Part 10 (1/2)
There was life here.
Rocks, stumps, brambles began to show themselves beneath the snow.
The first call of a bird had Dilys falling to his knees in shock.
Snow had melted from their hair, their cloaks, but now it was Dilys's face that was white as ice.
”It's a magpie,” Kylar told him, both amused and touched when his stalwart man trembled at the sound. ”A song of summer. Rise now.
We've left winter behind us.”
Soon Cathmor's hooves. .h.i.t ground, solid and springy, and a single beam of light streamed through trees that were thick with leaves.
”What magic is this?”
”Sun.” Kylar closed his hand over the rose brooch. ”We found the sun.”
He dismounted and on legs weak and weary walked slowly to a brilliant splash of color. Here, at the edge of the Forgotten, grew wild roses, red as blood.
He plucked one, breathed in its sweet scent, and said: ”Deirdre.” And she, carrying a bucket of melted snow to her garden, swayed. She pressed a hand to her heart as it leaped with joy. ”He is home.”
She moved through her days now with an easy contentment. Her lover was safe, and the child they'd made warm inside her. The child would be loved, would be cherished. Her heart would never be cold again.
If there was yearning in her, it was natural. But she would rather yearn than have him trapped in her world.
On the night she knew he was safe, she gave a celebration with wine and music and dancing. The story would be told, she decreed, of Kylar of Mrydon. Kylar the brave. And of the faithful Dilys. And all of her people, all who came after, would know of it.
On a silver chain around her neck, she wore his ring.
She hummed as she cleared the paths in her rose garden.
”You sent men out to scout for Dilys,” Orna said.
”It is probably too early. But I know he'll start for home as soon as he's able.”
”And Prince Kylar. You don't look for him?”
”He doesn't belong here. He has family in his world, and one day a throne. I found love with him, and it blooms in me-heart and womb. So I wish for him health and happiness. And one day, when these memories have faded from his mind, a woman who loves him as I do.”
Orna glanced toward the ice rose, but said nothing of it. ”Do you doubt his love for you?”
”No.” Her smile was warm and sweet as she said it. ”But I've learned, Orna. I believe he was sent to me to teach me what I never knew. Love can't come from cold. If it does, it's selfish, and is not love but simply desire. It gives me such joy to think of him in the sunlight. I don't wish for him as my mother wished for my father, or curse him as my aunt cursed us all. I no longer see my life here as prison or duty. Without it, I would never have known him.”
”You're wiser than those who made you.”
”I'm luckier,” Deirdre corrected, then leaned on her shovel as Phelan rushed into the garden.
”My lady, I've finished my story. Will you hear it?”
”I will. Fetch that shovel by the wall. You can tell me while we work.” ”It's a grand story.” He ran for the shovel and began heaving snow with great enthusiasm. ”The best I've done. And it begins like this: Once, a brave and handsome prince from a far-off land fought a great battle against men who would plunder his kingdom and kill his people. His name was Kylar, and his land was Mrydon.”
”It is a good beginning, Phelan the bard.”
”Yes, my lady. But it gets better. Kylar the brave defeated the invaders, but, sorely wounded, became lost in the great forest known as the Forgotten.”
Deirdre continued to work, smiling as the boy's words brought her memories back so clearly. She remembered her first glimpse of those bold blue eyes, that first foolish brush of lips.
She would give Phelan precious paper and ink to scribe the story. She would bind it herself in leather tanned from deer hide. In this way, she thought with pride, her love would live forever.
One day, their child would read the story, and know what a man his father was.
She cleared the path past jeweled benches, toward the great frozen rose while the boy told his tale and labored tirelessly beside her.
”And the beautiful queen gave him a rose carved on a brooch that he wore pinned over his heart. For days and nights, with his faithful horse, Cathmor, and the valiant and true Dilys, he fought the wild storms, crossed the iced shadows of the Forgotten. It was his lady's love that sustained him.”
”You have a romantic heart, young bard.”
”It is a true story, my lady. I saw it in my head.” He continued on, entertaining and delighting her with words of Dilys's stubborn loyalty, of black nights and white days, of a giant tree cras.h.i.+ng and leading them toward a stream where water ran over rock like music.
”Sunlight struck the water and made it sparkle like diamonds.”
A bit surprised by the description, she glanced toward him. ”Do you think sun on water makes diamonds?”
”It makes tiny bright lights, my lady. It dazzles the eye.”
Something inside her heart trembled. ”Dazzles the eye,” she repeated on a whisper. ”Yes, I have heard of this.” ”And at the edge of the Forgotten grew wild roses, fire-red. The handsome prince plucked one, as he had promised, and when its sweetness surrounded him, he said his lady's name.”
”It's a lovely story.”
”It is not the end.” He all but danced with excitement.
”Tell me the rest, then.” She started to smile, to rest on her shovel. Then there came the sound of wild cheering and shouts from without the garden.
”This is the end!” The boy threw his shovel carelessly aside and raced to the archway. ”He is come!”
”Who?” she began, but couldn't hear her own voice over the shouts, over the pounding of her blood.
Suddenly the light went brilliant, searing into her eyes so that with a little cry of shock, she threw a hand up to s.h.i.+eld them. Wild wind turned to breeze soft as silk. And she heard her name spoken.
Her hand trembled as she lowered it, and her eyes blinked against a light she'd never known. She saw him in the archway of the garden, surrounded by a kind of s.h.i.+mmering halo that gleamed like melted gold.
”Kylar.” Her heart, every chamber filled with joy, bounded in her breast.
Her shovel clattered on the path as she ran to him.
He caught her up, spinning her in circles as she clung to him. ”Oh, my love, my heart. How can this be?” Her tears fell on his neck, her kisses on his face. ”You should not be here. You should never have come back.
How can I let you go again?”
”Look at me. Sweetheart, look at me.” He tipped up her chin. ”So there are tears now. I'd hoped there would be. I ask you again. Do you love me, Deirdre?”