“Eisenzahn?” the prince frowned. “Oh, the Ironteeth? Yes, I have—though of course we had to travel around the southern border of Spegel to reach them, as we didn’t dare enter there or into Iss.”
“Yes, that is the longer route,” Galahad said. “But if you were able to pass directly through Spegel, you would cross it in two days, then come to a mountain pass that enters the narrowest point of Eorna Valley. The mountains just beyond them are the Drachenrucken—Dragonspine—mountains. And Maith is among them.”
“So, roughly two-hundred fifty miles,” the prince guessed. “If one could pass through Spegel.”
Just then, servants emerged carrying trays, and set down plates of blackberries, strawberries, biscuits, toast, and sausages in front of Galahad and the prince. Another servant set down glasses of pale juice, and then white pots of tea and cups, accompanied by honey and cream. Meira stared down at her plate and lost all her color. Galahad bit the inside of his cheek.
“Are you familiar with Spegel, Miss Meira?” the prince asked her. Her head came up and she raised her eyebrows at him, then shook her head.
“It’s a legendary kingdom,” he said, spreading butter on a piece of toast. “I’ve only ever heard stories about it, because the borders have been sealed since before I was born. But they work the most incredible magic there.” He leaned toward her. “They make glass that cannot break. And the entire palace is made of such glass.”
Meira’s eyes went wide.
“It’s true,” the prince assured her. “My father saw it himself. Tall as a mountain, all different colors. Indestructible. But…” The prince sighed, and took a bite of toast. “Perhaps thirty years ago, an emissary from our kingdom tried to visit the king of Spegel, and never returned. A second party went in search of them, and they didn’t return either. Finally, my father sent a legion of soldiers, and not even one of them came home. So, we stopped venturing that direction. And so, I assume, has everyone else.”
“They have,” Galahad said, taking off his gloves and laying them on the table. “And we may have discovered the reason.”
The prince’s head came around.
“What reason is that?”
“We believe that Queen Iskyla of Iss has taken up residence in the Palace of Glas,” Galahad replied. “I think she’s trying to overtake the kingdom. We’ve sent someone to investigate.”
“My word,” the prince muttered. “What would an ice fairy want with Spegel?”
“I don’t know,” Galahad said. “But I don’t trust her. Iss is the only place suited to her kind. Anywhere else she goes, she risks killing everything in her path.”
“But you’ve sent someone,” the prince pressed. “A Curse-Breaker.”
Galahad’s jaw tightened, but he nodded and buttered his own toast.
“We have.”
“Good,” the prince decided. “Maybe now at least we’ll have some idea as to what’s been…” He stopped, and frowned over at Meira. “Miss Meira, is the food not to your liking?”
Meira drew in a sudden breath and tried to smile at him, but it turned into a wince. Then, she put out a shaking hand and picked up a blackberry and carefully put it into her mouth and chewed. Galahad watched her, unmoving. Thankfully, she kept her lips closed. Then, she picked up another berry, and ate it also.
“Here, let me pour your tea for you,” the prince offered, picking up the small teapot. Meira instantly tried to move her teacup closer to him—
But somehow overestimated its weight—for she lifted the saucer too quickly and sent the cup tumbling onto the table—
To smash on the ground.
She dropped the saucer and slapped her hands over her mouth.
“Gog’s bread!” the prince yelped, quickly setting down the teapot.
Immediately, two servants darted out from the corners and dove to clean up the shards. Galahad folded his hands in his lap and ground his teeth.
Meira shoved the chair back and stood up, turning away, her face twisting—
“Wait, wait!” the prince cried, leaping to his feet and catching her wrist, almost stepping on one of the servants.
Meira pressed a hand over her mouth and wouldn’t look at him.
“Do I…Do I really terrify you so much?” the prince asked earnestly. Her head came around, and tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Good lord, girl,” the prince laughed, swiftly rubbing the back of her hand. “It’s all right! Do you know I have more than ten thousand teacups? Now I ask you—what’s a man supposed to do with ten thousand teacups?”
Meira suddenly gave a watery giggle, swiping at her face. The prince immediately reached into his pocket and tugged out a handkerchief and held it up for her.
She glanced at Galahad.
Trying not to grind his teeth again, Galahad reached up and tapped his cheek with his forefinger.
Unsteadily, Meira took the handkerchief from the prince and pressed it to her cheeks, drying her tears.
“Come, sit back down,” the prince urged. “We’ll have a fresh cup for you right away.” He tugged on her hand. She relented, and sank back into her chair.
“I can’t have you crying,” the prince said frankly, sitting down and replacing his napkin on his lap. “Your eyes are far too pretty.”
Meira laughed weakly again, but Galahad saw her repeat her blush. In a matter of moments, the servants had cleared away the broken shards, brought a new cup, and poured steaming tea for her.
Galahad slowly sat forward, poured his own tea, then picked up his cup and took a single sip—feeling Meira watching everything he did. Then, Meira risked picking up her own cup—with extreme caution, this time—and lifted it to her lips. She took a little sip, and seemed to like what she tasted, for she drank more before gently setting it back down on its saucer.
“There,” the prince declared, pleased. “Nothing at all to be afraid of, is there?”
Meira managed a smile, and Galahad only slightly lifted his eyebrows, but said nothing as he began to eat his own breakfast.
Chapter Six
Galahad,
This is grave indeed. Though I cannot say I am surprised. I have seen love work the most spectacular changes upon the most immovable people imaginable. I would suppose that it has been a lonely life for this little mermaid, guarding this seal whilst her family lives much further out to sea—and the surf near Mhuirlan is rough and savage and cold. And of course, there are the fishermen to contend with—their nets and snares always threatening to snatch her up. I pity her more than I am angry with her. And for the reasons I have stated, I also ask you to treat her with compassion. Her existence so far has been much darkness and solitude.
I certainly have some ideas as to how you might help her win the heart of the prince. You must teach her etiquette and bearing and manners, as you mentioned—but you must also endeavor to make her as beautiful as humanly possible. Adorn her and dress her in eye-catching colors and garments, and if she has beautiful hair, put spells on it so it shines. Trust your own masculine instincts concerning her appearance. Make certain she smells lovely, also. Give her lotions and potions to make her skin glow, and her lips pink. Give her comfortable shoes so that she may dance and walk with ease wherever she goes. Encourage her to smile whenever possible. Also, she must look the prince in the eye whenever she can catch his attention. I have experienced and observed myself that two young people who gaze long at each other begin to feel their hearts beat faster, and as they see into each other, they begin to feel as if they are glimpsing each other’s secret hearts.
Try to create times for Princess Meira and the prince to be “alone” together, though do not leave them entirely alone. Encourage the prince to share things he enjoys with her, and to teach her things about his home and his life. A man enjoys simply being near a woman who takes easy pleasure in his company, who values what he says, and who listens to and understands him. Men also are drawn to intelligent women who do not necessarily require their help, but appreciate it wh
en it is given. Men take great joy in being needed. (Please don’t assume I am patronizing you by making this list of observations—I make it so you may refer to it, and it comes from my personal knowledge that you have never courted, nor do you wish to, nor have you pursued the study of courtship in any form except natural and casual observations of your own.)
Of course—and I do despise saying this, but it must be said—none of this will work at all if this girl is stupid, or ugly, or if she is selfish or cruel, or truly unlikeable. If you believe she is, in fact, a wretched person, then I advise you to abandon this task immediately and return to Maith so that we all may devise a different course of action.
But, if what you have seen so far tells you that she has a kind heart and a willing spirit, and she possesses enough beauty, then do all you can to save her life, and rescue the seal from the reach of the Sea Witch. I have sent you enough money to buy her a sumptuous wardrobe. Do take the advice of the maid in your household concerning the price and style of clothing—I have made inquiries about her, and learned that she grew up in the palace.
Write to me if ever you have questions about any of it. This is a delicate matter, Galahad—as almost all matters of the heart are. Tread with caution. ~Reola
Galahad folded the letter, and lifted his head. The afternoon had clouded, the sky lowered with grey clouds, and the wind turned moist and chilly as it rolled across the hills. He stood beneath a gnarled tree up on the hill behind the house. Scraw nipped at Galahad’s hair and shifted his claws upon the shoulder of his cloak. Galahad leaned sideways against the trunk of the tree, listening to the ragged leaves batter in the wind, watching the smoke from the house chimney sweep away.
“Scrap,” Scraw muttered, his voice deep and croaky. “Scrap, scrap, scrap.”
Galahad eyed him sideways.
“What, you want an egg?”
“Hello,” the raven muttered back. “Scrap.”
“Mm,” Galahad folded the letter one more time and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. “Come on, then.”
“Little Emblyn?” Galahad called quietly. He gazed down into the library hearth, watching the flicker of the flames and the fly of the sparks. Quick footsteps tapped across the wooden floor of the parlor, and stopped at the threshold of the library.
“Sir?” the maid asked.
“Where is Princess Meira?” Galahad asked, picking up the fire poker and shoving a log back onto the blaze. The dry logs crackled and popped in response.
“She’s upstairs in her room, sir. Sleeping,” Little Emblyn replied. “She liked to have fainted when she came home from the palace. Twas a terrible strain on her, sir.”
Galahad’s brow furrowed, and he turned to look at her. The maid held her apron in both hands, but she gazed openly back at him.
“A terrible strain,” he repeated.
“Yes, sir,” she nodded. “She seems…Well, she seems disorientated by everything. Sounds, smells, light through the window…” She lifted one shoulder. “Even furniture, and what to do with it.” She paused, watching him earnestly. “She cannot dress herself, sir. She can hardly eat unless I feed her like a babe.” Little Emblyn hesitated. “I believe riding on the horse terrified her, sir.”
Galahad replaced the fire poker in its stand and faced Little Emblyn, clasping his hands behind him.
“You do,” he said.
She nodded.
“If she…If she is a mermaid, as you said, sir,” Little Emblyn said quietly. “She cannot have ever learned what chairs or spoons or dresses or windows or horses or trees truly are. Even the wind might scare her, sir. It would scare me, if I’d never known it.”
Galahad glanced at the floor, and nodded once.
“Do you know why I took her to visit the prince today?”
“No, sir,” she admitted.
“If Prince James does not fall in love with and marry Princess Meira, she will die,” he said, meeting Little Emblyn’s gaze. “The spell that the Sea Witch put on Meira to make her human carries that condition.”
“She’ll die, sir?” Little Emblyn gasped. Galahad nodded again. Little Emblyn wrung her apron.
“What are we to do?”
“We must help the prince to fall in love with her,” Galahad answered. “My masters have made some suggestions for clothing and ornamentation for her.” Galahad stopped a moment, studying the maid. “What would you suggest?”
Little Emblyn blinked.
“Me, sir?”
Galahad almost smiled.
“Yes, you.”
“I should…I should think that before she worries about ornamentation, she needs to know how to eat, sir,” she answered, turning red. “And get dressed. And wash herself, and take care of her own hair.”
Galahad listened to her, then nodded.
“Can I rely on your help with that?”
“Of course, sir,” Little Emblyn said quickly. “Whatever you need.”
Galahad did smile now—just a little.
“Thank you.” And he turned back to the fire. Little Emblyn lingered there for a moment, then quietly moved back to the kitchen, leaving Galahad alone with his thoughts.
Galahad flung out the red tablecloth over the long dining room table and straightened it, then set the wooden candlesticks in the center, retrieved the basket of bread, and then lit the tall beeswax candles and the hanging lamps, which filled the room with a warm glow. He re-entered the kitchen, where he’d been all late afternoon, just as the kettle let out a piercing whistle. He snatched it off the range, and poured the steaming water into the black polished teapot. He carried the teapot out to the table, then brought out the teacups, and then the wine glasses, and the bottle of wine he’d found in the cellar. When he went back into the kitchen, he fished out three wooden bowls from the cupboard, moved to the pot on the range, and ladled out generous helpings of potato soup and carried the bowls out to the table. He made another trip to fetch spoons and napkins, and a corkscrew. With a bright pop, he opened the wine and poured it into the glasses, then set the bottle aside and stepped into the entryway, stopping in front of the staircase.
The stairs creaked with two sets of careful footsteps, and then Meira appeared, beside Little Emblyn.
“Just hold my arm, Miss,” Little Emblyn said in a soothing voice. “I’ll not let you fall.”
Galahad waited, watching as the edges of their skirts appeared, and gradually the two women worked their way down the wooden staircase, and stopped on the very last step.
Meira wore a plain maroon dress, with her dark hair brushed and braided back again. But she stared down at the rug, and wouldn’t lift her head.
Galahad took a breath, and grasped his hands behind his back.
“Princess,” he began. “I would ask you not to be afraid. Not of staircases or horses, or wind or forests, or teacups or chairs. Or Little Emblyn.” He paused. “Or me.”
She lifted her head, and looked at him. She still kept her arm wound tight around Little Emblyn’s. Galahad took another breath, holding her gaze.
“We want to protect you. And we want to teach you how to live in this world.”
Meira swallowed hard. Little Emblyn smiled up at her, and rubbed her upper arm.
“We’ve decided that the best way to begin,” Galahad said. “Is to teach you how to eat, drink, dress and bathe on your own. Little Emblyn will help you with much of that.” He gestured to her. “For my part, I will play the role of the prince, or any other nobleman, using all the same manners, in order to teach you how they expect you to respond. Is that…” he lifted his eyebrows. “…agreeable to you?”
For a long moment, she studied him. Then, she glanced down at Little Emblyn, who only kept smiling at her. So, Meira lifted her chin, and—in a flicker of royal bearing—inclined her head.
“Very well,” Galahad said. “We can begin now.” He shifted his stance. “A gentleman always escorts a lady into dinner. He begins by offering his arm to her.” Galahad turned sideways to her, and held out his
bent arm.
“Go to him, Miss,” Little Emblyn said. “Put your hand under his arm, and take his elbow.”
Meira slowly released Little Emblyn, then stepped down the last step and approached Galahad. She slipped her hand up under his arm, and laid her fingers on top of his forearm.
“Then, we walk into the dining room together,” Galahad said, and drew her through the door. Little Emblyn followed.
“Now,” Galahad released Meira, bent and pulled out the nearest bench. “Stand by the table, here.”
Meira maneuvered around the end of the bench and stood in front of one bowl of soup. Galahad carefully pushed the bench up just behind her legs.
“Now, if it is a nobleman who did this for you, and not the prince, you would wait until the prince sits down before you do.” Galahad straightened up. “But, let’s assume I am the prince. So you may sit.”
Meira cautiously sat down on the bench. Galahad then pulled out a bench seat for Little Emblyn at the end of the table.
“Oh! Thankee, kind sir,” she giggled, and came to her place, and sat down. Galahad then rounded the table and seated himself across from Meira.
“When we eat together, Little Emblyn will be a noblewoman, too,” Galahad said, adjusting his own bench. “Try to do everything she does.”
Little Emblyn beamed and bounced in her seat.
“First, we ought to put our napkins in our laps,” Emblyn spoke up. “So we don’t spill on our priceless gowns.”
Galahad blinked at her in surprise. But Meira suddenly smiled, and Little Emblyn grinned back at her. Together, the two women picked up their napkins, and Meira watched as Little Emblyn unfolded hers and spread it in her lap. Meira did the same thing, casting a glance at Galahad as she did. Galahad followed suit with his napkin.
“This is potato soup,” he said, pointing to the bowl. “A potato is a root that grows in the ground. I carved it up and cooked it in salt and herbs and broth, along with another root, called a carrot—that’s what the orange bits are.”
“It is hot,” Little Emblyn warned. “Food that’s just come from the stove can burn your mouth.”
Tide Page 5
