Destiny: Child Of Sky (107 page)

Rhapsody awoke on the morning of her wedding to a room full of fresh-cut pine and fir boughs and sprays of late-summer flowers, many of which were of the same kinds that had adorned the tables and barrels that night. She sat up in bed and blinked in amazement at the accuracy with which he had duplicated the adornments that the people of her farming village had used in the old land, then laughed aloud. In the night he must have stolen into the room himself; she was covered by his cloak, and her bed was strewn with willow leaves. On top of the cloak rested a thin black velvet ribbon in which was tied a heart-shaped silver button.

Oelendra sat on a chair in the bedchamber of the bride and watched the flurry of preparations in amusement. Rhapsody was sitting on the floor in her undergarments, patiently adjusting the hem of Melisande Navarne's dress, while the Lirin chambermaids sat on the bed behind her, plaiting pearls into her hair and looking disconcerted every time she moved. Sylvia had positioned herself near the door, as deliveries were arriving every few minutes, all the while swatting at the queen's Firbolg grandchildren, who were busy leaping from couch to couch and scattering her belongings across the room.

'They're eating the flowers from the hair wreaths, m'lady," the chamberlain said.

Rhapsody nodded. “I know. Please try to keep them from getting the ribbons stuck between their teeth."

When her eldest child attendant was finally turned out properly Rhapsody rose.

Her hair had been intricately braided in tiny patterns, pulled back off her face, but hung in a long fall down the back, sectioned intermittentlv with tiny white flowers and sprigs of rosemary for wisdom. She gave Oelendra a flustered grin, then followed the chattering chambermaids to the place where the wedding gown hung.

Miresylle, the dressmaker, helped her into it with a look on her face that matched that of a midwife delivering a royal infant Finally, after many adjustments, the queen stood erect and turned, and the Lirin attendants stepped back in awe.

Oelendra's amused smile grew warmer. She had not believed that anything could make Rhapsody any more beautiful than she already was, but she now saw that she was mistaken. She set her mind to the puzzle of whether the enhancement came from the perfect dress, gleaming white with a hint of blush rose shining through, or from the look of happiness that shone in the bride's eyes.

Sylvia clapped her hands decisively. “All right, out with you all, now," she said to the children and the chambermaids. The resulting flurry allowed Oelendra the moment she had been awaiting. She went up behind Rhapsody, who was attaching her earrings in front of the looking glass, and rested her hands on her shoulders.

The bride smiled at her friend in the glass, then turned to embrace her. Oelendra held her tightly for a moment, then moved to the dressing table and dropped a key on it. Rhapsody gave her a puzzled smile.

'What's that?"

'The key to my house,“ Oelendra said, adjusting the neckline of her own gown. "I told you that it was your house now as well."

Rhapsody nodded. “But why would I need a key? I would only come there when you're home."

Oelendra kissed her cheek and went to the door. “Just in case you want to spend some time alone with your husband, away from the palace. You look beautiful, darling; and happy. I will remember this sight and treasure it always. Now, don't tarry; your groom awaits." She smiled, then took her place in the procession.

Rhapsody brushed out her skirt once more and looked around her. She was surrounded by the people she loved, and would be more so momentarily. Her grandchildren—the Navarnes, the children of Hoen, and the Firbolg—were decked out identically in white silk and adorned with flowers. Rial was in her procession, as was Oelendra, who was standing as her witness. Achmed and Gmnthor stood, dressed in full regalia, ready to escort her down the aisle. Anborn, on his litter born by two Nain soldiers, waited to be carried in. And glimmering in the ether, hanging within the air and unseen by any but herself, were two great dragon shapes, multicolored eyes glittering at her lovingly. She thought how Jo would have laughed at the sight and blew her sister a kiss, knowing she was there too, unseen.

'All right,“ she said to the strange assemblage. "Here is where we begin."

This is perverse."

Lady Madeleine Steward, wife of the Lord Roland, stepped quickly out of the way of the wedding procession to avoid continued contact with the grinning child who had patted her jewel-encrusted gown as he passed by. The hairy little face was grisly beneath its floral wreath; in the Lady's opinion there was something obscene about dressing Firbolg brats in wedding finery, not to mention including them in a royal ceremony.

The Lady Roland had not been very happy for the past three months, ever since her husband had accompanied her home from the Cymrian Council, blithering happily about ceding his sovereignty to the new Lord and Lady. It had been a matter of pride for Madeleine that she had married into the highest House in the land, and now that was being subordinated to an admittedly handsome man with metal hair and a woman who was escorted down the aisle on the arms of a monster and the rudest creature she had ever met. Her world was capsizing, and Lady Madeleine could only sit helplessly by and observe the nightmare.

Tristan Steward scowled at his wife. “Shhhh," he whispered fiercely, then turned back to watch the Lady Cymrian's face take on the same glow as the Lord's as they pledged their union.

The wedding, by royal standards, was a small one. Though it was strange to be standing in the open air beneath the Sagian Oak in what was once the courtyard of the House of Remembrance rather than in the basilica in Bethany or Sepulvarta, there was something charming about the ceremony. He smiled sadly as he watched the new Patriarch bless the marriage with the Invoker of the Filids.

It was impossible to keep his gaze on Madeleine's face, twisted in the throes of disapproving disgust, when he could be looking at Rhapsody's. He turned back to look at it again. Certainly there were all the regular features that made her countenance well worthy of appreciation, even at the risk of his own wife's irritation, but it was really the way she looked at the Lord Cymrian that made it impossible to take his eyes off her. The expression on her face was unguarded, and was fixed in the aspect of a woman utterly in love and consummately happy.

Tristan sighed. He wished someone would once look that way at him, if only just once more. He knew that now that Prudence was gone, it would never happen, and it made the day darker for a moment, even as the merry bells in the trees and from the newly rebuilt tower pealed in celebration when the pair were united in a kiss.

Rhapsody was talking to Constantin under the shade of the towering engilder trees when she felt someone's intense gaze come to rest on her back. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a vertical white line standing totally still, focusing on her.

Rhapsody turned to give the image clearer attention and broke into a warm smile; it was Oelendra. The Lirin warrior had discarded the gown she had worn earlier at the wedding and redressed in a white robe of undyed wool, one much like the priests at the Tree wore. Oelendra smiled in return, but there was a look of significance in her eye that made Rhapsody's other thoughts come to a halt.

'Will you excuse me?" she asked Constantin.

The bright blue eyes in the wrinkled face smiled. “Of course, m'lady."

Rhapsody lifted the hem of her wedding gown and stepped over the rocks that bordered the forest path on which she stood. As she did, the figure in the distance shook her head and held up her hand, bringing Rhapsody to an abrupt stop.

Oelendra waved, and then walked off slowly into the woods, in the direction of the Veil of Hoen. She turned once more and smiled at the bride, bathing her with a loving look of unsurpassed warmth. Then she walked away into the forest and disappeared from view.

'Rhapsody? What's wrong, darling?" Ashe's voice spoke warmly next to her ear.

Rhapsody turned to her husband and smiled up at him, unaware of the tears that rolled down her cheeks. “Nothing, Sam. Nothing is wrong at all."

Gwydion looked off into the distance, then closed his eyes for a moment. “Was that Oelendra? I can barely make her out."

'Yes. Look as well as you can, Sam; I don't expect you will see her again, at least not it this world."

Gwydion brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Are you all right?"

Rhapsody nodded. “Of course. How can I help but be happy for her? Tonight she'll sleep beside Pendaris again." Achmed stood under the leafy boughs of an ancient oak tree, uphill from the dance floor that had been cleared in the gardens of the House of Remembrance. The members of a small but skilled orchestra from Navarne had positioned themselves across from where he stood musing, and they had set about filling the air with cheerful music, providing a welcome and appreciated break for the musicians of Tyrian. The Lord and Lady had taken almost immediately to the floor, to be joined by hundreds of their guests, and now, hours later, the forest still rang with the glad sound of celebrating people moving gracefully to the rhythmic strains of the music.

Grunthor came over, grinning, winded from his turn on the dance floor with the bride. “Watch out for 'er, sir, she's a demon at the waltz," he said, mopping his gigantic brow. “Oi got the method figgered out, though; you let her stand right on your feet—it don't 'urt, she don't weigh no more than a feather—and that way you can avoid trompin' on 'er gown. She does look most vexed at you if you do that."

Achmed took a sip of his brandy and smiled. “Thanks for the tip."

Grunthor tucked the handkerchief into the pocket of his dress uniform, and rubbed the back of his neck as they both turned to watch the dancing. It was hard to miss Rhapsody, small as she was, even in the enormous crowd of revelers. Her face was shining with an ethereal light, and her laughter rang like the bells in the trees of Tyrian and the forest of the White Tree; those dancing within ten or so feet of her routinely stopped just to watch her as if entranced. She was being waltzed around by Rial now, but when, from time to time, her husband managed to steal her for a turn, her face outshone the sun.

'She looks 'appy, eh?"

'Yes, she does."

Grunthor looked down at his friend. “ 'Ow you 'oldin' up?"

'What do you mean?"

'Well,“ said the Bolg, "Oi always got the impression you had a soft spot for 'er, if you take my point."

Achmed took another drink, saying nothing.

'Course, it's none o' my bizness, sir, but what are you gonna do about it? Oi mean, why did you just let 'er go?"

Achmed smiled as the waltz ended and Rhapsody made a deep bow to her partner, who looked startled for a moment, then joined her in merry laughter. Edwyn Griffyth swept Gwydion aside jokingly and took her into his arms for the next dance as the orchestra shifted into the Lirin pennafar, a traditional dance of celebration. “Who said I am going to just let her go?"

Grunthor's brow wrinkled as he looked down at the Firbolg king. “Oi think you might be a li'le late, don't you?" “No, actually, I'm early." “How you figger?"

Achmed leaned against the tree they were standing under. "All this is temporary.

Ashe is a dragon, and of Cymrian blood, so he is very long-lived, but he is not immortal like the three of us. And as his longevity stems from his dragon blood, sooner or later he will confront the same problem Llauron did. He will grow more and more wyrmlike, until he eventually turns his back on his humanity, including his beloved wife, and goes off to commune with the elements."

Understanding was beginning to dawn on Grunthor. “And then she's yours?"

Achmed glanced up at him. “What none of you understand is that, in a very important way, she is already. She's the only other one who knows it."

'She does?"

'Yes.“ He drained the last of his brandy. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe it's my turn to dance with the bride."

Grunthor shook his head as Achmed made his way down the hill. He was standing beside Rhapsody just as the dance ended, and the Sergeant watched in amusement as she looked up at the Firbolg king and smiled broadly, nodding in delight and taking his hand. He wasn't sure what was more amusing: the sight of Achmed dancing the mazurka, or the look on Gwydion's face as Achmed nimbly swept his bride out from in front of him and danced her away.

As the first star appeared it was greeted by a chorus of Lirinsong, then by a tempest of fireworks lighting the heavens around it. Gwydion watched the display from the top of a hilly rise beneath a willow tree, his beautiful, finally official wife leaning on his shoulder and watching the sky with him.

She sighed deeply and looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with the memory of another starry night, another willow tree.

'You know, I've decided something, m'lady," he said as he leaned over and kissed her.

'Yes, m'lord?"

'The only way I intend to watch the stars from now on is by seeing their reflection in your eyes." He kissed her again as a new shower of sparks went up, lighting her face and gleaming in her hair.

'As you wish.“ The clamor from down the hill grew; the wedding guests were growing impatient, waiting for the next round of toasting and music. Rhapsody sighed again. "How much longer is this supposed to go on? We've been celebrating all day."

Gwydion stood and pulled her up with him. “The nice thing about being in charge is that you get to say when you can leave," he said, smiling down at her and remembering the rose-petal-strewn bed waiting for them in the room behind the waterfall. “Let's go drink to our collective happiness, and then depart to start experiencing some of our own. Does that sound good to you?"

'Very good."

Above them a golden shower of sparks ignited, brightening the darkness, to fall a moment later, slowly, drifting to earth on the warm wind. Rhapsody put out her hands with childlike delight and tried to catch some as they fell; tiny star-like embers coming to rest in her palms, gleaming between her fingers, like the dream she had had so long ago, on the other side of the world, and of Time. The light sparkled brilliantly on the diamonds of her wedding ring. The significance of the moment was lost on all but one, the one who had been with her there, under those stars, half a world away, who waited with her now, smiling, as the tiny lights gleamed brightly in her hands before burning out.