Destiny: Child Of Sky (106 page)

The song was a gift for the eyes of the bride-to-be only. Gwydion had threatened to have the scroll hold the tender lyrics to one of Grunthor's bawdy marching songs.

Instead, when she opened it she found he had been putting the music instruction she had given him to good use; the carefully graphed staff carried the notes that spelled out Sam and Emily Always without a single error.

The bouquet of winterflowers he had presented her with at the same time remained in Elysian, opening a little more day by day, revealing petals of deeper red with each new layer. The bouquet was held in stasis by the magic of the place, and did not fade, remaining permanently suspended in glorious bloom. It was a true marvel, but one the queen did not feel the inclination to share with any other eye.

Proof of being selfish again, she had told her chosen suitor, who had only smiled.

But who is there to marry us publicly?“ Rhapsody asked Gwydion as they strolled in the garden of Tomingorllo. "You hold the offices of Invoker and Patriarch; there is no one above you in the religious hierarchy."

Gwydion smiled. “You are not current in your information," he said, kissing her hand as they walked. “While you were refusing to see me, I had to do something to keep from going insane, so I set about delegating some of those responsibilities."

Rhapsody laughed. “Pretty certain of yourself, aren't you? I thought you didn't know if you would be confirmed as Lord Cymrian or not."

'I didn't. I still believed there should be others leading the religious factions directly. Besides, if you had married Anborn or Achmed I would have thrown myself into the sea anyway, so it wouldn't have mattered."

'So do you intend to remain the titular head of the order?"

'Yes, but I am nominating leaders of both factions who I think will be able to work together toward reunification. And even if it doesn't happen, I believe there will still be a harmonious coexistence of both faiths."

'Excellent. And whom did you choose to take on the office of Invoker?"

Ashe stopped and looked off into the distance. “Gavin. And I believe there is my candidate for Patriarch now, though of course the Scales of Jierna Tal will have to weigh him and find him worthy. He seemed mildly amused at the prospect. I asked him to come to Tyrian after the Cymrian Council so you could meet him; he's new in the faith, but very wise. Come, let me introduce him to you."

Rhapsody took his hand and followed him across the garden to where an older man was waiting. His beard was long enough to curl upward at the edges, with streaks of white and silver winning the battle for control within it over the insistent white-blond. Despite being somewhat advanced in years he was tall and broad-shouldered, and had a smile that Rhapsody could swear she had seen before, though from a distance she did not recognize him.

'Was he at the Council?" she asked as Gwydion picked up the pace.

'Yes; he was part of the Diaspora. I met him a few days before the Second Fleet arrived at the Moot. I asked him where he had come from, and all he would say was that it was both near and farther away than anyplace in the known world. We camped out together a few nights, and I was astounded at his wisdom and vision, and his extraordinary powers of healing. While we were there he tended to several people in the throes of great illness or pain, with amazing skill. He radiates great peace; I resolved to offer him the post if I was ever in a position to grant it to him.

He seems to know of you; he asked if I knew you, but of course I couldn't tell him anything except that I did. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

Rhapsody stopped still on the forest path, staring at the robed man. His lined face was wreathed in a smile that made her flush hot and cold with memories simultaneously.

'Constantin!"

He held out his hands to her, hands marred by time and the life he had led, and she hurried to him and took both of them in her own, kissing his cheek. Warmth flooded her face, as she thought back to their myriad, and occasionally unpleasant, experiences. His eyes were serene, however, and he looked at her knowingly and just smiled.

'Hello, m'lady,“ he said in the deep voice she remembered. "I'm honored that you remember me."

Rhapsody reached up, as if unable to stop herself, and touched his wrinkled cheek.

I was gone behind the Veil of Hoen for seven years, and when I came out the snow had barely covered the hilt of the sword, she thought poignantly. I've been back now half a year. Gods, I'm amazed he's still alive.

'I told you I would never forget you,“ she said gently, "and I haven't."

Constantin kissed her hand. “Nor I you. Best wishes on your engagement. The Lord Cymrian is a lucky man."

'Thank you," Rhapsody and Gwydion said simultaneously. The Lord Cymrian drew her closer to his side.

'Constantin has agreed, if the Scales confirm him, to accept the office of Patriarch on Midsummer's Night,“ Ashe said. "And as such he will be the one to marry us, if you agree, Aria, in a joint ceremony with Gavin."

Rhapsody smiled. “I certainly do. Thank you, Constantin." She studied his face intently for a moment. “What made you decide to leave?"

His eyes darkened, and he looked deep into hers. “It was time," was all he said.

Rhapsody remembered what Anborn had said about the wisdom not to ask more than she really needed to know. She turned to the Lord Cymrian, who was watching their interaction with surprise. “I am delighted in your choice of a Patriarch, darling. He has studied with the best possible instructors and I know for a fact there's not a drop of evil in him." Her eyes sparkled wickedly and Constantin laughed. Gwydion looked puzzled.

'Come along, Sam,“ Rhapsody said, pulling at her groom's hand. "Let's find His Grace somewhere to rest; he's come from farther away than you think. And we'll tell you the whole story. You may be surprised to learn how the new Patriarch had a hand in killing the F'dor."

Gwydion stared at her in amazement before following them up the path. “You know, Rhapsody, you certainly know how to ruin a surprise."

True to her word, Rhapsody had requested a simple dress, as she told Gwydion she would after the royal wedding in Bethany. It had only enough train to brush the ground two or so feet behind her, and left her shoulders open to the sun for the wedding taking place on the first day after the season dedicated to it had passed.

Despite the dress's seeming simplicity, the seamstresses of Tyrian had worked endlessly on it. Miresylle had found a bolt of Canderian brushed silk, white with a gleaming blush undertone that touched off the sunrise coloring of Rhapsody's rosy golden skin perfectly. It was trimmed judiciously, sparingly, a sign of true craftsmanship, as Rhapsody had explained to her incredulous groom, who wondered rudely aloud why she was having a seventh fitting for this allegedly simple dress.

'It's not all covered with beadwork and lace; many seamstresses use that stuff to hide the imperfections in the fabric or the workmanship. Miresylle's a perfectionist."

Gwydion had taken his bride into his arms and kissed her. “I'm sure. And I'm sure I'll like the dress, despite it being responsible for keeping you away from me so much."

'You're so time-greedy,“ she scowled at him jokingly. "You'd probably prefer I didn't wear anything at all.“ "How right you are."

Gwydion himself had been faced with a sartorial dilemma. Though the design for his wedding garment was easy enough to come by, he had been besieged with gifts from the various family factions, fighting units, and political groups to which he had belonged over his lifetime, each an emblem or a symbol of his honored status, conferred on him with the expectation that he would wear each of them at his wedding. Rhapsody had gone into a giggling fit as he indignantly displayed them, spread out on the vast meeting table in the Great Hall of Tyrian. The table was over twenty feet in length, and every inch of it was covered with some sort of item he needed to exhibit somewhere on his person.

'You had better start eating; you'll need to add to your size ten times over,“ she laughed, her eyes taking in the hundreds of hats, daggers, staves, ceremonial swords, crowns, and codpieces littering the table. She picked up one of the twenty-one signet rings in a pile in the middle of the spread. "Now let's see; one on each finger, one on each toe, and one on your—

'Don't say it,“ he threatened jokingly. "That might be even more uncomfortable for you later that night, my dear. I might choose the one with the biggest prongs."

'This gift is my very favorite," Rhapsody said, lifting a hideous Nain war mask.

“Do they really wear these things in battle?"

'Yes, and worse.“ He looked around the table and sighed in dismay. "I'll look ridiculous if I wear any of these emblems, Aria. If I wear some of them, I risk offending anyone whose symbol I didn't choose. And if I wear none of them, I will offend everyone. What am I going to do? Is it too late to elope?"

'We did that already, remember? This is just the official ceremony; you and I already did the important one alone.“ She smiled at him, hoping to ease his distress. "Here, I'll take care of it. Let's sort through these things together, and you can tell me who they're from and what they represent."

A month later, on the morning before the wedding rehearsal, she presented him with a velvet-covered box.

'This is for all your patience with the endless fittings of my wedding dress,“ she said as he kissed her. "Open it and see if it solves your dilemma."

In the box was a segmented necklace of state, a chain-like series of uniform hexagonal pieces wrought in red-gold, jointed together to a length that would drape about the neck and shoulders!, inlaid with the symbols of each of the groups that had presented him with emblems to wear. Even the hideous war mask of the Nain of the Sardonyx Mountain had been painstakingly rendered in tiny gems and enameled scrolling on one of the small segments; Gwydion had burst out laughing at the thought of the jeweler working long hours to find a colored stone the same hue as the mucus dripping from the miniature war mask's nostrils.

'As with everything about you, it's perfect," he said, drawing her close.

'Oh, good. So does this mean I'm to be spared from those big prongs now?"

'All but one." Gwydion lugged the bucket to the door of the hidden room behind the waterfall and heaved the cleaning water outside into the grass. How does she do this? he wondered incredulously as he sank into his comfortable old chair with a groan. He had helped her clean house in Elysian, but somehow that had been a pleasure. Gwydion shook his head and laughed. Being branded with a hot iron might be a pleasure, as long as she was there to hold his hand.

The memory of drowsy summer mornings a year before came back to him, the scent of coffee brewing and spicy aromas floating by, accompanied by the smell of soap and the sweet sound of singing. She had always been up before dawn, tidying Elysian, pressing clothes, tending her gardens, long before normal people had cracked an eyelid; it was the farm girl in her, she had said as he protested, pulling her back into bed if she came close by. These memories of simple domesticity were among his favorite, images of normalcy and sanity in a world run amok. He signed, anticipating the return of those days with glee.

He looked around his room and felt a sense of satisfaction. The messy man-cottage was spotless, the new double bed gleaming under the fresh satin bedspread he had bought for her in Navarne. He had carted all the new furnishings here himself by night to maintain the hidden room's security, a sort of western Elysian, a place they could be alone when in these provinces.

This place needs a woman's oversight—or a ma-id, she had said. The first he had provided by duplicating many of the comfortable accessories and ornaments she had used in decorating Elysian; even now the cottage was unrecognizable in its warmth and charm. The second he had assured by spending four hours on the day before his wedding sprucing up the place; it had taken her about half an hour to produce better results that day a year and a half before, but he knew she would appreciate the effort.

Gwydion rose with a creak and made a final inspection. The wine was in the chilling bucket, the crystal goblets on the table, the fire laid with sweet-smelling spices, waiting to be set ablaze. He would need to build a room with a tub if they were to use this place in winter, even though the prospect of Rhapsody's warmth heating the waterfall's pool amid the snow was tantalizing. He pulled out the finishing touch, a sackful of pink and white rose petals he had convinced her to work her magic on without telling her why. She had spoken the words to preserve their freshness and given him an odd look; he imagined the expression on her face the next night as he scattered them across the bed and the floor, leading to the threshold.

A romantic dragon; isn't that a contradiction in terms'?

Yes. Do you love me anyway'?

Always.

When the bed was covered with the petals he took one more look around. Then he left the cabin and locked the door carefully, whistling all the way back to where he had hidden the horse and cart.

The Lirin had decorated the forestlands of Tyrian and Gwynwood in the traditional manner for the wedding, with bells, reed flutes, and windchimes dangling from the trees, through which bright streamers had been laced. Maypoles had been erected in the forest along the way from the Lirin city to the Great Tree, also tied with ribbons that were peppered with thousands of crystals, a gift from the Cymrian Nain. As a result, the forest was bathed in colored light, casting a rainbow glow on the setting and, eventually, the guests.

And, as improbable as it was, the morning of the wedding the grounds and gardens of the House of Remembrance bloomed in a vast scarlet carpet of winterflowers, a gift from a Child that slept, safe now, in the arms of her mother the Earth.

In addition to the traditional decorations, Ashe had sought the aid of some of the palace servants in tying muslin love knots about the bedchamber of the Lady Cymrian and throughout the halls of Stephen's keep where she was staying. With the excruciating detail born of a dragon's memory he re-created the scene in which they had met, that simple, beautiful summer night at the foreharvest dance.