Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

Grunthor handed him a battered tankard overflowing with cheap ale.

“Gotta give it to ’em; they know how ta throw a party, eh, sir?”

Achmed said nothing, but raised the mug to his lips and drank deeply.

The rim of the Bowl at the edge of the Summoner’s Rise was cloaked in thick smoke from the roaring bonfires, shrouded intermittently in blinding light and darkness. No one could have made out the figure standing there, silently watching the merrymaking, not even the Bolg guards who flanked the Rise, passing a wineskin between them.

No one saw that figure turn after a moment, blending into the smoke like a shadow from the Past. In darkness it crept to the pulpit, picked up the Cymrian horn, and walked away into the night amid the clouds of fire ash.

The sweet scent of warm cinnamon and cardamom tickled his nose, followed by richer, deeper aromas that gently forced Gwydion’s eyes open. He focused his gaze on his glowing wife, who sat at his side on the edge of the bed, holding a breakfast tray on her lap. She was waving her hand, wafting the rising steam in his direction and smiling at him.

“Good morning, m’lord,” she said in her very best serving girl voice. “Would you care for a small repast before returning to Council?”

“I certainly would, but it got out of bed already. And it hates being reminded that it’s small.” He grinned at her in his fog, succumbing to the aromatic symphony. “Gods, what a heavenly smell.”

“I’m glad you like it. The cinnamon and sweeter spices are like the flutes and piccolos, teasing the edges of your nose, while the—”

“I was not referring to the food,” he said wickedly. “And who gave you permission to leave the royal arms?”

Rhapsody looked down at her own. “Leave them where? They’re still attached.”

“Oh, that’s right, I’d forgotten; you get to use the royal ‘we’ too, don’t you? You are the Lady Cymrian, after all.”

“Don’t remind me,” she said with mock grimness. “It’s all your fault.”

“Guilty, and I admit it with delight. It’s probably the only thing the Cymrian assemblage will ever thank me for.”

“Don’t count on it,” she said. “Now eat your breakfast. There are cinnamon buttocks—” His laugh almost unbalanced the tray. “Hie there, careful. And I made you that nasty coffee you like; ugh.”

“Oh, bless you.” Gwydion took the proffered cup eagerly, and held it while she topped it with cream. He took a sip and grinned. “It’s marvelous. Thank you.”

She sighed in mock despair. “He hates my tea, but at least he loves my coffee.”

“He loves your tea, too; he told you that ages ago. He loves everything about you. I guess this means it’s my turn to make you breakfast tomorrow?”

“That’s right,” she said seriously. “I figure we should trade off every morning, and that way each of us will get a chance to sleep in.”

He took another sip. “Who are you kidding? You never sleep in; you’re too busy tidying or singing or whatever it is you do during the three hours you get up before me. This is a case in point; you’re up and dressed, it’s two hours before dawn—it’s still dark outside, Emily.”

She crossed her wrist over her knee. “Well, a few more nights like last night, and that will never happen again. I almost expected to wake up with a large smoking crevasse running down the bed. I’ll need to sleep in just to survive.” She watched his face redden behind the cup. “Coffee too hot?”

“No, it’s fine, thank you.”

Her laugh pealed like bells; the vibration rang through the whole of Ely-sian. “Why, Sam! You’re blushing!”

Gwydion put the empty cup back on the tray. “Yes, in every’ place on my body. Want to see?” She laughed and slapped his hand away from her knee. “Here, put that down, m’lady,” he said, smiling at her evilly. As soon as she did she rose, ignoring his outstretched arms.

“No, sorry,” she said, moving away. “We have to be at Council very soon, and I know this ploy.”

“This is no ploy; it’s a royal edict.”

“Well, I hate to disappoint your—edict,” she said, “but there are a hundred thousand people waiting, and I think they might notice us missing.”

Ashe ran a hand over his unkempt hair. “Sheesh, no wonder Anwyn didn’t have a chance against you,” he said. “You’re tough. Please, Emily, come back to bed. The Council be hanged; I’ll be in a ugly mood if you don’t.”

“Sorry,” she repeated, but her smile was sympathetic. “The way I see it, an ugly mood at the Council is almost unavoidable; I know mine was. But I’m about to take my bath—excuse me, the royal bath. Would you like to join me?”

“Yes!” There was a dramatic pause. “I hope you mean that literally.”

“You really are naughty. Come on.” She took his hand and pulled him out of the bed.

He put his arm around her as they walked to the bathroom. “Naughty? What an awful thing to say, m’lady. I assure you, my intentions are—

“Purely honorable; I’ve heard this before. Do you want to get a book to read before we go in?”

“Not a bad idea,” he said, looking thoughtful. He stooped and picked up the volume that she had bounced off his head the night before, and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll be safer this way.” Rhapsody laughed, pulled it from beneath his elbow, and tossed it into the growing pile of rumpled clothes.

“Come on,” he said, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Let’s go make our own version of Crynella’s candle.”

“Hmmm?”

His lips brushed her hair as he held the door for her. “You know; water within fire.” vy wydion lay back in the tepid tub and sighed. The water was disappearing through the drain in the bathtub’s base, one of Gwylliam’s marvelous designs, leaving his chest and waist exposed to the warm air of the bathroom, heavy with vapor. With the water the anxiety and loneliness of the past half-year was draining, too; he looked over at his wife on the other side of the bathroom and sighed again. He was happy.

Rhapsody stood unclothed before the long silvered looking glass, examining herself from different angles. Her eyes seemed fixed on the area of her abdomen, and her face was thoughtful, almost pensive. Gwydion gripped the sides of the tub and raised himself, still dripping, out of the cooling water. He went up behind her and took her in his arms, laughing as she squirmed away.

“Iiiggggggghhhhh, get a towel.” She kissed him, then turned back to the mirror again.

He drew her closer and nuzzled her neck. “No, I prefer to dry myself by the fire,” he said teasingly, enjoying the feel of the warm skin of her back on his chest. Her attention was still on the mirror, something he had never seen before. “What are you looking at?”

Rhapsody stared a moment more before answering. “I’m trying to figure out why my abdomen felt as if it were expanding, why Elynsynos thought there was something evil growing inside me, if it really was you in the Teeth that night—it was you, wasn’t it? I didn’t dream that?”

Gwydion ran his hands over her hair soothingly as her eyes widened in concern. “Yes, yes,” he said hurriedly, then turned her around and took her into his arms. “That was me, Aria, every clumsy, inept moment. And prior to that inelegant assignation, I didn’t leave your side for a moment from the time we became lovers, so unless you made love to someone who looked like me after I left that night, the demon definitely was lying.”

Rhapsody’s face, pressed up against the hard muscles of his chest and shoulder, took on a half-smile. There was a question in his voice that she knew he would never ask her, so she answered it for him. “I didn’t make love to anyone at all after you left, Sam. I would have thought that was obvious last night. But that still doesn’t explain why I have felt those sensations in my abdomen, and what Elynsynos noticed.”