The Hollow Queen (52 page)

“I told you, my injuries are minor, bordering on nothing.”

“And
I
told
you
long ago, if I am remembering correctly, that the Lord Cymrian should put in an appearance at the medics' tent, even if his wounds are minor, to set an example for those who might be similarly inclined to ignore their injuries, but do not have the constitution of a dragon and the stamina of a man of your strength.”

“What about you? Should you not be addressing your own wounds?”

She shook her head. “I have nothing but bruises, and there is nothing the medics can do for them.”

“Can't you use your powers as a Namer to heal yourself?” Ashe pressed. “You still have that part of you, don't you?”

Rhapsody smiled ruefully.

“The part with the power of Naming, yes. But in order to heal myself, I would have to know my own name. And, as you are aware, I do not. So, until I have it back, I will just have to live with the bruises.”

 

61

Later, once his wounds were dressed, Ashe sought his wife in the massive encampment in the lee of the mountain. Had he not been blessed with the dragon's abilities of discernment, there would have been no way to locate her tent, identical to the tens of thousands of others in which the infantry had bedded down, but his senses led him to her sleeping place, slightly away from the masses and sheltered from the wind in a jutting crag in the cliff face.

He bent down and whispered her name, then, hearing nothing in response, pulled aside the tent flap and came quietly inside.

The peak of the tent was not tall enough for him to stand erect, so he crouched even further down.

Suddenly the tent was filled with blazing light pulsing in rippling flames to the silvery sound of a sword being drawn.

Ashe winced and shielded his eyes.

Rhapsody was on one knee, her bedroll flung aside, with Daystar Clarion in her hand. She stared at him for a moment, then sheathed her sword quickly.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured. “I was asleep.”

“I am the one who should apologize,” Ashe said as his wife put her hand to her forehead, pressing the heel of her palm against her eyes. “I didn't mean to alarm you.”

“It's all right,” she said, gathering her bedroll and smoothing it back out again on the ground. “I was in the grip of a nightmare anyway.”

Ashe sighed sadly. “I knew they would come back when you and Meridion left for the Bolglands.”

Rhapsody shook her head as she crawled back into the bedroll.

“Actually, they only returned once I left him in the Nain kingdom,” she said. “One of the few things I remember about him tonight is that he has his father's ability to guard me against the torment of bad dreams, even as little as he is. You and he have a lot in common.”

“Indeed,” Ashe said, smiling slightly. “We both love the same woman more than anyone in the world.”

“Is everything all right? Did you get your wounds taken care of?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you here?”

Ashe felt his face fall in the dark.

“I didn't mean to be presumptuous,” he said. “I was hoping I might join you in your tent.”

“If you'd like. You are not being presumptuous. You're my husband; you are welcome. But it's rather small in here.”

Ashe tried to keep his voice as light as he could.

“If you will allow me to hold you, if you will sleep in my arms, there should be plenty of room.”

There was silence in the darkness of the tent. When she spoke, Ashe thought he heard a trace of sadness in her voice.

“If you wish,” she said. “Come in.”

Ashe unlaced his boots and pulled them off, leaving them by the tent wall. “I will keep the nightmares at bay for you once more, Aria.”

“Then by all means, please do come in.” Humor had replaced the sadness.

Ashe exhaled in relief, and followed his dragon sense in the dark to where her bedroll had been laid out. He pulled his own from over his shoulder and stretched it out beside hers, then carefully lay down on it, attempting not to disturb her.

She was already supine again, pulling the camp blanket back over herself.

Feeling strangely awkward, he put out his arms to her and sighed when she moved closer to him. He pulled her gently against his chest and wrapped his arm around her, brushing her forehead with his lips and running his hand through her hair as he had done on so many nights over the course of their marriage.

Only to feel her body stiffen and freeze.

“Rhapsody? Is something wrong?”

For a moment there was only silence in the tent.

Then he heard and felt her take a deep breath.

“Do you remember, long ago, when we were traveling overland together, when you took me to your house behind the waterfall?”

“Of course.”

Silence reigned for another moment. Then she spoke again.

“On one of the nights we stayed there, when I was racked by a terrible nightmare, you took me in your arms and held me until I became calm again—do you remember?”

Ashe's eyes stung at the memory, and his throat tightened. It was one of his most cherished recollections, the first time he had been able to share a bed with her, if only in the most innocent of ways, the first time he had been able to hold her as he had dreamed about since they had met months before. Rather than risk choking up, he made a nonverbal sound to indicate that he did.

“Do you think that you could hold me as you did that night?”

Ashe swallowed. “Am I not?”

Her voice was soft. “If you would do me the favor of not caressing me, or kissing me, it would make me much more comfortable. I'm sorry to ask this of you, but—” Her voice failed.

“But what, Aria?” Ashe felt his stomach turn at the tone in her voice.

“Even—even though I know you are my husband, I—I don't remember you in that role,” she said, her voice steady but quiet. “The first actual memory I have of you is meeting you in the market in Bethe Corbair.”

Ashe exhaled painfully.

“I remember that clearly,” Rhapsody continued. “I also remember you coming to visit in Ylorc, and our travels together when you guided me to Elynsynos's lair and to Tyrian to meet Oelendra. But after that, I have no actual memories of you. Since you are my husband, we must have had a wedding—”

“Two, actually,” Ashe murmured. “One in secret, one publicly beneath the tree in what has now become our home, Highmeadow.”

“I don't remember,” Rhapsody said, her voice still soft. “I have been repeatedly told we have a son, and from time to time, I can remember his name for a few moments, but at
this
moment, I don't know what it is. I don't even remember giving birth to him. I believe you and I met in the old world, in Serendair, but I do not remember that, either. I don't remember what I called you there—”

“Sam,” Ashe whispered, struggling to keep back tears. “You called me Sam.”

Rhapsody fell silent. After a moment she spoke.

“Did you just tell me what I called you?”

“Yes.”

“It's gone already. It won't stay in my head—none of these things will stay. The essence of my true name, who I was when I met you in Serendair, when we fell in love, when I married you, is gone—it's with our son now. It's been utterly stripped from me. And I am lost, Ashe; so lost that when the man I know is my husband but I can only really remember as a platonic friend, sometimes almost a stranger, touches me intimately, it harks back to a time in my life when I was forced to endure men who were
actual
strangers touching me intimately—I have clear memories of
that
time, and it makes me ill. I'm sorry—I'm so sorry.”

Quickly Ashe removed his hand from her hair.

“Two hours ago you seemed more than willing to be touched intimately,” he said, struggling to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Rhapsody was silent for a long time. Finally she spoke.

“If we were not married, if I didn't know you, I would have still taken you behind that barracks, not as my husband, or my lover, but as a handsome stranger or a platonic friend, and knobbed you as I did. I was burning alive, and needed to vent my rage and pain—and I thought you might need to do so, too. But for me it was just a communion of bodies, as I told you at the time. Women need the release of sex as much as men do. What we did a few hours ago in the darkness was not intimate, it was almost faceless, anonymous—but when you touch me tenderly, when you kiss me gently—then I don't know how to react. Because that
does
feel intimate. I'm so sorry.”

Ashe nodded abruptly and sat up, releasing her from his arms.

“I'll go now,” he said as he pulled his camp blanket off and rolled it quickly. “The last thing I want is to upset you or make you ill.”

“Please stay.” Rhapsody sat up as well. “I'm sorry.”

Ashe ran his hand angrily through his hair. “As I told you earlier, I don't know how to behave around you now, Rhapsody,” he said, the bitterness now rampant in his voice. “I am doing everything I can not to seize you and hold you, touch you, as I have been doing for almost five years now, but I have not been able to find a way to keep from bothering or disquieting you. You cannot imagine how much I have missed you—have longed to be reunited with you—and all I can seem to do is upset you. I don't know what to do, and I fear the dragon will rampage if I stay a moment longer.”

Rhapsody watched silently as he rolled his bedroll and started to pull his boots on.

“Did I ever tell you what I was dreaming about when you held me through that nightmare in the house behind the waterfall?” she asked quietly.

Ashe stopped. “No.”

She wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled them up to her chest.

“A demon vine had reached down into my soul, like the root of a poisonous willow, stripping my heat and my music from me,” she said softly. “It took my very voice, Ashe—I was gasping, unable to make any sound, when I woke in your arms. And I clung to you, because I felt that you were the only person in the world who could hear me, now that my music was gone.”

Ashe stopped lacing his boots and looked at her in the darkness. His dragon senses were able to make out her form where his eyes could not, could feel the way she shaped the air around her, could feel the elemental fire burning low within her, like fading embers.

Her spirit seemingly dying.

Her eyes utterly dry.

“I remember that, Ashe. I remember clinging to you, even though I almost never got to see your face in those days, even though your mist cloak obscured everything you were then. I sought the comfort of your arms, even though I barely knew you, and did not know how you felt about me at that time. Of all the people in the world, you, the man I rarely saw, hardly knew, who was continually pushing me away, avoiding telling me anything about yourself—you were
the only one who could hear me
. I remember this, Ashe—when I can remember little else, I remember this. I had to be careful as you held me, because I had seen the horrific wound that sundered your chest, and I knew that if I inadvertently moved in the wrong way, or touched your chest by accident, I would bring great pain to you. And I knew you were being careful in the way you held me, too—probably to not cross the line that would have threatened our growing friendship.”

Ashe smiled slightly in spite of the dragon's angst. “Yes.”

“I remember that night, Ashe. And I still feel it—that if I were broken and vulnerable, if no one else in the entire world could hear me, that you still would—you alone. Not Achmed, not Grunthor, not Analise—just you.”

Ashe exhaled deeply.

Rhapsody loosed a heavy sigh in a harmonic reply.

“So, please—can you please hold me now as you did then?”

“You forget, Rhapsody, that I was in love with you, even then. I am endlessly more in love with you now.”

“Then it shouldn't be difficult to recall that time, if you are still in love with me.” Even unable to see her in the absence of light, Ashe sensed her eyes darken. “I may not remember you as my husband, but I would die for you, Ashe—without hesitation, I would lay down my life to protect you, not because I feel the love I have for you, but because, even though I
don't
feel it, I know it's there.

“When I came to this side of the world, even before Achmed, Grunthor, and I emerged from the Root, I had already decided to be celibate, to live a chaste and uncomplicated life, without lovers or a husband—I'm fairly certain I told you that during our travels together. And yet, in spite of that decision, I find myself a married woman, with a child—a child I must have wanted desperately to have taken the risk of giving birth to wyrmkin. The only thing that could have caused me to change my mind and my plans is to have fallen deeply, unguardedly, ridiculously, irrevocably in love with someone who meant enough to me to alter everything I wanted for my life. In the absence of my memories, I still can gauge how completely I must have loved you to let this happen. Is this making any sense?”

Ashe let his head drop to his chest. “It is,” he said quietly.

“So, please,” the woman who reminded him distantly of his wife said, “please be patient with me. I don't know how to behave around you, either. I don't want to keep hurting you, but all that's left of me is the Namer, and I don't know how to lie to you to keep you from feeling pain. The best I could do was to order, while you were getting your wounds dressed,
two
shifts of the quartermaster's regiments to work through the night, preparing for us to leave at First-light to go to Undervale. If the quartermaster wants to keep his head, the task will be finished when we wake.”

Ashe chuckled. He pulled off his boots and put them back up against the tent wall, then came to her, lay down again, and took her back into his arms.