She smiled brightly. “And your friend.”
He stood and went to her, offering her his hands and helping her rise. He looked into her eyes and stared as directly into her soul as he could, hoping his words would resonate there. “I love you, Aria. Nothing and no one can ever change that for me. You have said you love me as well; I know you do, I can feel it with each breath I take. Will you still? Even when we are apart?”
Rhapsody looked away. “Yes,” she said sadly, as if ashamed to admit it. “Always. But don’t worry; I’ll find a way to deal with it. I won’t embarrass you, Ashe. I told you, one of my reasons for helping you is that you will one day be my sovereign, and I owe it to you to assist you in any way I can. I could never compromise your happiness or your reputation.”
Ashe laughed. “Rhapsody, if people knew you have been my lover, it would only serve to enhance my reputation far beyond the bounds of belief. Now, two more things. First, I want you to promise me that when we get back from Manwyn’s you’ll let me make supper for you. We’ll have a final farewell assignation of sorts; we’ll dine in the garden and perhaps have a dance. Just a nice, romantic note to end on, especially if we’re going to examine the Rakshas’s memories tomorrow.” He shuddered involuntarily, recalling the one he had lived through that morning. “This has been a magical summer. I want it to end the right way.”
Rhapsody grinned at him. “That sounds wonderful. Can we dress up?”
“Certainly; I wouldn’t have it any other way. Maybe I can even get something to wear in Yarim. I don’t have many clothes.”
“And we can do the renaming ceremony.” Once she had returned the piece of his soul to him, she was insistent that she give him a new name, one the F’dor would not be able to find him by. He had agreed.
“Yes; that’s good.”
“All right, what is the second thing?”
He took her into his arms. “As far as you’re concerned, are we still lovers tonight?”
“Yes. Do you still want to be?”
His kiss answered the question for her.
50
From a distance it was easy to see how Yarim had gotten its name. In the language of the indigenous people, long ago driven north by Gwylliam’s forces, the word meant brown-red, like the color of dried blood. By and large the buildings had been constructed from the brick that bore the same name, made from the mud of this land, red clay that baked into a dark crimson in the fire as it took shape.
The capital city, officially known as Yarim Paar but often called merely by the province’s name, sat at the base of a high rolling hill, and was therefore all but hidden from sight when approached from the south. Then it appeared suddenly at the traveler’s feet, spreading out in all directions. The structures were the same color as the earth, and took a moment to become visible to the eye in the wind atop the hill; it was unclear whether they had sprung from the ground itself, though if they had they would have been the only things growing there. The city looked like it needed water.
A wave of heat had swept up from the east, born on a southern wind. The frost that had coated the ground for weeks was gone, leaving in its place a sense of false summer, hot and dry. In the forests to the east, the weather was undoubtedly glorious. Here it was desolate.
Yarim had once been a thriving city, but everywhere she looked Rhapsody could see the evidence of decay. The streets were lined and cobbled with stones, but between the cracks dry weeds and sun-bleached grass seemed to grow unfettered. The gutters were choked and clogged with garbage, turning the rainwater that collected in large barrels for household usage into the same muddy brown as the bricks.
On many street corners were groups of beggars, common enough that most people walked by them without notice. Rhapsody recognized some as professional lowlifes and riffraff, but many had the look of desperate hunger she remembered all too well. One young mother with an infant seemed especially in need; she reached for her hidden coin purse, only to be surprised when Ashe forestalled her by dropping some coins into the woman’s lap. She handed the woman a gold piece and hurried to catch up with him.
“I’m somewhat surprised,” she said.
“At what?”
“I wouldn’t have thought you the type to give alms.”
Ashe looked out from under his hood and into hers. “Rhapsody, I’ve lived among these people for the past twenty years. Admittedly I’ve spent most of that time in the forests, but even I need to come to town now and again. I could hardly fit in with the lords and ladies, now, could I? For the most part the human contact I’ve had has been in the streets. It wasn’t just as a result of my cloak alone that I learned how to be overlooked. It happens here and in the streets of other cities every day. It was living among these people that finally convinced me maybe there was something useful I could accomplish by becoming Lord Cymrian. We’re here.”
Rhapsody turned her attention to the large building before them. In many ways the great temple-like structure reminded her of the city itself: large, majestically built, but decaying from neglect. A series of cracked marble steps led up to a wide, inlaid patio. Eight huge columns stood on this unevenly paved surface, each one marred by expanding patches of lichen. The central building was a large rotunda crowned with a circular dome with two large cracks. To either side of this central structure long annexes had been added, with smaller pillars in somewhat better condition. A tall, thin minaret crowned the central building, shining a metallic blue in the sun.
They walked up the great stair and through the large open portal that served as the entrance. The inside of the temple was dark, lit only by dim torches and candles. It took a moment for Rhapsody’s eyes to adjust to the half-light.
The interior of the temple appeared to be better maintained, though Ashe had said in the course of their long journey that the rooms in the maze-like annexes were musty and neglected. Yet as she looked at the beautifully crafted foyer, it seemed hard to believe.
In the center of the vast room was a large fountain that blasted a thin stream of water twenty feet into the air, where it splashed down into a pool lined with shimmering lapis lazuli. The floor was polished marble, the walls adorned with intricately decorated tile, the sconces shining brass.
To either side of this room were small antechambers where guards stood, armed with long, thin swords. A large door of intricately carved cedar stood across from them, behind the fountain and its pool, also guarded.
Rhapsody and Ashe circled around the fountain and stopped before the guards of the great door. After they had made a substantial donation the door was opened and they were allowed to enter the inner sanctum. The fee, they were informed, was to help maintain the Oracle. Ashe wondered aloud to Rhapsody if Manwyn knew about this practice.
The room beyond the cedar door was immense, illuminated by a series of small windows in the dome of the rotunda and countless candles. In the center of the room was a dais which was suspended precariously above a large open well.
Sitting cross-legged in the center of this dais was a woman who could only have been Manwyn. She was tall and thin with rosy gold skin and fiery red hair streaked with silver. Her face bore the lines of middle age, and she wore a strange, and somewhat disturbing smile. In her left hand she held an ornate sextant, and she was dressed in green silk.
But it was the eyes of the Seer that drew Rhapsody’s attention. They were even less human than Ashe’s. As Rhapsody gazed up into them, she was greeted with her own reflection. The Seer’s eyes were mirrors, perfect silver mirrors, with no pupil, iris, or sclera to delineate them. It was as if Rhapsody was looking into two orbs of quicksilver. She tried not to stare. Manwyn smiled.
“Gaze into the well,” she said. Her voice was a raspy croak that scratched at the edges of Rhapsody’s skull. She looked to Ashe and he nodded. They began walking to the dais.