The Merchant Emperor (20 page)

Then he left the room, closing the door.

16

“Don’t you want to see the armory?”

“Of course, but I’m hoping for a more complete tour,” Anborn replied, stretching his back and shoulders. “Steady as they have become, my legs are building up slowly to full stamina, and I have used them a great deal today; there are not too many steps left in them at the moment. If I can get Achmed to show me around later, after I’ve been sitting for a while, I will be able to maintain my strength and see more of whatever he is willing to show me.”

“Brilliant tactic, as always,” Rhapsody said, lifting the baby out of the cradle and into her embrace. “Thank you for taking the time to visit with Meridion; it means a great deal to me.”

“It means a great deal to me as well,” said the Lord Marshal as Rhapsody draped a blanket from the cradle over her shoulder. “Would you like me to withdraw to the hallway while you feed him?”

“Only if you would be more comfortable,” she replied, settling into her chair again. “I’m not embarrassed if you are not. I’ve gotten fairly good at feeding him discreetly, and I gave up on modesty a very long time ago anyway.”

Anborn laughed. “Good for you; it’s highly overrated.” He settled into a chair and watched as she relaxed, the baby at her breast draped in the soft blanket, and began singing a wordless lullabye that reminded the Lord Marshal distinctly of the sea, though he had no idea why.

After what seemed like only a few moments, the tune changed. Anborn blinked; he had become lost in the sight of her, smiling down at the infant beneath the blanket, changing sides, playing with his toes, her face ethereal, more beautiful than he ever remembered seeing it.

A wave of almost sickening loss swept over him.

Within a relatively short time she was done; she pulled her shirt back to rights, took the blanket down and wrapped the little boy in it. Anborn coughed, clearing his throat.

“Young Meridion seems to be making excellent use of his access to your, er—”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Well, he’s grown strong on your supply. Still quite small, but he seems very healthy.”

“He was born early, I think,” Rhapsody said, putting a clean rag, then the baby on her shoulder and patting his back. “It’s hard to know what the gestation period should have been, given his bloodlines. He was so tiny at birth.”

“Well, you’ve done an admirable job with him. He’s perfect. Here, give him to me. An expert should be the one to teach him the art of belching properly.”

Rhapsody laughed and handed him the baby. “Another of your many talents I was not aware of.”

“Well, that’s only because you had the very good sense not to marry me; if you had I could have demonstrated other talents you don’t know of firsthand—snoring, using flatulence as a weapon—”

“Anborn, I knew you had studied as a young man with the Lirin and the Nain, but I had no idea until now that you were also a student of the Bolg.”

The Cymrian general wasn’t listening. He was staring down at Meridion. The baby was so small in his hands, Rhapsody noted. It seemed as if he had the grip of someone with experience holding an infant, though he had told her long ago that he had no children of his own. He raised the little boy to his wide shoulder and began rubbing his back gently with his large, callused hand, a soldier’s hand, then murmured in the child’s ear.

“Spit up on me and I will use you for target practice, great-nephew.”

With mock panic Rhapsody pulled the rag from her shoulder and slung it over Anborn’s neck.

A massive belch, completely out of proportion to the infant’s size, echoed through the chamber.

The Lord Marshal examined his shoulder as Rhapsody laughed.

“Perfect,” Anborn declared. “Well done, Meridion—a fulsome sound, grand degree of volume, and no residual aftereffect. Good use of resources when you keep it all down like that. An excellent student—you may redeem your wretched father’s reputation after all.” He took the little boy back into his hands, watching him intently.

“Were you the one to teach Ashe to burp as an infant?”

Anborn shook his head, but he didn’t take his eyes off Meridion.

“At the time of Gwydion’s birth, his father and I were still enemies. Llauron didn’t marry until long after the war was over—he had gone to Tyrian in an attempt to mend fences with the Lirin by proposing a marriage of state to Terrell, their queen at the time—only my misbegotten brother would think such an offer would be taken as flattering after bringing so much destruction upon them, involving them in a war they should have stayed out of. Terrell refused—at least one Lirin queen has had the good sense to stay far away from this family. Eventually he married the woman to whom he was betrothed before the war—she was foolish enough to have him after being forced to wait seven hundred years. Then she died giving birth to his son. A terrible shame, really.”

“So when did you get to know Ashe?”

Anborn smiled slightly as the baby drifted off to sleep in his hands. “That name always gives me pause, for to me he has always been Gwydion. He was the equivalent of eleven or so—I’ve lost track of his numerical age, as Wyrmkin all grow at different rates. By then my brother’s and my enmity had settled into indifference, mostly, and I have avoided the Circle since my own childhood, so I did not see Gwydion as an infant or a young child much, except on occasions of state—Shrike actually spoke to him more often than I did during those days when he was little.” Anborn’s voice faltered slightly at his mention of his longtime friend and man-at-arms, who had died in an attack on Rhapsody’s own carriage escort. “But Gwydion was great friends with Stephen Navarne, and Stephen’s father was a favorite comrade-in-arms of mine, so one day I tripped over him, quite literally, at Haguefort. I gave the two boys some early training in the sword, and other important areas—spitting, cursing—Gwydion had a remarkable aptitude for that, being a dragon—”

“Yes, I’ve noticed.”

“He was actually quite a pleasant and interesting young man, respectful, modest and easygoing, with a ready laugh and willingness to learn anything in which instruction was being offered, though it was also clear that he was somewhat lonely, understandable for a boy growing up motherless and with a father who was self-absorbed. I was gruff with him, but he didn’t seem to mind, though I confess to some regret about the way I treated him then. When he was a little older, fourteen or so, I believe, he came into a phase of melancholy; the cheerful boy was replaced by a solemn, often sad young man. I have no idea what happened to cause that, but he remained so into adulthood.”

The smile vanished from Rhapsody’s face. She knew the reason.

She turned away to prevent the Lord Marshal from noticing, but he was still enthralled with the infant.

“At any rate, I had them both, Gwydion and Stephen, and that weasel-meat, Tristan Steward, in my regiment when they were older, with a few of his other friends—the Baldasarre brothers, Ian Steward, Andrew Canderre and the like. I have even greater regrets for my treatment of him then. Family favoritism is something I could never abide, especially when I was a young soldier and the unwilling beneficiary of my father’s nepotism, so I made a great effort not to let it come into my command of Gwydion, perhaps to an unfair level, but he excelled in spite of my somewhat abusive treatment and criticism. I gave him some very onerous tasks, and some miserable nicknames, but he never complained.”

“Ah, yes, ‘Useless’?”

“That was actually from when he was younger. The later ones I would hesitate to mention in front of a lady.” Anborn chuckled as Meridion began to make suckling motions with his mouth, his eyes still closed in slumber.

“I think we are going to have to call him ‘Insatiable, son of Useless,’” he said fondly.

“Wouldn’t the Cymrian nomenclature for that be ‘Insatiable ap Useless’?”

“Indeed.”

Rhapsody laughed as her son scowled and began issuing forth loud sucking noises. “His mouth is always moving in his sleep. In the rare moments during the day he isn’t actually nursing, he’s dreaming of it, it seems.”

“Of course he is. No man of any age, in or out of his right mind, would ever pass up a chance to have his lips cemented to your breast, my dear,” Anborn said pleasantly, still watching the baby. “I am often undertaking the same pastime in my own dreams.”

“I am so glad to know that my newly minted motherhood has not changed your willingness to say crudely amusing things to me, Lord Marshal,” Rhapsody said, humor in her voice. “I would hate to think you might have falsely gained a new restraint—it would make life boring.”

“It was meant as a compliment.”

“Of course.”

Finally the Lord Marshal looked at her. “Sincerely—I did not mean to be vulgar, just truthful.”

“And believe me, it’s appreciated,” Rhapsody said lightly, hoping to leaven the awkwardness that had crept into the moment. “I often wonder if my lack of endowment in that area is contributing to my son’s constant demand—perhaps he is underfed because the storage tanks are so small, an explanation Grunthor offered at one point. At least your observations are kind; Achmed’s and Grunthor’s are insulting.”

Anborn exhaled, and his gaze returned to the baby.

“Did you ever discuss the prospect of marriage with either of them? Or both?”

“Goodness, no,” Rhapsody blurted. Her face colored as Anborn looked at her again. “With Grunthor, much as I love him, it would literally be suicide. Though I did once raise Achmed as a potential mate when Ashe asked me about it long ago. He was rather nauseated by the thought, as I recall.”

“Rightly so,” Anborn agreed.

Rhapsody hesitated, then decided whatever was unspoken needed to be heard. “Is there a particular reason you ask?”

The Lord Marshal was silent for a moment. “I am just remembering a particularly fine day, and a particularly fine lunch, on a balcony in Tyrian where you and I discussed the same prospect. It was a perfect afternoon, with the exception of a line of imbeciles who had come to sue for your hand on the other side of the wall around Newyd Dda, hooting like a crowd at a bloodsport arena,” he said. “Uncomfortable or nauseating as it may be for you to recall it, it is one of my most cherished memories.”

Rhapsody inhaled, then let out her breath pensively.

“Why would you think it would be uncomfortable, much less nauseating, for me to recall it? Other than the imbeciles, I mean—that nonsense went on for months, so it is its own nauseating memory. Why would you think the memory of our first lunch together would be upsetting to me?”

Anborn tilted the baby slowly back and forth in his hands, rocking him.

“Is it not?”

“No,” said Rhapsody flatly. “At least it wasn’t uncomfortable until just now. And certainly even now it isn’t nauseating. I remember enjoying that lunch, and that conversation. You have been one of the easiest people I know to talk to, Anborn—that afternoon, and always. It’s one of the things I cherish the most about
you
. If you have something to say to me, please speak it plainly. My brain is addled these days from the constant demands of an infant, missing my husband, being back in Ylorc where I am still considered a fresh source of wasted food, and the buildup to a war which terrifies me. I am grateful for plainspokenness, and you are usually the master of it.” She thought for a moment. “And, if I’m being completely truthful, as I always try to be, I remember now that I also discussed Achmed as an alliance marriage with Oelendra, after I told her what I had suggested to you.”

“That’s right; I recall you did go off to speak to her after that lunch,” Anborn said. “I believe I walked with you there.” He moved Meridion into the crook of his arm; the child fit perfectly between his wrist and elbow with the padding of his blankets. Then Anborn scratched his head with his other hand. “I was touched and impressed that you spoke to me about the possibility of our marriage before you shared it with even your closest friends and confidantes. Oelendra advocated for Achmed over me, I presume?”

“She actually advocated for Ashe—er, Gwydion—over both of you.” Anborn nodded, still not meeting her eyes, and Rhapsody felt her throat begin to tighten. “Please tell me what you are thinking,” she said. “You’re breaking my heart, and I don’t even know why.”

The Cymrian hero said nothing for a long time, just rocked his great-nephew in the crook of one arm while Rhapsody fought back tears. Finally he turned to her, and his searing blue eyes were gleaming, but the look in them was mild.

“I’m sorry, m’lady,” he said simply. “When events of great portent come to pass—the birth of this beautiful child, a new generation in our troubled but powerful family, the buildup to war in which I am again serving as Lord Marshal, which I have not done since the Cymrian era, my brother’s Ending, even the miraculous return of the use of my legs—I have always had a propensity to become contemplative; others might call it brooding, but really it’s not. I go back over my old memories; it’s probably the way the wyrm in my blood manifests itself, and you may not recognize it, because Gwydion’s dragon nature is so much more a part of him than mine is of me. And when I go through the things I’ve said, the things I’ve done, I try to set things to rights, to answer any old, outstanding questions, make amends, whatnot, for things I have left in chaos, or unspoken, undone. A habit born out of longevity that borders on immortality; there are only so many things that you can carry around in your brain on a to-do list when your life is counted in millennia, not years.”

“I can imagine,” Rhapsody said.

Anborn laughed, but his eyes regarded her seriously. “Forgive me, but I don’t believe you can, not yet, my dear, you are far too young still.” he said. “But one day you will—one day you will have to, given your longevity is bound to be even greater than mine. And then, on that day, you will understand what you really cannot imagine now. And if I am still around, I will come to you, and comfort you in your understanding—because you will need comforting.”

“So what has you contemplating our—our almost marriage?” Rhapsody asked. Before the words were even voiced she regretted opening her mouth.