Elizabeth Heydon - Elegy for a Lost Star

The warmth in Ashe’s eyes dissipated.

“Well, in some way we all have blood on our hands, Achmed,” he said evenly, trying to force the wyrm in his blood from rising in ire. “At least hers comes about for a happy purpose. And I do thank you for saving my wife.”

The Bolg king nodded perfunctorily.

Ashe cleared his throat awkwardly.

“So you will be heading back to Ylorc now?”

“Shortly.”

Ashe nodded. “Then I won’t delay you. I don’t suppose I could prevail upon you to divert your travels to the Circle, or to Navarne, and send back a coach for Rhapsody and the baby?”

“No, you could not,” Achmed said testily. “The Circle and Navarne are both to the south, and quite a distance out of my way. I have already spent far too much time at parties and investitures in your lands, to the detriment of my own kingdom. I’ve done as she asked, and brought her the midwife she trusted to deliver her child. Now that is done, I see no need to stay, nor to delay our return further by running errands for you. Perhaps your position allows you to abandon your post for extended periods of time, but mine does not. Each time I journey west to attend to yet another of Rhapsody’s whims or needs I return to an abominable mess. I can barely wait to see what I am returning to this time.”

“Well, thank you, nonetheless,” Ashe replied, struggling to maintain his happy mood. “I hope you will travel well.”

The Bolg midwife coughed politely from behind the two men.

“Rhapz-dee needs two days of rest and watching, but after that, baby must return home,” she said cautiously. “Thaw is coming to an end; soon it will be too cold for him to travel—will harm his lungs.”

“They can remain with me until spring,” said Elynsynos idly, dangling a shiny necklace of glittering gems from a claw over the baby’s head and chuckling as his tiny vertical pupils contracted in the light that sparkled from it.

The Bolg woman shook her head.

“Rhapz-dee is weak. Has lost much blood. Needs healers, special medicines; must return soon.”

Ashe felt his throat constrict. “Will you stay with her the two days at least?” he asked Achmed, noting the look of concern in Krinsel’s eye. “I will leave for Navarne immediately and get the carriage myself. If you can find it in your heart to wait with Rhapsody here for the two days Krinsel says she needs watching, at least I will be able to leave her, assured she is as safe as she can be.”

“By all means, I will happily divert my plans, then, Ashe, as your peace of mind is paramount to me,” said Achmed unpleasantly. He glanced over his shoulder and met the eye of the midwife, who nodded her agreement wordlessly.

“Thank you,” the Lord Cymrian said, seizing his hand and shaking it vigorously. “If I have to leave them, it will give me comfort to know that they are safe with you. I will leave forthwith—just let me take a moment to say goodbye.”

Achmed waited until the Lord Cymrian had been gone long enough to have crossed the Tar’afel before he approached Rhapsody, who was cuddling the sleeping baby in a corner of the cave, crooning a wordless melody.

He watched her for a moment; her golden hair, normally bound back in a staid black ribbon, cascaded over her shoulders, making her appear younger and more vulnerable than he usually thought of her. She looked up at him, her smile bright, and he felt an unwelcome tug at his heart, much as he had in their earliest days together, during their travels along the Root that bisected the world. Those were lost times, long-ago times that he occasionally found himself longing for, back before the responsibilities of kingdoms and other people had come into their lives, back when the whole world was little more than Rhapsody, Grunthor, himself, and the continuous struggle to survive one more day in a place where no one even thought to search for them.

“He’s asleep?” he asked awkwardly.

“Yes, deeply,” Rhapsody said, her smile broadening. “Would you like to hold him?”

The Bolg king coughed. “No, thanks,” he said hastily. He glanced around the glittering cave. “Where is the translation? Since I am stuck here for the next two days, I may as well make good use of my time and get started on reading it.”

Rhapsody’s face hardened, and her voice lost its gentle tone.

“Did we not go over this already?”

“We did. Give me the translation.”

Silence fell, a silence so deafening that it disturbed the child, and he began to whimper in his sleep, then wail aloud.

Rhapsody shook her head and looked away.

“Unbelievable,” she said angrily, rocking the baby as his crying increased in volume and despair. “After all we’ve just been through, after everything I’ve said, you are still insistent on carrying out this folly?”

Achmed glared at her.

“Carrying out folly is a tradition with us, Rhapsody,” he said, his voice harsher. “You never listen to my concerns, and I reserve the right to disregard yours. You’ve made your position completely clear, as clear as the promise you made to help me in whatever I needed in this matter. Since I believe I have come through for you in your hour of need, again , I would think that you would be willing, if not grateful, to return the favor. Now give me the bloody translation.”

The dragon’s head appeared, misty and ethereal, above a mountainous pile of gold and gems at the water’s edge.

Shall I eat him, Pretty ? the beast inquired tartly.

Rhapsody continued to meet Achmed’s stare, matching his intensity, for a moment, then finally exhaled.

“No,” she said firmly. “Give it to him.” She drew the baby closer to herself and watched as the dragon blinked in surprise, then disappeared into the ether. A moment later a bound journal, half the pages empty, appeared on the ground at Achmed’s feet among the coins.

“Take it,” Rhapsody said bitterly. “And then be gone. I do not want to see you again.”

Achmed seized the book.

“Thank you,” he said. He opened the journal quickly and began to peruse the pages, carefully graphed in Rhapsody’s neat handwriting; much of what she had written was in musical script, but each staff had been carefully annotated.

“Go,” Rhapsody demanded. “I mean it, Achmed.”

The words rang through the cave, the Namer’s truth ringing in them.

The Bolg king raised his mismatched eyes and met hers; they were gleaming, green as summer grass.

“I told your husband I would stay two days,” he said shortly, conflicted and hating the feeling of it.

“I relieve you of your promise, even if you were unwilling to relieve me of mine,” Rhapsody said shortly. “Take your bloody translation, and Krinsel, and anything else you have ever given me, including your friendship, and go. What you have demanded has put an end to our association; I cannot save you from yourself, or from your own foolhardiness, but I do not have to watch you as you blunder into lore that you do not understand. You threaten this world, the world my child has just entered, with your actions. I can’t forgive you for that, Achmed. Go away.”

The Bolg king considered for a moment, then nodded. He turned and silently gestured at the midwife, who was watching with concern in her eyes, but she said nothing, stooping to collect her bag and its contents, before following her king up the long, winding tunnel to the light and cold of the forest again.

Rhapsody waited until their footfalls could no longer be heard echoing in the tunnel before she gave in to the tears.

The air of the cave glimmered behind and around her; Elynsynos appeared, cradling her in the crook of her claw.

There, there, Pretty , the dragon intoned softly.