“All right, ahem…” Beatrix sat up straight, took a deep breath…
“White coral bells upon a slender stalk
Lilies of the valley line my garden walk
Oh, don’t you wish that you could hear them ring?
That will happen only when the fairies sing!”
Beatrix’s silvery, ethereal voice soared over the fields, quieting all the birds—effortless as breathing. Galahad felt the knights and the king instantly enrapture—leaning in, their lips parting. He felt his own heart stir. Beatrix leaned her golden head back and brightly sang to the clouds, as if uttering the language of the sky.
She started the chorus again, and then when, she finished the word “stalk,” Isolde began, and when she sang “stalk,” Guinevere came in, and then Lady Hollis. The other ladies had pleasant, ringing voices, and the combined round danced across the hillside. In half a moment of fancy, Galahad knew that, if there had been any lilies of the valley nearby...
He suddenly saw Meira.
And he went absolutely still.
Meira’s pale face turned toward the women, and she watched Beatrix. As if in a trance. She was mouthing the words to the song.
And tears were trailing slowly down her cheeks, dripping from her chin.
A vivid sting, like the barbs of a poisoned arrow, shafted through the center of Galahad’s heart.
Instantly—as if something invisible and dark had rippled across her—Lady Beatrix twitched, and stopped singing.
Galahad blinked.
Beatrix’s eyes flashed to his. They went wide.
Then, she twisted around and saw Meira.
“Stop!” she suddenly cried, waving off the other women. “Stop, stop it at once.”
The ladies halted mid-word, frowning.
“What?” Lady Hollis yelped.
“Don’t you see how cruel we’re being?” Beatrix exclaimed, facing Meira. “James told me that your voice had been taken by a witch—I’m so stupid, I forgot.” Beatrix squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her fingers to her temples for an instant, before earnestly looking to Meira and grasping her hand in both of hers. “You must think us so unkind. I just know you had a beautiful voice before this happened; I can tell simply by looking at you.” She lowered her head and her voice, even as Meira gazed helplessly back at her.
“We shan’t sing any more,” Beatrix vowed. “Not if it gives you pain.”
Meira smiled shakily, more tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Oh, dear…Dear, dear,” Beatrix stretched out an imploring hand to the king. “James, give me your handkerchief!”
The king immediately reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out an embroidered handkerchief, got up and held it out to Beatrix. She snatched it and, without preamble, dried Meira’s tears.
“You mustn’t cry; really, you mustn’t,” Beatrix insisted—but Galahad could hear her voice trembling, as if she were on the verge of tears herself. “It’s such a lovely day, please don’t let us spoil it for you, my friend. Please.”
Galahad couldn’t move. He just sat there, stunned to his core as he watched Beatrix’s gentle fingers wipe away all of Meira’s tears, and then press the king’s handkerchief into her hands.
“Will you forgive me?” Beatrix whispered.
Shocked, Meira stared at her.
Galahad’s mouth opened, but nothing coherent even formed in his mind.
Then, Meira’s brow twisted, and she nodded.
And Beatrix threw her arms around her neck, and hugged her.
“Well, shall we walk instead?” Sir Gawain spoke up. “Can we walk around the cairn?”
Beatrix backed up from Meira and swiped at her own eyes, then sniffed and made herself sit up straight.
“Yes! Yes, we should all like that, I think.” And she got up, and held her hand down to Meira. Meira took it, clutching the handkerchief to her heart, and stood up. The knights climbed to their feet as well. Galahad arose and crossed the blanket.
“Would you like to hold onto me?” he asked Meira quietly.
“Yes, hold onto him,” Beatrix said, still teary, but chuckling. “And I’ll hold onto James—and hopefully none of us will fall down this hill!” And she strode over to the king, wrapped her arm around his, and pressed her face to his shoulder for a moment. And he kissed the top of her head.
The knights found their ladies, and together the group started out across the grass, even as the wind picked up.
Galahad stood there with Meira on his arm, watching all of them. Then, without his saying anything, they trailed after the group.
As they walked, the king, with great animation, told the exciting history of this cairn: how it used to be a lookout for the entire island, and a now-legendary watchman at midnight saved the life of the king by spotting an oncoming fleet of pirates before the scoundrels made landfall.
The wind cooled. Galahad frowned and glanced up at the sky.
Low clouds rolled over the sun, darkening the hills.
He pulled Meira with him, and they rounded the cairn to step up next to the horses. He felt Meira finally lift her head, and gaze out across the sea where he was looking.
“I don’t like the look of the sky,” he said to her. She shook her head once—and a gust took up her skirt and hair, and Galahad’s cape, and thrashed them.
“Your Majesty,” Galahad looked over his shoulder and called to him. “Take a look at the horizon.”
The king stopped what he was saying and drew an intently-frowning Beatrix up next to them. The king and Beatrix peered out to sea…
Where the thick clouds had dipped down onto the horizon, and turned an ugly, greenish grey.
“Oh, I don’t like that,” the king stated, and shook his head. “We must away home.”
“Yes, I agree,” Beatrix said, grabbing her skirt and hiking it up. “Come, quickly.”
“What, a storm?” Gawain called.
“Yes, look at that!” Lancelot pointed. “We don’t have much time—it will be here in half an hour.”
“You’ll all come back to Perlkastel,” the king said. “We’ll all be safe there, and it isn’t far.”
“Pardon me, Your Majesty, but Euryor House is the same distance,” Galahad cut in, even as the wind whipped his hair. “We’ll be off there.”
“But—Are you sure?” Beatrix searched them, looking urgently at Meira.
“Yes, we’ll be fine if we leave now,” Galahad said. The next moment, Thondorfax crossed to him, and tossed his bridle. Galahad helped Meira up into the saddle, then climbed up after her.
“Thank you for the picnic,” Galahad said, looking to all of them as he settled. The knights and ladies watched him with concern—and especially so the king and Beatrix. Galahad wrapped his arm around Meira and took up the reins, then regarded the king gravely.
“Ride safely. Take care of them.”
The king set his jaw, and nodded solemnly back to him.
“You have my word.”
Distant thunder rolled out over the face of the sea. A chill washed down through Galahad’s body, and he narrowed his eyes at the darkening waters. And even as he looked, green lightning darted from the clouds to the ocean.
“Hurry,” he barked.
The others dashed to their horses, shouting to the servants. With one last look across the company, Galahad turned Thondorfax and urged him into a gallop—and they raced down the hill along the wide lane, even as rain began to fly.
Chapter Nineteen
Mere minutes after their departure, the heavens broke open and rain poured. Wind whipped across the moors and fog rolled in, obscuring the valleys and hiding the horizon. The roads turned to black mud, and Thondorfax’s feet kicked it up all over his riders. Galahad freed his hand from around Meira and laboriously dragged his cape around to try to shield her—she took hold of it and tugged it over her dress, but didn’t try to hide her face from the lash of the rain. Gusts kept blowing Galahad’s hood off, and soon his hair was soaked. Icy water ra
n down his neck and doused his shirt beneath his cape, and his trousers instantly became sodden. Rain drenched Meira’s skirts and mud splattered her hems, but the water rolled down her cheeks and her hair like silver pearls. She stared, unseeing, straight ahead of them.
They plunged through the mist and the sheets of rain, Thondorfax shaking the rainwater out of his face with irritated snorts. Thunder crackled overhead, and water coursed in rivers down the road. Finally, they reached a familiar bend in the road, and splashed down the hill toward Euryor House. Galahad peered through the storm, but none of the lights shone in the windows, and the chimney didn’t smoke.
They rode through the flooded yard, sloshing through the mud, and ducked into the dark barn. Thondorfax immediately shook out his mane, splattering Galahad’s face further. Galahad tugged his cape off Meira and stiffly pushed himself off the back of the horse. He landed with a grunt, wincing, then turned to find her climbing down herself. He caught her waist with one hand when she was already halfway down, and he jerked her wet skirt out of the way of her feet. She hopped off and landed soundlessly in the straw. Quickly, Galahad stripped the saddle, blanket and bridle off Thondorfax, then turned to glance at Meira. She nodded to him. Together, they started toward the door.
He lifted his cape over her head like an umbrella, pulled on his own hood, and together they ducked down and dashed back out into the yard.
Their feet sank into three inches of dirty water. Meira grabbed her skirt in both hands and hiked it up to her knees, to avoid slogging through the wet cloth. They hopped up on the stoop, Galahad reached around her and pushed the door open, and together they stumbled, panting and dripping, into the dim entryway. Galahad slammed the door behind him, then shoved his hair out of his face with his gloved hands. His soaking cape tangled around his left arm. He reached up to work the latch at his throat, but his gloves were too thick.
Meira tiredly pushed strands of hair out of her face with both hands, and stepped up to him. Without looking at him, she reached up to his throat.
Galahad stopped, and slowly lowered his hand, watching her.
She unfastened the cape and tugged it loose from around his shoulders and arm. Silent, he moved with it, and the heavy garment fell free. Meira pulled it down in front of her, carefully fastening the clasp again. She leaned around him, brushing his chest with her shoulder, and hung the cape on the wall hook. And when she turned her head toward him, she glanced wearily up into his face—so near that he could see the flecks of sapphire in her eyes.
She let out a deep sigh, lifted a pale hand to his cheek, and absently wiped a smear of mud off his cheekbone. Her fingertips were cold, her touch soft. She glanced into his eyes for another instant, and the trace of a weak smile crossed her mouth.
Galahad drew in a low, cautious breath.
She lowered her head, and her fingertips drifted down to his jaw before resting briefly on his collar. Then, she turned toward the staircase, lifted her dragging skirts, and climbed the stairs. Galahad wordlessly watched her go, still feeling the ghost of her hand against his face.
Thunder boomed as Galahad stoked the fire in the library, replaced the poker, then hurried to one of the windows to secure the latch. Rain poured so thickly that he couldn’t see anything through the panes except a colorless blur of light and dark. He drew back and snapped the curtains shut.
He had changed into dry clothes, deciding to wait until the rain let up before going back out to feed Thondorfax—but so far, the storm had only risen.
The back kitchen door bashed open. Galahad whirled around, then strode through the parlor and dining room—
To find Little Emblyn staggering in, heaving the door shut behind her.
“Where on earth were you?” he demanded.
“Sorry, sir!” she gasped, looking like a drowned mouse, her wet hair like ragged drapes all around her face, her cap almost covering her eyes. “I was having tea with Mrs. Glennon when the storm came up—we thought I might wait to come back when it stopped raining, but it hasn’t stopped, so I made a run for it!”
“Go upstairs and change, then sit by the fire,” Galahad ordered, gesturing past him to the steps. “We can’t have any of us catching cold.”
“Yes, sir,” she sputtered, swiping water out of her face…
But she stayed where she was. And she looked at him with something like a flicker of fear in her eyes. Galahad swallowed, going cold again. He waited.
“The Glennons say that Lady Beatrix is already everyone’s favorite,” Little Emblyn whispered. “That she’s so beautiful, and kind and sweet, and all the knights are half in love with her. And the king…” She halted, the skin around her eyes tightening. “That the king quite prefers her to every other maiden. Is it…Is it true?”
Galahad shifted, glancing down. He said nothing.
“Oh, no,” Little Emblyn breathed. He looked at her, and her eyebrows drew together. Without saying anything else, she hurried across the kitchen floor, leaving muddy footprints in her wake. Galahad set his hands on his hips and considered her mess, biting the inside of his cheek…
“Hullo, Miss!” Little Emblyn called into the stairwell—a little too cheerfully. “Sorry about your picnic—did it rain on you?”
Galahad hung his head, then pressed his fingers to his eyes. Skirts rustled in the doorway, and he lifted his face to see Meira standing there, her own gaze tracing Little Emblyn’s wet footprints. She wore a simple brown dress with a belt, her hair braided.
“Do you need something to eat?” Galahad asked quietly.
Meira shrugged, stepping over the water to cross to the back kitchen window. The dim light and the coursing water sent strange reflections over her features. She wrapped her arms around herself, frowning faintly as she watched the raindrops slither down the panes.
Galahad’s mouth opened—but a deep pain somewhere inside him stopped him. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and asked it anyway.
“Do you despair of the king?”
Meira lifted her eyebrows. For a long moment, she did nothing else.
Then, at last, she shook her head.
Galahad sighed, studying the mud on the floor again.
“Well, there’s nothing more to do today,” he said. “Come with me—we’ll make certain all the windows are properly shut. I don’t want the house to flood.”
Meira glanced over at him, as if coming out of a deep thought, then nodded. Together, they left the kitchen and headed upstairs.
That afternoon, Galahad forced himself to go back out into the rain to take care of Thondorfax. When he burst back into the house, he was just as drenched as the first time, so he had to go upstairs and perform a snap spell on his first set of clothes, to dry them more quickly, and then donned them.
After that, he came downstairs and found Little Emblyn and Meira busily working in the kitchen. He slowed his steps, and hung back in the dining room. Meira stood with her back to him, facing the range, stirring meat in a pot. Little Emblyn cut carrots and onions on the countertop as she halfway faced Meira, and hummed to herself in time with the thud of the knife against the board.
Galahad quietly stepped back into the parlor and picked up a wooden chair, brought it back into the dining room and set it at the head of the table across the room from the kitchen door, facing it. Slowly, he sat down and leaned back, listening to Little Emblyn’s absent humming, and the clank of wooden spoon against metal pot.
He shifted forward, stuck his hand in his pocket, and, out of habit, pulled out the contents one by one. They clinked against the wood as he carefully set them on the table. Then, he let a handful of coins slip from his fingers and jingle onto the tabletop.
Meira turned at the sound. Then, she set the spoon aside and ventured into the dining room. He didn’t look up at her. He just picked up the largest coin, set it on its edge and twirled it. It spun, flashing the lamplight back, then wobbled and fell over with a little crash.
Meira laughed softly, drawing even closer. She ea
sed down on the bench to his right, watching in fascination as he picked up another coin and twirled it, too. When it finally fell over, Galahad picked up the first object he’d lifted out: a small brass box with a chain.
“This was my grandfather’s compass,” he said, holding it up. He lifted the lid, and set the small metal spindle against the edge so the lid would prop open. Meira leaned forward, peering down into the box to see the gently wobbling circle marked with delicate lines and a dark, inky N.
“My mother’s father was a traveling merchant,” Galahad continued softly, handing it to Meira. She took it gingerly into her palm, tilting her head as she studied it.
“He traveled all over Edel, carrying pearls from Nerrinton to the jewelry makers in Goldreich,” Galahad said. “And ebony beads from the Black Western Woods to the Eorna Valley. My mother said he even brought Spegel glass for the windows at the Halls of Healing. And this compass never left him, in all those years. Look, you can see where his thumb made an imprint, there.” Galahad pointed to the side of the compass. Meira turned it and saw, then met his eyes and smiled. Then, she gently set it down on the table, shut the lid, and pointed to the coins.
“This is just my passage money,” he said, picking up a coin and passing it to her. “Enough for one week at an inn, and food along the way.”
Meira turned the coin over and over in her fingers, marveling at the printed face on one side and the decorative E on the other. Soon, she set that one down and picked up another—one bearing thistles and a coat of arms. Then another, with a bird and a Trinity knot. Finally, though, her attention drifted down to the one object still lying anonymously on the table, and her hands went still.
“My mother gave this to me,” Galahad said, picking it up. The silver chain dangled over his fingers, and the smooth onyx stone glistened beneath an elegant working of a silver dragon on the wing. He ran his thumb across the dragon, an ache inside his chest.
“It doesn’t have any magic in it,” he said—and lifted his eyes to Meira. “Except my memories of her.”
The flamelight warmed Meira’s features as she smiled again. Slowly, he held the necklace out to her. She took it from him, their fingers brushing, and held it in her palm.
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