“I walked across the barricades and out into the Teeth, and made my way up the crag face to the steppes. I got past the rock ridge and was on my way down the slope when I heard you calling me; I thought it was the wind.”
“And what did you do?”
“I came back and found you in the sheltered arch, wearing next to nothing—we have to talk about this little proclivity of yours, by the way. I love the idea of you naked or next to it, but not outside in winter.”
Rhapsody almost assaulted him. “Keep going!”
Ashe shrugged. “You had come crawling out in the dark to make me swear I would not track the Rakshas, and, against my better judgment, I agreed. And then we made love; it was not the way I wished it could have been, sort of helpless and desperate, and I feared through it all I was hurting you, but I couldn’t stop myself; we were both in so much pain that I—” His voice came to a grinding halt as relief broke over her face and she began to weep aloud with joy. “What? Now I’m really confused.”
Rhapsody continued to sob, but now her weeping was mixed with glorious laughter. As if shattered, the pain that had gripped her abdomen unclenched, and she threw her arms around Gwydion, startling and delighting him at the same time.
“All right,” he said as he pulled her closer. “I don’t understand this, but I can get used to it.”
Rhapsody dried her eyes on the sleeves of his shirt. “No, don’t do that,” she said, wiping the tears away and breaking into a smile. “I don’t ever want to be this relieved again as long as I live, because I never want to be that frightened again.”
Gwydion caressed her cheek. “Can you tell me about it?”
Rhapsody nodded as she reached into the pocket of his cloak for his handkerchief. Gwydion smiled and sighed in relief himself at the gesture; the old Rhapsody was coming back. After she blew her nose she told him the details of the intervening time, and what had happened with the demon. He blanched when he learned the extent of the pain she had been carrying around; he knew even his own agony at the loss of the piece of his soul could barely match the fear she must have felt. He pulled her into his arms again.
“Gods, Aria, why didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you let me see you? I would have told you that it was me that night in the Teeth, and you wouldn’t have had to suffer like this.”
“Well, obviously because your answer could have been different,” Rhapsody answered calmly. “And if what the demon said had turned out to be true, I would have broken down; I never would have been able to get through this blasted Council.”
“You carried this fear for the sake of the Cymrians?” Gwydion asked incredulously. “They certainly don’t deserve it.”
“Be that as it may, for the sake of everyone who shares the world with them, they needed to be called and united. Speaking of which, I have a bone to pick with you.”
“Oh?” His eyes twinkled. “I’m all yours. My attention, as well as the rest.”
She looked at him seriously. “What did you think you were doing, naming me Lady of that Council? Are you insane?”
“Why?”
“We have been having this discussion since the first night we, well, since our first night as lovers,” she said. “You know my rank; why did you put me in this position? I don’t want to be Lady Cymrian. You know my birth status. I’m not qualified.”
Gwydion laughed. “Obviously the Council doesn’t agree with you, since you were elected unanimously. Must be nice; they argued about my suitability for hours.” Rhapsody’s face grew hot and she looked down into her lap. Ashe stopped laughing and took her hands. “Rhapsody, I’ve been trying to tell you all along, there is no one who could make even as good a leader for these people as you; certainly there is no one better.”
“That’s a sad statement.”
“Beware,” Gwydion said seriously. “You are talking about my Lady, as well as the woman I love. Didn’t you once tell me that we had a responsibility to help in whatever way we could? Who but you could have calmed that rabble, got them to talk to each other civilly for the first time in centuries, perhaps ever? The members of the First and Third Fleets were hanging on each other like old friends, toasting your health and reign mutually. Can you fathom the significance of that? Who but you could silence Anwyn, could banish her back to where she belongs, without a hint of rancor, then sing a tribute to her? Could make her cry for love of you?”
“I seriously doubt that Anwyn would agree with your assessment of her feelings.”
He took her face in his hands and regarded her seriously. “Who would have carried the hideous belief that you have, a possibility you would have died because of, in order to make it through for people to whom you felt an obligation, even though you had no vested interest in power over them? Gods, Aria, if that doesn’t prove your worthiness, I don’t know what could. I did not make you my wife so that you would be the Lady Cymrian, nor did I make you the Lady Cymrian so that you would be my wife. I did it because, for each of the roles, there is no other possible candidate; none whatsoever. And I am here to help you. I will handle, at least initially, while teaching you about, the annual fisherman’s catch rights, and planting cycles, and taxation rates on oxen in the Orlandan provinces, and armament procurements—”
Rhapsody sighed comically. “I can’t wait. I don’t already have enough of that nonsense in Tyrian.”
His face became solemn. “Rhapsody, are you going to forgive me? Can you find it in your heart to take me back? Neither of us could foresee what would happen since the night we married; I knew you would face terrible pain, but I had no idea how much. Do you still love me?”
She sighed. “Yes. Always.”
“And is that enough for you?”
She regarded him seriously. The pain had been excoriating, the lies had almost destroyed them both. But the lies had not been theirs, and now they were the leaders, the ones to decide how the power would be used. The memory of their wedding came flooding back unbidden, the incredible happiness she had felt and seen in his eyes as they promised themselves to one another; the tenderness of their lovemaking as their souls touched and were joined completely in the total knowledge of who they were; the giddiness of unabashed laughter beneath the covers, sharing secrets and plans that night; the hopes they told each other of. It had been her first taste of true and utter joy, and that realization brought back another voice of wisdom to her. She could see the smile on the face of the Patriarch in her memory.
Above all else, may you know joy.
It became a simple decision. In her mind she pictured the bundle of negative feelings and set them ablaze with imaginary fire, burning them quickly into ash, leaving nothing but those things that were sacred to her. Ryle hira. “Yes,” she said, watching his face begin to glow with the happiness she had not seen for half a year. “Yes, I think you taught me that. It’s enough. In fact, it’s more; it’s something to be humbly grateful for, and I am.”
“Then you will take me back?”
Rhapsody laughed. “I don’t think I ever gave you away, but of course I will. I may even forgive you for making me Lady Cymrian someday, but don’t count on it.”
“Well, lest you forget, you made me Lord, or planned to, so we’re even.”
“Wrong. We will never be even.” Rhapsody paused, then she smiled at him. “You will always be much taller; I admit it.”
“Just as long as you are clear in your understanding that I am your devoted husband; there is and never was anyone but you.”
“I’ve got that, I think.”
“And there is one little comment you made that I have felt the need to clear up for the last six months.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. Do you remember, on the night of our wedding, after I proposed but before I went all scaly on you, that you were telling me about our time in the old land? Not knowing who I was yet?”
“Yes.”
“And I believe you referred to our lovemaking under the starry Serendair sky, our fi
rst time, our mutual deflowerment, as ‘one night of meaningless sex in a pasture’ is that right?” His eyes twinkled as his face set in a scowl of mock annoyance.
Rhapsody laughed even as her own face colored in embarrassment. “I believe that was the term I used, yes; I think you’re right.”
“Oh, I am right,” he said, amusement threatening to drive away his pretense of irritation. “That was a beautiful, sacred moment to me, Emily.”
Her laughter diminished into a serious smile. “It was for me, too, Sam,” she said sincerely, speaking with her lore. “It felt like the consummation of a marriage that had already been blessed.”
“Exactly! Exactly what I felt. I don’t even remember proposing to you; it was as though we just mutually decided that we were to be married.”
“Yes. I agree.”
“Well, since that is the case, I believe I hold the record for marital abstinence, having gone approximately a hundred and forty years between episodes of carnal knowledge with you; vastly more if you count it in your time. Then it would be calculated in centuries; millennia, even.”
Rhapsody laughed again. “Congratulations! Now, there’s an accomplishment to be proud of.”
“And now, now that we’ve been married, with vows and rings and everything, I have waited six months, six months, Rhapsody. No man who has ever seen you or heard about you could believe that kind of connubial celibacy was possible.”
“And no one who knew me, unless they also knew I was unaware of the opportunity. It isn’t easy for me, either, Sam.”
“But I am becoming the Lord of Forbearance, don’t you think?”
“Definitely. I’ve already admired your restraint; what else do you want?”
“That is a silly question.”
“Let me guess; you’re going for a new abstinence record?”
“That’s not funny.” Despite his statement, he chuckled.
Rhapsody grinned at him. “Does this mean you expect me to somehow make this up to you?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t think mathematically it is possible for me to do so tonight; I’m sorry.”
He leaned over her and rested his forehead on hers, his eyes looking deeply into her own. “You could at least try.”
“I suppose. I don’t have to be anywhere until sunrise.”
“Forget sunrise. The Cymrians are still drinking to us, even now. They won’t be able to move until noon or later.”
Rhapsody’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, all right.” She put her arms around his neck.
Gwydion stayed nose-to-nose with her; he climbed up onto the bed and positioned himself over her on his knuckles and knees. “And, after this blasted council is over, your dance card is completely filled for the next six months.”
“Six months? I don’t think so, Sam. Two weeks, maybe. I’ve been away from Tyrian an awfully long time.”
A dragonlike growl came forth.
“I’m sorry; if you want me to yourself, you’re going to have to marry me publicly; otherwise—”
“Say no more. It’s done.”
“Good.”
“Then you are mine exclusively for as long as you can stand me. Right?”
Her eyes glittered in the darkness. “Right.”
A dazzling smile spread over his face. “Good. Now give me back my shirt.”
The bonfires had spread throughout the Moot and the surrounding fields; there were tens of thousands of them now, with one vast inferno blazing in the center of the Bowl’s floor. The billowing flames lighted the night sky, making it gleam orange through the thick waves of black smoke that turned from gray to white as they wafted to the stars.
The considerable stores of wine and spirits that Achmed had provisioned for the gathering were exhausted within the first hours, leaving a very inebriated, very happy populace still in the frenzy of glorious celebration. Loud choruses of drunken singing swelled over the mountains and foothills, frightening the Bolg in Canrif as the anthems grew in volume.
When the moon set, Achmed, who was watching the festivities with sober interest, offered to replenish the alcohol from his stores near Grivven Post, a recommendation that was seized upon gladly. Faedryth and his aide-de-camp, Therion, began rounding up volunteers to assist in the transportation of the new supplies, finding the Nain to be one of the few groups among the revelers still able to stand erect, let alone locomote or carry anything valuable.
Within a few moments a small squadron of the volunteers accompanied the Firbolg king out of the Bowl, gathered wagons, and lurched unsteadily across the steppes toward where the king had directed, following the Bolg Cymrians in charge of the detail.
Achmed stood at the entrance of the Moot as they disappeared into the night, absorbing the screeching of the wagon wheels, the sound of singing and music of a thousand different types and origins, all playing simultaneously, the roar of merry laughter thundering against his skin-web, the sensitive network of exposed nerve and vein that made up his epidermal layer.
It was a clamor the like of which he had never experienced before, even in war. Grunthor had once said that the most frightening thing about battle was the sound of it, the thunderous noise of horses and mounted weapons being positioned, the murderous sound of fury and destruction, the wailing, the sound men made when they were exploding inside.
This noise was different; there was something far more fascinating and disturbing to him about it. It was an amalgamation of shrieking laughter and song, crackling flames, splintering wood and shouting, the sound of jubilation and years of pain mixed into one unholy roar. It had an effect on him similar to that of the sea, masking individual sounds by blending them into this hideous anti-symphony that was as ugly to his ears as Rhapsody’s song had been beautiful.
The inconstant light of the bonfires swept over him, flickering with blinding brightness one moment, going dark with smoke and flying cinders the next. When the darkness lingered for a longer-than-usual moment Achmed looked up and saw his Sergeant-Major standing beside him; the din had been enough to mask Grunthor’s pulse, which until this Council had been one of only two he still could perceive. Now he was drowning in the noise of all of the heartbeats of the First Generadon; it was a surprisingly comfortable sensation, and made him feel almost nostalgic.
Grunthor handed him a battered tankard overflowing with cheap ale.
“Gotta give it to ’em; they know how ta throw a party, eh, sir?”
Achmed said nothing, but raised the mug to his lips and drank deeply.
The rim of the Bowl at the edge of the Summoner’s Rise was cloaked in thick smoke from the roaring bonfires, shrouded intermittently in blinding light and darkness. No one could have made out the figure standing there, silently watching the merrymaking, not even the Bolg guards who flanked the Rise, passing a wineskin between them.
No one saw that figure turn after a moment, blending into the smoke like a shadow from the Past. In darkness it crept to the pulpit, picked up the Cymrian horn, and walked away into the night amid the clouds of fire ash.
81
The sweet scent of warm cinnamon and cardamom tickled his nose, followed by richer, deeper aromas that gently forced Gwydion’s eyes open. He focused his gaze on his glowing wife, who sat at his side on the edge of the bed, holding a breakfast tray on her lap. She was waving her hand, wafting the rising steam in his direction and smiling at him.
“Good morning, m’lord,” she said in her very best serving girl voice. “Would you care for a small repast before returning to Council?”
“I certainly would, but it got out of bed already. And it hates being reminded that it’s small.” He grinned at her in his fog, succumbing to the aromatic symphony. “Gods, what a heavenly smell.”
“I’m glad you like it. The cinnamon and sweeter spices are like the flutes and piccolos, teasing the edges of your nose, while the—”
“I was not referring to the food,” he said wickedly. “And who gave you permission to leave the royal ar
ms?”
Rhapsody looked down at her own. “Leave them where? They’re still attached.”
“Oh, that’s right, I’d forgotten; you get to use the royal ‘we’ too, don’t you? You are the Lady Cymrian, after all.”
“Don’t remind me,” she said with mock grimness. “It’s all your fault.”
“Guilty, and I admit it with delight. It’s probably the only thing the Cymrian assemblage will ever thank me for.”
“Don’t count on it,” she said. “Now eat your breakfast. There are cinnamon buttocks—” His laugh almost unbalanced the tray. “Hie there, careful. And I made you that nasty coffee you like; ugh.”
“Oh, bless you.” Gwydion took the proffered cup eagerly, and held it while she topped it with cream. He took a sip and grinned. “It’s marvelous. Thank you.”
She sighed in mock despair. “He hates my tea, but at least he loves my coffee.”
“He loves your tea, too; he told you that ages ago. He loves everything about you. I guess this means it’s my turn to make you breakfast tomorrow?”
“That’s right,” she said seriously. “I figure we should trade off every morning, and that way each of us will get a chance to sleep in.”
He took another sip. “Who are you kidding? You never sleep in; you’re too busy tidying or singing or whatever it is you do during the three hours you get up before me. This is a case in point; you’re up and dressed, it’s two hours before dawn—it’s still dark outside, Emily.”
She crossed her wrist over her knee. “Well, a few more nights like last night, and that will never happen again. I almost expected to wake up with a large smoking crevasse running down the bed. I’ll need to sleep in just to survive.” She watched his face redden behind the cup. “Coffee too hot?”
“No, it’s fine, thank you.”
Her laugh pealed like bells; the vibration rang through the whole of Elysian. “Why, Sam! You’re blushing!”
Gwydion put the empty cup back on the tray. “Yes, in every place on my body. Want to see?” She laughed and slapped his hand away from her knee. “Here, put that down, m’lady,” he said, smiling at her evilly. As soon as she did she rose, ignoring his outstretched arms.
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