“Wonderful!” she said brightly, her tone belying the nausea that was rising again. “Now, will you escort me down to the carriage? You know how much Anborn hates to be kept waiting. He’ll be bellowing any moment.”
“Let him wait,” Gwydion said, his humor returning. “He’s going to bellow anyway. You may as well give him something real to bellow about.”
“They’ve put in a silver bucket with ice in it!” Melisande called up from the roadway in amazement. “And it’s shaped like a knight’s helm! And there are cherry and lemon tarts!”
Gwydion Navarne brushed some stray pebbles from her path with his toe. “Will you commend me to the dragon?”
“I will. I’m sure that will please her. She’s really quite kind and has an interesting sense of humor.”
“I have no doubt,” Gwydion said, offering her his arm. “If she didn’t, the population of western Roland would be hanging upside down, drying into bacon in the world’s biggest smokehouse somewhere north of Gwynwood.”
Rhapsody put her hand over her mouth. “Ooh,” she mumbled, rushing to the side of the keep’s wall.
The young duke-to-be turned away and scratched his head awkwardly.
“I can’t wait to be able to talk to you the way that I used to,” he said remorsefully. “I am so sorry.”
“I can’t wait either,” she said after a moment, reaching for his arm. “Perhaps Elynsynos will know a way to bring me back to my old self again.”
“Well, I know a way for you not to have to suffer like this too long.”
“Oh? How?”
The boy’s eye glinted merrily.
“Stay far away from Ashe the next time.”
The road to Gwynwood wandered for a while through a mixture of sparse forests and open fields before it passed into the thicker white wood for which it was named.
The summer sun was high in the sky, but the forest was cool, the light nickering in through the carriage window in lacy patterns. Rhapsody drowsed against the cushions, enjoying the feel of the gentle breeze on her face.
The debilitating illness had lessened in the three days she had passed at Haguefort. Though she was sometimes sick, and often unsteady, more often than not the symptoms of her condition were confined to blurry vision and a sudden lack of balance that overwhelmed her, even when sitting or lying down. Another few days, and I will be with Elynsynos, deep within the quiet of her lair, at the edge of her underground lagoon. The thought made her smile.
The rumble of the carriage wheels, the muted clip-clop of the horses’ hooves, the occasional twitter of birdsong that made it past the curtain at her window, the sounds of a journey happily undertaken blended in a soothing harmony. It was a peaceable feeling.
She heard her name being called from out the left window; it was Anborn’s voice, and he sounded almost merry. For all that he protested an unwillingness to be tied to a single place, or kept in a task not of his own choosing, the General seemed quite pleased to be out with a small guard regiment, traveling some of the most verdant and beautiful forest on the continent.
“Hello in there,” he bellowed. “You alive, m’lady?”
She moved to the window and stuck her head out.
“Define ‘alive.’”
“Aha! She lives!” the General said cheerily to his troops, the eight soldiers and two drivers who had accompanied them. “You must make an effort to let us know you are still among the living from time to time, lady.”
“Sorry,” Rhapsody said pleasantly. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of the strong breeze, cooled by the green leaves of the forest canopy, as it billowed over her face and buffeted her hair. It was a feeling similar to being at sea, the constant motion, the stiff wind. A sensation she enjoyed.
Anborn rode close to the carriage. “Do you wish to stop for noonmeal?”
Rhapsody opened her eyes and smiled involuntarily. Aside from the high-backed saddle that had been crafted to support him, there was no visible sign that this was a man without the use of his legs. His lameness was even less noticeable because, to a one, all the saddles of the guards riding with him had been similarly outfitted, so that the General could ride any mount he chose. He looked as hale and imposing on horseback as he had the first time she had ever beheld him, when he almost ran her down on this very forest road.
“If the troops would like a break, we can stop,” she said. “I’m not hungry.”
Anborn snorted. “They had breakfast,” he said haughtily. “We’ll go on; we’re making good time.”
“I’d like to stop at the Tree when we pass near the Circle,” Rhapsody said, gripping the window to steady herself as a new wave of unease rolled over her. “How much longer until we are there?”
Anborn looked around at the forest and the position of the sun. “Tomorrow afternoon.”
“All right.” She pulled the carriage blanket up to her shoulders. “Then, by all means, let us stop and take noonmeal. Knowing you, Anborn, you won’t give them the chance to eat again until tomorrow.”
The General smiled slightly. “As m’lady commands.”
Shrike, as ever riding at Anborn’s rear flank, his dual stonebows in his lap. spoke up.
“Thank the gods. I was planning to rip the bark from the next tree we passed and swallow it.”
The deeper they traveled into the greenwood, the easier the journey became.
Anborn called the carriage to halt every few hours when he determined Rhapsody to be awake, giving her a chance to stretch and feel solid ground beneath her feet for a while. After a few moments, when she deemed herself ready, she was packed carefully back into the coach, and the guard regiment set off again.
As the afternoon sun fell below the tree line, flooding the forest with shafts of dusty golden light, the General called the carriage to halt for the night.
“I think you’ve had entirely enough jolting and jouncing for one day,” he said as the coach doors were opened. “Time to rest. We’ll build a fire and sleep for the night.”
“Don’t refrain from traveling on my account,” Rhapsody said, taking the arm of the guard who stood at attendance to help her down the carriage steps. “I’m just sleeping in here. I’ve done no work at all today.”
“Welcome to the privileged life,” Anborn laughed.
As the soldiers set about laying camp, Shrike assisted the general off his mount and onto a bedroll near the pile of sticks and branches in the clearing that would be the campfire. Rhapsody settled down next to him, and was handed a mug of cider and a plate of biscuits.
She unbuckled Daystar Clarion from her belt and pulled the sword gently from its sheath; it came forth with a quiet hum, the same pitch as the clarion call that it could wind when drawn in anger or need, but almost inaudible, resonating quietly in the still air of the darkening forest.
The bond to elemental fire deep within her sang a harmonic in response; the music hummed in Rhapsody, quieting her stomach and her mind.
The soldiers watched, fascinated, as she extended the sword of billowing flames and touched the kit of sticks and branches; it ignited immediately, the fire leaping in the wind, showering the twilight with bright sparks that crackled and winked like fireflies.
She rested the sword across her knees, her elbows holding it in place, impervious to the flames, and listened to the gossip and banter of the four soldiers who were not standing watch as they relaxed around the fire and ate their simple meals.
There was something refreshing, invigorating, about being in the forest at night in summer, she thought, breathing deeply to take in the cool, moist air that stood in such contrast to the dry heat of Yarim. Perhaps being in this natural setting, with the full green of the season, the warm, rich scent of the earth, the sheltering canopy of tree branches above her, was improving her condition. She felt better, though she was still off balance and unclear in her sight.