looking back. When he was finally away from shore he turned to see her, watching him from the curved window. He put his hand up in the air, holding the watercandle aloft; she waved to him as the darkness of the cavern swallowed him up. Then he began to breathe shallowly, concentrating on containing his anger, until he had reached the other side of the underground lake.

  Later that night, the skies above the Sorboldian plain flashed with bloody light, like the calm before a tornado. Thunder rolled across the firmament of the heavens, and the Bolg that were watching from the outskirts of the Teeth hastily took shelter as fire began to rain down from the sky, scorching the land and turning the air to arid dust.

  In a distant forest, within the silent bedchamber of his new abode, Khaddyr the Invoker woke from a dream of comforting darkness in a cold sweat. He could feel the desolation of the land beneath the dragon’s breath; the Tree sensed every crackling flame as it plunged earthward, burning everything around it. And in his heart Khaddyr knew the dragon was coming for him.

  53

  Gwylliam’s Vault, Ylorc

  When Rhapsody came into the ancient library Grunthor was certain for a moment that she was a ghost.

  He resisted the impulse to sweep her into a wild, silly embrace, and instead let out a slow breath, pushed away the platter of ham he had been idly consuming, stood up from the table, and came gently over to her, stopping an arm’s length away.

  “Well, Duchess, welcome ’ome. Was starting ta think you might ’ave forgotten the way back.”

  She shook her head. Her face was thinner than it had been when she left so many months before, and there were deep circles under her eyes, but by far the most dramatic change was in the eyes themselves. They were clear, as they always had been, but with something guarded behind them. In her hand she carried a cowl of undyed wool like those the Filidic priests wore, discolored with a brown-red stain.

  “I have blood from someone who might be the demon’s host, though more likely he is merely a thrall,” she said directly. “I’m sorry it has taken me so long to bring it to you.”

  Achmed rose from the table next to the listening and speaking apparatus whose pipes wound throughout the mountains through which he had been announcing a round of new conscriptions. At her words his skin began to hum as it had when she first gave him the hematite vial; his heart began to pound. The deep and abiding racial anger within his blood began to burn with murderous fury, but he wasn’t sure whether it was his taste for the F’dor or his disbelief at how worn and tired she looked, partly on his account, when but a few days before she had seemed so healthy and content. Silently he cursed himself for leaving her to go to Bethany alone.

  “What happened at the wedding?” he demanded.

  “Tristan and Madeleine were married.”

  “Don’t be annoying. What did you learn?”

  Rhapsody handed him the cowl and turned to leave. “Nothing about the Bolg, or any plans to invade. Sorry to have failed in that mission. But it’s good to be home anyway. By the way, the dead bodies strung from the high crag of Grivven were charming decorations. Did you really have to position them so that they appeared as if they were buggering each other?”

  The Sergeant and the king exchanged a glance. While Achmed was away Grunthor had caught the two Bolg soldiers pilfering the cull pile of weapons; they had been captured on their way to Sorbold.

  “Yes, actually,” Grunthor said. “Coulda been an ’ole lot worse. Will be, if Oi catch any more of ’em. Get a real party goin’ up there on the crag.”

  “Wonderful. Well, then, if we’re finished, I’m going back to Elysian. Come and get me when it’s time to go after the demon.” She started for the door.

  “Wait a moment, there, missy,” Grunthor said severely. “Where do ya think you’re goin’? You’ve been gone all winter—and now you’re off again without so much as an ’owdedoo? Oi don’t think so.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not particularly good mealtime company at this moment, Grunthor,” she answered, her eyes on the floor. “I don’t want to dampen the atmosphere and ruin your supper.”

  “One more step, and you’re going ta be my supper,” Grunthor said. “And quite frankly, you’ve never been particularly good mealtime company, always insistin’ on prissy Lirin manners like not throwin’ bones on the floor and eatin’ with utensils. ’Ave a seat, miss. Oi want ta sit across the table and look at you, and decide whether or not Oi’m ’avin’ dessert.” He opened his arms.

  Rhapsody turned back and came into the enormous embrace. She stayed there a long time, listening to the thudding rhythm of Grunthor’s heart, a cadence she knew well from all the time she had spent sleeping on his chest in their endless journeys. The words of the saying that Gwylliam had once given to Merithyn the Explorer, and all the refugees of Serendair, to greet people they met in the new world, filled her ears suddenly.

  Cyme we inne fri, fram the grip of deaþ to lif inne is smylte land.

  Come we in peace, from the grip of death, to life in this fair land.

  She shook her head at the strange timing of the thought. Like those who had left the Island, she, Grunthor, and Achmed had escaped the grip of death. Whether or not this new land held life for them, or something worse than what they had left behind, she still did not know.

  Finally the Sergeant released her, and she sat down in a chair on the other side of the table from him and Achmed, pulling the platter with the ham in front of her. She shuddered momentarily; the place at the table where she sat was the place in which they had once found Gwylliam’s mummified body, its empty eye sockets staring at the high ceiling overhead. She shook the thought away and turned her attention to the ham.

  Achmed held up the scrap of fabric she had brought. “Whose is this?”

  “Khaddyr
’s.”

  The Bolg king snorted. “I doubt it’s him. He’s too much of a pantywaist. But one never knows.”

  “No, one never does. Would you care to explain what has happened to Ylorc since I’ve been away?” she inquired, pulling a knife from her boot and sawing a slice off the shank of meat. “Outside it’s desolate; I thought for a moment I had arrived at the wrong mountain range when I came to the abandoned outpost at Grivven. I was starting to worry until I got past the barricades and found myself in an active muster. There must be one hundred times as many guards marching through the corridors as there were when I left; I got stopped five times. Where did all those soldiers come from? What happened to the schools, the farming programs?”

  “We’ve gone back to being monsters.”

  “Why?”

  Achmed leaned back and stared up at the sprawling fresco of the dragon on the ceiling overhead.

  “Monsters are more likely to survive the attack that is in the offing.”

  Rhapsody stopped chewing. “From where?”

  The Bolg king shrugged. “I don’t know. But you’ve foreseen it yourself.” He shuffled through a pile of parchment papers and picked up an oilcloth scrap, which he tossed at her. “I received this from Llauron by avian messenger while you were gone.”

  Rhapsody put down her knife and took the scrap, holding it up to the fire. Her brow furrowed as she read the tiny script. Finally she tossed the oilcloth back at Achmed.

  “He was such a liar. I never said anything like that to him.”

  The Bolg exchanged a look. “Was?” Achmed asked.

  Rhapsody sat back in her chair and exhaled. “You haven’t gotten any news about Llauron from the mail caravan?”

  “No. What happened?”

  “It appears there was a challenge from Khaddyr under the succession laws of Buda Kai, an ancient fight to the death from which the victor emerges the Invoker. Llauron lost.”

  “Interestingly phrased,” Achmed noted. “I noticed you didn’t use the words ‘he’s dead.’ What are you really saying?”