Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

“No. Of course not.”

“And Rhapsody—once Khaddyr no longer sees her as useful to him, once she is no longer valuable as a herald, what do you suppose he will seek to do with her?”

Llauron could feel the cold of Ashe’s shudder from across the room. When he spoke his voice was kind. “You have to let it unfold as it will now, Gwydion. Rhapsody needs to play her part, just as we all must. She will survive it—we will all survive it. With any luck, we will all get what we want in the end.”

“Why should I trust your judgment of what the impact will be on Rhapsody—you, who promised her reinforcements, but left her alone in the storm? How could you do that to anyone, and especially to Rhapsody? How could you expect the unswerving loyalty she had given you, and then abandon her to her death?”

“Aren’t you being a little histrionic? She didn’t die, did she?”

“No thanks to you. You should be mortally ashamed, though I doubt you have the honor to be.”

“Spare me your righteous indignation. I have already had enough of that from your uncle.”

“Would you prefer murderous rage? That’s much closer to what I am feeling.”

“Feel whatever you like, but spare me from it. I have no patience for this disrespect and will not tolerate it.”

“Do you have any idea what could have happened to her in Sorbold, dressed as she was?”

“Nothing that hasn’t happened to her before.”

Ashe’s eyes narrowed even further in anger. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come now, Gwydion, it’s not like she’s a blushing maiden, as she was when she first came here. Surely you must know that as well as anyone, I expect.” A vase of flowers exploded behind him, spattering shards of porcelain and water over Llauron’s desk. “Well, that was mature. Are you taking offense at me pointing out that there is no honor there to defend anymore?”

“Rhapsody has more honor in one strand of her hair than you have known in your entire selfish life. I hope you are not saying that she deserved to have something of that nature happen to her. I would hate to have to add patricide to my list of crimes.”

“Not at all. I’m merely saying that I felt Rhapsody was capable of handling whatever befell her alone. She is the Iliachenva’ar, after all.”

“What did she ever do but help you, when was she ever anything but kind to you? Why do you hate her so?”

-

Llauron stared at his son incredulously. “Have you lost your mind? What are you talking about? I love that girl like my own daughter; I have nothing but the greatest respect for her.”

“Oh, of course, a daughter. No wonder you thought you could abuse and manipulate her with impunity; you mistook her for family.” The anger in both sets of eyes now matched. “What is it that makes you want to hurt her? Are you jealous, afraid she will capture the hearts and minds of the Cymrians in a way our line never could? Do you doubt her wisdom, if they should choose her as their leader?”

“Of course not. Rhapsody would be a magnificent leader. She has a noble heart and a beautiful countenance. I have no reservations about her at all.”

“So why? If you love her, you respect her, you think she would be a magnificent leader, why are you trying to kill her? Or is it that you feel perhaps it is I that don’t deserve her? Is that it? Are you trying to keep her for yourself?”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Then why? Tell me, Father. Why? Why are you trying to destroy the only happiness I may ever have? Do you hate me so that you want to see me miserable again?”

Fury rilled Llauron’s face and he turned away. “What a stupid thing to say.”

“Then explain it to me, Father. Tell me why you have interfered in my happiness, jeopardized my potential marriage to the one person who can make me whole? Who has made me whole?”

The Invoker said nothing for a moment. He walked to the window and stared into the darkness, his mind wandering down old roads. After a long moment he spoke, and his voice was toneless.

“Tell me, Gwydion, do you judge your dragon side to be more a part of you than mine is of me, or less?”

“More, obviously; otherwise we wouldn’t be undertaking this idiotic plan of yours.”

“Very well, then. I assume you are aware of what happened to your own mother upon giving birth to the child of a partial dragon?” Llauron could feel the blood drain from Ashe’s face even beneath the hood. “I have spared you the details up until now—shall I give them to you? Do you crave to know what it is like to watch a woman, not to mention one that you happen to love, die in agony trying to bring forth your child, hmmm? Let me describe it for you. Since the dragonling instinctually needs to break the eggshell, clawing through, to emerge, the infant—”

“Stop,” Ashe commanded, his voice harsh as acid. “Why are you doing this?”

“To answer your question, ingrate son. I know that you love her. I knew you would before you even met her—who wouldn’t? How could you possibly resist her? And I also knew that somehow the training, and the natural stoicism of our family, has managed not to make an impression on you. You have always been moonstruck, babbling about your dead soulmate, pestering An-wyn for information about something that was only a dream.

“So when it became obvious that you had lost your heart to this one, I needed to step in to remind you that you have a responsibility that supersedes the heat of your loins, one that involves not only responsibly choosing a marriage partner, but also producing an heir. And that will, in all likelihood, mean that your mate will die, like mine did. Your child will be even more of a dragon than you were, so the chances of the mother’s survival are not good. If your own mother could not give birth to you and live, what will happen, do you think, to your mate?

“You accuse me of hating you—how stupid you are being. It is, in fact, my love for you that has informed my actions. I don’t wish you to suffer as I did. If the Lirin queen had accepted my proposal, I would have never suffered the pain I did when Cynron died; but life works out as it does. So instead I watched with horror the greatest sadness of my life in the face of what should have been my greatest joy. And I don’t wish for you to repeat my mistake, nor do I want to lose Rhapsody to our world. You would become ineffectual, and this place would be a darker one. So strike out at me in your frustration all you like—the truth is, I am trying to spare you pain from which you may never recover.”

Llauron heard no sound when he stopped speaking; it was as if all the air had gone out of the room. He turned slowly to face his son, who was standing rigid across the dark study. He took a step toward him, and watched as Ashe’s body relaxed, a sure sign he had rationalized things in his mind.

“We will just forgo having children,” he said, his voice tinged with sadness but weak with relief. “Rhapsody adopts every child she comes upon who needs her. We won’t be childless. There will be more than enough love in our lives, with or without them.”

“Not an option,” said Llauron coldly. “You know better by now. You have a responsibility to produce an heir, and it must be of the blood. How would a child without Cymrian lore rule a people so innately powerful? You were gifted with the line of MacQuieth, the blood of the Seren kings and the elemental ties of the Dragon; who else could assure that they will live in peace? Who else could undo the damage caused by both your grandparents?”

Ashe felt relief break, like an egg, over him. “Manwyn.”

“What?”

“Manwyn. She has already foretold this. She told me clearly that, though my mother had died giving birth to me, that my children’s mother would not die giving birth to them. She’s safe, Father. Rhapsody is safe. The Seer has said so.”