The Weaver's Lament (10 page)

Just as he felt his human aspect surrendering to the beast's ire, he raised his head and saw the warm glow of light-shine from the window of the turf hut, a tiny cabin hidden against the moss-covered face of the mountain behind it.

His dragon sense caught the warmth of his wife, waiting within the small room for him.

His resolved renewed, Ashe climbed over the last of the barrier rocks and hurried across the spongy turf of the grass leading up to the door of the hut. He paused outside it; the door was ajar.

He pushed it open a little farther, leaned up against the exterior turf wall, and called into the doorway.

“Do you still love me, Aria?”

Her answer was the same as it had been every time he asked the question over the last millennium.

“Always,” she called back. Then Ashe heard a smile creep into her voice. “Come inside; you're letting the bugs in.”

“Nonsense,” he said jokingly, following her voice into the cabin, the bouquet behind his back. “Within range of the door, there are only twenty-eight river flies, four mosquitoes, one hundred and seventeen—oops, make that sixteen, a minnow just got one—gnats, and—”

His words ground to a halt once inside as his senses were overwhelmed.

The first to make a successful assault on his dragon sense, and his nose, was the odor of a savory stew, which had been spiced appealingly and had filled the small cabin with a warm, inviting air. He noted the other dishes she had prepared—freshly baked bread infused with rosemary and waiting to be served with butter and honey; crisp greens tossed with mulled wine; and a torte that had been assembled in eight layers of cake, cream, mousse, and chocolate, all touched with coordinated liqueurs—and recognized the complexity of the spices and the elaborate levels of preparation within what were otherwise relatively simple dishes.

The second of his senses to succumb was his hearing; she had obviously spent some of her time that day playing a gentle air on several of her instruments—lute, flute, and harp—that were repeating it endlessly now on their own. The piece was easy on the ear but Ashe recognized the sophistication of the music, primarily because his draconic nature was counting the measures and making note of the complex time changes and obscure harmonies.

At the same time that other nature was noting the fact that scented water had been sprayed about the cabin, a subtle blend of lavender and sweet woodruff that took some of the dryness out of the room. The residual mist rested lightly on his skin, taking away some the sting of the vibrations that played havoc with his concentration on a regular basis, and refreshing the waters of his soul and sword. The result was a feeling of great peace and wellness descending; Ashe breathed it in, touched and happy in the knowledge that each of the actions his wife had undertaken she had done with her knowledge of the needs of both aspects of his nature, man and dragon, as an expression of her love for him, a love he knew was deeper than the sea.

But he was utterly unprepared for the sight of her.

Instead of the clothing in which she generally met him in this place—her regular traveling trousers and linen shirt, a negligee, or nothing at all—Rhapsody was attired in an elegant gown of midnight-blue watered silk that also shone black or gray, depending on the angle at which she was being viewed. It was embroidered with thousands of tiny pearls that made it look like a star-scattered sky, except that the wyrm noted the patterns into which the pearls had been assembled, spelling out a variety of phrases in musical script and Ancient Lirin, the dead language of her childhood. Some phrases were loving, some humorous, some scandalously bawdy, and they fascinated the dragon in his blood. A long line of small matching pearled buttons stretched down her back, the sheer sight of which made his fingers ache.

Her beautiful hair had been carefully plaited in the luxuriant patterns the Lirin were known for, and a rainbow of tiny gemstones had been placed within the strands; the jewels caught the light of the fire and sparkled, enflaming the dragon's heart, and the man's at the same time, but for different reasons.

She was just finishing setting a pair of crystal wineglasses on the table, and looked up as he closed the door behind him. Upon beholding him, she broke into a heart-melting smile and stood erect, her hands behind her back like a little girl with a secret.

Ashe fought down the lump that had risen in his throat. He coughed, then shook his head with mock concern.

“A thousand years a queen, and yet you are still the same foolhardy, reckless woman who drew a puny dagger on me when we met in the streets of Bethe Corbair.”

Rhapsody blinked but her smile remained.

“Reckless, am I? Foolhardy?”

“Indeed. Did you intentionally risk being devoured this evening?”

“Oh, I certainly hope so.”

Ashe laughed again. “I meant literally. I'm not complaining, mind you—this is a lovely diversion, Aria.”

“Diversion?”

His laugh dissolved into a warm chuckle, but there was a serious look in his eyes. “Are you saying the exquisitely detailed jeweling of your intricately braided hair, the dozens of tiny buttons down the back of your color-changing dress, the pearls adorning your gown in patterns of words in Ancient Lirin, and the complicated symphony of spices with which you have made that delicious-smelling supper as well as perfumed your beautiful body, are not specifically designed to distract the dragon within my blood?”

His wife slowly came away from the table before the fire toward him. “‘Distract' is a somewhat belittling word. I would say rather that those things are meant to
amuse
or
entertain
that part of your nature, beloved. I love the dragon as I love the man you are. I thought it deserved some attention as well.”

“Well, while the dragon appreciates it greatly, the man is at a loss to deal with the details,” the Lord Cymrian said, dropping his pack to the floor, but bringing forth the bouquet from behind his back and holding it out to her. “While the wyrm in my blood is enjoying the opportunity to count them, the arthritic fingers of the human side of me are despairing the barricade of buttons that will keep you from me for hours while I fumble with them.”

Rhapsody's smile broadened. From behind her own back she produced a buttonhook and held it up wordlessly.

Ashe laughed aloud.

“Gained,” he said, using the sword trainer's word for acknowledging a point of an opponent's victory.

In return, Rhapsody came closer and took the bouquet from his hand. She raised the blossoms to her face and inhaled their scent, her smile growing warmer. When she looked back at him, her eyes were gleaming.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Happy anniversary.”

“And to you, Sam.”

Ashe's throat constricted at the use of the name she had called him by on the night they met in the old world, the name by which an unknown young man or boy was greeted by the people of her farming village. The word, spoken in her voice, still made his heart race as it had then, a lifetime ago.

Sometimes in the light of morning, on the rare occasions when he woke before her, he could still see the girl he remembered, the young woman who had not yet been touched by the mesmerizing power of the elemental fire she had absorbed later on her journey through the Earth, coming to this place a world away from everything she had known and everyone she had loved. With her emerald eyes closed and her golden hair mussed and loose around the pillow, she was Emily in his eyes, a blond, fair girl of slight figure and strong backbone, hiding from and refusing the suit of the farmboys who had sought her hand in the marriage lottery of her village.

Even now, asleep, she could almost pass for fourteen years of age, as she had been on that night, though the transformation she had undergone had altered her inexorably in the eyes of the world. But in Ashe's eyes, the simplicity of Emily's sweet face wrung his heart even more tightly than the enchanting beauty of the woman he had fallen in love with as Rhapsody, the woman, queen, and Lady she was when awake.

The woman over whom, unlike him, Time seemed to have no dominion.

He gazed at his wife, backlit by the dancing flames of the fire, remembering each moment of that first night again, and each moment of every encounter since. Through a millennium of life and death, brutal war and a blessedly extended peacetime, the birth of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, the passings of old friends and beloved family members, they had clung to one another, sharing a soul, uniting and rebuilding an empire, an Alliance, and, above all else, a family that was the entirety of his world.

And all of it had begun on a warm summer-turning-to-autumn night, a night almost exactly like this one, with his first sight of the woman who stood before him now, looking at him with the same wonder he still saw in her gleaming eyes.

He blinked. All of the thoughts, and all of the memories, had occurred within a single beat of each of their hearts.

In the next heartbeat, they spoke simultaneously, their words tumbling over those of the other.

“I love you.” “Are you hungry?”

They laughed together, and then spoke once more, their words clashing again.

“Yes, but not for supper—yet.” “I love you, too.”

Rhapsody gave him the buttonhook and held up her hand. “Hold that thought a moment,” she said. She took the bouquet to the small kitchen area, put the flowers in water, then walked to the fireplace, where she stirred the pot hanging above it, releasing glorious, savory odors into the air of the small cabin and causing Ashe's mouth to water. She diminished the fire to coals with a single word, then returned to where he stood near the door.

“I'm all yours,” she said, looking deeply into his eyes.

Ashe stepped forward, watching her intently. He came within a hairsbreadth of her, then raised his hand in the air before her.

“May I touch you?” he asked quietly. Like his first question, it was an old tradition, a promise made after one of her first extensions of forgiveness to him, long ago, on the banks of the Tar'afel River, before they had become lovers, when he had swept her off her feet against her will, and had received a surprisingly stunning blow that rocked his head back in return. At the time, it had served as proof that he understood their boundaries. Now that there were no boundaries between them, it was often the last thing he said before all talking became unnecessary.

“Yes. Please.” Rhapsody's glittering smile resolved to something deeper. She turned around, away from him, to face the fire, pulling the hair away from the nape of her neck, around which a simple golden locket still hung.

The weariness of age disappeared along with the soreness in Ashe's joints as Rhapsody's innate music, so recently painfully absent from his life, enfolded him, wrapping him in bliss. He rested his hand just below her ear and traced a loose curl of her hair to her shoulder, feeling the fire in her skin respond with warmth beneath his touch. He inhaled happily, reveling in the sweet familiarity of her scent, then set briskly about employing the buttonhook, gently prying his wife free of the gown that still kept the dragon fascinated, until it fell away from her gleaming shoulders and back, all the way to her waist.

He followed the path his hand had traced with his lips, feeling his blood begin to hum with excitement as a deepening passion began to consume him.

Rhapsody looked back over her shoulder and smiled as the trail of his kisses swept up her spine to the base of her neck again. Ashe, lost already in her scent, her warmth, met the gleam in her eyes with his own and kissed her at last, taking her lips as gently as he could manage, then with more intensity, turning her to face him as the fire behind them grew, matching her breathing.

She reached up and entwined her arms around his neck, causing the gown to fall to the floor at her feet, and took a step back, pulling him down with her onto the rug that was bathed in the light splashing on the stone floor before the now-roaring fire.

All of Ashe's restraint, his control of the dragon within his blood, abandoned him. The centuries of aging and damage to his body seemed to fall away, leaving him giddy, happily vulnerable, lost utterly in the woman beneath him. Time and space became suspended; it seemed like hours and at the same time only a few moments before he came back to awareness, naked, breathing heavily, bathed in sweat, spent, his arousal sated, his soul satisfied, his heart full, drowning in love.

His wife in his arms, clinging to him, her heart beating in time with his.

Finally, as their ardor cooled, their breathing slowed, Rhapsody sighed beneath him and stretched. She leaned up on her elbows, kissed him warmly, and rested her forehead against his.

“
Now
are you ready for supper?”

Ashe sighed comically.

“I suppose I could be forced—” He curled up, laughing, as she poked him under the arm and slid out from beneath him. She rolled gracefully to one side and stood, using training in the battlefield skill of a horseman's rollout, kissed him on the top of the head, then started over to the fire.

She froze in her tracks, chilled by the sound of his gasp of horror.

He had seen the scratches that scored her back—in blood, blood that was also on his hands.

 

9

“What's the matter?”

The look of devastation on Ashe's face caused Rhapsody's heart to sink suddenly. The draconic pupils in her husband's eyes were expanding, even in the light of the fire. He could barely form the words.

“Your back—I've
gouged
you.”

Rhapsody's forehead furrowed, and she looked over her shoulder. “You have?”

Ashe nodded, rising slowly from the floor of the turf hut. “Aria, I'm so sorry.”

In response, Rhapsody walked to the small closet that had always been part of the tiny house and opened the door. She examined her back in the looking glass hanging on the door, then chuckled.