Chapter 45 Rhys
Rhys
Godwin never would have gone to Austria without him. Rhys never would have been born. It was a circular time event, perhaps even a paradox if he thought hard enough about it, though he tried not to. Just like the painting of Magellan.
Until Rhys saw the exact moment Godwin would capture on canvas.
He was standing beside his father in the center of the labyrinth.
Magellan was wearing the same pale-pink dress as in the painting, another borrowed gown from his grandmother’s closets.
Her hair was down. She was holding red roses in her hand and waiting at the standing stones for their wedding to begin.
She and Rhys had decided to be married in the center of the labyrinth.
There seemed to be no better place. Godwin had gone to London and returned with the special license and the nearest town vicar, a spritely elderly fellow who was clearly in awe of Godwin, the infamous Earl of Liron.
The man was honored to be performing the private ceremony for the earl’s relation.
Magellan had just finished picking flowers for her bouquet when she turned to Rhys and smiled at him. It was the smile. The image captured on the canvas that was burned into his mind forever.
Godwin was standing beside him and said he would paint her portrait to capture the day. Then all at once Rhys understood. The painting had been a gift from his father. A wedding gift. Rhys didn’t tell him he’d already seen it and found the painting after he died.
Rhys swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thank you. I’m sure it will be beautiful.”
The ceremony was brief. The town vicar conducted the wedding with gravitas, as if he had a huge audience and not three people. He most likely could not wait to get back to the village and share his adventure.
“Dearly beloved,” the vicar began.
Rhys and Magellan repeated their vows to each other, their hands joined. The sun was shining down on the labyrinth that day, the stones their cathedral. Rhys stared into the green of Magellan’s eyes and knew in his heart he had loved her before and would love her again.
In a blink, the ceremony was over.
“My countess,” Rhys whispered into her ear and kissed her fully on the lips, causing the vicar to gasp.
Magellan threw back her head and laughed.
Then she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him again.
Godwin wiped a suspect tear from his eye and hurried the shocked vicar back to the house.
Rhys and Magellan left the labyrinth last, strolling hand in hand.
The household staff was waiting at the manor to congratulate them. They had prepared a lovely wedding breakfast, not daring to ask why the eccentric young couple were getting married a second time.
After many toasts in the dining room with the vicar, they sent the man home in a carriage half foxed. Then it was just the three of them. They were all on the way to being drunk themselves more from the day and not the champagne.
“You told me, Father, I could not get married until I read the diary in its entirety. You made me promise. Now I understand why.” Rhys could feel himself getting emotional.
Godwin had lived through this time with them and then he had raised him as a young boy, knowing they would sit at the table together and celebrate his wedding day.
“To 1799, a most advantageous year!” Godwin proclaimed, and they all clinked glasses.
“To 1800,” Rhys teased, knowing his parents’ meeting was not far off. “You have no idea how your life will change.”
“Not a word.” Godwin pointed a finger threateningly at him. “Not a word.” He was adamant that Rhys and Magellan could not share anything about his future and risk unraveling the past altogether, and they had sworn they wouldn’t.
Magellan raised her glass. “To a safe journey to Austria.”
They would leave in the morning, strange honeymoon that it would be.
It had taken Godwin almost two weeks to arrange the passage for their trip to Vienna, with their staying at alchemists’ estates along the way.
Rhys tried not to worry about the date, but the days of December were ticking by.
Tomorrow, finally, tomorrow they would be on their way.
On that note, Godwin bid them good night.
The newlyweds were led to an apartment of rooms in the east wing, prepared just for them.
When Rhys shut the door to their suite, he wrapped Magellan in his arms. They took turns placing tender kisses upon each other’s faces like a love song just beginning to play.
Then they gave themselves to each other in the most exquisite melody only lovers can make.
As Rhys drifted off into a languid sleep, the boundaries of their bodies still blurred, he had never felt so complete.
A blanket of peace descended over him, and he dreamed of the song.
He heard its grand symphony. He saw an audience of thousands, hundreds of thousands, all singing.
The people were an open sea of faces surrounding an enormous stage in the shape of a circle as big as his labyrinth, perhaps bigger.
Starlight beams were everywhere, harnessing light.
Magellan was onstage, leading the musicians.
Then she turned to him, her eyes shining.
He felt like he was soaring within the music, yet he could feel his feet rooted to the stage.
Because he was there.
He was there.
And in that moment, standing in the center of the stage under the lights, playing the song they had journeyed to the heart of a labyrinth to find, he found the perfect word for her from all the words that defied translation.
Kara sevda, blinding love.