Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

Rhapsody felt sour pain rise in her throat. The truth of his words, despite her desire to ignore them, was undeniable. His reasons for telling her were less clear; it was impossible to discern whether he was forewarning her of what she was to face, or trying to discourage her from entering into the situation in which she would have to do so.

She looked across the field at the base of the Bowl again, to where Gwydion knelt, surrounded by old friends, consoling the children of Stephen Na-varne and Rosella.

“Goodbye, Llauron,” she said, gathering her skirts. “I’ll see you at the wedding, I expect, or at least feel your presence.” She climbed down from the rocks and hurried across the Moot where her husband waited.

In the Great Hall of Tyrian atop Tomingorllo, amid the glad sound of silver trumpets, a solemn procession carried the chosen gift of suit to the display pedestal where the diadem had rested. It was carefully set in place, and revealed with great respect.

Out of all the rich gifts of state that were presented for the Lirin queen’s approval, gifts whose incalculable wealth showcased the treasuries and artistry of the nations whose leaders sought her hand, she had chosen a simple scroll, bound with a black velvet ribbon. It was sealed with an odd, thirteen-sided copper signet, said to be one of only two in the entire world.

The scroll was rumored to be a song unlike any other. As the queen was a musician unparalleled, it was widely believed to be beautiful to the point of magical if she had been moved to choose it above all other offerings. The plate beneath it, by way of announcement, bore the name GWYDION OF MANOSSE, LORD CYMRIAN.

During this meaningful and joyous ceremony, the queen, by custom, was absent; at least she was not noticed, lying on her stomach on the floor of the Grand Balcony, looking down and watching it all from underneath Gwydion’s mist cloak with him. It was a struggle for them both to refrain from giggling like maniacs as they had when, straight-faced, she had presented her betrothal choice to Rial and left his offices in a dead run before her composure collapsed.

The song was a gift for the eyes of the bride-to-be only. Gwydion had threatened to have the scroll hold the tender lyrics to one of Grunthor’s bawdy marching songs. Instead, when she opened it she found he had been putting the music instruction she had given him to good use; the carefully graphed staff carried the notes that spelled out Sam and Emily Always without a single error.

The bouquet of winterflowers he had presented her with at the same time remained in Elysian, opening a little more day by day, revealing petals of deeper red with each new layer. The bouquet was held in stasis by the magic of the place, and did not fade, remaining permanently suspended in glorious bloom. It was a true marvel, but one the queen did not feel the inclination to share with any other eye. Proof of being selfish again , she had told her chosen suitor, who had only smiled.

“But who is there to marry us publicly?” Rhapsody asked Gwydion as they strolled in the garden of Tomingorllo. “You hold the offices of Invoker and Patriarch; there is no one above you in the religious hierarchy.”

Gwydion smiled. “You are not current in your information,” he said, kissing her hand as they walked. “While you were refusing to see me, I had to do something to keep from going insane, so I set about delegating some of those responsibilities.”

Rhapsody laughed. “Pretty certain of yourself, aren’t you? I thought you didn’t know if you would be confirmed as Lord Cymrian or not.”

“I didn’t. I still believed there should be others leading the religious factions directly. Besides, if you had married Anborn or Achmed I would have thrown myself into the sea anyway, so it wouldn’t have mattered.”

“So do you intend to remain the titular head of the order?”

“Yes, but I am nominating leaders of both factions who I think will be able to work together toward reunification. And even if it doesn’t happen, I believe there will still be a harmonious coexistence of both faiths.”

“Excellent. And whom did you choose to take on the office of Invoker?”

Ashe stopped and looked off into the distance. “Gavin. And I believe there is my candidate for Patriarch now, though of course the Scales of Jierna Tal will have to weigh him and find him worthy. He seemed mildly amused at the prospect. I asked him to come to Tyrian after the Cymrian Council so you could meet him; he’s new in the faith, but very wise. Come, let me introduce him to you.”

Rhapsody took his hand and followed him across the garden to where an older man was waiting. His beard was long enough to curl upward at the edges, with streaks of white and silver winning the battle for control within it over the insistent white-blond. Despite being somewhat advanced in years he was tall and broad-shouldered, and had a smile that Rhapsody could swear she had seen before, though from a distance she did not recognize him.

“Was he at the Council?” she asked as Gwydion picked up the pace.

“Yes; he was part of the Diaspora. I met him a few days before the Second Fleet arrived at the Moot. I asked him where he had come from, and all he would say was that it was both near and farther away than anyplace in the known world. We camped out together a few nights, and I was astounded at his wisdom and vision, and his extraordinary powers of healing. While we were there he tended to several people in the throes of great illness or pain, with amazing skill. He radiates great peace; I resolved to offer him the post if I was ever in a position to grant it to him. He seems to know of you; he asked if I knew you, but of course I couldn’t tell him anything except that I did. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

Rhapsody stopped still on the forest path, staring at the robed man. His lined face was wreathed in a smile that made her flush hot and cold with memories simultaneously.

“Constantin!”

He held out his hands to her, hands marred by time and the life he had led, and she hurried to him and took both of them in her own, kissing his cheek. Warmth flooded her face, as she thought back to their myriad, and occasionally unpleasant, experiences. His eyes were serene, however, and he looked at her knowingly and just smiled.

“Hello, m’lady,” he said in the deep voice she remembered. “I’m honored that you remember me.”

Rhapsody reached up, as if unable to stop herself, and touched his wrinkled cheek. I was gone behind the Veil of Hoen for seven years, and when I came out the snow had barely covered the hilt of the sword , she thought poignantly. I’ve been back now half a year. Gods, I’m amazed he’s still alive .

“I told you I would never forget you,” she said gently, “and I haven’t.”

Constantin kissed her hand. “Nor I you. Best wishes on your engagement. The Lord Cymrian is a lucky man.”

“Thank you,” Rhapsody and Gwydion said simultaneously. The Lord Cymrian drew her closer to his side.

“Constantin has agreed, if the Scales confirm him, to accept the office of Patriarch on Midsummer’s Night,” Ashe said. “And as such he will be the one to marry us, if you agree, Aria, in a joint ceremony with Gavin.”

Rhapsody smiled. “I certainly do. Thank you, Constantin.” She studied his face intently for a moment. “What made you decide to leave?”

His eyes darkened, and he looked deep into hers. “It was time,” was all he said.

Rhapsody remembered what Anborn had said about the wisdom not to ask more than she really needed to know. She turned to the Lord Cymrian, who was watching their interaction with surprise. “I am delighted in your choice of a Patriarch, darling. He has studied with the best possible instructors and I know for a fact there’s not a drop of evil in him.” Her eyes sparkled wickedly and Constantin laughed. Gwydion looked puzzled.