Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

“Besides, she’s the Iliachenva’ar. If she can take down the demon, it seems likely she can defend herself.”

“Well said. It makes sense that they be married, then, particularly because it solves the issue of succession.”

“Hold.”

The voice of the newly named Lady rang throughout the Moot. It had deserted her in the tumult that had led to her being confirmed into a position she felt unqualified for; now it had returned with a vengeance as her blood boiled.

“Aren’t you all very presumptuous. How dare you speak about me as if I were a brood mare? Do you think that you own me now, that you suddenly have the right to decide my destiny in all aspects of my life? I find it extremely offensive that you would instinctively assume that I am even available for an arranged marriage. How do you know that I am not married now? No one asked my marital status. And even if you had, how do you know whether or not I have promised myself already? For all your potential, you can be a most infuriating people. If you feel the need to make this choice for your Lady, she will not be me. I gladly will yield my title before any more discussion of this nature ensues.”

Rhapsody strode to the end of the Summoner’s Ledge and tried to climb down. As before, when Anwyn was attacking Oelendra, she found herself unable to leave the rock ledge as shouts of dissent rose all around her.

“No!” came the cry from the Moot; the repeated calls modulated on the wind, resembling the sound of booing at the Sorboldian arena. The clamor receded as Anborn hurried to the top of the Speaker’s Rise.

“Forgive us, m’lady,” he said, smiling; the tone in his voice was commanding, ringing with the timbre of one who had long been accustomed to addressing an army. “In the excitement of being a united people again we fell into our old pigheaded, arrogant ways. The Third Fleet, and I believe our fellow Cymrians, humbly recognize your right to make this choice yourself.” He turned to the crowd. “Am I right?”

The roar of agreement would have unbalanced Rhapsody and possibly knocked her off the ledge if she had been able to leave it. She struggled to stand upright and looked at Anborn. He was still grinning at her, and she returned his smile uncertainly; there was something in his expression that unsettled her. Within herself she felt a strange tug, and she looked around the crowd in the torchlight to find Ashe staring wildly at her. His face was frozen in an emotion that resembled panic; it was painful to see. She looked away quickly.

“Atta girl, Yer Ladyship,” Rhapsody heard Grunthor whisper in the crowd. She turned his way and summoned a smile.

“All right, then,” she said, clearing her throat. “Let’s try this again.”

The tiresome arguments went on until almost midnight. Rhapsody’s head throbbed at the monotony of the speakers from throughout the Council repeating and refuting each other.

“Why not have two Ladies and no Lord?”

“Equal representation of the sexes in the seat of power, I believe.”

“I have no desire to be ruled by a Nain Lord!” yelled one of the Lirin during the point when Faedryth was being considered for the Lordship.

“And I have no desire to sit in the flower garden of an all-Lirin court!” responded an annoyed Nain.

“Then we must find someone with ties to all the races,” Oelendra said.

“And someone whose birth lies on this side of the world, not the other,” said one of the tall golden people with Edwyn Griffyth. “Otherwise the union of the people with the new land will not be symbolized.”

“I would leap from this Ledge to my death if I could,” Rhapsody sighed. “I want the Lord Cymrian to be someone who can fix this stupid thing so I can leave when I want to.”

The Cymrians looked up at their new Lady in horror, then decided she was throwing in a joke to break the mood. They laughed uproariously before going back to their monotonous debate. They don’t know me very well , Rhapsody thought. She looked around the Bowl absently and caught the eye of Ashe, who was smiling up at her sympathetically. She turned her attention promptly back to the Council.

“There is only one line that holds the ties between the old world and the new one, and that is the line of Anwyn,” Oelendra was saying. Her statement had caused a shocked silence; her enmity with Anwyn was well known and recently demonstrated. “What other blood binds the ancient peoples of Serendair, oldest of the old world, with the blood of the dragon whose essence was inured in this land? Firstborn mixed with Firstborn. What is more, that line carries the Right of Kings through the blood of Gwylliam. He was the descendant of the Seren high king, lord of all the races.”

“Then you are saying to trust once more in the line that has brought us to ruin?” asked Nielsen, a Sorboldian duke.

“I am saying that they are the only House which has bonds to us all, and that perhaps they, more than any other, might learn from the wrongs of their ancestors,” Oelendra answered.

“But who then?”

“The Right of Kings went from eldest son to eldest son,” a human from the Third Wave said. “That would mean Edwyn Griffyth.”

“Apparently you haven’t been listening,” the High Sea Mage said, his silver eyebrows drawing together. “I have no desire to rule anyone or anything. If I am selected, I will flee to the highest mountain or deepest sea and hide from you until you go off and kill yourselves again. I will never—let me repeat that for the conveniently deaf among you— never accept the title of Lord Cymrian.”

Rhapsody sighed inwardly. Not being born to rulership, she had had no idea that outright refusal was an option. She would have to make note of that.

“Then the title would have fallen to Llauron, but, of course, he is dead,” said the same man who had proposed the elder brother.

“Well, in a way that’s true,” said a deep, cultured voice resonating from the rock all around that formed the Bowl. It could be felt in the feet of everyone standing within the Moot, and caused the debates to choke off into stunned silence. “But I came anyway; I hope no one minds. I heard the call as well, after all.”

“What kind of stupid trickery is this?” demanded Gaerhart of the Second Fleet.

“No trickery whatsoever, I assure you,” came the answer. From within the living earth itself a great iridescent gray shape emerged; a moment later it took the form of a vaporous serpent over a hundred feet long. Huge wings unfolded from its sides, and the glitter of silver and copper shone in its scales. Its size was hard to determine, being coiled, but as it raised its immense head Rhapsody could tell that its mass was close to that of Elynsynos. Enormous arms lifted its forebody off the ground as it rose and surveyed the Cymrian assemblage, all but a handful of whom had fallen back in utter panic at the sight of it. A great hot wind blasted them as it spoke, and they closed their eyes, trembling in fear.

In response the dragon opened its own eyes to reveal two vast orbs that shone like blue fire. The Cymrians fell to the ground in fear, all except the Three and the heirs of Anwyn.

“You become more like Mother every time I see you,” Anborn said to Llauron with a smile. Edwyn Griffyth eyed his middle brother in contempt. “Good to see you, too,” the dragon replied. “Glad you could make it to the Council, Ed.”

“I am regretting it more by the moment,” answered Edwyn Griffyth, making no attempt to disguise the disgust in his voice. “Hasn’t anyone bothered to tell you that grand entrances are only for court occasions?”

“And I consider this one. I am here to express my best wishes to the new Lady Cymrian, and my congratulations to the assemblage for their wisdom in selecting so well.” The giant wyrm made a bow in Rhapsody’s general direction, but the Lirin queen and new Lady Cymrian did not respond; instead she stared straight at the dragon without comment, all the while avoiding looking directly into his eyes. The dragon cleared its massive throat, a sound that sent shivers up a hundred thousand spines.