Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

Gwydion’s heart wrenched. “Oh, Rhapsody, I’m sorry,” he said, coming to her and taking her hand. He walked her to the chair he had occupied and handed her one of her quilts to cover up with. He sighed himself as the exquisite legs disappeared beneath the blanket.

She stared at the fire, saying nothing. Gwydion could see the toll the months of sorrow had taken on her spirit, and he cursed himself for playing with her feelings.

He sat on the floor at her feet, exactly as she had the first day she called him to this place. From his pocket he drew forth a small box and opened it, looking inside for a moment. Then he turned it toward her. “Do you remember this, Aria?” he asked her, his voice gentle. Rhapsody glanced at it, then her gaze returned immediately to the fire. “No.”

“Look at it more carefully,” he urged, trying to draw her attention back. “Is it familiar at all?”

She looked down into the box again. It held a tiny ring, composed of infinitesimal fragments of the Lirin diadem’s gemstones, with a small, perfect emerald in the center. She took the box to get a closer look, and at her touch the diamonds blazed with fire, sparkling to life the way the crown had. The emerald caught their light and shone like a star-sprinkled sea.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, handing it back to him. “But no, I don’t remember it.”

Gwydion sighed. “Oh. Well, put it on.”

Rhapsody’s brows drew together in a frown. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life. Please put it on.”

“Neither have I. No.”

I

He had not anticipated this. “Rhapsody, in order—”

She rose, clinging to the blanket. “All right, I’ve heard what you had to say. Now I want you to leave. Immediately, and without another word. That was what you promised.”

“Ar—”

“Ah, ah,” she interrupted, holding up her hand, “stop right there. You have just assumed the lordship of the united Cymrian peoples; it would not do to break your word within a day’s time. You promised; now go. I will speak with you in the morning, or at least some time during the Council, assuming we don’t have another riot on our hands.”

He stared at her in utter disbelief. His joking humor had been his defense against his overwhelming need to seize her and never let go again. For three interminable months he had roiled in agony, man and dragon, missing her magic, missing her love—just missing her. He had counted impatiently through every day, stalking the edges of the Teeth, hoping for a glimpse of her. Finally he had put as much distance as he could between them, comforting himself with the knowledge that this moment was coming.

And now that it was here, she was afraid of him, embarrassed in his presence. He had foolishly believed that it would be as simple as putting the ring back on her finger. He had tried to ease her back into it, taking it as slowly as he could stand, to avoid overwhelming her with so much conflicting information. And for his pains he had just banished himself from her company for at least another day, during which he expected she would find reasons to talk to him, but, for propriety’s sake, never alone.

Tears welled in his eyes, and rolled down his cheeks. He tried to maintain his composure, but he couldn’t. He turned from her and walked to the coat-rack, grabbed his mist cloak, and ran down the stairs. He cursed himself again for laughing at her tears a moment before; now she surely was unmoved by his own.

As Gwydion reached the threshold of the front door he heard her call from upstairs.

“Ashe?”

He turned and walked back to the bottom of the steps, looking up at her. Her eyes were wide with alarm, and her hair, mussed and glistening, tumbled around her shoulders. She was still clothed only in his shirt, looking like Man’s ultimate fantasy in distress.

She came down the stairs slowly, and when she stood a few steps above him her hand, hidden by the cuff of a sleeve much too long, moved to the collar of the shirt she wore, her graceful neck with its golden necklace widely exposed by the largeness of the garment. Her motions were hesitant, but her eyes were filled with sympathy.

“I release you from your promise,” she said. “What did you want to tell me?”

“I love you,” he said. The words came, unbidden, from the loneliest place in his heart, and though it was not what he would have said given but one chance, it was the most truthful answer to her question, and the only thing he could bring himself to say. The words resonated with longing, and depth, and all the pain that the oceans together would be stretched to contain. They spanned two worlds, two lifetimes, and their poignancy filled Rhapsody’s heart with sorrow and her eyes with tears again.

“You should go,” she said gently.

He barely saw her tears through his own. “Are you telling me you don’t love me anymore, Aria?”

She looked at the floor. “No,” she said to her feet. “I told you I always would. Always. That will never change. But it doesn’t matter.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Rhapsody; it’s the only thing that does matter. The only thing.” He sighed and felt the pain abate a little, and warmth begin to return to his soul. “Please; I know I have no right to ask this of you again, but will you trust me just once more? Will you just listen to what I need to say? Until the end this time?”

Rhapsody recognized the intensity in his eyes. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “But then will you please go?”

“Yes; if you still want me to, I will go. I promise.”

A unwilling smile came over her face. “You know, you should stop promising things you really don’t want to do.”

“More than you would ever believe,” he said. “Can we go back upstairs? I don’t think the stairwell is the best place for this conversation.”

Rhapsody blushed. “I suppose so,” she said, looking embarrassed again. “Can I at least put on a robe?” She looked down at her bare legs, and color flooded the rest of her body. She turned and started up the stairs.

“Why bother?” he asked, a hint of the old humor returning. “I may be leaving in a moment; it’s hardly worth the effort.”

Rhapsody returned to the chair, and drew the blanket back over herself. Gwydion sat on the floor again, and pulled the ring box out once more.

“Now, where were we? Oh yes, I had asked you to put this on. You see, Rhapsody, if you do, you will understand everything. It will save us hours of arguing. And though I admit I enjoyed the conflict, I could live without being brained by a book again. So please; humor me, your fellow reluctant monarch. I swear to you, my wife will not be compromised in any way by your doing so.”

Rhapsody smiled in spite of herself. “All right,” she said, and she took the ring from the box. In her hand the gems sparkled with a brilliance that reflected in his eyes; it made her think of other eyes and a night sky in another lifetime. She squeezed it for a moment, feeling the music that came forth from the ring; the whole of Elysian seemed to be tuned to it, humming softly as if preparing for the overture of an imminent symphony.

“Left hand,” Gwydion instructed gently. She looked askance at him. “Please. Just trust me.”

Rhapsody slipped the ring on her finger. For a moment she stared at it, waiting for a great revelation, but none came. Across the room, the glowing pearl began to hum. The sparkling of the diamonds and emerald in the ring intensified, and she had to look away. When she did, Gwydion raised up onto one knee and leaned over her, kissing her lovingly in the radiant glow of the ring.

The music she had heard grew louder, and each note was joined, one after another, by the next harmonic tone; it swelled, filling the room, then the house, then the island, then the grotto and finally the whole of the underground duchy that was Elysian with the most beautiful song she had ever heard. It built to a thundering crescendo, and diminished into the slightest of sounds, maintaining its harmony. Then, as a flag released from its tether in a high wind, it broke free and soared off, dancing in the air and throughout the lake, touching every corner of the cavern with gladness.