Tide

by Alydia Rackham

  “So…” Little Emblyn gasped. “Prince James is the king!”

  “He is,” Galahad said flatly. “And as such, his responsibilities will now be to his kingdom first, and his own heart second.”

  Galahad watched Meira go pale. He looked directly at her.

  “Had you known these laws, and that his uncle was so ill, you might not have made such a foolish decision to abandon your post.” Without waiting for a reaction, he strode around them, and left the room. “We no longer have time to waste in the garden.” And with that, he turned and charged up the stairs to his room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Galahad didn’t speak as he rode with Meira up the lane, through the gardens of Perlkastel as the purple of evening began to touch the sky in the east. He had ordered Little Emblyn to dress Meira in a deep blue dress with pearl earrings and a pearl necklace, her hair hanging loose in long, extended curls, bound away from her face by a blue velvet headband.

  Galahad turned Thondorfax, and they left the garden and avoided the main gate. Instead, they drew up in the riding lawn beside the palace, which was bordered by tall beech trees. At the far end stood a pillared folly…

  And Galahad glimpsed the prince, sitting on a bench on the other side of it, facing the darkening sea.

  Galahad slowed the horse, stopped and dismounted, then helped Meira down. She landed and didn’t look at him. Galahad turned away and quietly rounded the folly, a warm breeze greeting him from off the waters. The prince sat with his elbows on his knees, his gaze faraway.

  Galahad halted and bowed at the waist.

  “Your Majesty.”

  The prince—the king—looked up and found him. And his cheeks shone with tears.

  “Ah,” he gave a soft, watery laugh. “You’ve heard, then.”

  Galahad righted himself, then glanced over at Meira.

  “When we received word,” Galahad said. “And Lady Meira wanted to come sit with you.”

  The prince’s brow furrowed, and he sat up. Meira stepped into his view…

  But she didn’t curtsey, or incline her head.

  Instead, she stepped up beside him, and sat down on his right. She pressed her side to his, lowered her head, and took hold of his hand in hers. She did nothing more.

  And, as Galahad watched, the young king’s expression broke. He stared at her profile, marveling as if he’d never seen her before. Then he lowered his own head and let silent tears fall.

  Galahad backed away, then turned to Thondorfax and adjusted the saddle synch. The horse dropped his head and started grazing, and Galahad leaned against his shoulder, casting his gaze out over the stretch of the ocean, waiting for the first star to emerge…

  But soon, his eyes were drawn to the couple on the bench. The king didn’t say anything, and Meira didn’t move, but the breeze stirred her elegant hair and the edges of her skirt. While Galahad watched, more than once, the new king looked over at her, as if to make certain she was still there. And whenever he did, she would return the look. As if they didn’t need words.

  Galahad made himself face the palace instead, and leaned back against his horse, folding his arms. Studying the intricate designs upon the palace walls, the gleam of the fading light on the lapis lazuli domes…

  Then, the king began to speak.

  Galahad couldn’t hear what he was saying, but when he looked, the king and Meira had shifted to face each other, and the king held onto her hand with his right, but gestured with his left. Meira nodded, always fixed on his face, meeting his eyes. The king spoke in detail about something, sometimes smiling, sometimes battling back more tears. And as he talked, the sky darkened, and one by one, the stars came out.

  Galahad ran his fingers through his hair, then finally approached the two of them again, and bowed.

  “Your Majesty,” he cut in. “It’s going to be dark soon. We ought to let you rest.”

  “Yes, of course,” the king agreed—his tears having dried, and his expression slightly brighter. “Thank you so much for coming.” He smiled at Meira. “You can’t imagine how much I needed company this evening.”

  Meira smiled gently back at him and squeezed his hand, which he still held. Then, she inclined her head to him, arose, and kissed the ring on his right hand.

  The king laughed.

  “Ha—I do believe you’re the first person to have done that.”

  She curtseyed, and the king stood up, taking a bracing breath—as if he’d been underwater for too long. He rubbed his face and then pushed his hair out of his face and cleared his throat. He reached out his hand to Galahad, who took it.

  “Thank you again,” he said. “Safe journey home.”

  “Thank you,” Galahad replied, and held out his arm to Meira. Her attention lingered on the king for a moment longer, then she took Galahad’s arm, and let him lead her back toward the horse. As Galahad helped Meira up into the saddle, the king followed them.

  “I mentioned this to Meira, but I’ll tell you in person rather than sending you an invitation,” the king said. “Tomorrow is my birthday. I’ve had a ball planned for six months. Everything is ordered and everyone is invited. It would be a terrible waste and inconvenience for my guests not to go ahead with it. I would like both of you to come.”

  “We’d be honored,” Galahad told him, climbing up onto the horse and settling in the saddle. “Thank you for thinking of us.”

  “Thank you for thinking of me,” the king replied earnestly. “You are true friends.”

  Galahad nodded to him, then turned the horse, and rode with Meira back through the garden, and toward Euryor House.

  “Emblyn, where is Meira?” Galahad braced his hands on the doorframe of the kitchen and leaned in. Little Emblyn, who stood at the range, turned around but kept stirring the stuff in the pot.

  “Erm, I think she’s gone down to the beach, sir,” she answered.

  “Mm,” Galahad grunted, thought for a moment, then tapped the doorframe. “I don’t suppose there’s a spinet in the house. I haven’t seen one.”

  “There is one, sir,” she answered. “There’s a closet in the library—it can be rolled out.”

  “I don’t imagine you can play it,” he wondered flatly.

  “Tolerably, sir,” she replied, stifling a smile. “Why?”

  “We need to teach Meira how to dance before lunchtime if we’re to have her ready for the ball tonight,” Galahad said, shoving back from the doorframe. “I’ll find her, and you get Ben Glennon to help you bring out the spinet.”

  “Yes, sir,” Little Emblyn said, but Galahad was already heading toward the door.

  He pushed through and stepped out into the bright, warm morning. Not a single cloud interrupted the sky, and a playful breeze caught at his hair. He found the narrow, winding track that led down to the beach and trotted down it, listening as the roar of the ocean rose up before him.

  At last, the path leveled out and met the sand, and he glanced out over the thundering surf. No haze obscured the mainland, for the sky shone bright and clear, and hundreds of white seagulls swooped near the whitecaps, and bobbed like corks upon the waves. He scanned the dark-sanded beach as his boots sank in, and he finally found her.

  She wore a light blue dress and white sash, her hair all undone and swirling in the wind like a black flag. She stood with her bare feet in the wash of the foam, gazing out over the water. Galahad slowed his pace, sensing that he was intruding upon her thoughts.

  But all at once, she turned and looked at him—just as she always did when he thought she didn’t know he was there. She gave him a small smile, then turned back to watch the dip and yaw of the flock of gulls.

  He drew up next to her, studying her profile, and the wistful distance in her gaze. The waves washed over her feet and made her suck in a breath, as if a thrill had gone through her body.

  “Do you miss it?” he asked quietly. She didn’t look at him. But she nodded slowly.

  He didn’t answer, just turned and let the steady roll
wash over his hearing. He took a deep breath of the briny air—unmatched anywhere else—and his brow furrowed.

  “I would too,” he murmured. He felt her glance at him, but he didn’t turn. Then, he took another breath to resettle his thoughts.

  “Come back to the house with me,” he said. “We need to teach you to dance before the ball.”

  She shot him a look of surprise, which he finally met.

  “You won’t be able to participate in many dances,” he said. “But I think you can learn the waltz in time. It’s simple enough.”

  She stared at him, then suddenly laughed.

  He blinked.

  “What?”

  She kept chuckling, and shook her head. He frowned sharply at her.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  She suppressed her laugh, and shot him a vivid sideways look—a look that suddenly flashed like lightning.

  Galahad’s attention sharpened.

  She held out her hand.

  “What?” he asked again, his voice low. She raised her eyebrows at him. And she nodded at her hand.

  Galahad hesitated, his pulse suddenly pounding. But he reached out his left hand, and gripped her fingers.

  Suddenly, a white heat shot up his arm and plunged into his heart.

  He gasped, and reflexively clamped down on her hand. His gaze flew to her face—

  She beamed at him…

  Then stepped into the water.

  No.

  Onto the water.

  Her graceful bare foot rested upon the surface of the wave that had just washed in. And as the wave drew back into the sea, Meira slid easily with it, taking slow steps upon the wave itself—tugging Galahad with her.

  He instinctively leaned back—but it didn’t matter. Somehow, the water beneath his boots mobilized and pulled him with her.

  And then, impossibly—

  He and Meira were suddenly standing on top of three feet of water.

  He stared down at the swirling foam, feeling as if he was standing upon some mix of ice and snow—and each new wave bobbed beneath his feet, threatening to knock him over—

  Meira abruptly came round in front of him, eclipsing his vision.

  He jolted. His head came up and he grabbed hold of her, but she just grinned up into his face. She grasped his upper arms and held him steady, and he leaned on her, fighting for balance…

  Slowly, he straightened, his breathing jagged and his face cold—but Meira’s eyes twinkled. She slid her hand down his right arm, interlaced their fingers and gripped him tight. Then, she raised her eyebrows at him.

  He took a deep breath. Then another. Then another.

  And he nodded.

  She turned and took off.

  Meira shot forward, out to sea—and, as if pulled by a massive and unstoppable force, Galahad came with her.

  She leaped like a deer over an oncoming wave, and he did the same, his heart thundering in his chest. Meira extended her smooth strides like an ice-skater, sending water spraying up all around her. Galahad squeezed her hand even harder as he trailed behind—he tried to lean forward, tried not to lose his balance and fall…

  He adjusted his grip on her hand, then forced one foot out in a sliding stride, then the other—

  A huge wave rose up before them—white and roiling, like a looming hammer ready to crush them—

  Meira struck the air with the back of her hand.

  And the wave split in half.

  She and Galahad burst through its remnants, icy water showering across them, spray exploding with sunlight.

  Galahad gasped and shook his head as water drenched him, and he and Meira erupted onto the high seas. Sunshine poured down over the rolling, churning mirror, and the seagulls cried out to them—as if in recognition and amazement.

  They picked up speed, Meira taking long, powerful strides up the back of a wave. Galahad, chills racing over his skin, threw himself after her, keeping hold of her hand—

  And they flew off the top of the wave.

  Galahad’s heart suspended.

  Meira whirled him around in mid-air, wrapped her arm round his waist and caught him to her.

  They spun high in the air, seawater flying out from her skirts like a thousand diamonds—

  Then they plunged straight down, landing upon the inner crest of the wave—they rode with it, skidding down its length with their knees bent low, their hair flying, their arms outstretched…

  Galahad lowered further and dragged his left hand across the blinding, icy, rippling water—

  Meira leaped up. He did the same.

  They tucked their legs in tight and hurdled over another wave, sparkles showering their heads, their arms spread as if they were birds.

  Their feet struck the water at a blazing speed, their reflections rippling over the surface, the sunlight cascading through the waves, breaking in rainbows that caught Galahad and Meira head-on. Golden foam splashed their clothes and soaked them through; the sea roared in mighty laughter.

  And then, of a sudden, she let go of him.

  He almost lost his balance; his hand stretched out to search for hers—

  She whirled out in front of him, leaped over a wave, and began skating just out of reach. Another wave rolled up to meet her and she twirled on top of it like a ballerina, then skated backward down its crest, grinning impishly at him the whole way.

  And Galahad abruptly realized that he wasn’t sinking.

  His heart calmed. His feet steadied beneath him.

  And he leaped forward.

  He flung himself over the wave, landed hard and firm, and swept after her, leaning in and pumping his arms—and in four mighty strides, he caught up with her.

  She laughed out loud, pivoted around—her hair spinning out behind her—and fell into stride beside him. Together, as one, they flew over the waves, skipping across the ripples, sliding round the eddies, splashing over the whitecaps and crashing straight through the surf like dolphins, like skiers, like fish, like eagles. In tandem, weaving in and out of each other’s paths, leaning down to rake their fingers through the shimmering surface, or to wind up and slap the edge of a breaker. They tore across the water, ripping it wide, their feet making flying wakes behind them.

  Then, a huge rock rose up before them—black, jagged, volcanic stone, atop which perched a dozen seagulls. The waves hurled him toward it, and the surf shattered against its face.

  Meira latched onto his hand.

  And with a sudden jerk—

  She lifted him up and out of the water—

  And they landed like dancers on a lower shelf of the massive stone. The next second, the wave beat into the rock and smashed across it, showering them with water.

  Galahad ducked away as the wave drenched him, then shook his hair out of his eyes. Meira let out a laugh and spread her arms, letting the cold water pour over her. A shivering thrill coursed through Galahad’s whole body, and he almost laughed too—but the breath was stolen from him.

  For, to his amazement, he could now see the tip of Metern, with Perlkastel gleaming like a jewel at its peak, an entire league away. He raked his sopping hair out of his face, still panting, and faced Meira.

  Her hair didn’t look wet. It cascaded down around her in beautiful curls, droplets of water shimmering like gems in every strand, and upon her eyelashes and her rosy cheeks. And even as he watched, the water drained off her clothes and the wind caught her skirt, tousling it in greeting. She met his gaze, still harboring a secret smile. He swiped the water off his face, trying to calm his labored breathing, then shook his head.

  “You still don’t know how to waltz.”

  “Hahaha!” She slapped a hand over her mouth, then brought her hand down and clasped her wrist behind her back, clearly trying to iron out her expression.

  But he leaned right toward her, and pierced her with a look of challenge.

  Her eyebrows went up, and she gave him a wide, sideways glance.

  Without saying anything more, he t
urned and approached the far side of the rock—the side that faced the channel and the mainland. Out there, the sea lay calmer, like a shimmering floor of silver. He paused a moment, gauging the waves…

  Then stepped out onto the water.

  It held him.

  He stopped, took a deep breath, then drew himself up and turned around.

  Meira was giving him a surprised—but somehow pleased—expression. He lifted his chin, and held out his left hand.

  Her expression of surprise turned into one of coy amusement. And then, she hopped nimbly down, and took his hand.

  Without waiting, Galahad pulled her in.

  He wrapped his right hand around her waist and took up her right hand in his left.

  Meira’s head came up, and shock flashed in her eyes. But her free hand settled on his shoulder—

  And Galahad drew her out onto the easy waves, his swift steps singing through the sea. Meira’s gaze flew back and forth, trying to calculate where to put her feet…

  He pulled her tighter, so that her full body pressed against his. She met his eyes…

  He threw her out into a twirl.

  Her skirt flung glimmering spray into the sky, her hair splashed against the vibrancy of the sun’s glare.

  Galahad skated backward, pulling her with him. She followed, panting and wide-eyed and grinning. Soon, they were racing pell-mell over the smooth surface. He pulled her in again, wrapping her up and spinning round and round—

  He swung her out in another wild twirl, and she squealed with laughter.

  Suddenly, the seagulls swooped down around them, spiraling in a whirlwind, clucking and chiggling, cutting the wind with their sharp wings and then soaring straight up—

  Galahad spun with Meira in his arms again, and schools of silver fishes leaped up past their knees, peppering the waves and blinding the edges of Galahad’s vision. Joining with the gulls and the waves in a deep, exhilarating and resounding music that Galahad had never known.

  He and Meira began weaving back and forth, always clasping hands, trading grasps, spinning under each other’s arms; improvising without words, exchanging brilliant looks though the shimmering spray—tugging each other one way, then the other, pulling and pushing in equal measure, skimming and sweeping across their infinite ballroom floor, beneath the limitless dome of the heavens. Their fingers warm, their faces showered with cold water, their clothes drenched, and a fiery heat in their hearts.