“It’s the Cygnus,” he said. “The ship that went down with King Orion, Prince James’ father.”
Her eyes flashed, and her brow furrowed. Galahad took his hand down from his chin and interlaced his fingers in his lap.
“I saw it today,” he told her. “At the bottom of the silver mine at Arghans Ker.”
Meira’s gaze instantly intensified, and she stepped closer to him, holding the book against her with both hands. He looked gravely back up at her.
“Do you know how it may have gotten there?” he asked. She frowned hard, but didn’t break his gaze. Then, slowly, she nodded. Galahad went still.
“Was it Myrkur?”
Meira hesitated, then winced and put the book down on the chair. She took a quick breath, lifted her hands, thought a moment, then drew a circle in the air and pointed to the rune on her hand. She then held up both hands like a wall, and then took her right hand, pressed it against her heart, then punched it forward, opened her hand, grasped the air and twisted it.
Galahad rubbed his eyes, then dropped his hand.
“I knew it. She’s trying to reach the land,” he muttered. “She’s gone around the seal and is trying to flood the Ruined Mount and then the wood, to twist the elvish magic with Desire Spells that will kill anyone who comes in.” He raked his hand through his hair again and ground his teeth.
Then, he realized Meira was staring at him.
“What?”
She raised her eyebrows and gave a little laugh of disbelief. He bit the inside of his lip, then cast his gaze down. For a long while, he said nothing. But he felt Meira’s mirth drain away, replaced by an intense attention he’d never sensed before. And so he spoke into the waiting silence.
“When I was ten years old, my mother gave birth to a son,” he said, quietly. “She named him Gaius, because she and my father were so happy to finally have another child.” Galahad drew in a low, careful breath. “Four years later, Gaius died of the putrid throat. And my mother…” Galahad swallowed. “My mother has never spoken since.”
He glanced up at Meira. She just watched him, dark eyebrows drawn together,
eyes bright in the lamplight. Galahad looked down again.
“I learned how to read what she was thinking, just by looking at her,” he told her softly. “And when I understood her, she would sometimes smile. But I’ve never heard her laugh.” He gripped his hands together, and looked up at her again. “I suppose…I’ve learned to understand silence.”
Meira didn’t move. Galahad swallowed again and lowered his head, studying the shadows at the foot of the fireplace.
A whisper of movement. Her skirts brushed his leg. Then, her slender right hand reached down, and slipped into his.
Her touch was warm, firm, and soft. Reflexively, Galahad closed his fingers around hers, but didn’t lift his head. Didn’t look at her. For a moment, she gently held onto him…
Then withdrew, slid her hand free of his, turned and left the room, leaving her book behind.
Galahad sucked in a sudden, trembling breath, pressed his fingers to his eyes, then cleared his throat and stared into the fire, the crackle of the embers filling the emptiness of her wake.
Master,
Today, I accompanied the prince to the Silver Fortress, which I’m certain you must know about, though I confess I believed the place to be a myth . They call it the Ruined Mount, now. The prince wanted to show me something, and I could tell at breakfast that something had been troubling him. Now I understand his mood. The silver mine at the Ruined Mount has flooded—with seawater. And down inside that well is the wreck of the Cygnus. The ship that took down King Orion.
And the prince told me that not a month past, he had thrown a coin in that water and wished to see his father again.
I have no doubt that Myrkur is behind this twisted trick, and that it was an effort to lure the prince into diving into that well, and perhaps losing his life. Meria has confirmed that Myrkur may be trying to flood the mine and then the woods, to curse them. I have forced the prince to promise not to go back there until I have learned more. If you can tell me anything more, please do.
As to your questions about Meira—she is as tall as you are, with long, thick, brown hair. She’s very pale, and blushes easily. She has grey eyes, and a slender figure. And yes, she is I would say that she has a loveliness about her. Enough that any man would notice her.
If you hear anything from the Halls of Healing, let me know.
G. Stormcrane
Chapter Thirteen
Galahad closed his eyes, letting the cool sea wind wash over him—through his hair and loose shirt—as he sat on a tall rock on the beach near Euryor House. The beach where he had first found Meira.
Thondorfax shuffled past him, and he opened his eyes to watch the unsaddled, unbridled black horse trudge away from him through the wet sand, his pristine coat gleaming in the morning sun. The waves surged and foamed around the horse’s hooves. The ocean inhaled as the water withdrew, to exhale in rolling rushes that crashed upon the beach. The blue sky was laced with thin clouds, which occasionally interrupted the downpour of sunlight.
Shrieks and girlish giggling suddenly joined the call of the gulls, and Galahad turned to his left to spot Little Emblyn and Meira, standing hip-deep in the surf, splashing water at each other. They were both completely soaked, their hair plastered to the sides of their faces. And whilst Little Emblyn would duck away and throw up her hands when water came flying her way, Meira always leaned into it—it struck her face and sparkled on her cheeks, and danced down her braid like ropes of diamond.
Up on the shore near them, Ben Glennon and his wife Bridget—a portly lady with a mess of curly red hair stuffed into a cap—sat casually in the shade of an outcropping on an old blanket, with a basket between them, drinking currant wine from small bottles and eating cold-cuts, breads, cheeses, berries and pies. They shouted cheers to the young women, and laughed at their antics. Galahad let out a low breath as he watched them all. He didn’t remember the last time he’d been to a picnic.
“What do you think of our Sunday custom?”
Galahad’s head came around to his right to see Prince James striding down the sandy path toward him, wearing riding boots, black trousers, a loose white shirt and brown vest—and as always, an honest smile. Galahad arose from his seat and inclined his head.
“The whole of Mhuirlan enjoys a day of rest once a week, by order of the king,” the prince said, the wind tossing his golden hair.
“Is the picnic also mandatory?” Galahad asked wryly. The prince laughed out loud.
“It might as well be,” he chuckled. “You couldn’t stop it if you tried.”
“James!” came a shout across the beach. The prince suddenly looked past Galahad—and his face lit up.
“Bee!” he cried, then shot a glance at Galahad. “Pardon me—she was my nurse!” And with a quick slap to Galahad’s shoulder, the prince raced past him across the beach to meet the portly lady in the middle and throw his arms around her. Bridget crowed with laughter and hugged him right back. Galahad hesitated a moment, then followed in his footsteps.
“Hullo, dear boy, how are you, how are you?” Bridget cried, backing up and rapidly patting the prince’s chest with both hands.
“I’m fine, Bee, just fine,” he answered, beaming. “How are you, Ben?” And he stuck out his hand to Ben, who quickly whipped off his hat.
“Jes fine, Your Highness, thankee,” Ben said, taking the prince’s hand.
“We haven’t seen you in several weeks, have you been busy wi’ business?” Bridget demanded.
“Entertainin’ those knights, more than like,” Ben supposed. The prince laughed.
“Yes, some of that, and quite a bit of official business,” he said. “I’m grateful for a fine day like today when I can escape!”
And then he caught sight of Meira and Little Emblyn, who still stood in the surf. Little Emblyn was trying to bury a sneaky smile whilst stealing sideways
glances at Meira—who stood captivated and breathless at the sight of the prince, one hand gripping her skirt. Her braid was coming loose, and graceful curls hung down around her face. The sunlight made the droplets of water on her face twinkle. Galahad stopped walking, and said nothing. The prince looked both women up and down, then let out a laugh.
“I’ve clearly missed all the fun!”
Little Emblyn burst into a giggle, and Meira beamed.
“No, you haven’t!” Bridget corrected. “Come eat with us!”
“I shall,” the prince decided. “Are there blankets for these ladies? We can’t have them catching cold.” And he started toward the picnic basket.
“Yes, let’s eat,” Little Emblyn decided, and together, being shoved by the waves, she and Meira trudged up on shore—
And suddenly, Meira went under.
Galahad was half in the water before he knew what he was doing. Waves slammed into his knees and he plowed through them, aiming to dive straight into the foam—
Movement to his left.
He instantly jerked backward, out of the way, as Prince James threw himself into the water, plunged his arms down and snatched Meira up out of the water. She broke through, gasping, her eyes wide, and clutched his arms. Water poured off her.
“Are you all right?” the prince cried, searching her face. She sputtered, but nodded, and then let out an embarrassed laugh.
Galahad set his teeth and closed his hands, then pushed off of the sliding sand and backed out of the waves. The prince guided Meira out of the water, his arm around her, and helped her over to the blanket, where Bridget threw another blanket around her shoulders.
Then, Little Emblyn, still sporting that secret grin, plopped down next to her and started giggling again. Meira’s head came around, and Little Emblyn poked Meira in the side. Meira, ticklish, twitched away and laughed too.
Soon the others were teasing her about how graceful she’d just been, and Bridget began passing around the food. Galahad stayed where he was for several minutes, then turned and silently left the beach, Thondorfax trailing behind him in hopes of a sugar cube.
Galahad rode through the morning mist at a brisk trot, the heavy fog resting in his hair on his shoulders, beading up on his cape and sliding down the fabric. He couldn’t see but two hundred yards in any direction, for the cloud lay upon the island like a shroud. Dew covered the thick grasses, and Thondorfax kicked up mud as they went. Galahad ignored the chill and damp as his narrowed eyes searched the border of the woods.
He had arisen before dawn and saddled Thondorfax, then ridden all the way to the woods that surrounded the Ruined Mount. He did not venture in—but for hours he circled the border of the forest, listening and testing the air, often coming to a complete halt, pulling off a glove and holding out his hand, feeling for the tendrils of magic that coursed in and out of the trees like invisible bands of lightning. Now, when he closed his eyes, he could feel a shadow lurking in the heart of the wood.
Inside the silver mine.
Clenching his teeth, he opened his eyes and stared into the darkness amongst the trees, Thondorfax’s tail swishing back and forth, back and forth. Then, Galahad turned him, and headed back down toward Euryor House.
By the time he neared the cottage again, the sun had risen and dispelled much of the fog—and what remained lay like a golden haze in the gentle valleys and beside the hedges and walls. The fresh scent of dew filled every breath he took, and his horse’s rhythmic trotting accompanied the frenzied singing of the birds in the gorse bushes. And then, as he approached the house, Little Emblyn’s voice rang out from within the walled kitchen garden.
“My Bonnie lies over the ocean
My Bonnie lies over the sea
My Bonnie lies over the ocean
Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me!
Bring back, bring back,
Bring back my Bonnie to me, to me!
Bring back, bring back,
Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me!”
Galahad drew up next to the wall and peered over, for the wall came up to Thondorfax’s shoulder. He drew the horse to a halt, and sought out the source of the singing.
There, in the center of the garden, Little Emblyn and Meira knelt in the dirt, pulling up carrots. They both wore servants’ dresses, their hair bound back in kerchiefs. Dirt covered their hands and their aprons. The sunlight lit up and warmed their pretty faces and their stray curls—and as Galahad watched, Meira mouthed the words of the song along with Little Emblyn.
“Oh, blow ye winds over the ocean
Oh, blow ye winds over the sea
Oh, blow ye winds over the ocean
And bring back my Bonnie to me!”
Galahad didn’t move as he watched them. Little Emblyn worked with practiced ease and Meira followed what she was doing, digging up her own carrots more carefully, but no less correctly. And she swayed her comely head back and forth with the gentle waltz rhythm of the old song.
Then, inexplicably, Meira lifted her head and looked right at him. And she smiled.
He nodded to her.
Little Emblyn stopped singing and sat up.
“G’morning, sir!” she called, tossing a carrot in her basket. “Would you like some breakfast?”
“Yes, thank you, Little Emblyn,” he acknowledged, swinging one leg over the saddle and setting his foot on the wall. He then pushed off Thondorfax and stood nimbly atop the wall. As Little Emblyn got up, dusted off her hands and went back into the house, Galahad hopped easily down into the garden and landed by the cabbages. He pulled off his gloves and his cape and tossed them onto the wall, relieved to be rid of their weight.
Meira followed his movements for a moment, then started working again. Galahad hesitated, still standing in the shade of the wall. He glanced at the door, but it had shut behind Little Emblyn. Silence fell in her absence, save the songs of the birds, and the scrape of Meira’s tools. Galahad ducked his head, then stepped onto the path and moved closer to her. He stopped across the carrot bed from her, saying nothing. Again, she lifted her head, and her eyes captured the sunlight. And for the first time, Galahad saw a sparkle of bright blue around her pupils that he had never noticed before. She tilted her head as she gazed back at him. Then, the edge of Galahad’s mouth twitched.
“Princess,” he said, lifting one eyebrow.
She immediately sat up, spread her dirty hands out to the sides like a dancer, and regally dipped her head—then gave him a saucy look. Galahad smiled at her—and she grinned.
A sudden shadow flashed overhead.
Galahad’s head came up and his smile vanished. Scraw flapped his great, tattered wings and swooped down toward him. The bird landed in the garden, next to Galahad, and Meira jumped. The great raven held a letter in his beak, and muttered to himself around the edges of it.
Galahad bent and took it from him.
“Scrap, scrap, scrap,” Scraw huffed, dancing absurdly around the carrot bed and making for the open kitchen window. With a blustery flutter, he hopped up onto the sill, and then dove straight through.
Little Emblyn screeched and a pan bashed to the floor.
Meira burst out laughing.
The sound caught Galahad like the sudden striking of sunshine in his eyes, shooting a thrill through the center of his chest. Meira fell sideways onto her elbow, unable to contain herself.
“Tisn’t funny!” Little Emblyn howled out the window. “Balmy…stupid bird!”
Meira collapsed onto her back, wracked with laughter, tears running down her temples.
And Galahad could only stand there, letting the wild, dancing sound wash over him.
“Shut it!” Little Emblyn complained again—but she suddenly couldn’t suppress her own chortling. “Tisn’t funny, Meira!”
Meira kept laughing, then wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands, and let out several shaky sighs. Then she endeavored to sit up, but her arms were still weak with delight, and threatened to give out again.
&nbs
p; Galahad quickly rammed the letter into his pocket, took a large step over the carrot bed, and held his arms down to her. Swiping more tears out of her face, she reached up and grabbed his arms and tried to lift up—
She tugged too hard, and almost pulled him onto his head.
He yelped and stumbled forward, nearly falling. This sent Meira reeling with more laughter, and Galahad turned his head away and fought back a chuckle of his own.
“No, no—come on, don’t knock me down,” he scolded as she clawed at his shoulders. He finally got some leverage around her waist and hauled her upright, staggering backward as he did. She fell against him, still laughing, and found her feet. And for just an instant, he held her in his arms.
She brushed at her eyes again, still giggling, and easily pulled away from him—he released her. Then, she bent and picked up her basket, straightened and looked at him, her sky-bright eyes twinkling with tears. She grinned, and gave him a graceful curtsey, then wove around him and headed toward the kitchen door. And Galahad could do nothing but watch her go.
Galahad sat in the library at the writing desk, his hand over his mouth, the letter from Reola held limply in his hand on his lap. He stared blankly at the bookcases in front of him, his jaw clenched.
Tap, tap, tap.
He didn’t turn.
“Sir, luncheon is ready,” Little Emblyn called.
Galahad didn’t answer.
“Sir?” she said, uncertain.
Galahad let out a stiff sigh and dropped his hand, but didn’t look at her.
“Emblyn, get Meira and bring her here.”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, and hurried away. Galahad glanced down at the letter again and bit the inside of his cheek.
In a few minutes, two sets of footsteps entered the library, then slowed to a halt near the couch. Galahad slowly folded the letter.
“Prince James’ uncle, King Leonardo, has died,” Galahad said. “The laws of Mhuirlan dictate that a king’s younger brother will take the throne after him if the king’s first son is too young to ascend—and then, when the prince’s uncle dies, the prince becomes king. Prince James is twenty-five years old, which is four years past the proper age.” Galahad tossed the letter down on the desk, stood up and faced the two young women.
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