He then reached in his bag and pulled out a brown bottle and a wooden chalice, just as he did every single morning, no matter where he was. And he stood in the center of his room, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He poured the shimmering water from the bottle—unfiltered, unadulterated water straight from the mouth of the Source—into the wooden chalice, and drank it. Warmth flooded through his whole body. He remained there for several more minutes, eyes closed, as it seeped all the way through him.
Then at last, he put the bottle and chalice back, blew out the lamps and left the room.
As he came down the stairs, he heard Little Emblyn giggling some more, and then chattering on about the chickens, and what she had named each of them, and their temperaments. Galahad quieted his steps and ventured into the dining room, then leaned round to see through the kitchen door…
Meira stood with Little Emblyn, both of them wearing simple dresses and shoes, as well as aprons—and they had both tied head scarves over their hair. Galahad slowed to a stop, remaining out of sight, and just watched.
“Now, we spread butter in the bottom of the pan so the egg doesn’t stick,” Little Emblyn was explaining as she stirred a hunk of yellow butter across the pan with a fork, her other hand on the handle of a pan on top of the hot range. The pan sizzled as she did so, and Meira put her hands on her hips, frowning hard as she studied every move Little Emblyn made.
“Then, we take an egg and crack it like this,” Little Emblyn set aside the fork, picked up a pearly egg, then gave it a crisp rap on the edge of the pan. Meira jumped. Little Emblyn cracked the egg open with one hand and let the contents spill onto the pan. Now, the sizzling sound grew much louder, and the scent of frying eggs filled the room.
“Now you try,” Little Emblyn said, setting the shell aside, picking up another egg and holding it out to Meira.
Meira gazed at it for a moment, then took it from her. She held it in her hand a moment, as if weighing it…
Then gave it a sharp crack on the edge of the pan just as Little Emblyn had done—and split it open with one hand.
Galahad’s eyebrows went up.
“Oh! Splendid!” Little Emblyn crowed. “I’ve never seen someone do it that well on a first try!”
Meira beamed—and then suddenly turned to look straight at Galahad.
Little Emblyn instantly followed her gaze.
“Sir!” she dipped a hasty curtsey. “Were you wanting your breakfast now?”
“No,” he shook his head. “I’m going to look after Thondorfax. We can eat when I’m finished.”
“Yes, sir,” Little Emblyn nodded. Then, she bounced up on tiptoe. “Meira just cracked an egg with one hand!”
“I know,” Galahad said, glancing at Meira. “I saw.”
And without saying any more, Galahad turned and left the house. He pulled open the front door and stepped out into the blooming dawn. Cool, fresh air met him, and the scent of dew. The sky was a beautiful, deep pink, which lightened to a stunning pale blue in the east, where the tip of the sun had lifted over the edge of the world. Birds twittered all around him, singing cheerfully, and fluttering around the corn meal that Little Emblyn had already thrown out for the chickens. Galahad stepped around these chickens, who clucked and keened to themselves, and made his way across the yard and into the barn.
Thondorfax whuffled as Galahad stepped into the sweet-smelling darkness, and crossed to the window. He heaved it open, letting the morning light in, and turned to give a hearty slap and rub to Thondorfax’s muscular neck.
Galahad set to work mucking out the stall, hauling in new straw, filling the manger with fresh hay, one bucket with grain and another with water. Whilst Thondorfax munched on the grain, Galahad pulled down the brushes and gave his horse a thorough going over, combing out every tangle in his mane and tail, and dusting off all the dirt from the road the night before.
He had almost finished when he heard hoofbeats outside. He put down the brushes, dusted off his hands, and stepped out into the yard to see a rider in royal livery and a plumed hat ride up on a white horse.
“Good morning!” the servant called out. “I come with word from the prince.”
Galahad strode up to him, and took the folded paper he handed down.
“I was told to wait for an answer,” the young messenger added. Galahad broke the seal and opened the letter. Then, he nodded at him.
“Tell the prince that we will come to the palace at two o’clock.”
“Thank you, sir,” the messenger answered, then wheeled his horse around and rode back up the road. Galahad watched him go, then slapped the message against his palm, and re-entered the house.
Galahad mounted Thondorfax, then scooted back on the saddle and turned to hold out his gloved hand to Meira.
She stood on the front stoop with Little Emblyn, wearing a finer green dress and no headscarf, but she twisted her fingers together.
“There’s naught to be afraid of, Miss,” Little Emblyn assured her. “He’s a gentle horse. And the master won’t let you fall.”
Meira swallowed, staring up at Galahad.
“We won’t go faster than a trot,” Galahad said. “We’ll take our time and arrive when we arrive. There’s no hurry.”
Meira stayed where she was for several moments, then ventured off the stoop and up to Thondorfax’s flank. The horse stood very still, his head low. Meira cast her glance up and down his powerful form, then looked up at Galahad. He just waited, his hand extended, his right foot pulled out of the stirrup.
Then, she stretched up her left hand and grasped his right, put her right foot in the stirrup and hopped—
Galahad pulled her easily up onto the saddle, where she sat right in front of him.
Thondorfax shifted his weight. Meira shakily adjusted the way she was sitting, which was side-saddle—and she bent forward, gripping the edge of the saddle with both hands.
“Lean back against him, Miss,” Little Emblyn called from the stoop. “You’ll feel steadier that way.”
Galahad glanced over at the servant, but said nothing. Meira watched Little Emblyn too, then slowly pushed back and sat up…
Then leaned her back against Galahad’s chest.
He nodded, reached around her and held onto her waist, and took up the reins in his right hand.
“We will be back for dinner, Little Emblyn,” he told her. “Don’t make a fuss—cold cuts and cheese and bread will be enough.”
“Thankee, sir,” she answered, and with that, Galahad nudged Thondorfax’s flanks, and the horse walked out of the yard and up the road.
Thondorfax walked them up onto the moors, where the wind tousled their hair and Galahad’s cape, and the full afternoon sky shone with sunlight and white clouds. Sparrows flitted through the heather and gorse, chirping as they went. Thondorfax swayed lazily beneath them, sometimes snorting, flicking his tail back and forth.
Meira felt like iron against him, every muscle in her body clenched stiff. But as the warm wind greeted them, and the sunshine beamed down across them, Galahad slowly felt her relax. Her hands unclamped from the saddle, and began twining through bits of Thondorfax’s mane. Occasionally, she would lean her head back, and rest it against Galahad’s shoulder. And when Galahad took deep breaths, he drew in the scent of something like jasmine…which he realized must come from her hair.
Halfway across the moors, Galahad straightened up. Meira lifted her head off his shoulder, and he sensed her frown.
“Do you mind if we go a little faster?” he asked.
Her fingers worked through the mane, but she finally shook her head. Galahad wrapped his arm tighter around her waist, and clicked to Thondorfax.
Thondorfax graduated into a smooth trot, and when Galahad clicked again, he transitioned easily into a rolling canter. Meira’s frame tensed briefly, but as the wind picked up and whipped through their clothes and hair, and the land flew by beneath them, she eased back against him again.
They climbed the shallow hill to t
he gate in the wall, and entered the cool shade of the prince’s woods. The songs of the birds rose to a fever pitch, and the sun turned the leaves hundreds of shades of emerald. Thondorfax slowed his speed and huffed as he negotiated the few twists and turns, and at last they arrived at the base of the palace gardens.
Butterflies and bees danced in legions across the scores of blooming flowers, and the sun caught in the fountains like rains of diamonds. Meira took a deep breath of the delicious air, and Galahad echoed it.
They rode up the lane, butterflies swirling around them as they went, and arrived at the gate. The guards threw up a familiar “Haloo!” and quickly opened the gate. Thondorfax trotted in, stopped, and Galahad dismounted off the back of the horse. He came around to Thondorfax’s right side, and held his hands up to Meira.
Without hesitating, she reached down with both her hands, grasped his upper arms, and leaned over him. He lifted her off the horse and lightly set her down. She let go of him, gave him a brief smile, and inclined her head.
“You’re welcome,” he answered.
“Curse-Breakers,” came a call from the side of the courtyard. They turned to see a curly-haired servant stride out, and bow to them.
“The prince and his other guests are in the side garden,” the servant said. “Shall I take you to him?”
“If you would,” Galahad said to him, and held out his arm to Meira. She took it, and together they followed the servant through a side door.
They entered an airy passage, half open by tall windows to the outside and filled with sunlight. Their feet tapped against the marble tiles, and both Galahad and Meira studied the elegant statues that lined the corridor. When they reached the end of it, they turned right and left the palace through an open gate, and stepped out onto a stone landing. Before them lay a maze garden of hip-high groomed hedges, with a great, sparkling fountain in the center, and rose beds all around the perimeter. The sound of ringing water filled the open space, as did the echo of laughter. Galahad soon found the source: three people at the far end. One was clearly the prince, his gold hair shining like a halo. He wore riding boots and black trousers, a loose white shirt and leather jerkin—and he was the one who was laughing. Before him stood a green-clad Sir Gawain, and his little sister, Lady Hollis, who wore a charming pink dress, and white flowers in her hair.
“Your Highness,” the servant said loudly as he led Gawain and Meira down the steps. The prince turned and caught sight of them, and beamed. He hurried up the path toward them, Gawain and Hollis in tow, both of them smiling also.
“Hello, hello!” the prince said cheerfully. “How are you Galahad; Lady Meira?”
Meira returned his smile, and held out her left hand. The prince took it immediately, and kissed it—and then Sir Gawain greeted her in the same way.
“How pretty you look today!” Lady Hollis gasped to Meira. “Your hair so deliciously wavy like that—and your cheeks! What rouge do you use?”
Meira grinned and shook her head.
“Dear sister, I believe that her blush and her curls are due to the morning wind,” Sir Gawain remarked, giving Meira a warm look. “The most natural of all beauties.”
“Indeed,” the prince agreed. Meira blushed even brighter, and bowed her head.
“Lady Meira,” Hollis said eagerly, taking hold of Meira’s hand and pulling her free from Galahad. “We’re to have such a treat: my brother is going to show us about the palace—the gardens, the ballroom, and the libraries—and then we’re to have tea on the back terrace!”
Meira immediately looked at the prince.
“Where will you be, Your Highness?” Galahad asked.
“I’m to come with you,” he replied. “I know your mission would be better served if you knew your way about the island—so I’ve a mind to show you myself.”
Galahad felt Meira’s eyes on him, and his brow furrowed.
“Your Highness, may I propose something?”
“Of course, what is it?” the prince asked, folding his arms.
“Sir Gawain is from this island, isn’t he?”
“Yes, I am,” Gawain answered.
“I should like it if he came with me instead,” Galahad said. The prince blinked, and frowned.
“May I ask why?”
“I have no desire to inconvenience you,” Galahad told him. “And I also know that Lady Meira would be honored by the presence of her host.” Galahad turned to Sir Gawain. “Unless you have an objection to accompanying me.”
“Not at all,” Gawain said readily, then looked to the prince. “If it’s all right with the prince.”
“I…Well, certainly,” the prince said, shrugging. “Certainly. I have no objection.”
“Very well, then,” Galahad took a step back. “I’m anxious to learn more about Metern as quickly as I can.”
“We’ll go now, then,” Gawain said, following him. “Enjoy yourself, Hollis!”
Galahad bowed to the prince, but caught Meira’s eye. She gave him a little smile, and he returned it with a little nod. Then, he and Sir Gawain left the garden, even as the prince and Lady Hollis led Meira off through toward the fountain.
Galahad and Sir Gawain spent the rest of the afternoon riding along Metern’s rugged coastline, following the narrow tracks across the tops of the cliffs, dipping down into the valleys that led to the beaches, and exploring the roads that connected the tall mines. Sir Gawain knew the island as well as he knew his own face, and proved more than willing to tell Galahad the history of its people, the ratio of farmers to fishers to miners, and all about the wealth that came from Metern’s copper and tin mines.
They descended one wide track and found themselves on a huge beach at low tide, where they gave their horses their heads, and raced along the sand, the wind thrashing through their hair, the waves roaring and foaming to their left. Finally, as the sun lowered in the sky, they ascended to the road again and headed back toward Perlkastel.
“So what do you make of my island?” Sir Gawain asked as their horses strolled side by side, each following a wagon rut.
“It’s a beautiful place,” Galahad said, gazing out over the hills. “And very windy.”
“Ha. Yes, it is that,” Sir Gawain admitted. “And what of your search for the guardian of the seal?”
Galahad glanced over at him, then out ahead.
“With what you’ve shown me today, I feel more prepared.”
“Good,” Sir Gawain grunted, sitting back in his saddle.
“What about Sir Lancelot and Sir Tristan?” Galahad asked. “How did they come here, from so far away?”
“Oh, Lancelot travels all over Edel,” Sir Gawain replied. “As a knight errant, ever since his father was killed. Sir Tristan is his riding companion. Lancelot rescued him from a witch in the Black Western Wood. Lance met Prince James and I several years ago, in the Eisenzahn Mountains, and took a liking to us. He’s stayed here for several months now, but I believe he means to travel south to Albain soon, to Camelot, and take Sir Tristan with him. I might tag along, if Prince James will let me.”
“Why Camelot?” Galahad asked. Sir Gawain gave him a secretive grin.
“They say that there’s a magical sword waiting to be pulled from a stone,” he said in a low voice. “And whoever can do it will become king.”
“And you each have ambitions to be king of that corrupt swampland?” Galahad looked at him sideways. Sir Gawain laughed.
“No, not me! And not the others, either. But we want to see what happens.”
“Mm,” Galahad mused.
They finished the ride in easy silence, listening to the clap of their horses’ hooves, and the rustling of the winds through the hedges and grasses. Finally, they drew up to the side wall of Perlkastel’s grounds, and guards opened the gate for them. The road turned to paving, and the air swelled with the perfume of roses. The pearly moon appeared in the east, and the sunshine faded from the purple sky.
They approached the castle and Sir Gawain dismounted, slap
ping his horse’s shoulder and handing off the reins to the stable boy.
“Are you not coming in?” Sir Gawain asked, starting toward the door.
“No, our maid has dinner ready,” Galahad said.
“I’ll fetch Lady Meira for you, then,” Sir Gawain said, and entered the palace. Galahad waited, looking up at the sky and spotting the first star of evening. A few minutes later, Meira emerged, on the arm of the prince. They were beaming at each other, and the prince was laughing. She carried a little book in her right hand.
“How was your ride, then?” the prince asked Galahad.
“Very good,” Galahad replied. “Sir Gawain seems to know everything.”
“Yes, he’s a good son of Metern,” the prince agreed. “I’m glad he could help you!”
Galahad inclined his head. The prince turned to Meira—but she clung to his arm, and gave him a sweetly-imploring look. The prince chuckled.
“Must you away so soon?” the prince asked Galahad. “You both are more than welcome to stay for dinner.”
“Thank you,” Galahad said. “But our maid has prepared for us.”
“Ah—Don’t want to upset Little Emblyn!” the prince exclaimed. Then, he pulled out of Meira’s grasp, and took up her hand. “Good night, my lady. I hope you enjoy your book.”
She bowed her head to him, lifted the book and held it against her heart. He grinned, kissed her hand, and then led her over to Thondorfax. Galahad adjusted his seat, pulled his foot from the stirrup, and held down his hand to her. She reached up, grasped his hand, and the prince gave her a leg-up into the saddle.
“Goodnight!” the prince backed up and waved. “You are welcome any time you wish.”
“Thank you,” Galahad said again, and steered Thondorfax out of the main gates, and down the garden lane. They passed the rose beds, and the spilling fountains, but just before they entered the woods, Galahad slowed the pace, and peered around her shoulder.
“What did he give you?”
Meira glanced toward him, bumping his nose with her forehead—he immediately moved his head. She brought the book down from her heart and held it up so he could see.
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