Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

Past the gate she could see that the city itself was glittering in the light of the winter morning, with silver flags flying from every streetlamp, and great garlands strung from rooftop to rooftop. The mosaics on the walls and in the streets had been polished to a bright sheen, and from every tree hung a silver star, the symbol of the Patriarchy. Rhapsody was amazed that so many extensive preparations had been possible in such a short time.

The wedding of the prince and his bride, Lady Madeleine of Canderre, had been originally scheduled for the first day of spring; Rhapsody had reread the invitation over many times since she had returned to Tyrian from the Veil of Hoen. Oelendra had told her by chance that the date had been moved up owing to a horrendous slaughter at the winter festival; the tale had made Rhapsody’s blood run cold.

Rial, Tyrian’s loyal Lord Protector, had also been invited to the wedding, and so she had met up with him on the forest road and traveled with him and his guards, grateful for the chance to be able to ride in a coach in winter rather than on horseback. Originally her invited escort was Achmed, but he had snorted in a way that made it very clear to her that he would not be coming. The tossing of his invitation into the fires of the Great Hall of Canrif, followed by a giant projectile of spit, had sealed her impression the previous summer. Events at the House of Remembrance notwithstanding, it was not really surprising that if Ylorc was to be represented at this state occasion, she would have to be the one to go, and go alone.

Secretly she was looking forward to the event. Weddings had always been a time of great celebration in the Seren farming village of Merryfield, where she was raised, and she had always loved to dance. In addition, since Achmed had grudgingly given her several notes of tender to purchase clothing and appropriate jewelry, her excitement had grown over each league of the journey. And finally, deep in her heart she hoped Ashe might be there, as they had tentatively planned. For all of Llauron’s ugly warnings, she hoped to see him one last time before he was wed himself.

Now, however, sitting in Rial’s coach at the western gate in a line of other guests waiting to enter the city, she was nervous. There were soldiers everywhere, at least four times as many as there had been when she was last here, and the attitude was much more threatening than it had been. She laid a hand on Rial’s arm as they waited.

The Lord Protector, wrapped in a deerskin cloak over his standard dark red cape, turned to her and smiled. The smile faded when he saw the look in the eyes within her hood.

“Rhapsody? Is something wrong?”

She gestured out the window. “Doesn’t it seem more—more martial than it has been here before?”

Rial chuckled. “ ’Tis not an answer I can give, dear one. This is my first time in Bethany. But I have heard from the mail caravan that Tristan Steward has taken control of the armies of Roland. Most probably the first step in seizing the crown.” Rhapsody shuddered.

“Who seeks to enter?”

The voice was harsh and deep, and seemed to come from right beside her.

Rhapsody turned and looked into the eyes of the brown-bearded soldier who had thrust his face through the carriage window; they were now at the gate. Eleven other soldiers were deployed around the area, standing guard and checking tradesmen who were bringing in goods for the wedding, and turning away others who wanted to enter the city. She averted her eyes as Rial spoke up.

“Rial, Lord Protector of Tyrian, here for the wedding by invitation,” he said in his smooth, warm voice. He took Rhapsody’s invitation from her hand, added his own to it, and handed it out the window to the guard. “With me is the Lady Rhapsody, the, er, Duchess of Elysian,” he continued, a twinkle in his eye. Rhapsody hid a smile at the joking title Achmed had given her when he had made the hidden island cottage her own.

The soldier had looked at both invitations, passing Rial’s back without comment. He turned Rhapsody’s over several times, then stared at her. “Show your face, lady,” he commanded. Before she could move, Rial leaned forward, his body tensing. “Why?” he demanded. “How dare you speak this way to an invited guest of the prince? Nay; the invitation is in order. Move aside, soldier. The weather is bitter. Let us pass.”

The guard drew his bastard sword menacingly, and the others at the gate turned their attentions to the carriage. Rhapsody turned hurriedly to Rial.

“It’s all right, Rial,” she said quickly. “They are just being careful.” She looked back at the guard, then took her hood down.

The soldier’s eyes widened. He blinked rapidly, then averted his gaze and passed a hand over his face to regain his composure. He returned the invitations to Rial and gestured for the coach to move inside the city gates.

Rhapsody pulled her hood back up. “Are you going to the guest housing directly, Rial?”

The Lord Protector smiled. “Aye, as I know no other place in the city. Did you have somewhere you prefer to go first, Rhapsody?”

She nodded, staring absently out the window at the throngs of tradesmen and soldiers streaming through the streets. “I need to get to a dressmaker. I did not bring appropriate attire with me; I’ve been journeying for a long time now.” More them seven years, though no time has passed on this side of the Veil of Hoen , she mused silently. She turned to Rial, who was watching her intently, and smiled.

“Besides, I’m looking forward to the chance to spend a good deal of Achmed’s money.”

The holy man sighed silently. Logjammed in a line of carriages yet again. He shook his head, urging the harsh, wheedling voice within to be patient. There was no true sport to be had at the wedding, sadly. Tristan’s forces, now loyal to him as regent and supreme commander, were already sworn, and therefore all but impossible to turn in any way that would bring harm directly to him or his interests. The ranks had swelled prodigiously; the army of Roland, quartered still in their home provinces but relocating to Bethany more by the day, would soon surpass one hundred thousand soldiers. His eyes burned with excitement at the thought.

Still, it was hard to pass up such a plum opportunity to make mischief, to wreak havoc on such a grand scale. A royal wedding, the first in many years, was a prime hunting ground, an almost irresistible chance to cause an eruption of violence. He had already arranged for a small surprise of that sort, though he doubted it would do much to disrupt the actual festivities. He sighed again humorously. Such a loss.

He pushed back the curtain of his carriage window and leaned slightly into the wind.

Now, my good folk , he whispered. You may come .

Outside the city proper, on the western bank of the Phon River, the central waterway of the province, far beyond the view of the soldiers, hidden in the dark wastes of makeshift huts and ramshackle stalls that had been erected to house the displaced residents of Bethany’s outer villages, the eyes of the blacksmiths who had, a few days before, shoed the horses that pulled the holy man’s carriage began to burn at the edges. Deeper within, a darker fire began to kindle.

Silently they ceased their chores, left their hovels, and gathered their tools in the bitter wind.

Four street corners east from the northern district’s secondary well, then eleven streets south. Rhapsody counted silently as she followed the pattern of foot and cart traffic, keeping her head down and the large cloth bag tucked carefully over her arm, taking care not to drag it in the icy filth of the city’s cobbled streets. Her breath, warm from her pace and the anxiety that swirled in the air around her, formed thin clouds of white mist that caught the wind and vanished with each inhalation, each hurried step.