Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

“M’lady, what’s the matter?” He gave her a comforting squeeze, then pulled back from her to look into her eyes again.

“Please, Rial,” she gasped, more from anxiety than exertion, “get me out of here. Please; I’m going to break down if you don’t.”

Understanding took root in her viceroy immediately, and he executed a quick half-turn, pulling her under his arm as he did. His long red cape swung behind them both as they walked, and he spoke to her in a comforting tone, much like the one she used with frightened children.

“There, now, m’lady, don’t worry. You’ve had an exhausting day, and everyone will understand. I believe you put in enough time at the feast to be polite; we’ll get you away from here, and I’ll make your apologies to the assemblage.” He patted her hand gently as they walked, and she clutched his, hanging on for her sanity.

Ashe struggled to remain upright, such was the swell of the crowd. He endeavored to smile at each person who grabbed his shoulder, took his hand, or clapped him on the back. He knew Rhapsody would expect as much from him, and it was only her potential disapproval that kept him from drawing his sword and slashing a path clear to her through the annoying jackasses that barred his way.

The cacophony of voices and cheers was giving him a headache; he could not wait to be rid of this place and in her arms. It was a moment that he had waited for more than half a year, and if he was kept from it one moment longer, he was afraid of what might ensue.

As he broke free of another pocket of humanity he looked to where Rhapsody had been. She was gone.

He whirled around and let his dragon sense loose, but he couldn’t feel her. He knew immediately she must have returned to Elysian, but then a chill swept over him as he realized this might not be the case. Rhapsody had been to many strange places in their time apart, and had learned techniques to hide herself even from him. Maybe she wasn’t there at all.

At any rate, he didn’t have the time to misguess, as he had after Llauron’s pretended death; if he should take the time to track her to the wrong place, the night would be gone before he caught up with her, and the Council would resume before he had given her memory back. He could not allow that to happen.

His eyes scanned around for clues and came perchance upon Oelendra. She had made her way out of the crowd and was walking slowly on the rim toward the night. He dashed for her and caught her arm, the words exploding before he could engage in any polite pleasantries.

“Where is she?”

Oelendra looked at him regretfully. “Congratulations, my Lord Cymrian. My best wishes to you for every good thing—”

“Where is Rhapsody? Oelendra, tell me, or by the gods, I’ll—”

Oelendra’s eyes narrowed. “Or you’ll what? Don’t start out on the wrong foot, m’lord.”

“I’m sorry, Oelendra,” Gwydion replied, subdued. “With one notable exception, there is no one I owe more to than you. But if you think I am going to be kept from my wife for one more second—

“Did you ask her before you named her Lady?”

Gwydion’s face froze. “What do you mean?”

“Did you bother to ask her, or even tell her about what you planned to do?”

“When?” he asked incredulously. “I haven’t even bloody seen her for three months, Oelendra. I have gone slowly insane, waiting for permission to talk to my own wife, and it has never come.”

“Perhaps there’s a reason for that.”

“There are undoubtedly many reasons, but none of them matter. I have to see her, Oelendra, I have to see her right now. Before anything else goes wrong, before Anborn presses his claim to her, or Achmed; gods, I have to tell her the truth. Please, please help me. Did she go back to the Cauldron? Or did she go to Elysian?”

Oelendra looked into his eyes; they were already touched by new wisdom, the look of a true king. But deeper, and more encompassing, was the look of utter fear and despair of a frightened husband; the look of a man about to lose his soul. Her heart went out to him, but her honor stood between him and the information he needed.

Ashe knew her dilemma. “Oelendra, I know and admire your loyalty to

Rhapsody, but you must know that the decisions she is making she is deciding in the dark, without some very important information. Instead of doing what she asked of you, please consider doing what she would want you to do if she had all the facts. Don’t you think it will hurt her more if she takes any action that will compromise what she decided on that night six months ago? What do you think will happen to her when she eventually finds out what we have promised each other, if she has married another in the meantime?”

Oelendra got the point. Ashe watched the conflict in her eyes, holding his breath. Finally he saw her decision register.

“Where do you think she would go to hide, to find comfort, where no one else might find her?”

Ashe understood. “She’s in Elysian.”

Oelendra smiled. “I wish you luck, m’lord.”

Vs she crossed the edge of the plain that led into the pass to the Cauldron, Rhapsody glanced through the flickering light of distant torches and saw a dark figure packing up a dark horse. The man looked up at her and smiled broadly. Even in her desire to escape from the Bowl unnoticed, she felt compelled to stop and walked over to him, looking around to be sure the Cymrians hadn’t followed. They hadn’t; the wine was flowing now, along with the stronger spirits of the distilleries of Ylorc and Canderre, and loud drunken singing could be heard echoing off the Bowl.

Anborn stopped his packing for a moment and looked at her intently. “They certainly know how to celebrate, don’t they?”

“I suppose it comes from all those years of needing a reason to,” Rhapsody said, her eyes glittering in the dark. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” He withered under her knowing glance. “Oh, Gwydion? I meant what I said; he is the most suited to lead them. The gods know he has far more patience for that sort of nonsense than I do. Besides, I could envision us all spending the rest of our lives in that damned Moot. The First Fleet would have felt compelled to argue at least a hundred years before they would agree to listen to anything I had to say, and frankly, I have better things to do.”

Rhapsody’s hand came to rest on his arm. “Why do I think it was more than that?”

Anborn sighed and threw his saddlebag over the horse’s back. “Because, despite your tendency to put yourself in extraordinarily stupid situations, you are actually an extremely wise woman, one wise enough not to ask any more than she really needs to know.” He looked directly into her eyes and smiled; she understood what he was saying.

“You’re not staying for the rest of the meeting?”

Anborn shook his head. “I’m not the head of my House, and besides, I think I’ve done enough here, don’t you?” They both laughed. Then Anborn took her hands as his face grew serious.

“I have to ask something of you, something that will be harder than anything I ever remember doing.” His eyes twinkled within the serious expres sion. “Knowing my history as you do, you know that’s saying a great deal about how difficult this will be.”

Rhapsody’s face grew solemn. “Ask anything of me; it’s yours, without question or hesitation.”

“Ah, ah, careful, my dear; I warned you a long time ago about making promises rashly, especially to someone who has wanted you from the moment he laid eyes on you. I could take you here quite easily; the ground is soft and relatively warm.” Blood rushed to her face, and Anborn laughed. “I’m sorry, Rhapsody, that was rude. This is what I have to tell you: I must ask you to release me from my promise to wed.”