“Lady Meira!” Lady Beatrix cried—and she turned a truly delighted look upon Meira, and held out her hand. “I have heard a great deal about you—the knights and James have told me that you’re their favorite new lady at court.”
Galahad blinked, facing her…
Meira had gone pale. She glanced back and forth between the smiling king and the new lady…
Then slowly extended her hand and grasped Lady Beatrix’s fingers.
Lady Beatrix immediately took up Meira’s hand in both of hers, then stepped nearer to her.
“I very much want to be your friend,” Lady Beatrix said earnestly, in a low, secretive tone. “My people and the Curse-Breakers have long been allies+, but I have never met a woman from Maith.” She leaned close to Meira’s face. “Your dancing was utterly lovely, and your dress is simply a dream.”
Meira offered a weak smile, and dipped her head. Lady Beatrix’s own smile glowed, as if she was pleased by the very sight of her, and released Meira’s hand.
“Beatrix has never been to Metern,” the king cut in. “And I’m already weary of ceremony and all these starchy clothes. We’re taking day trip out onto the moors tomorrow, just with the knights and their ladies.”
Then, the king stepped in, and wrapped his arm comfortably around Lady Beatrix’s waist. She melted back against him as if she fit there.
“Won’t you two come with us?” the king asked, raising his eyebrows.
Galahad stared, powerless to rip his eyes from them, or summon any speech.
“Oh, please come!” Lady Beatrix urged. “I mean—well, we certainly don’t wish to interrupt your important work,” she glanced up at the king. “But if you find yourselves at liberty, it would make us so happy to have you with us.”
Galahad cleared his throat.
“Of course,” he said, unable to summon much volume. “We’re at your service.”
“No, I am at yours, Stormcrane,” Lady Beatrix replied with a sincere smile, shaking her head. “I’ve never failed to remember that, had you not rescued my father, I would never have been born.”
“Can’t imagine that,” the prince murmured, pulling her closer. She looked up and beamed at him.
Galahad swallowed.
“Come!” the king said, turning to Meira and Galahad. “We’re going into the hall. We’ll snatch Lance and Tristan and Gawain; I’m already hungry.” And with an insistent wave, he urged them to follow him and Lady Beatrix through a nearby door. Easily, Lady Beatrix took his arm, and they strolled off like a matching set.
Both Galahad and Meira stood still as they departed. Galahad’s hands had gone cold, his chest hollow.
He heard Meira let out a low, trembling breath. He halfway turned and regarded her.
She looked white as the day he had first seen her, with no color in her lips. She stared fixedly at the doorway—but it was as though she couldn’t see anything.
He set his jaw, and held out his arm to her.
“Courage,” he murmured.
Her glance flicked to his, and a minute shudder ran through her body. But she lifted her hand, slipped it around his elbow, and silently walked with him after the king and lady, into the feasting hall.
Chapter Eighteen
As the morning sunlight cast a golden haze over the grasses, and a breeze rolled up the cliffs from the sea, Galahad and Meira rode out toward Perlkastel. Thondorfax rocked beneath them in an easy canter, occasionally tossing his head and snorting, his great hooves kicking up dust in their wake.
Galahad had not spoken this morning, and Meira had made no attempts to communicate. Little Emblyn had meekly tried to make conversation at breakfast, but soon lapsed into silence when Galahad wouldn’t reply, and Meira couldn’t look at her. Meira hardly ate anything. Galahad forced himself to finish his meal.
Meira now wore an elegant green day dress of light material and long, fitted sleeves, her hair braided and woven with ribbon. She sat in front of Galahad, staring absently straight ahead.
They passed through the shady wood, with its thousands of chirping and flittering birds, and out into the palace gardens. Once again, the perfume of roses filled the air, and the song of the fountains flooded the quiet.
Galahad looked up and spotted a group of horses out in front of the palace gate, some with riders. When he and Meira drew near, he recognized Sir Lancelot, Sir Gawain and Sir Tristan, along with Lady Hollis, and two other ladies he didn’t know.
And there also sat the king, astride his white horse—and Lady Beatrix, riding side-saddle on her own sleek grey mare. The king wore a white linen shirt and black riding trousers, with no other adornment, looking like a young sailor out on his first voyage. Lady Beatrix wore a daffodil-yellow dress with flowing sleeves, and a straw hat pinned atop her piled curls. Ribbons cascaded down the back of her hat. As Galahad and Meira rode up, the knights shouted to them and lifted their hands.
“Hello, hello!” the king called, waving to them. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Galahad answered, drawing Thondorfax to a halt.
“Lady Meira,” the king said. “May I present Lady Guinevere and Lady Isolde—and of course, you know Lady Hollis.”
“Hello, Meira!” little Lady Hollis hopped in the air and waved. She wore pink again, her hair done up in braids, and she also wore a hat. The other two women smiled politely at Meira. The first—Lady Guinevere—had soft red hair and freckles, bright blue eyes, and a sweet, pretty face. She wore dark green, and her own straw hat, and she sat on a black horse. Lady Isolde was stunning, with serious, penetrating dark eyes, deep blonde hair in a thick braid, and she wore a very broad-brimmed straw hat, and a sky-blue dress. She rode on a red mare.
Meira managed to nod to them, and Galahad could feel her try to smile. But his attention pulled from the ladies to the king, who had sidled his horse up next to Lady Beatrix’s, and the two of them had begun to discuss something with a great deal of animation.
“I’m glad to see you today.”
Galahad’s head came around to find Sir Tristan on a tall bay come up on their right. He smiled quietly at Meira, then nodded to Galahad.
“Yes, you as well,” Galahad answered.
“I did not find the time to tell you yesterday evening,” Tristan said. “What a good pair you make, for dancing.”
“Thank you,” Galahad said.
“All right!” the king called out. “We’re to ride out to the southern hills, to the White Cliffs, and have our picnic there.”
“I am so excited,” Lady Beatrix beamed, gathering up her reins.
“The servants will follow us?” Sir Lancelot asked.
“Yes, they’re still packing up,” the king answered. “But I’d like to get a start, and enjoy the scenery.”
“It truly is a perfect day for it,” Lady Guinevere agreed.
The king exchanged a brilliant smile with Lady Beatrix, then brought his horse’s head around and clicked to him. The horse trotted off, around the palace, and the other horses hurried after.
“Bea, come up beside me!” the prince waved to her.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she laughed, and spurred her horse into a brief trot to ride next to him.
Thondorfax snorted and picked up his pace, falling in line right behind the king. Then, Sir Gawain and his sister drew up to their left on a dappled mount, and Gawain grinned over at Galahad.
“I don’t let the wee lass ride on her own yet,” he declared with mock pompousness—and Hollis scowled back at him.
“I’m quite old enough and you know it,” she said, jabbing him with her elbow. Instantly, he reached down and violently tickled her ribs, and she let out a deafening squeal. The good-natured horse just pricked his ears back, though his eyes went wide—but Thondorfax gave an irritated snort.
“Ow, all right—now I’m deaf,” Gawain pushed his free hand to his ear.
“Serves you right,” Hollis giggled, slapping his leg.
“Serves you right if all
the horses had bolted,” Gawain shot back. “Don’t make such infernal noises!”
“Don’t tickle me, then!” she retorted.
Galahad barely glanced over at their ruckus. He stared ahead, at the king and Lady Beatrix, who rode in stride, and looked at each other just as much as they marveled at the glorious blue sky, and the surrounding land.
They all rode out through the sunshine, following a wide track over the high, gently-rolling hills. The scent of blooming heather followed them, and bees buzzed amongst the gorse.
The king leaned toward Lady Beatrix and said something that Galahad couldn’t hear, and she threw back her head and let out a surprised, ringing laugh. The sound echoed like music, thrilling Galahad’s blood, rippling across the grasses and sending the birds to flight.
Cold settled down in his bones, and he bit the inside of his cheek.
He glanced around and behind him. Gawain and Hollis still good-naturedly bickered beside them; Lancelot rode beside Lady Guinevere and seemed engaged in a deep, serious conversation in the native language of the kingdom of Maison; Tristan rode beside Isolde—the lady was talking to him pleasantly, and Tristan listened, seeming to be engaged by every aspect of her features.
Soon, the track inclined, and they began climbing up a rather steep hill. The breezes picked up, and the sweet grasses thickened. At last, Galahad spotted an ancient, tumbling cairn surrounded by some scrub trees. The king led the party up to the broad crest of the green hill, pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted, then came around and helped Lady Beatrix down.
“Oh, what a splendid view!” Beatrix exclaimed breathlessly, holding onto the king’s arm. “You can see all the way to the sea, and beyond—I daresay you can see the Anhaga Moors from here!”
“Yes, you can,” the king replied, pointing. “That darker portion, across the channel, far into the hills—that’s the moors.”
Galahad released Meira and slipped off the back of Thondorfax, then came around to help her down.
She didn’t look at him. She only stared at Lady Beatrix and the king’s backs, her eyebrows drawn tight together.
“Meira,” Galahad murmured.
She didn’t stir.
“Meira,” he said again, touching her hip. “Come down.”
Her lip twitched, and a small shudder ran through her. She fleetingly glanced at him, then leaned so he could catch her. He set her down, and she lowered her head. Thondorfax brought his head around and nickered at her, but she didn’t acknowledge him.
Galahad’s jaw tightened. He didn’t say anything.
Behind them, everyone else was dismounting and enthusiastically commenting on the spectacular view, and pointing to which portions of the island they recognized. Galahad held out his arm to Meira. Listlessly, she took it, and he led her between the other horses to stand beside the king.
Galahad feigned to study the scenery, instead listening to the king and Lady Beatrix’s conversation.
“You remember the cairn near Arsa, don’t you James?” Beatrix asked him. “Where father took us riding, and we—”
“Yes, of course,” the king interrupted, laughing. “When we rode out, and then it rained on us and you got soaked and ruined your new hat—”
“Ugh, I was furious,” she exclaimed, then laughed with him. “It was my favorite hat!”
“At the moment,” he corrected playfully.
“Yes, at the moment,” she muttered back.
Meira swayed.
Galahad felt her lean heavily against this side. He tore his attention from the king and grabbed hold of her. She looked icy pale. Discreetly, he leaned down and whispered in her ear.
“Should we go?”
She swallowed, her eyes closing, but shook her head.
“Come here,” he said. “Let’s sit in the shade.”
He guided her away from the others to the shadow of the cairn, and helped her ease down on the grass. He sat down beside her, watching her carefully. She just stared out at the horizon. But before he could ask her again, a shout went up from the others.
Galahad sat up to see a party of servants bearing baskets and bags ride up the hill. In no time, they had spread out huge white blankets and staked white umbrellas, and then laid out a great deal of food. Galahad helped Meira to her feet and together they approached the nearest umbrella and sat down.
“Galahad, come here!” the king beckoned to him, and Galahad realized that the other men were reclining in the sun, whilst the women sat in the shade of the umbrellas.
“It’s a tradition on Metern,” Lancelot declared. “Men and women sit apart for picnics—and shout to each other.”
Everyone else laughed. Meira just stiffened.
Galahad took a deep breath, glanced at her, then got up and picked his way between the platters to sit cross-legged next to Lancelot. No sooner had he done this than Lady Beatrix moved, and quietly settled next to Meira.
“Meira, dear—are you quite all right?” Beatrix asked her softly, her brow furrowing.
Meira’s head came up, she looked at the other woman, then quickly nodded.
“Perhaps the heat is too much,” Isolde wondered, her grave eyes solemnly inquiring.
“She needs a cool drink and something to eat,” Guinevere decided. “You sit there, Lady Meira, we shall serve you.”
“Yes, we shall!” Lady Hollis agreed. And without another word, the ladies briskly assembled a plate of sandwiches, fruit and cheeses for Meira, as well as a glass of lemonade, discussing which foods would keep her coolest.
“Here—you eat, don’t wait for us,” Beatrix said, holding the plate out to her.
Meira hesitated with wide eyes—and Galahad realized she was waiting for silverware.
“Oh!” Lady Beatrix suddenly said. “No—that’s the beauty of picnics! You don’t need anything else! We’ll all eat with our fingers.” And she gave Meira a cheeky grin—one that Meira couldn’t help but try to return.
Then, as the women chatted about the wind and the birds, and the knights and the king discussed their horses, everyone loaded his plate and filled his glass and began to eat. Galahad kept comment to himself, but remained attentive to everything everyone said, especially the king—meeting his eyes and showing that he was listening, even if he made no remark. Several times, he shot glances across the way to Meira. She dutifully ate her food, one piece at a time, and was clearly trying to attend to the conversation of the other ladies. They sometimes looked at her, but since she couldn’t say anything…
Finally, when the king had eaten two plates full, he sat up and dusted off his hands.
“Henry, bring me my instrument, please!” he called. One of the servants pulled a stylish, pale lute from a velvet bag and brought it over to the king.
“Thank you!” the king said as he took it, and started tuning. The strings of the instrument rang like ancient faery song, and Galahad could instantly tell that the king could play well—his fingers danced across the instrument as if it was an extension of himself.
“Are you going to sing to us, Your Majesty?” Lady Beatrix teased.
“I’m going to sing to someone,” he corrected. “You must guess who.”
“Oh, indeed?” she said, suppressing a smile and raising her eyebrows. “Do go on, then.”
The king tuned one more time…
And Galahad’s gaze drifted to Meira.
She stared across at the king, her fair brow knotted, her cheeks pale.
As if silently pleading…
The king set his instrument, and played a courtly, lilting introduction. Then, he took a breath, lifted his head, and began to sing.
“Did you not hear my lady
Go down the garden singing
Blackbird and thrush were silent
To hear the alleys ringing
Oh, saw you not my lady
Out in the garden there?
Shaming the rose and lily
For she is twice as fair…”
The prince sang much more
gently than he had when they had ridden out to the Ruined Mount. Now, his tones rang with purity and strength, and the clear warmth of a spring morning.
And he never looked anywhere but at Lady Beatrix.
“Though I am nothing to her
Though she must rarely look at me
And though I could never woo her
I love her till I die!”
Meira’s gaze instantly flew to Beatrix.
But Beatrix didn’t notice. She saw no one else. She just smiled gently back at the king, her eyes alight.
And the king’s gaze softened, intensified. As if he had forgotten he was amongst company. His tone became sweetly plaintive and earnest.
“Surely you heard my lady
Go down the garden singing
Silencing all the songbirds
And setting the alleys ringing
But surely you see my lady
Out in the garden there
Rivaling the glittering sunshine
With a glory of golden hair!”
The king finished out his tune on his lute, then lifted his hand from the strings. Everyone burst into applause. Galahad couldn’t bring himself to move—and Meira…
She sat frozen, hardly breathing, still staring brokenly at the king.
“All right then,” Lady Guinevere said over the clapping. “He’s obviously singing about Isolde.”
“Of course!” the king laughed. “Who else?” And he winked at Isolde. Beatrix laughed too, still clapping.
“Come, you must sing us something,” Lancelot gestured to Beatrix.
“Who, me?” she pointed to herself, surprised.
“Yes, all the ladies,” Tristan added. “All of you, sing something.”
“Oh, very well—they’ve been good enough to feed us, we ought to give them some entertainment,” Beatrix muttered wryly, and the other ladies exchanged saucy looks with her. Galahad saw Meira swallow, and rip her attention away from the king.
“What shall we sing?” Hollis asked.
“We all know Lilies of the Valley, do we not?” Guinevere asked.
“I do!” Hollis announced.
“I do,” Beatrix said. “Do you, Isolde?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “You start, Bea.”
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