Suddenly, Galahad’s skin tingled—and he spurred his horse around Lancelot and Gawain’s to ride beside the prince.
“Are there elves in these woods?” he murmured, glancing around.
“Not for a very long time,” the prince replied, following Galahad’s gaze. Galahad looked at him.
“So there were elves?”
The prince nodded.
“Yes, in my great-great-great grandfather’s day—the man who became the fourth king of Mhuirlan,” he replied, tilting his head back and letting the dappled light fall across his face. “He wrote down stories of when he visited here as a child, and the elvish girls and boys would tease him, and giggle at him, from behind the trees. He only truly saw one once.”
“An elf child?” Galahad asked. The prince shook his head.
“No. An elfin man.” The prince’s eyes distanced. “He stepped out in front of the little prince, and just stood there. As if he’d been waiting for him.”
“What did he look like?” Galahad pressed.
“The story says that he wore clothes that looked like woven light, with the sun shining from his hair,” the prince said quietly. “He had eyes like blue starlight, and skin like pearl. He wore a silver sword, and my great-great-great-grandfather said he was a head taller than his own father the king. And his face struck him with terrible fear—yet he knew he wouldn’t hurt him.”
Galahad hardly breathed.
“What did the elf do?”
“He told the prince to pass a message on to the king,” the prince answered. “He said: ‘The light must rise in the mountains of the west.’” The prince sighed, and looked at Galahad. “After that, when the prince came to the woods…he didn’t hear any more laughing.”
“Nieryn,” Galahad whispered. “He saw Nieryn An Fhoinse.”
The prince smiled quietly.
“Perhaps,” he said. “That’s what I like to think, anyhow.”
Galahad stared at him, a stunning realization settling down through him. No wonder this prince was so luminous and alive.
“Look!” the prince cut into his thoughts, and pointed ahead. “There’s the first wall.”
Galahad tore his eyes away from the prince to find half of a shattered wall, all draped in ivy. The prince pulled his horse to a halt, and dismounted. The other knights did the same, so Galahad jumped off and came round Thondorfax, running his gaze down the length of the ancient wall.
“What is this?” Galahad asked.
“The Ruined Mount,” the prince replied. “The very first stronghold of my people.” He glanced back at the others. “Come,” he beckoned, and Galahad kept up with him, hearing the others trail after, making comments about the path and the trees.
They ducked through a hole in the wall, which had probably once been a low gate. They then clambered up a hill littered with huge, moss-covered stones, weaving between the tangled trees and stepping through carpets of ferns. At last, Galahad spied the walls of the fortress keep, and a little window. They came near, and rounded the gentle curve of the wall until they came to the tall gate, long bereft of its fortified oaken doors.
Galahad’s skin tingled again—but an icy chill accompanied it. He rested his hand on the butt of his sword, and pressed close to the prince’s side.
“Do you frequent this place?” Galahad asked him as they strode into the overgrown courtyard, where a tree had grown up through the well, and the inner walls had crumbled.
“We came not four weeks ago,” Sir Gawain spoke up. “Had a picnic just over there.” He pointed to the far corner, where sunlight broke through a gap in the trees.
“Why did I not come?” Lancelot wondered.
“You were fishing with me,” Tristan answered him. “On the trawler.”
“Ah, yes,” Lancelot nodded. “You were sunburnt.”
“No more than you,” Tristan countered.
“I should like to see the tower,” Lancelot pointed. “Are the stairs passable?”
“Yes, there’s a good view from the top,” the prince acknowledged. “It’s quite safe. You take Tristan and Gawain—I want to show something to Galahad.”
The knights nodded, and Lancelot immediately trotted toward the door of the corner tower, Gawain shouting something about the age of the battlements.
“What is it?” Galahad frowned at the prince. The prince just gave him a solemn look, and motioned to him. Then, he turned and led the way through an arched side door off to the left.
Galahad was forced to duck beneath the arch, though the prince didn’t have to, and Galahad found himself starting down an exterior set of moss-covered, curving steps. To the right, the wall of the fortress rose up into the trees. To the left, the wall only came up to their hips, standing open to the woods. The prince said nothing as they gradually descended, the tapping of their soles on the stone accompanying the distant birdsong.
Soon, another portion of the fortress rose up before them, as did a tall, dark doorway. The prince stopped on the threshold, faced Galahad, and regarded him with a quiet gravity.
“This wasn’t always called the Ruined Mount,” the prince said. “In the beginning, this place was called Arghans Ker.”
Galahad’s brow instantly furrowed. The prince saw his face, and nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “It means ‘silver.’”
“The Silver Fortress,” Galahad realized. “But I have always thought it was a myth!”
“No, quite real,” the prince assured him, setting his hands on his hips, wistfully gazing over the ruined walls. “My forebears discovered silver here—silver that would never tarnish. They built their fortress around their silver mine, and gilded the stones with that same silver. This castle was once one of the most marvelous sights in all of Edel—shining like the sun on the peak of the island.”
“What happened?” Galahad asked.
“The elves came,” the prince replied. “And my people made friends with them, and asked them to live here. The elves agreed, and made their homes among the young trees around Arghans Ker.” The prince smiled unexpectedly at Galahad. “But then, two unexpected things happened, quite by accident. The elves brought a magic with them that caused the trees to grow tall and deep, and to become so tangled that cart traffic to and from Arghans Ker became very difficult. But my people loved the elves, and didn’t want to quarrel with them. So they sought elsewhere for wealth, and discovered the copper and tin veins nearer to the ocean. They decided to move the royal family to a new palace near the coast, and begin mining the tin and copper. They continued to mine for silver here, also…until the day that a great root from one of the trees broke through a wall under the earth, and the entire silver mine flooded.”
“So Arghans Ker was abandoned,” Galahad concluded.
“Yes,” said the prince. “And the outer walls were stripped of their silver, which has now been used or sold, though a very small bit of it is still in the treasury at Perlkastel.”
“And then,” Galahad said. “The elves left.”
“They did,” the prince said, a flicker of sadness crossing his face. “But, even as I’ve grown up, I like to imagine them still walking in these woods. And sometimes, I can almost feel them.” He sighed. “Though I don’t often mention it—I know I sound mad.”
“No, you don’t,” Galahad countered. “Elves leave deep marks wherever they go. Their magic remains, even if they leave.”
The prince regarded him, his jaw tightening.
“I wondered,” he said quietly. “Which is why I wanted to bring you to see this.”
“What is it?” Galahad pressed.
The prince took a breath, turned, and passed into the shadow beyond the door. Galahad followed him.
For a few steps, Galahad could see nothing—he had to put out his left hand and search for the damp wall. Echoing footfalls sounded ahead of him, and then the prince passed into a beam of light that cut down through the ceiling. Galahad picked up his pace and caught up to him, and together they passed th
rough another doorway, and into a large, circular room. And Galahad came to a sudden halt.
The ceiling, far overhead, was gone, and sunlight poured down through the round opening. A narrow stone walkway formed the circumference of the floor, where Galahad now stood beside the prince.
But the rest of the floor…
It plunged straight down in a vast hole, flooded to the brim with rippling water. The walls of the shaft shimmered with silver, almost like a swirling whirlpool of glimmering fish. But the depths of the hole swam with a dark, ethereal green.
And up from those depths…
Rose the mast of a ship.
The crow’s nest half shattered, ropes drifting with haunting weightlessness. The shreds of a flag languidly flowing back and forth…back and forth...
Its tip did not breach the surface, but remained just beneath, as if beckoning a fatalistic soul to lean down and touch it…
And, as Galahad lifted his chin and gazed down into the deep, he could glimpse—and feel—the great, shadowy hulk of the wrecked ship lying down in that silent grave.
“What is this?” Galahad whispered—and his utterance slithered across the stones and the rippling water. He looked over at the prince…
Who was already gazing back at him, the strange reflections from the water moving across his features, illuminating his blue eyes.
“It is the Cygnus,” the prince murmured. “My father’s ship.”
Chapter Twelve
An icy chill shot down through Galahad’s blood. He stared back down at the sunken ship.
“How did it come here?” he breathed.
“I don’t know,” the prince confessed. “But a month ago, after I had recovered from my own shipwreck, I came here and sat at the edge of this pool. It was empty, then. And I threw in a coin, as I had often done as a boy.” He drew in a shaking breath. “And when I came here yesterday…”
Galahad looked sharply at him.
“You used it as a wishing well?”
“The people of Metern always have,” the prince answered.
Galahad turned toward the prince, watching every aspect of his face.
“Your Highness,” he said quietly. “What did you wish for?”
“What I have always wished for, whether sleeping or waking, sincere or idle,” the prince whispered, gazing down at the massive shadow of the dead ship. “To see my father again.”
Galahad swallowed, the ice building in his blood. And the ship captured his attention again.
“What does this mean?” the prince wondered.
Galahad took a slow breath.
“You have heard of the Sea Witch,” he said quietly, the echoes of his tones swimming through the chamber.
“Of course,” the prince answered. “Every night, from my mother, before I went to bed.”
“She has heard, and granted your wish,” Galahad whispered. “But not in the way you imagined.”
“What?” the prince gasped. And as Galahad stared back at him, his face went white, his eyes wide.
“Are you…Are you saying that my father is down there?” he choked. “On that ship?”
Galahad said nothing. The prince started looking around frantically.
“Wh—Well, we have to get divers!” he cried. “I must go down there, I must recover his body—”
“No,” Galahad seized the prince by his upper arms, clamping down hard and shaking him. The prince’s head came up.
“How dare you—” the prince yelped.
“No, you don’t understand,” Galahad cut him off. “Think of it, Your Highness. The silver of Arghans Ker has always been magic, and the woods above it were once lived in by elves. And now seawater has somehow broken into the mineshaft and brought you, of all things, the very ship that claimed your father’s life. The ship you wished for, but never truly wanted to see again.” Galahad shook him again, forcing the prince to look at him. “This can be nothing but a trap to lure you to your death.”
The prince shook his head hard, tears spilling down his cheeks. Galahad reached up and put his hand around the back of the prince’s neck, holding him firm.
“If it were goodly magic, it would have brought you a vision of your father at peace in the light of the Source,” Galahad said earnestly, leaning his head closer to the prince, pinning his gaze with his own. “Instead, it took your nightmares and brought them to life.”
A shattered sob escaped the prince’s chest, and more tears fell. Galahad gentled his hold on him, and slowly shook his head.
“You cannot want to see your father’s bones bound up in a net, or caught in broken wood,” he murmured. “Remember him as he was when you last saw him—and as you know him now to be: alive, and bright. And at peace.”
The prince’s head fell forward—his forehead bumped Galahad’s, and tears tumbled onto the front of the prince’s doublet. Galahad shifted, and rested his forehead on the crown of the prince’s head. The prince let out another helpless sob, and the strength left his shoulders.
“Solas, solas, solas,” Galahad whispered, closing his eyes, letting heat build in his chest, flow out his hands and into the prince’s neck and head and arm. He gripped the young man tighter, and kept whispering, even as the prince shivered and cried. “Solas, solas, solas…”
Finally, the prince forcibly gathered himself, straightened up and swiped at his face. Galahad did not release his arm.
“Come,” he said. “We need to leave.”
The prince just nodded, trying to hide his face from him, and let Galahad draw him out of the chamber, along the darkened stairway, and to the threshold of the arched door. Cool forest air met them, and the prince took deep breaths.
“Forgive me,” the prince sniffed, wiping his face with his sleeves.
“You lost your father,” Galahad said quietly. “You have the right to weep.”
The prince’s brow twisted, and he nodded again, keeping his eyes downcast.
“So, erm…” the prince said unsteadily. “You think it’s cursed.”
Galahad watched him a moment.
“I do not trust it,” he answered. “And until I understand its meaning, I do not want you or anyone else coming near this place.”
The prince’s head came up, but Galahad leveled a severe look at him.
“Do you understand?”
“I do,” the prince said. “I have no wish to die.”
Galahad weighed his answer, then nodded once. The prince sniffed again.
“In fact, I have half a mind to go back to Hanter-broder,” he confessed.
“Why Hanter-broder?” Galahad asked.
“I have friends there. I visit often,” the prince said. “Especially since my mother has been with my uncle at the Halls of Healing.”
“Perhaps you should ask these friends to come here instead,” Galahad suggested. “Rather than venture out on the water by yourself.”
The prince blinked, and absent tears fell, but his gaze cleared, and he almost smiled.
“That’s a thought!” he said. “Perhaps I will.”
Galahad nodded, and briefly touched the prince’s shoulder.
“Compose yourself,” he said. “We’ll find the others and go home.”
“Mm,” the prince grunted, wiping his tears again, and followed Galahad back up the winding stairs.
The sky darkened as Galahad rode home. Thondorfax snorted when Euryor House appeared through the twilight, its windows alight, its chimney smoking. Galahad let out an imperceptible sigh, and the tension in his shoulders eased.
He dismounted in the yard, led Thondorfax into the stall and took off his saddle and bridle, made certain he had enough water and feed, and then tiredly crossed back toward the front door.
As he closed the door behind him, he was already tugging off his cape, his footsteps sounding heavily on the floorboards. And just as he was hanging his cape on the peg, Meira darted into the entryway, a book in her hand, her eyes searching. She blinked when she saw him, and her eyebrows went
up. He nodded to her.
“Is that the master?” Little Emblyn called from the dining room. Meira nodded to her in turn. Little Emblyn hurried into the entryway also, quickly tying on her apron.
“I’ll get your supper, sir,” she gasped, dipping a curtsey.
“No, I’ve dined already,” he held up a hand. “With the prince and the knights.”
“Oh,” Little Emblyn glanced over at Meira, then dropped another curtsey. “Very good, sir.”
“I’m going into the library,” Galahad sighed, pulling off his gloves and raking his hand through his hair. He passed Meira, dropped his gloves onto a table in the sitting room and entered the darkened library. The lamps glowed, and the curtains had been drawn. Scraw, sitting on the edge of the mantel again, chuffed at him and fluffed out his feathers. Galahad neared him and stroked the bird’s chest, and then tapped his long beak with his forefinger.
“Scrap,” Scraw said. “Scrap, scrap.”
“Go in the kitchen and get something, then,” Galahad sighed once more. “Go on.”
“Crack!” Scraw spat, then hopped off the mantel and onto the rug. And as Galahad watched, Scraw bounced nonchalantly across the floor to the door, as if he were a gazelle. Galahad rolled his eyes, then sat down heavily in the couch, draping his hand over his mouth and staring into the fire. But then, inevitably, his gaze was drawn upward, to the haunting painting of the battered Cygnus, and the stormy sea awash around her.
Movement to the left, and a familiar step. He glanced over to see Meira venture in, still carrying her book—the red book the prince had given her: The Cinder Girl.
She rounded the couch behind him, and then moved toward the mantel to regard the painting, as he’d just been doing. Galahad looked at her more closely now. She wore a long-sleeved, maroon dress that hung down to her ankles, with a dark blue sash. Her long hair had been braided, and she wore a beaded cloth circlet. With graceful absence, she held the book up against her chest with her left hand as her gaze traced the image of the broken ship.
Then, she turned to him, and pointed up at the painting. He drew a deep breath.
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