Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

Some hours later, when the sexton had finally cleared the basilica and locked the doors, the Three emerged from the shadows to examine the sanctuary again. Rhapsody closed her eyes and listened for the music of the bells, which still tolled the all-clear that had been ringing for almost an hour. It was sweet and in tune, with a clarity she knew indicated that the wind was passing through the bell tower freely again.

“It’s clear,” she said to her companions. “The ground is being resanctified. How does it feel, Grunthor?”

“It’s ’ard to tell yet, but the taint is definitely dissipatin,” he said, bending to touch the floor. “Oi’d say it’s gettin’ there; guess those bells need the clappers back to fix it totally proper. Now, you, miss; ’ow are you doin’? You ’ad me worried for a moment, you know.”

She reached out her arms, and her gigantic friend lifted her off the ground in a relieved embrace. “I’m fine. I really am,” she said, looking down into his amber eyes.

“Oi’m not sure Oi believe you.”

“Well, you should.” Rhapsody hugged Grunthor tightly for a few moments more, then reached up and kissed his monstrous cheek. “Grunthor, will you go and see about an exit route now? I have to talk to Achmed alone.”

Grunthor looked at Achmed, who nodded. “All right, Yer Ladyship, Oi suppose Oi can take care o’ that if you want.” He set her down gently and patted her head, then headed down the marble steps of the sanctuary.

“Grunthor?”

He turned and looked back at her. “Yes’m?”

“I love you.”

A wide smile crossed his broad face. “The feelin’s mutual, miss.” He clicked his heels and turned once more for the door of the basilica.

Rhapsody waited until the giant Bolg had left the church, then looked at the Firbolg king. There was a look of amusement on his face that vanished when she turned to him. She studied his eyes intently, and as she did the pain and fear she was feeling crept back into her own. Achmed saw.it immediately.

He took her into his arms, and Rhapsody clung tightly to him, trembling. Wordlessly he passed his hand over her back, waiting for her to speak. She could tell without doing so that he understood fully the depths of her fright. He held her for a long time, and the immediacy of the panic passed.

“You know,” she said when she looked up again, “we really are two sides of the same coin.”

“I know.”

She nodded, lost in thought for a moment. Then she looked into his face again.

“Is there a limit to what you would do for me if I asked?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.” She moved out of his arms and down the steps of the sanctuary, her arms clutching her middle as she stared over the vast space of the basilica at the candelabras burning down into darkness. She sat on the step, to be joined by Achmed a moment later. They waited in silence for a long while, watching the basilica darken, listening to the noise of the crowd outside die down.

I just -want it to be over. I just want to sleep peacefully again.

You want it to be over — it will never be over, Rhapsody .

Finally she looked at him, and her eyes were shining, but not with her customary emotions.

“In the old world, in the course of practicing your profession, did you ever have occasion to kill quickly, with little pain?”

“Yes. That was how I tried to do it most of the time.”

“Of course, it would be.” She looked away again and her eyes scanned the damage in the balcony and to the benches. “I may have need of your services soon, after the Cymrian Council.”

Achmed nodded. “For whom?”

Rhapsody looked him directly in the eye. “Myself.”

Achmed nodded again. He understood.

The fire on the hearth in the council room behind the Great Hall of the Cauldron burned rambunctiously, smelling vastly better than it had in Grunthor’s memory, thanks in large part to the three fat vanilla beans Rhapsody had tossed on it when they came in for supper. The meal had been a surprisingly quiet one, due in large part to the pensive look on the Singer’s face and her lack of conversational patter, a signal to him that something was decidedly wrong.

It had been so all the way home from Bethe Corbair as well, his own celebratory mood not extending to either of his companions. He had cast a glance in Achmed’s direction a moment before and had seen the warning look in his eye, so he did not ask, but rather attempted to lighten the mood with a pleasantry, or his approximation of one.

“Delicious meal, Duchess,” he said jovially, patting her roughly on the head. “Oi don’t remember your stew ever tastin’ that good before.”

“It’s all that garlic from Bethe Corbair,” she replied, rising and taking his plate. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such plump, firm heads. I saved some to plant. Would you like more?”

“Yes, indeed.” Grunthor took a sip of the tea and made a face. “And is this somethin’ you bought there as well?”

“Yes; that’s the horehound. It’s the same thing that was in the candy.” She smiled at his grimace. “Don’t like it, do you?”

Grunthor made an effort to look cheerful. “Oh, it’s lovely, darlin’.”

“Liar. That’s all right, I’m used to people insulting my tea. That’s the oil from the leaves; you said you had a sore throat. It’s supposed to taste that way.”

The giant Bolg swallowed. “Oi guess it’s an acquired taste, eh? What are you gonna do with all that demon stuff—the mugwort and datura? Ain’t that poisonous?”

“I certainly hope so. I’ve painted all the cockroach nests with it.” Achmed hid his smile. “What are you going to do with all those arrows?”

“They’re for my grandson, Gwydion Navarne. He’s an archer, like his father, or at least is training to be. He’ll love the ones that hold flame.”

“Don’t let him practice with them near the keep or anything flammable you don’t want incinerated. They’re warped.”

Rhapsody’s face clouded in dismay. “They are? I didn’t notice.” The Firbolg king leaned back and crossed his feet. “Of course you didn’t. You were too busy concentrating on making sure Gittleson saw you in the market.”

“He was inept, wasn’t he?”

“ Was being the operative word.”

“The poor benny,” said Grunthor sympathetically. “It’s so ’ard to get good ’elp these days.” He grinned when he saw a smile touch the corners of Rhapsody’s mouth.

“Especially where he is now,” said Achmed, studying her as well. “Actually, it’s pretty hard to get anything good there.”

Rhapsody pushed her chair back. “All right, stop watching me. I can’t stand it.” She rose and went to the fire, staring into the billowing flames.

“You want to tell us what’s wrong?” The deep voice was gentle; Grunthor saw the muscles of her back tense at his words, but otherwise could discern no reaction.

Rhapsody watched the fire a moment longer. Finally she turned and smiled slightly at both of them.

“I don’t know for sure if anything’s wrong at all, Grunthor,” she said quietly. “I do have to go back to Tyrian, and it’s making me sad to think about leaving you both again.”

“So stay,” said Achmed flatly.

She shook her head. “I can’t. It’s time to call the Cymrian Council, and I have preparations in my own lands to make before I do. But after that I’ll be back, and I’ll have several months to wait before all the Cymrians show up. I have to stay within Canrif until they do, so we’ll have some extended time together then.”

“Oi doubt it,” Grunthor mumbled gloomily. “Just when we’re ’aving some fun, OF Waterboy will show up, and you’ll be off with ’im.”