The Hollow Queen (55 page)

“Poor
pippin
; I'm sorry, Meridion,” Rhapsody said, stroking her baby's curls. “That's been gone for a long time, but I will go to Analise and get goat's milk from the nan—”

Her words trailed off and her face went blank with shock.

“What's the matter?” Ashe shifted her slightly in his lap, then noticed the wet trails dampening the front of her blouse. He touched one small pool and found it to be warm; the dragon within him recognized the liquid immediately as milk. He threw back his head and laughed uproariously.

“A Namer indeed! We'd best be careful with him, Rhapsody—I can only imagine what clever magic he will employ to get around our rules when he's older.”

Rhapsody was unlacing her shirt.

“I'm happy to comply with his wishes now at least,” she said, putting Meridion to the breast and sighing in relief herself as he began to nurse excitedly. “As taxing as being his source of supply can be, it's a joyful responsibility. I'm so grateful he's still small enough to want to; I was worried that he'd be walking when we returned.”

She leaned back against her husband's broad shoulder and closed her eyes.

Ashe looked down at them both and smiled, content with his world. He put his lips to her ear, kissing it gently.

“I love you so,” he whispered. “Welcome back, Emily.”

She smiled up at him, then kissed him in return.

“I love you, too,
always
,” she said. “Both of you.” She winced at her son's enthusiasm. “And believe me, I can feel it.”

 

65

The next morning, when the clock in the underground village square chimed, echoing beautifully through the underground palace, Rhapsody, Meridion, and Ashe were preparing to say their goodbyes to the Nain king.

They found themselves, as Rhapsody had done when she first came to Undervale, standing before Faedryth at the base of the dais on which his throne stood, waiting for an answer in the confines of his underground Great Hall.

“It has been my honor and my joy to have been asked to guard this beautiful child,” Faedryth said. “You are right that he shows signs of his great-grandfather's inventive and architectural genius, which I recognize in him, tiny as he is, but I'm not sure I could put it into words. I do hope that you will do as you said you had intended when you brought him here, that you will allow him to come back here when he is older and learn both the stories and the skills that are all but forgotten now.”

“That would be
my
honor and joy.”

For just a moment Time seemed to slow. Both Rhapsody and Faedryth looked at each other. The Lady Cymrian was experiencing the flash of a sudden memory, the quick image of Black Ivory box in the nervous hands of the Nain king, containing a strange, fragile piece of fabric or shell that had a few faded images on it.

From the look on his face, it was clear that the Nain king was having a similar type of memory.

Finally Rhapsody shook off her vision.

“Thank you for coming to the aid of the Alliance when you had determined long ago to stay out of any military action. What changed your mind?”

“Watching you with young Meridion,” Faedryth said quietly. “Disturbing as it was to see my Lady, my sovereign, kneeling to me in tears, pleading for her son's protection as she headed off to war, offering me anything she had to keep him safe, that sight jarred me completely from everything I have ever seen or known Cymrian leadership to be.

“Anborn, may he rest peacefully in the Afterlife, was one of my dearest friends. I attended his Naming ceremony when he was an infant, and even there his parents' willful neglect, bordering on disdain for him, was evident. He was an afterthought; Gwylliam, who had been my king even before we left the Island, was deeply enamored of Edwyn, his heir and fellow engineer, while Anwyn only had interest in Llauron, her fair-haired boy. Neither of them gave a roasted rat's damn about their youngest, who had little of his eldest brother's mathematical sense and less of his other brother's lofty scholarship, but he had more heart, valor, and brilliant, selfless leadership skill than all the rest of the members of his family put together, twice over. Whatever his crimes were that came later, Anborn, up to the moment of his death, remained by far the most beloved member of that family among those who fought in the Great War.

“Edwyn holds court among those who stayed out of it, and Llauron's followers as Invoker were mostly non-Cymrians and those who were born later. But those of us who bled with Anborn in that war, fought by his side, watched him lead several attempts at peace with his mother—we remember him as he was, before the hatred that was nascent in his parents took him over. We remember him as the cheerful, vibrant boy who, though he was never given a second thought by his own family, grew up into a great man who made a family of soldiers, brothers, comrades who felt it would be an honor to die for him. We remember, and we mourn.”

Faedryth fell silent for a moment; Rhapsody and Ashe stayed similarly quiet in respect.

Finally the Nain king shook his head as if shaking off sleep.

“But you, m'lady, you came to me, knowing my anger with you and your Bolg friends, well aware that I was likely to spurn your entreaties, or at least torment you mercilessly before assenting. You sliced off your beautiful hair and tossed it to a dragon without so much as a backward glance, I'm told, knowing what the threat to you would be from such an act, to obtain his increased vigilance at the door of my realm, something that is already within his own goals, to help ensure your son's safety.

“Gyllian has also told me of what you sacrificed of yourself and your own peace of mind as you left your baby here. I'm not certain I understand; the ways of women, Lirin, and Namers are foreign and terrifying to me, to say the least. But again, when I try to imagine making the sacrifices you have, both for your child and your Alliance, knowing that I could have done neither, it stirred something in me again that has long been dead and buried, a valor of a sort, a loyalty to my Lady, my Lord, and my nation. It seemed petty and, frankly, cowardly for me to refrain from joining the cause, especially given that my friend and hero was leading the charge as Lord Marshal once again. I could not stay out of it. A long way of saying ‘you're welcome.' ” The Nain king leaned forward and fixed her with a direct look that was full of amusement.

“Just don't become accustomed to it, m'lady.”

Rhapsody laughed. “Duly noted, Majesty.”

“And I must thank you, as well,” the Nain king continued. “The golden banner under which we fought is a possible sign of a new era of peace between the Nain and Witheragh, as well as a stronger and more vigorous participation of our kingdom as a member of the Alliance. Do you want to know the story of how that splendid flag came to be?”

“Of course,” Rhapsody said.

The Nain king chuckled. “You completely flummoxed the beast,” he said, clearly enjoying the memory. “Witheragh summoned me down to the border, more politely than ever in the Past, in a high state of frenetic energy, something I have never seen before. He was intent on discussing all of the ways we could ensure the safety of your child, in the course of which he revealed many hidden passages and a good deal about his own lair which I had not known before. We now have an even more impressive security plan than we did before you came to Undervale.”

“Happy to hear that,” Ashe said. He kissed Meridion's forehead gently.

“Yes—you will be glad to know that as a result I will not be asking tariff relief from you, Lord Gwydion,” Faedryth said jovially. “At any rate, when Witheragh and I were done with an exhaustive review of our fortifications, he presented me with the fall of your hair, m'lady. He was feeling somewhat guilty for demanding a lock of it in the first place, and was still bewildered by your response to that demand. He kept only one small strand, and requested that upon his death, when his lair is opened, it be destroyed or returned to you, so as to maintain your safety.”

Rhapsody chuckled. “Well, that's very nice.”

“He seemed to be relieved to be rid of it, and asked if I could find a way to make use of the remainder of the hair to ultimately aid you in your battle and your survival. I looked at it, gleaming on the ground, and for all the world it resembled a war banner. It was as if it were mocking me for the cowardice of keeping my army back in the recesses of the Deep Kingdom, while the mother of the child we were both discussing was bleeding on the battlefield of the Alliance to which I am sworn.

“So I took it back to Undervale and had it woven into such a war banner while we made preparations to depart. It came off the loom at the same moment we were mounting up; it was our honor to fly it, to ride into battle beneath it. With your permission, I kept a small lock of your hair myself, m'lady, to remind me of the sovereign who taught me what leadership and sacrifice meant.”

“I am well and truly honored, Majesty,” Rhapsody said softly.

“My personal guard regiment will accompany you back to Bethe Corbair, the nearest station on the guarded caravan, so that you might begin your journey home. You are welcome to return at any time; I know that Gyllian is hopeful that your friendship will continue as the world returns to normal.”

“Of course.”

“And should anything you need come up, please let us know if we are in a position to address it for you.”

“Thank you,” Ashe said.

Rhapsody held out her hand to the Nain king, who took it and bowed over her ring, then forgot himself and pulled her into an enthusiastic embrace. He released her quickly and gave an awkward cough.

“Guard that beautiful child well, m'lord, m'lady,” he said.

“We will, thank you again,” said Rhapsody.

Ashe offered her his arm, and together they made their way down the long aisle of inlaid stone mosaics that led to the Nain king's black marble throne.

Rhapsody waited until they had passed through the double doors and out of the Great Hall before leaning close to her husband, who bent down to catch her words, softly but racily spoken.

“Rest assured that I also stand ready to address your need should it come up, m'lord,” she said. “Unless, of course, you would prefer that Faedryth did—he has offered, after all.”

Ashe reddened, more from humor than embarrassment. “You naughty thing. Oh, I am so glad to have you back again, my love.”

The servants in the Great Hall and the Nain king blinked in surprise at the sound of raucous, merry laughter echoing in the corridor outside as the Lord and Lady Cymrian made their way back to the upworld again.

 

66

BY THE BANKS OF THE MOLTEN RIVER

On the way home from the kingdom of the Nain, the Lord and Lady Cymrian stopped at the entrance to Faedryth's lands to return what Rhapsody had borrowed and to pay their respects to the wyrm who had stood even more stalwart vigil at the entryway to the Deep Kingdom where their son had been sheltered throughout the war that had scarred the face of the Known World.

Melisande, Analise, and Krinsel were in their company, the Liringlas women and the human little girl laughing and joking often and regaling the royal couple with strange and humorous tales of life among the Nain. When the group approached the place where they had first encountered the irascible wyrm, the three women who had remained in the Nain kingdom throughout the war had fallen silent. They watched in an apparent state of discomfort as the Lady Cymrian kissed her son, then her husband, and, smiling encouragingly at them, turned and made her way down to the Molten River.

Rhapsody had asked Ashe to hang back with the baby, and he did, smiling in amusement and caressing his sleeping son's downy head as the little boy drowsed in the folds of his father's cloak of mist. He watched his wife wend her way along the rocks on the embankment, her dancing shadow tall and thin against the towering archways of the cavern that demarked the entrance to the dragon's lands.

She came to a halt beside an area of the river that was sparking occasionally with fire and put her hands to the sides of her mouth.

“Witheragh!” she shouted brazenly, much as she had when she and the women had first come to this place. “Hail, in the name of Elynsynos.”

“Your pronunciation is just as appalling as it was before.” The deep draconic voice echoed in the very stones of the cave, causing loose rock and grit to fall from the ceiling into the river, where it spat and hissed. “How disappointing for me, how embarrassing for you. I see you have brought along a nice repast, even if two of them are bound to be tough or chewy. Ah, well, at least there's a juicy-looking child.”

The three women stepped even farther back.

“You must have received word about Elynsynos, or felt her return, or gotten some such dragon missive, or else you would be less concerned with my appalling pronunciation,” Rhapsody called back, grinning. “Don't be peevish; I have come to return the property you loaned me and make good on a promise I made you.”

An enormous shadow emerged from the depths of the cave, followed by a dazzling hail of sparkling lights glancing off the stone walls of the cave like fireworks. A moment later Witheragh's enormous reptilian head appeared from the darkness, glittering in the shadows from all the exquisitely faceted gemstones that had been set in his hide over the centuries.

“I don't suppose you remembered to bring your crown,” the dragon said with an injured tone in the voice that his strength of will formed out of the air. “I was so looking forward to having it—er, having a look at it.”

“I did not,” Rhapsody replied. “But I did bring my husband and child.”

The dragon reared up in surprise, then settled back to the wet ground of the cavern, a mixture of amusement and annoyance evident on his massive face.

“That cloak of yours is truly an irritation,” he said. “The water interferes with reasonable dragon sense and makes it impossible to correctly assess one's surroundings. I am insulted that you chose to bring it into my lair again.”