Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

“You’re off to Llauron’s, then?” Oelendra asked as she put the sleeping infant into the cradle. She covered her with a spun-wool blanket and gave her back a gentle rub before sitting down in her chair.

Rhapsody nodded. She was rocking two of the smallest children in the willow chair before Oelendra’s hearth, the firelight playing off her face. “He knows more about Sorboldian culture than anyone I know. Even though that country lies on Achmed’s border, he doesn’t have much knowledge of it.”

“Mountains do have a way of keeping information out, along with enemies,” Oelendra said. “Are you certain you can trust Llauron in this?”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t?”

“No.” The Lirin champion picked up her mug of spiced mead and lifted it to her lips. After she had swallowed, she looked back to find Rhapsody’s emerald eyes fixed on her, reflecting the flickering firelight. “Do you remember the Kinsman call I taught you when you first came to me for training?”

Rhapsody nodded, but her gaze did not wane. “Yes. By the Star, I will wait, I will watch, I will call and will be beard .” Oelendra nodded. “I was on horseback, preparing to leave for Sepulvarta to defend the Patriarch, so I do not recall much beyond that. What does it have to do with Llauron?”

“It has nothing to do with Llauron; we’ll get back to him in a moment. It’s important that you remember the call. You said you heard a whispering sound in your ear that night in Sepulvarta when you stood vigil and fought for the Patriarch?”

“Yes.”

The older woman’s face took on the glow of the firelight. “I believe you are a Kinsman now yourself, Rhapsody. In the old land, the Kinsmen were a brotherhood of warriors, masters of the craft of fighting, dedicated to the wind and the star you were born beneath. They were accepted into the brotherhood for two things: incredible skill forged over a lifetime of soldiering, and a selfless act of service to others, protecting an innocent at the threat of one’s own life. I believe your protection of the Patriarch from the Rakshas in the basilica that night vested you as one of the order.”

“But that was in the old world,” Rhapsody said, nuzzling Jecen’s neck. The child sighed in his sleep. “Are there any Kinsmen still alive? Is the brotherhood still in existence?”

“I have never met one in this new land,” Oelendra answered, rocking Aria’s cradle gently. “I know not if the brotherhood still exists. But if it does, a Kinsman who hears you will always answer your cry for help on the wind if you are one yourself. Just as you must answer if you should hear the call.”

-

“I will,” Rhapsody promised. “Now, please, can we go back to Llauron? What is your concern? Achmed has long suspected he might be the host of the F’dor. Do you think so as well?”

“Nay,” said Oelendra shortly. There was a finality to her tone that made Rhapsody look away into the fire. Oelendra was silent for a moment, studying her face. “Are you worried Llauron might tell Gwydion—er, Ashe—about the children?”

“Not really,” Rhapsody answered, kissing the slumbering heads. “Llauron isn’t above withholding things from his son if he thinks they might keep him from his assigned tasks. You should see the letters he sent me in Ylorc, politely accusing me of not spending enough time accomplishing the Cymrian reunification. Once Ashe told him about the two of us, they became even worse, demanding to know if I had something to do with the fact his son wasn’t around much anymore. All written in obscure dialects of Ancient Serenne and couched in code. Besides, the only reason I didn’t tell Ashe about the children yet is because I don’t want to hurt him. He will be devastated when he realizes the acts his soul witnessed resulted in this situation. He’ll think it’s his fault.”

Oelendra was staring into the fire. “No, ’tis certainly not his fault,” she said distantly. Rhapsody looked at her, waiting for her to elaborate, but she did not.

“You know, given how diverse these children are, it’s surprising that one of them doesn’t have copper-colored hair.”

“Why would they?” Oelendra asked, snapping out of her musings. “The Rakshas may have looked like Gwydion, but its blood was that of the F’dor. There is no blood tie there.”

“I know; but it will still feel that way to Ashe,” Rhapsody said, caressing Mikita as she whimpered in her sleep. “The fragment of his soul that gave power to the Rakshas witnessed many unspeakable things, and Ashe has fragments of those memories. Beyond the logic of reason he feels some guilt, some complicity for those acts. I’m glad none of them resemble him in any way.”

“Well, the dragon in him will know they’re not his,” said Oelendra. “Speaking of Ashe, where be he now?”

“I have no idea,” Rhapsody said, still rocking. “He was headed south of the Krevensfield Plain when we parted; I think there was a flare-up of hostility between a human outpost and the Sorbold watchguards there. We made plans to meet in Bethany at the Lord Roland’s wedding; maybe I’ll see him there. Who knows?”

“Strange,” Oelendra commented.

“Yes, well, it’s all strange. Hopefully it will be over soon.”

“I was referring to your face when you said you had no idea about Ashe. You miss him, do you not?”

“Yes. Why?”

“You don’t show it.”

Rhapsody sighed. “I knew all along he could never be mine, Oelendra. It was what you said about Pendaris and you that gave me the ability to love him at all. I guess in our short time together, we loved a lifetime’s worth, too.”

Oelendra smiled. “The difference, Rhapsody, is that you’re both still alive. Don’t ever assess a lifetime’s worth until it’s done.” The fire crackled in agreement, and the two women sat before it in companionable silence until it burned down to coals in the darkness of the cabin.

Llauron threw another log onto the fire and stood for a moment, watching it begin to catch and burn. She would be down in a moment, and it was always interesting to see the way the fire changed in proximity to her, matching itself to her mood. It was an innate ability, one that Llauron looked forward to possessing himself, though on a somewhat grander scale.

In the darkness of his study Llauron felt a sense of peace descend, a rare feeling in these last days. He leaned against the doorframe. The time was coming, and soon the waiting, and all the unpleasantness associated with uncertainty, would be over.

Rhapsody appeared at the top of the stairs. She was no longer in the dusty garments she had worn when traveling, but had attired herself in a delicate white blouse of Canderian linen, embroidered with lacy patterns in white thread, and a rich, full skirt of wine-colored wool. Her hair had been brushed and was bound merrily up in a large bow that matched her skirt.

Llauron’s eyes glittered in affectionate warmth as she came down to greet him. He took both of the hands she held out to him, and kissed her on the cheek, then tucked her arm into the curve of his own as he led her to his study.

“You look fetching, my dear,” he said gallantly, holding the door for her.

“Thank you,” she answered, smiling. “It’s amazing how far a bath and a change of clothes goes in making you feel civilized again.”

“Yes, well, Vera has brought us a nice tray with our supper on it, and somewhere around here I have a lovely bottle of brandy I thought we could use to celebrate.”

Rhapsody leaned against the horsehair sofa in front of the fire, casting a hungry glance over at the tray. “Celebrate? What are we celebrating?”