Steam rose from Galahad’s plate of roasted mutton and carrots, and he carefully poured himself a glass of wine. Meira sat across from him, poking at her meat with her fork. The evening had darkened, and only two lamps burned in the dining room. A high wind gusted across the moors, rattling the windows of the bedrooms upstairs.
The front door squeaked open. Then, it shut quietly. Galahad paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, and looked up.
Little Emblyn trailed into the dining room, holding an open letter in both hands. Tears ran down her face.
Meira dropped her fork and stared.
“Emblyn, what is it?” Galahad asked.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Little Emblyn gasped. “This just came from the palace, and since I know you can’t read, Miss, I…”
“It’s addressed to Meira?” Galahad demanded.
“Yes, sir,” she whimpered, nodding.
“What does it say?”
Little Emblyn’s face twisted, but she sniffed, braced herself, and held up the letter.
“‘Dear Lady Meira: I know this shall come as a surprise to you and my other friends, but I do hope it is a joyful surprise. James and I have decided to marry immediately.’” Little Emblyn clapped a hand over her mouth.
A cold chill traveled down through Galahad’s ribs. Meira went still as stone.
Little Emblyn shook out her hand, sucked in a breath, and made herself go on.
“‘We plan to have a very small ceremony this coming Friday, with only our families and closest friends in attendance—for enough of a fuss will be made over me in a month’s time at my coronation. James and I would be blessed and secured by the presence of two Curse-Breakers at the ceremony. Further than that, I ask you, Lady Meira, to be one of my attendants for the wedding. I have also asked Lady Isolde, Lady Guinevere, and Lady Hollis. My attendants are invited to come to the palace tomorrow night to spend a lavish evening with me in the ladies’ guest chambers before the wedding—we shall feast and play games together, and shall have a marvelous time.’” More tears welled up in Little Emblyn’s eyes and spilled. Her voice trembled almost uncontrollably. “‘I so look forward to seeing you tomorrow evening. Give my regards and thanks to Stormcrane—and please relay my fiancé’s thanks for the swift reply to his note this morning. Your indebted friend: Lady Beatrix.’” Little Emblyn’s gaze flew to Meira, and a cry burst out of her. “Oh, Miss—what are we going to do?”
Galahad shoved his bench back and got up. He rounded the table and stood between both women. He gave Little Emblyn a firm look, then turned it on Meira.
“First,” he said slowly. “We will not despair. Do you understand me?” He raised his eyebrows at both of them. Little Emblyn’s quivering calmed, and she nodded—though she still gripped the letter in two hands. Meira just gazed back up at him, her lips pale.
“Meira has written a letter to the king,” Galahad explained, facing Little Emblyn. “She’s declared her love for him and asked him to reconsider his marriage—correct?” He turned to Meira.
Meira’s gaze had gone distant, and she stared at nothing, but she nodded.
“She will be able to give it to him when she goes to the palace tomorrow evening,” Galahad finished. “We may yet have a chance.”
Little Emblyn just stared at Meira, her lip quivering.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered—and, letting the letter fall from her hands, she raced up the stairs to her room.
Galahad picked up his pocket watch, and had to rub his eyes so he could focus to see it. It read 3 o’clock. Three—in the morning.
He sat once more in the library at the table in front of a dozen old books. All afternoon, and then into the evening, he had scoured the library for every single Curse-Breaking book he could find, as well as all those dealing with the seven seals and their guardians. He had now read them all.
Now, one lay open before him, turned to a very particular page. A page he had now read seven times over again. The paper was age-stained, its edges torn; the writing was small and pinched, with example symbols crammed into the margins. He read each word slowly now, letting its meaning absorb fully into his mind. Each time he finished reading the long and detailed prose, he would sit back and lay his finger across his lips, and let his gaze unfocus.
Now, after the eighth time, he slowly pushed his chair back and stood up. He ignored the pain in his head, shoulders and back, and the throbbing in the long scar on his chest and face. He folded his arms, staring down at that page, lit by one lamp.
He took a deep, slow breath, and let it out. Absently, he rubbed the edge of his scar near his shoulder, through his shirt. Outside, the high, dark wind still rushed over the moors, dispelling all the clouds, filling the island with fresh, warm air. The day would be fair and lovely, tomorrow.
Galahad set his jaw as the words upon the page, now memorized, wandered in sequence through his head. At last, he leaned forward, blew out the lamp, and made his way out of the library and up to his room.
The afternoon sun hung low in the sky. Galahad stood on the upstairs landing just beside the stairwell, gazing out the window, his hands clasped behind him.
This morning, he had taken his customary ride—but today he had pushed Thondorfax to his full speed, racing through the tearing wind, eating up moorland in a flash, with Scraw soaring overhead. Many times, Galahad had drawn up to the edge of a cliff, panting and searching the reaches of the water, seeking out the mainland, trying to spot the edges of the Eisenzahn Mountains…
And inevitably finding his attention drifting to the boats and ships in the channel, freely sailing to and fro, making port upon the mainland of Mhuirlan or even following the coast past the borders, to the coast of Anhaga…
Now, his watch told him it was five in the afternoon, on Thursday. He wore his riding clothes, but no sword. And as he surveyed the garden below, he saw Little Emblyn meander out into it, and sit down on the lowest portion of the wall near the gate, facing the road.
He set his teeth, then made his way down the stairs, into the dining room and the kitchen, then out into the garden. The sky was a brilliant blue and the air smelled fresh and sweet. Birds twittered in the verdant bushes and the trees, and a gentle breeze tossed the leaves. Little Emblyn sat in a ray of gold sunshine, her back to him. Galahad stopped several paces from her.
“Little Emblyn,” he said quietly. “I need you to help Meira pack for tonight. We’ll be leaving in an hour.”
“No.”
Galahad blinked. Little Emblyn’s voice had come out watery—but firm. His brow furrowed.
“What did you say?”
“I said no,” she repeated, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m not making her go.”
Galahad stepped closer to her, coming round to try to see her profile. Her pale face was lifted to the hills, her expression set, tears sparkling on her cheeks.
“Who said anything about making her go?” Galahad asked. “She wants to go.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Little Emblyn shot back. “I asked her.”
Galahad braced his hands on the wall and hung his head for an instant, then straightened up and faced her. She still didn’t look at him.
“Well, she doesn’t truly have a choice,” he bit out.
“Yes, she does, and she’s made it. She shouldn’t be forced to go,” Little Emblyn persisted—and suddenly turned on him. “Would you want to? Would you want to stand by and watch while the one you loved married someone else?”
Galahad’s face suddenly burned.
“You’re far too bold—”
“I don’t care,” Little Emblyn retorted, facing away from him again. “I was wrong. We all were. She isn’t the Cinder Girl.” Her hands twisted around her apron. “She’s just a little mermaid no one wants to marry. And now she’s going to die.”
Galahad ground his teeth, pressing his hand to his mouth and screwing his eyes shut. Finally, he dropped his hand and scowled at the house.
“Where is she?” he growled.
“In the library,” Little Emblyn muttered.
And without another word, Galahad swept back into the house to find her.
“What is this about not wanting to go to the palace?”
Meira, who sat at his desk at the far end of the library near the window, turned at the sound of his voice. She still wore a plain beige dress and white apron, her hair braided. Galahad stormed into the library, his blood hot.
“You aren’t going to give your letter to the king?” he demanded. “Do you want to die?”
Her face flushed and her eyes flashed, and she stood up. Her lips parted—
“No,” Galahad cut her off, pointing severely at her. “You don’t have any choice in the matter. We agreed on this course of action.”
Meira let out an indignant laugh and pointed to herself, then shook her head.
“Oh, yes you did,” he snapped. “The day I found you. You promised you would do whatever I ordered you to do—and this is what I am ordering. Because, regardless of your personal distress, Princess, there is a great deal more at stake here than your life.”
Her eyes blazed again, and her gaze intensified like lightning. He strode up to her, burying her with a glare—she glared right back at him.
“When you so thoughtlessly deserted your post at the Mhuirlan Seal, you opened it up to countless deadly dangers,” he spat. “Exposing the entire northeast coast to despicable, horrifying powers that could destroy this entire kingdom, as well as the kingdom of Anhaga. And now I am the one who must protect everyone from all of that,” he slapped a hand to his chest. “Even if it costs me my life—and it may very well do that now that Myrkur has managed to flood the woods at the Ruined Mount.”
Meira’s eyes suddenly filled with blue, but Galahad shook his head and cut her off with a gesture, looming over her.
“No. You will go to the palace tonight and give the king that letter,” he muttered harshly. “You will do your part to mend this, as I have done mine.” His gaze locked on hers as a fearful ache clenched his chest. He shook his head, his voice dropping to almost nothing. “You have been so selfish, Meira—with absolutely no regard for how you might fatally wound the people around you.” He searched her face, his brow twisting. “Have you ever thought about anyone but yourself?”
Her eyes shone, and she just stared at him.
A shaft of pain traveled though Galahad’s heart and he twisted away.
“Do what you know is right,” he snapped. “I will be waiting with Thondorfax in one hour.”
As the day faded to purple in the east, Meira and Little Emblyn stood locked in an embrace on the front stoop. Little Emblyn buried her face in Meira’s shoulder, for she was shorter than the princess, and Meira held tight to the girl, rubbing her hand up and down her back.
Galahad waited by Thondorfax, his arms crossed. He watched the two women as long as he could, then turned to gaze out at the darkening road.
Finally, with a soft, resigned cry, Little Emblyn released Meira and swiped at her face with both hands. Meira smiled at her, gripping her shoulders briefly before letting her go and coming up to Thondorfax. She didn’t look at Galahad as she passed him—just put her foot in the stirrup and mounted the horse. Galahad glanced over at Little Emblyn…
The girl spun away from him, went back into the house, and slammed the door. Galahad stayed where he was for a moment, biting the inside of his lip. Then, he took a bracing breath and climbed into the saddle.
Thondorfax shifted his weight as Galahad settled himself behind Meira. He started to put his arm around her waist…
And stopped. He’d forgotten his gloves.
The horse shifted again, and snorted. Galahad set his jaw, and just lightly rested his left hand on Meira’s hip. Then, he nudged Thondorfax’s flanks, and they trotted out of the yard.
They rode up into the greying evening, the night birds twittering sleepily as the tramp of horse hooves interrupted the quiet. As they reached the high moors, Galahad urged more speed, and Thondorfax extended out into a graceful gallop. Meira’s braid fell over Galahad’s shoulder, the fresh scent of her overwhelming him. In a moment of blind temptation, he almost leaned down to press his lips to her fragrant neck…
He steeled himself and wrapped the reins around his right hand, forcing himself to attend to the road ahead.
They slowed their pace as they entered the wood, fireflies dancing through the air. They followed the winding path, now as familiar as their own garden, until it led out to the palace gardens.
Perlkastel glowed from within—a warm, homey light; soft and convivial. Three carriages now stood before the gate, and voices of welcome resounded over the quiet songs of the fountains.
Galahad drew Thondorfax to a halt before they entered the halo of surrounding light. Meira halfway glanced back at him in question…
Galahad let go the reins and slipped off the back of the horse. He landed heavily, keeping one hand on Thondorfax’s hip, and squeezing his eyes shut. All of his scars ached. Finally, he made himself come around, and lift his arms to Meira.
She stayed where she was, looking down at him. He refused to meet her eyes.
At last, she leaned toward him, rested her hands on his shoulders, and hopped off. Her fingers drifted down his sleeves, then let him go. And she stayed where she was.
“I’ll see that your things are brought to you,” Galahad murmured, still studying the rose beds. “I’ll come in the morning.”
She didn’t move. He shifted, feeling as if something was sticking him in the ribs.
“If he…” he started, then his throat closed. He swallowed. “If he does marry her…How long will you have?”
He risked a sideways look at her. Her eyebrows drew together, and then she pointed to the east, and lifted her hand.
“Dawn of the next day,” Galahad guessed. She nodded once.
He mirrored the nod, casting his gaze down.
Then, Meira held out her right hand to him.
He twitched, wincing. Staring at her graceful fingers. Clenching his jaw.
Then, with a rush of breath, he took up her hand, bent low, and kissed it.
He pressed his lips to her skin, her warmth stinging him. Her wrist smelled of honey and roses. He closed his eyes, his brow knotted.
Then, he broke his kiss, wrenched his head away and let go of her hand.
“Goodnight,” he clipped, grabbing the saddle and mounting, then hauling Thondorfax’s head around. He clicked to him, riding briskly back toward the forest gate…
But then, Thondorfax’s gait lagged. And the horse paused, and looked back up the garden.
Galahad, unable to fight it, did the same.
Meira stood beside the fountain where he had left her, the skirts of her velvet blue gown trailing across the stones, the hand he had just kissed pressed to her heart.
Her eyes on him.
For an endless moment, he stood there, his reins in his hands. Looking back into the eyes of the beautiful little mermaid. Then, he lowered his head, turned his horse, and plunged into the woods once more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Galahad! What a glorious day, is it not?” Sir Gawain slapped him on the shoulder in greeting as they strode up to the palace gates together. Galahad wore a deep blue suit and coat, with a thunderous cape billowing out behind him, the side length of which attached to the wrist of his left coat sleeve. The late afternoon sun blazed overhead, lighting the entire palace and gardens with lavish color. Galahad nodded to Sir Gawain—who wore white and gold livery today—and rested his hand on the butt of his own sword.
“Yes,” Galahad agreed. “I don’t think I’ve seen a single cloud.”
“Not a one,” Gawain laughed. “We’ll take it as a good sign!”
Galahad didn’t reply, but managed an amiable-enough expression as the two of them strode through the gates.
“I don’t imagine the ladies got to bed until the wee hours of the morning,” Gawain chuckled. “Hollis told me th
at Lady Beatrix brought a fortune teller, a dance instructor, a group of singers and a puppet show to entertain them last night.” Gawain glanced at Galahad. “Hollis has grown fond of Meira. And I know everyone hopes that she will stay on a while.”
“She may,” Galahad replied absently as they crossed the corridor and passed through the main doors. Together, they strode down the long, marble hallway, and entered the grand audience chamber where Galahad had first met the prince.
Sunlight flooded the long, brilliant room, flashing through the crystal chandeliers and striking against the gold filigree on the ceiling. The channel sparkled outside the wide bank of windows, and the mainland shone like an emerald tapestry.
The receiving dais now bore an altar, overarched by a trellis of white roses, honeysuckle, and holly branches. Two dozen chairs had been lined up, a dozen in each section, with an aisle up the middle. People milled about, visiting with each other—they wore simple, flowing whites and blues. Galahad recognized the queen mother, Sir Lancelot and Sir Tristan, and a few of the king’s advisors and other courtiers, but no one else. A fair-haired, shining couple near the windows, talking to Sir Lancelot, wore clouds of purest white, and beaming smiles. The lady had faded blonde hair and a pleasant face—but the man stood tall and striking, with shoulder-length white hair, penetrating glance, and refined features. These had to be Lady Beatrix’s parents.
Galahad slowed to a standstill. Everyone in the room appeared happy and calm. If anything had already happened that would keep this wedding from taking place…
They were unaware of it.
Galahad swallowed.
“Will you be sitting on the king’s side?” Gawain cut into his thoughts.
“Yes, at the back,” Galahad replied faintly.
“All right, I’m going to go find the king,” Gawain said. “Try to calm his nerves!” And the knight headed off to a far door. Just then, Sir Lancelot spotted Galahad and waved him over. Taking a breath, Galahad obeyed.
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