Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

Rhapsody’s face went blank for a moment, and the blood that had flushed her face spread throughout her body, leaving her weak and feeling a little sick. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “May I ask you why?”

The great warrior gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “For three reasons. First, the Cymrians have chosen you for their Lady, and the truth is I passed up the Lordship because it would be a bore. As you know, the thing I cherish most in this world is my freedom. I might have had that as your husband, but if I had to fulfill a role of my own, that freedom would disappear under a hill of responsibilities and duties. I couldn’t allow that, Rhapsody, not even for you.”

She nodded. “I understand,” she said, her eyes filled with respect for his honesty. “Will you tell me the other reasons?”

Anborn sighed and examined the ground. “Well, as much as I agreed to the terms and understandings we set forth, I have to admit I don’t think I’d much like being wed to someone who is in love with another man. You have done a good job of hiding it, my dear; I doubt anyone else knows. But I can tell; it’s in your eyes. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I think I would be very jealous.”

Rhapsody’s face went red again, but the expression she found in Anborn’s eyes was mild and understanding. The tension broke and they smiled at each other again.

“And the last?”

Anborn hesitated, then spoke. “I’m afraid I cannot live up to even the first condition you asked for. If I recall, the main reason you chose me is that I didn’t love you.” He looked away, and Rhapsody felt a tinge of pain rise in his throat.

She put her arms around him in a warm embrace. “That’s ironic,” she said softly. “I guess I can’t live up to the terms myself.”

Anborn laughed and returned her clasp. “Words a man could die happy upon hearing from you,” he said. He pulled back and looked down at her; the roughness of his features softened for a moment, and he knelt down before her. “You have my allegiance, Rhapsody—my sworn allegiance, whether as Lady Cymrian or the Lady of the Lirin, or just as a lady. My sword and life are yours for your protection and need.”

Rhapsody understood the significance of this pledge. “I am well and truly honored,” she said softly, as she helped him rise. “Thank you, Anborn.”

“And now, if you’ll allow me, I’d like to kiss my almost-wife goodbye and be on my way before I give in to my baser nature and change my mind.” Rhapsody smiled and came into his arms; they were strong and rough, as he was, and yet gentle as they wound around her waist.

His lips took hers warmly, gently at first, then with more insistence. She felt the heat from the fire inside her begin to rise and fill the spaces within herself that were reaching out, calling for him. The feeling shocked her, but she gave into it, sad in the knowledge that it would never come to pass. She could never be in love with him, or any man again, but she had grown accustomed to the prospect of living as his wife in comfortable friendship. She would miss him.

The kiss grew intimate, and she could feel Anborn’s heart begin to race. He pressed her closer, then abruptly pushed her away.

“Not a good idea,” he muttered to himself. “Will make for uncomfortable riding. Goodbye, m’lady. You know how to reach me on the wind if you should ever be in need of me.”

“Please remember that it works both ways,” she said, giving him one more heart-melting smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Anborn laughed. “You needn’t fear that, my dear. Goodbye, and enjoy your newly conferred royalty.” He mounted his great black charger; the horse snorted and danced in place as he turned to look at her once more.

“Oh, and by the way, Rhapsody, welcome to the family.” He gave her a rakish wink and galloped off toward the west, leaving her staring at him in bewilderment as he rode out of sight.

Across the plain a mile away, still trapped within the rim of the Bowl by the circulating crowd, Ashe felt her lips press against Anborn’s, and he let out a shriek of despair that caused the Cymrians standing near him to part hastily and make a path for him. He ran through it and blindly into the night, hurrying, as she now did, for Elysian.

The Elysian gardens were in full bloom, overgrown from neglect, wild with the sweetness of maturity. Rhapsody had spent the last month before the Council with Achmed and Grunthor in Ylorc, sleeping at night alone in her solitary, windowless quarters within the Cauldron, across the hall from where Jo’s room had been.

She hated it, but she felt protected there. In a close call she had returned to Elysian from the Bowl one day, after greeting and accommodating some of the later arrivals, to find a loving note and a bouquet of winter flowers on the dining-room table. Apparently Ashe could still infiltrate the Heath, but he couldn’t broach the security of the Teeth and the Cauldron. So Rhapsody had stayed there, knowing it would keep him away.

She opened the door of the dark house, feeling the scent of spicy herbs and dried flowers rise up to greet her. Despite its vulnerability and bad as sociations, Elysian had a comforting feel to it, a sense of home like none she had ever owned.

Rhapsody hung up the satin cape and pulled off the matching shoes, the soles worn and split from hours of standing on the rock ledge. With a tired hand she rubbed her foot and then made her way in the dark up the stairs to her bedroom. She opened the door and found it as she had left it, the bed still made.

She crouched before the bedroom fireplace; it was clean and fuel for a fire had been laid, though not lit. Today she was grateful, whether to Ashe or Achmed; she didn’t have the heart to build a new one. She spoke a single word, and the fire kindled, the tiny twigs snapping and hissing as they came to life for a moment, only to disappear in smoke and dissolve into ash.

Rhapsody looked around her bedroom as the light began to take hold. The fireshadows swept across the beloved furnishings and into familiar corners, bringing memories up from her soul, memories whose beauty stung as they touched the surface of her heart. As much as she loved Elysian, as much as she had missed it when in Tyrian, she knew she would not be able to stay here long; it was just too painful.

As the darkness receded and the room became bright, a glimpse of white caught her eye. Hanging over the folded dressing screen in the corner of the room was the white shirt, the shirt she had intended to ask Ashe for the night he confiscated her memories. Obviously she had remembered to do so, and he had complied. Rhapsody went to the painted screen and took down the shirt. She examined it for a moment, then brushed it against her cheek. It still carried his scent, clean and windy, with a touch of the smell of salty ocean spray. The scent brought tears to her eyes; she cursed herself for being vulnerable to it. Even the guilt that followed the tears into her eyes couldn’t make her put it down.

Rhapsody stood for a long time, caressing her face with the garment. Then, as the warmth in the room grew, she felt exhaustion and sadness begin to take her over. She slung the shirt over one shoulder and went into the bathroom. She pumped a basin full of icy water and touched it, raising its temperature to a comfortable level, then washed her face vigorously, as if to rub off the invisible tearstains and the serene face she had worn as a mask most of the day.

She stared at her reflection in the glass; it was a human face, unremarkable to her eyes, with a weariness that permeated the pores of the skin made pale by exhaustion. Not a beautiful face; she could not for the life of her understand the reaction she was getting. Must be the crown , she thought. I guess a blinding halo of circling stars will make anyone stare in awe .