Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

“I’ll stay.”

Behind her back, Achmed smiled. “Either way, whenever you’re ready, just turn around. I will always be right behind you.”

“Ah, m’lady, may I trouble you for a moment?”

Rhapsody tied the belt on her silk dressing gown and opened the door to her chambers. “Yes, Sylvia?” She shielded her eyes from the morning sun pouring through the window near the door.

The chamberlain, an older woman who Rhapsody liked immensely, was clutching her hands nervously. Her almond-shaped eyes, obsidian-black in the coloring of the Lirin of the cities, blinked rapidly in the morning light as she tried to speak in a calm voice.

“There’s a—a gentleman here to see you, who says he’s an invited member of your honor guard.”

Rhapsody took both of the woman’s hands comfortingly. Perhaps it was Anborn; his gruffness often had an intimidating effect on people. “What’s the matter?”

“He’s, well—” The chamberlain stammered anxiously. “He’s big, m’lady.”

A delighted smile broke over the queen-to-be’s face. “Oh, of course! Please show him in directly.”

Sylvia blanched. “In here, m’lady?”

Rhapsody patted the woman’s cheek. “It’s all right Sylvia; he’s an old friend, one of my dearest. Please bring him in.” Sylvia stared at her, then nodded and vanished. A moment later, the enormous grinning Firbolg came into her room. Rhapsody ran into his arms in delight.

“Grunthor! I’m so glad to see you.”

“The feelin’s mutual, miss,” the Sergeant replied, returning her embrace. He set her down carefully and clicked his heels. “Oi thank you for includin’ me in the ’onor guard.”

“Including? They’re under your command.”

Grunthor smirked in amusement. “Oh, goody. Oi’m sure they’ll love that.”

Rhapsody laughed. “Well, it certainly will be fun to watch. There has to be something enjoyable about this godawful day.”

“Now, now, let’s ’ave none o’ that,” said Grunthor seriously. “This is an important day, it is; Oi’ve thought you deserved somethin’ like this all along, after you got dragged away from ’ome and all. Your forest certainly is a pretty one. Are you ’appy ’ere?”

“As happy as I can be away from you and Achmed, I suppose,” Rhapsody said, offering him the breakfast tray. “Are you hungry? Is there anything here that looks appealing?”

“Got any o’ the li’le Linn-filled ones?” the Bolg asked solemnly as he poked one of the pastries with his claw. “They’re my favorite.”

“Not funny,” Rhapsody said even as she laughed again.

Grunthor surveyed the untouched tray, then helped himself to some of the delicacies. “You ’aven’t eaten a bite, Yer Ladyship; now, come on, eat somethin’. You’ll faint in the middle o’ your own ceremony.”

“Good,” said Rhapsody, putting down the tray. “Maybe they’ll think I died suddenly and they’ll crown someone else. Besides, I don’t faint, unfortunately.” She picked up a biscuit and took a bite.

A knock sounded on the door. “Are you ready, m’lady? The procession is forming.”

“Mllmckmt,” Rhapsody mumbled, her mouth full of pastry. She swallowed quickly. “I’ll be ready in a moment, Sylvia.” She stripped off her robe unselfconsciously in front of Grunthor, smoothed her petticoat, and ran to the closet. The exquisite gown that the seamstresses had worked on endlessly hung on a satin hanger. She eased it carefully down and stepped into it.

“Here, Grunthor, fasten that bottom stay, will you please?” She handed him the buttonhook. He was staring at it helplessly when Sylvia knocked and entered. She was holding a glistening strand of tiny pearls, a gift from the sea Lirin, to entwine in the intricate braid in Rhapsody’s hair.

“Let me do that,” she said hurriedly, buttoning the bottom closures on Rhapsody’s gown. “Turn around, m’lady, and let’s have a look at you.”

Rhapsody obeyed. Both the Firbolg giant and the small Lirin chamberlain looked at her in wonder. Her beautiful hair was delicately woven in the front into patterns resembling tiny golden flowers, pulling the front tresses back and exposing her exquisite face. The remainder was swept into a soft coil at the back of her head, secured with a pin that contained the sand-grain-sized pieces of the Diamond that had been too small to use in the making of the crown.

The dress itself was a wonder. It had been perfectly matched to her figure and coloring, shimmering iridescently, made from a silken fabric containing all the colors of the rainbow, yet at the same time glimmering white. The Lirin seamstresses knew how to dress a Lirin body better than any others did, and they had accentuated her form by tailoring the gown to her slender lines. The long sleeves pointed at the base of her wrists, the waistline dropped elegantly below her abdomen before flaring into a skirt that draped perfectly to the floor. A cape of white satin attached to the shoulders of the dress, both for ornament and to keep her warm in the winter chill. The toes of tiny matching slippers peeked out as she turned.

“Ya look great,” said Grunthor enthusiastically. “Now let’s get goin’. Oi’ve never been in charge of an ’onor regiment before. Don’t want to be late.”

The coronation ceremony itself was attended only by the high-ranking Lirin from the forest, sea, plains, cities, and Manosse, and Rhapsody’s closest friends and honor guard. Grunthor had been selected for that duty rather than as a guest because the guard were the only persons exempted from the weapons ban, and Rhapsody knew he would be lost without his weapons.

In addition to her giant Firbolg friend, she had asked Anborn, despite Oelendra’s raised eyebrow, and Gwydion Navarne, the son of Lord Stephen, to serve in the honor guard as well. Anborn appeared delighted, in spite of the fact he was serving under a Bolg and with a lad of thirteen. He winked scandalously at Rhapsody when she entered the rotunda of the palace at Newydd Dda, making a rude curving gesture with his hands to indicate she looked appealing. Rhapsody laughed, grateful to him for breaking the solemnity that was threatening to make her bolt in panic.

She kissed Gwydion Navarne, her first adopted grandson, and watched as his face turned the color of Rial’s scarlet cape. He was trembling with excitement, having been put in the company of the legendary Cymrian hero and the massive Sergeant-Major who had entertained him while they waited by showing him the proper way to pick nits from skinfolds and other private places. A silvery horn sounded, heralding the arrival of her sleigh.

The great doors of the low palace at Newydd Dda were thrown open. Rhapsody watched as four matching roans of irregular coloring pulled an ornate sledge of intricately carved wood in front of the doors and came to a precise halt there. Roans were steeds the Lirin valued highly, particularly those of especially mottled coloring, as they were well camouflaged in the forest and easily hidden. They were beautifully curried and braided, their breath forming clouds of steam and ice crystals in the frosty air.

Rial escorted her down the carpeted path and into the sleigh, helping her up onto the padded seat and straightening her cape for her. Then the procession was off, passing slowly over the snow and up the hill of Tomingorllo, climbing to the throne room, where the crown waited.

No clergyman or noble coronated the new queen, as there was no one in office to do so. The forestfolk of Tyrian were more closely aligned to the religion of Gwynwood than that of Sepulvarta, although several centuries before there had been representatives of both faiths serving there. Rhapsody had refused the suggestion of the Invoker as the one to bless her officially, giving no reason. It turned out to be unnecessary anyway, as the word had come a few days before the ceremony that Khaddyr, the new holder of that office, was missing and had not been seen in more than a fortnight since the great forest fire. The Lirin priests who had trained under Llauron offered to stand in at the general reception and were welcomed to do so.