Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

With a detachment caused by increasing tiredness she pulled the combs from her hair and brushed it slowly, trying to sort out the events of the day. She brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth with a tonic made with anise and peppermint, hoping to banish the bitter taste in it, but it was no use; the acidity was coming from deeper inside her. With a final shake of her head to relax her long tresses, she went back into the bedroom.

The fire was burning steadily now, and leapt in welcome as she came back into the room. Rhapsody tossed the shirt onto the bed, went to her closet, and rummaged for her buttonhook. Oelendra had helped her dress that morning, but now she was alone to struggle with the numerous tiny buttons that ran down the back of her gown. When Ashe was there she never had need of a buttonhook; the assistance in dressing was one more thing she would have to get used to being without, although more often than not his help was detrimental to her attempts to become clothed anyway. She laughed to herself at the picture of the Lirin queen, the new Lady Cymrian, crawling around on the floor searching for tools to pry her body loose from its garments.

Finally she located it on the floor behind some hatboxes—Ashe had had a detrimental effect on the organization of her closet as well. She slid the buttonhook down her back, unfastening the stays with a familiar ability that came back from her days alone; there was some comfort in knowing she could go back to being by herself and life would still go on. The gown slipped off her shoulders and she stepped out of it; Rhapsody stared at it a moment, and then, for the first time in her life when alone, left her clothes in a heap on the floor.

She pulled her camisole over her head, tossed it into the pile for good measure, and returned to the bed. She lifted the shirt and stared at it; the cuffs were frayed at the ends, and there was still a tiny white wine stain on it where he had spilled his glass at dinner that night. He must have been nervous , she mused, the memory of his handsome face coloring with laughter. How she had loved to see and hear him laugh.

Loss welled up in her throat again, and she hugged the shirt to her naked chest, trying to dispel the pain. The sensation of the linen against her skin was a pale reminder of holding him in her arms; clothed in nothing but her lower undergarments, she put the shirt on and hugged herself, trying to recreate the feeling.

It didn’t work, but his scent filled her lungs, and she rolled up the sleeves, enormously long on her. The shirt itself hung down almost to her knees; it was a little like an embrace. Rhapsody knew it was all she had left of him, and it would have to suffice. She pulled back the flowered coverlet and turned down the sheets, crawling in between them in her odd nightwear. Then she gave herself over to tears of despair, hoping that if she let them all out she would cleanse her heart of him once and for all.

It was thus that he found her, curled up on the bed, under the quilt, wrapped in his shirt, sobbing as though her heart would break. She hadn’t even heard him come in, nor had she sensed his presence. He was wearing his mist cloak and so had passed undetected, and in her misery she didn’t notice until he was almost upon her.

“Aria? Are you all right?”

Like an arrow from the string Rhapsody shot out of the bed, a look of shock and horror on her face. She darted behind the dressing screen, her tears stanched by the surprise.

“Ashe! What in blazes are you doing here? Gods; get out! Please.”

A jumble of emotions swept over Gwydion as she ran past; pain for her suffering, amusement at her reaction, longing to hold her, desire at the sight of her, particularly attired as she was. He struggled to wipe the smile off his face and hold a serious tone.

“Sorry. I guess I should have knocked first.”

“No, you just shouldn’t be here. Gods, what were you thinking I don’t care if you are the Lord Cymrian. Please leave immediately.”

Ashe removed the mist cloak and hung it on the coatrack near the door, then took a large, glowing pearl from the top drawer of the dresser and set it on top. He went and sat in one of the wing chairs by the fire, where he had a better view of the dressing screen. He put his feet up, then looked at the crumpled clothes on the floor, and laughed aloud.

“Why, Rhapsody; I’m rubbing off on you! You’re becoming a slob.”

“Get out,” she ordered more forcefully. “What do you think you’re doing, coming here?”

“Introducing you to my wife,” he replied, his amusement mounting. “If you recall, I told you I would do so after the Cymrian Council.”

Rhapsody gasped aloud in panic. “ What ?! You brought her here ? Gods, what’s the matter with you? The Council isn’t even over yet. I thought you meant some time after, like days, weeks—”

“Months, years—I know you did, and I didn’t trust that you would stay put long enough for me to make the introduction. You forget, I know you very well, Rhapsody.” His eyes sparkled in the firelight; he was relishing the joys of domestic conflict.

“How dare you,” she whispered, angry tears reappearing in her eyes. “You have no right to tell me what I will and will not do. This is my house, in case you’ve forgotten. Now get out.”

Gwydion leapt to his feet. “Wait; don’t say it,” he said seriously, knowing her next words: You’re not welcome here . The last thing he needed was to have her Naming lore make that true. “I’m sorry. Please, just come out and we’ll talk.”

Rhapsody was beginning to panic. “Where is she? I can’t even feel her presence in my house. Oh no. Oh no. Please, Ashe, please just leave now. We’ll talk tomorrow at the council; I promise. We have to deal with each other eventually, anyway. Now, please go, both of you.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you come out and talk to me. And there is no one else here; we’re alone. Now, come on. Face this as you do everything else, Rhapsody; it’s not like you to hide.”

Her anger deepened. “It is no concern of yours what I’m like, or what I do from now on, Ashe, in any arena but the political one.”

“Wrong. Come out. I’m not leaving.”

“And I’m not appropriately dressed.”

“I noticed; all the better. Come out. Please.”

She looked out at him from behind the screen. Her facial kaleidoscope shifted from anger, to shock, to fury, and Gwydion laughed uproariously at the comical permutations her beautiful countenance was undertaking. Rhapsody picked up a book from the shelf built into the wall by the fireplace, and hurled it at him, smacking him squarely on the head.

“What is it about your family?” she asked in amazed rage. “They name you Lord Cymrian, and instantly you turn into horses’ arses.”

“Hey!” Gwydion shouted in mock annoyance. “Is that any way to speak to your Lord and fellow sovereign?” The screech of wrath from behind the screen reminded him of a whistling teakettle, and he doubled over in merriment.

“Get out!”

“All right, all right, Rhapsody,” he said, bringing his mirth under control. “I’ll make a bargain with you: You come out and hear what I have to say; then, if you still want me to leave, I will do so immediately, without another word. I promise. Fair enough?”

“No. I’m not dressed.”

“You look fine. Now come out.”

“Gods, you’re a married man; have you no shame?”

“Not one bit. Now, come out right now or I’ll demand the return of that shirt immediately.” He moved closer, positioning himself between her and the closet.

For a moment no sound came from behind the screen. Then he heard a deep, sad sigh, and she finally came out, abject humiliation on her face.