Prophecy

by Elizabeth Haydon

  Most days she left whatever she was baking in the oven and went out to tend the gardens, knowing he would sense the moment that the pastries were perfectly done and be there to remove them from the heat. It served as an effective and gentle wake-up call, and Ashe enjoyed the simple domesticity of sharing the cooking chores with her. He would lumber, still in the hazy throes of dragon-sleep, down the stairs, pull whatever she had made from the hearth, and then set to preparing the morning’s repast, arranging it on a tray.

  Finally he would emerge with the tray and carry it out to the garden to share breakfast with her. Inevitably he would find her on her knees in the dirt, her hair tied in a shining knot, often in a frumpy kerchief. She would be caressing the leaves of tiny plants, singing merrily, or humming to herself as she worked with the shovel.

  She had a song for each flower, and a method by which she soaked and tended each seed, producing thriving gardens almost overnight. By the time she had called him to Elysian the place was ablaze in summer colors and soft, shady hues, the scent of spice and a rich herbal tang hanging in the air. Now it was a virtual paradise, delighting the eye and nose with the perfect balance of greenery to brighter hues. She had a gardener’s eye and a farmer’s touch, and both had brought to Elysian a healthy, jubilant air that it had certainly not seen before her.

  One morning he had awakened to a particularly beautiful song, a tune that put him in mind of the seasons without hearing the words. Later, when he had caught the lyrics wafting over the garden wind, he had smiled at them.

  White light

  Draw back the night

  And wake to the call of spring,

  Come and see, come and see,

  What the warm winds bring

  The butterfly’s wing

  The meadowbirds sing

  A new year in its birth

  Welcomes the Child of the Earth

  Cool green

  In forests unseen

  The summer sun’s high in the sky

  Come and dance, come and dance,

  On the verdant ground

  In merry round

  Where joy is found

  The season of mirth

  Laughs with the Child of the Earth

  Red gold

  The leaves grow old

  And fall on the breath of the wind

  Stay and dream, stay and dream

  At summer’s flight

  In colors bright

  Autumn’s fight

  To hold fast for all she is worth

  Comforts the Child of the Earth

  White light

  Yon comes the night

  Snow drapes the frozen world,

  Watch and wait, watch and wait

  Prepare for sleep

  In ice castles deep

  A promise to keep

  A year whose days left are dearth

  Remembers the Child of the Earth

  On that day he had commented to her about the song. Lovely, he had said as kissed her. Much too lovely to be about Grunthor. Needs more guts and phlegm, maybe some lice. Rhapsody had smiled, but her eyes darkened slightly in the way that indicated she was not telling him something. There are things that we both know we can’t share with each other because they are other people’s secrets, he had said to her on their first night as lovers. He had changed the subject.

  She had planted a small orchard at the edge of the subterranean meadow, the only spot where the fruit trees would receive enough light. Sometimes he would find her among the baby trees, speaking to them softly and caring for them as tenderly as she would a child. Inevitably when he would come upon her like that she would break into an embarrassed grin and run to him, taking his arm and walking with him to the gazebo or the stone benches in the middle of the perennial herb garden where they usually had breakfast.

  This morning had been no exception. He had woken in a surly mood with the realization of her absence hanging in his mind, but had become reasonable after breaking his fast. Then he rolled up his sleeves and proceeded to dig in the dirt with her, helping her separate the roots of plants she was dividing and moving to the bank that led down to the lake in front of the turret.

  They worked in the half-sun of the grotto for hours. Rhapsody sang joyfully; she had ceased to be self-conscious with him some time before when he had begun singing along, seeking to learn her songs of growing. He had taught her a few more from this land that he knew from his days in Gwynwood, which she learned enthusiastically. Today she was exceptionally happy; when he questioned her as to the reason, she smiled and kissed him.

  “Look in the lake,” she said.

  He wandered down to the bank and gazed down into the water, but saw nothing unusual. He shrugged, and she smiled again.

  “Must be muddy this morning,” she said, kneeling down once more and turning back to the pile of leaves and loam that she was working into the soil. “Usually it reflects better than that.”

  Ashe felt warmth spill over him. He went up behind her and bent down, hugging her from behind.

  “I love you.”

  She kept digging. “You do?”

  He nuzzled her neck. “Yes. Can’t you tell?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  Ashe blinked. “Why?” He felt his chest tighten.

  She did not favor him with a glance. “Because no man who really loved me would be standing on my newly planted spritewort.” She gave his foot a playful push out of her flower bed.

  “Oh. Sorry about that, old girl.” He gave the shining knot of hair beneath the ugly kerchief a playful tug, and patted her hindquarters affectionately.

  “Keep your hands off my muffins, sir.” She looked up at him in mock annoyance.

  “Your what?”

  “Well, you’re the one who called them that,” she laughed, brushing the strands of hair that had fallen down back under the kerchief and turning back to her digging.

  He crouched down next to her. “What are you talking about?” His fingers gently caressed the stray strands.

  She tried to hide her smile as she kept working. “Whoever taught you Ancient Lirin had a poor understanding of idiomatic usage. Kwelster evet re marya—you have the most beautiful muffins.”

  Ashe’s face colored in embarrassment and humor. “You’re joking. That’s what I said?”

  She nodded. “Why do you think I make them for breakfast most every morning? I’ve never had a man think my baked goods were visually pleasing before.”

  Ashe erupted into laughter, and pulled her to him, scattering moss and leaves as he did. He kissed her, interrupting her own laughter and smearing the dirt from her brow across his face. “I guess I have to work on my idioms, then, eh?”

  “No, not necessarily; I thought it was delightful.”

  “Oh, good. So, now, what do I say if I want to see your crumpets?”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I suggest ‘please,’ although myriad other things come to mind.”

  “In that case, please.”

  She smacked him gently on the back of the head with her trowel. “Gods, you are insatiable.”

  “That’s your fault, you know.” His dragonesque eyes twinkled, and her emerald ones did the same. They both knew that when it came to romantic fulfillment, she seemed almost as unquenchable as he was. She tried to return to her gardening.

  “What makes you say that?”

  Ashe removed the tool from her hand and pulled her lovingly into his lap. “You’ve become my treasure, Rhapsody. You must know that the thing a dragon obsesses about most, can never have enough of, is its treasure.” He smiled down at her, but in the back of his mind he was unsure if his light tone of voice was undercutting the sincerity of his words. He sensed that she was still a little uneasy in the knowledge of his other nature, and he hoped she wasn’t put off by the truth of his statement. Aside from the prospect of being taken by the demon again, there was nothing that worried him more than the prospect of what would happen later, when and if she turned away
from him, as he knew she expected to one day. He knew the rampage he would undertake then would leave a scorching trail of devastation in his wake.

  Rhapsody took his face in her hands and kissed him.

  “Then maybe I’m part dragon, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I must be equally obsessed with you to allow you to continually divert me from my work in the garden, which hithertofore was my second-favorite thing in the world.”

  “The first being music?”

  “Of course.”

  “But you’ve been working in the garden all morning. Surely you must be getting tired by now.”

  Rhapsody stood and stretched, then shook off the remaining dirt and grass. “Actually, I am.” She gave him her hand and helped him up, then wrapped her arms around his waist. “And hot, too; I feel like a human flame, in fact.”

  “I can vouch for that.”

  “There you go again, you randy thing,” she chided as he pulled the kerchief off her head and began to unwind the knot in her hair. “Can’t you think of anything else?”

  “Excuse me,” Ashe scolded in mock offense. “I wasn’t being lascivious; I was referring to your fire lore.”

  “Oh,” Rhapsody smiled. “Well, as a human flame, then, I feel the need to be enveloped by water.” She hugged him tighter.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” he murmured, kissing her neck.

  “Ask what? I’m going to take a bath.” She wriggled out of his arms and ran back to the house with him close behind.

  Ashe had stayed in another part of the cottage while Rhapsody filled the tub with cold, clear water from the pump. When it was finally full she sank her hands beneath the surface and concentrated on the heat in her soul. The water began to grow warm, as did the room a moment later. She tossed a handful of spiced rose petals into the tub.

  She looked around. It had taken quite some time to get enough water for the bath, and she had expected Ashe to come in by now, but still he had remained elsewhere. Finally she walked to the door and looked out; he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Ashe?”

  “Yes?” His voice came from downstairs.

  “Where are you?”

  “In the parlor.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Reading.”

  “Oh.” Rhapsody tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “You’re welcome to join me in the tub.”

  “No, thank you.”

  She tugged on the tie of her white robe. “Are you sure?”

  There was no answer for a moment. “Maybe I’ll be up in a while.”

  Rhapsody sighed. “All right.” She went back into the bathroom, chagrin beginning to spread through her. She hadn’t meant to offend him; usually he enjoyed being teased about their fervent attraction for each other. Perhaps she had taken the joke too far. She hoped she hadn’t hurt his feelings.

  The temperature of the tub water was perfect. She shook off her dripping hand and listened for footfalls, but they did not seem to be forthcoming. Rhapsody sighed one more time and resigned herself to having to wash her own back. She was standing before the glass, brushing the plant fragments out of her hair, when the door opened and Ashe came in, dressed in his robe, a bound book in his hand.

  Rhapsody’s eyes sparkled with excitement, but her expression remained neutral. “I thought you were otherwise engaged with your book.”

  “I am, but I thought you could use some company while you bathed.”

  “I see.”

  “From over here across the room, of course. I don’t want you to think I’m looking for an invitation or anything.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Ashe looked hurt. “I assure you, my intentions are purely honorable.”

  “Right.”

  “No, they are; really. I only came in here to read.”

  Rhapsody looked at him with amusement in her eyes. “This is hardly the place to read,” she said, watching as the warm, soggy air laden with scented moisture lazily swirled around her. “Parchment tends to fall apart in steam.”

  He came closer, ambling through the hot mist, hands folded politely before him. The vapors curled around his ankles like a playful kitten. The brightness of his smile matched the white robe.

  “Tell you what: let’s make a bargain. If you let me stay, I promise you I will not touch you unless you ask me to. I won’t bother you at all. In fact, I’ll sit all the way over here by the door. Fair enough?”

  “You won’t be able to see much over there.”

  “I’ve told you already, I didn’t come in here to play the voyeur, I—”

  “I know, you came to read,” Rhapsody said, smiling. “Well, enjoy yourself.”

  “Oh, count on it,” said Ashe, returning her grin.

  Rhapsody went back to the tub, watching the vapors hover over the steaming water. Clouds of roiling mist were rising around her, and water droplets settled on her lashes, making her eyelids feel heavy. Apparently the same thing was happening to Ashe; he had sat down on the marble floor next to the door, leaning up against it, and closed his eyes. She gave him one last chance.

  “You know, you’re welcome to join me if you want.”

  He held up his hand, eyes still closed.

  “All right,” she said. “Suit yourself.” She drew a slender leg up over the rim of the tub and tested the water with her toe; it was hot, but she knew it would be comfortable, and so she walked a few feet over to the towel hook, slid the nubby robe off her shoulders and let it drop to the ground. She cast a glance back over her shoulder, but Ashe was still resting against the door, eyes closed, almost as if asleep.

  Rhapsody reached into one of the glass apothecary jars on the table below the towel rack and extracted more dried rose petals mixed with sweet-smelling spices; the soothing aromas of cinnamon, rosemary, and vanilla melded with the perfume of lime flowers and joined the clouds of mist wafting through the air, filling the bathroom with a heavenly aroma. She bent to pick up her robe, hung it on the hook, and then turned toward the tub.

  Ashe still looked as if he was sleeping, but the smile on his face broadened as she turned around.

  “Ah HA! You’re peeking!” Rhapsody declared, laughing.

  “Who in this world could resist?” Ashe said, eyes still closed. “Besides, I didn’t say I wouldn’t peek. I just said I wouldn’t touch.”

  “Frankly, I prefer the latter to the former, but have it your way.” Rhapsody walked unself-consciously to the tub and tossed the spicy mixture in. The potpourri hissed as the heat released more of the aromatic oils, and the water swirled with a shimmery film. She took hold of the long fall of her hair and twisted it up on top of her head, securing it with her standard black ribbon. Then she stepped slowly into the tub, enjoying the warmth of the waves. The water closed around her as she sat down and stretched out, luxuriating in its torridity, and slipped beneath its surface up to her neck. Her body relaxed and her mind began to follow.

  She slid back up to a sitting position again, her shoulders breaking the watery surface, and laid her head back against the pillow on the edge of the tub. The gentle waves swirled and surged around her, caressing her skin and lapping lightly at her breasts. She smiled, enjoying the tickling sensation as the heat of the water, then the coolness of the air, alternated against her upper body as the undulations came and went. Her nipples, normally pale pink as the inside of a seashell, warmed in the water and the sensation, and darkened to a deep rose.

  Rhapsody sighed as the water continued to kiss her, and the porcelain skin rippled in tiny goosebumps. She settled a little further into the tub and slid her feet up the edge, her knees cresting the surface. Then she felt a vibration, much like a current within the depths of the water, swirling between her knees and gently separating them. Her body began to tingle as the current swirled lower, stroking her hips and back and then settling between her legs, whirling and rushing. She felt the water lightly surge around her thighs, growing in its intensity, dart
ing in and around her most sensitive spots. Her body was beginning to tremble, and she felt heat, internal this time, rushing to the places it was caressing.

  The waves became more insistent, whirling and throbbing into areas of her that were growing more excited at each motion. It was as if the water was becoming solid and was seeking out places to pleasure her. Rhapsody felt a flush course through her body as the water created a need within her that was beginning to beg to be met.

  “Ashe,” she said; the word caught in her throat and came out husky. “Ashe, what are you doing?”

  “Reading.”

  She struggled to open her eyes and saw him, still leaning against the door, eyes still closed.

  “Please,” she said as the water began to pulse in and out of her, “Please stop it.” Her breath was growing shallow as she fought the growing excitement.

  “Stop what?” He smiled, but did not open his eyes.

  “This is turning into a sexual experience here,” Rhapsody said, trying but failing to maintain her composure. “Now knock it off. Please.”

  “You have something against sexual experiences?” he asked playfully, still not favoring her with a glance.

  “Yes, if they’re not with you.”

  Finally Ashe sat up, opened his eyes and looked at her seriously. “My love, that is me,” he said sincerely. “I can feel you every bit as much as you can feel me, maybe even more so.”

  “But that’s the point,” she said as the solid water began to throb, making her desperate. “It’s not you, it’s water, whether you can sense through it or not. You are the only thing I want touching me like this. Please, Ashe. Please don’t do this.”

  There was a desperation in her voice and on her face that he suddenly recognized; it was the same as the day at the Tar’afel River when she pleaded with him not to carry her across. He jumped to his feet and came to the edge of the tub; the vibrations in the water immediately ceased.

  “I’m sorry, Rhapsody,” he said, watching her anxiety fade and calm return to her face. “I certainly didn’t mean to upset you.”