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 Grunthor 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.