Rhapsody walked to the edge of the gazebo and sat down on the top step leading down into the garden. She looked across the lake at the waterfall, trying to focus the thoughts that were running helter-skelter through her mind. “And what is the point of that? So he convinces Lark, and me, that he is dead when he’s not? What can that possibly accomplish?”
“Lark is in league with the F’dor, though who that is still remains hidden. Llauron has known for quite some time that the F’dor had an accomplice among his ranks, but he wasn’t certain of who it is until recently. If Lark believes Llauron is dead, she will eventually communicate this information to the F’dor, and I will be waiting to track her to it. Also, other turncoats may be with her, and then I will know who else I need to kill.”
She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes burning like a grassfire. “But why me, Ashe? Why does Llauron need to deceive me, too? Why am I hearing this from you, under the sentence of losing the memory of it? Why didn’t he just ask for my help? I’ve been advancing the reunification of the Cymrians until Achmed and Grunthor have threatened to hurl me from the mountain if I don’t stop. Gods, haven’t I proven my friendship and loyalty to this man yet?”
Ashe withered under her gaze. “Of course you have. But there are two reasons. The first is that they will both expect you to act as the herald, as a Singer, a Namer. Both Llauron and Lark know you will only speak the truth as you know it, as you witness it. So if you believe him to be dead, then the rest of the world will, too. It will fall to you to proclaim the news. Both Lark and Llauron are counting on this, Lark to assert her right as the new head of the Filids, and Llauron to accredit his charade. Perhaps if you weren’t so honest, he might have told you, hoping you would follow his plan anyway. But I’m afraid your reputation precedes you, darling.”
Acid retorts rose to Rhapsody’s lips, remembering the same words in Mi chad’s mouth long ago, but she choked them back bitterly. She looked away again, trying to spare him the fury she knew was obvious in her countenance. “And the second reason?”
Ashe swallowed. “Aria, if you love me, please don’t ask me. Just believe that you would not participate if you knew.” He ran his hands through his metallic hair, now wet with perspiration.
Rhapsody stood slowly, crossed her arms and turned around. “Very well, Ashe; since I do love you, I won’t ask you. But I believe you will tell me anyway. Given what we just promised each other, I cannot imagine you would hold anything back from me, knowing that it will hurt me either way. You may as well just say it.”
Ashe’s eyes finally met hers, and beyond the anger he saw sympathy; she understood the difficulty this was causing him. Past that, he knew she trusted him, though he certainly had given her cause not to. He closed his eyes.
“Llauron will ask you to promise, before the combat begins, that if he should die—” His voice broke.
“Keep going,” she said impatiently. “What will I be bound to do?”
“Believing him dead, you will have promised to light his funeral pyre by calling fire from the stars with Daystar Clarion. The flames will consume his body; it is the crucial first step in his quest for elemental immortality. He cannot go on to what he wishes to become without this happening. Llauron needs the two elements of fire and ether to begin his journey to full dragon-hood. He knows you will not fail him if you promise to do it.”
He heard nothing in response, and opened his eyes. Rhapsody was staring at him, her own eyes as wide as he had ever seen them, trembling violently.
“But he won’t really be dead.”
“No.”
“I will be burning him alive. I will be killing him myself.”
“Aria—”
Rhapsody bolted from the gazebo, and seconds later Ashe heard the sounds of retching in the bushes below it, followed by heartbreaking sobs. Ashe struck one of the gazebo columns with his head, his hands clenched in fury. He struggled to contain his wrath, and the rise of the dragon, knowing she needed him to be steady far more than he needed the release turning it loose would bring. He paced the gazebo, waiting for her to return, sensing the ebb and flow of the anguish that poured out of her as she wept, fighting the urge to comfort her when it would only upset her more.
Finally the tears stopped, and a moment later Rhapsody came up the stairs into the gazebo again. Her face was florid, but calm, and her dress, though wrinkled, had been smoothed into place. She met his eyes, and her gaze was without recrimination, without sympathy; he couldn’t tell if she was feeling anything at all.
“So this is what Manwyn was alluding to,” she said. “This was the information that upset you, that made you need to take that memory. You were afraid that, in my partial understanding, I might slip and reveal the plot early, or to the wrong people. This is what you are erasing from my mind; this subterfuge, and what Manwyn said about it.”
There was no point in lying. “Yes.”
“And the memory of your proposal? Why can’t I remember that you wanted me to marry you, and that I’ve agreed?”
“Because you will be near one of the primary minions of the F’dor. Right now they need you to give Lark legitimacy. If they thought they could get to me through you, however, that would most likely be far more important to them. If there is any chance they might discover our promise, that we are bound, one to the other, it would put you in far graver danger.” She nodded. “Can you forgive me?”
Rhapsody’s face remained passionless. “I’m not sure there is anything to forgive you for, Ashe.”
“I could have refused. I could have put a stop to this plan.”
“How? By being disloyal to your own father, in my favor? Thank you, no. I don’t want that on my head. This is Llauron’s manipulation, Ashe—you’re as much a puppet here as I am.”
“Albeit a knowing one. Therein lies the difference. So, Rhapsody, what will it be? Do you want to revoke your permission, keep the memory? Avoid all this? You have my wholehearted support if you want to.”
“No,” she answered shortly. “That would be going back on my word to you, even if you give me the right to do so. And besides, what will you do then? It’s too late, Ashe, much too late. We can only play our parts, and promise that, when this is all over, we will live our own lives honestly, without this kind of deception.”
He came to her, and cradled her face in his hands. “Can there be any doubt why I love you so much?”
Rhapsody pulled away, turning her back to him. “Doubt is not a good concept to discuss at this point, Ashe. In fact, I will allay one more doubt for you.”
His throat tightened. “That being?”
She leaned forward on the gazebo railing, staring across the water. “One might wonder, if Manwyn had not slipped and revealed this information, whether you would have told me like this, or whether you would have let it happen without telling me, knowing it would transpire, regardless? Being powerless to stop it? Don’t answer, Ashe. Since, as Achmed says, I am the Queen of Self-Deception, I choose to believe you would have. And if I am wrong, I don’t want to know anyway.”
Ashe rested his chin on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist. “One day this beautiful head may wear many crowns, Rhapsody. Certainly you are already the queen of my heart. But the open-handed, open-hearted trust that you bless this world with is by no means self-deception. Your trust hasn’t been ill-placed, has it? You chose to trust Achmed, and, even though he is an obnoxious miscreant, he is a great friend to you. And you chose to trust me; I would probably be dead and eternally within the hands of the demon without that trust. Your heart is wiser than you think.”
“Then I assume you will forgive me one last offensive but necessary question that my heart needs to know the answer to?”
“Of course.” He smiled, but his eyes glittered nervously.