Tide

by Alydia Rackham

  And the cloth caught haphazardly on unseen arms. He attended to the right arm first—stepped to that side and wrapped, pressed and tightened until he created a partial sleeve—just enough to form a sort of cuff on the upper arm. The fabric then split, leaving all the rest of the shoulder and arm bare, and fabric hanging down far past the elbow and behind the form, in a wing-like cape. He did the same to the other arm, then drew back, spread his fingers…

  And the stormy pattern upon the blue of the cape illuminated, shooting light down through the green and turquoise layers—and each turned slightly-transparent, so that the colors of the others swam and rippled up through the surface.

  Galahad then raked his fingers upward through the air, and the bottom edge of the cape shredded itself like a torn sail, and began moving with an unfelt breeze.

  He rounded to the front of the dress once more, tipping his head in thought, then stepped in close and pointed toward the center of the breastbone.

  The colors in the squally blue started spinning, and soon concentrated into a single point. Then, something bloomed from the fabric.

  A violet, inverted teardrop jewel, encrusted in an antiqued-copper setting. The copper curled like filigree as it branched out both ways from the jewel to gently wrap down and around the bodice and then the waist of the dress. The copper then dripped down from the central jewel, and an emerald burst to life, in a sunburst setting.

  Galahad lifted his finger and pointed up at the throat area, which as yet, stood empty.

  A gold choker flashed into being, and from its center laced a delicate chain, which then attached to the point of the inverted V neckline. More large jewels blossomed on the neckline: the first round and sapphire, the others tear-shaped and either amethyst or emerald. Gold then showered down from the sleeve cuffs in resplendent strands that sparkled with diamonds.

  Galahad drew a circle in the air above the crown of the invisible head, and a delicate silver circlet was born, inlaid with sapphires that looked like captured stars.

  Finally, he withdrew, standing directly in front of the fireplace, and looked his work up and down.

  There was one more touch he wanted to add. But he would need Meira if he had any hope of it turning out well.

  It would have to wait till the night of the coronation.

  Chapter Seventeen

  They rode on Thondorfax.

  When the invitation had come to borrow a royal carriage, Galahad declined it, and set out to saddle his horse.

  And as the evening deepened to night, and the brilliant stars burst through the darkness and the moon poured silvery light down upon them, Galahad and Meira rode on the back of the wind toward Perlkastel. Meira held fast to the front of the saddle and leaned against his chest, her hair billowing out over his shoulder. Thondorfax’s mane and tail bannered in the warm, restless summer gusts, his pounding gait sending the two riders flying over the rolling moors. Scraw let out loud caws overhead, sometimes swooping low to brush by Galahad’s hair, other times shooting up to the heavens.

  They raced through the royal forest amongst legions of fireflies that lit the trees like fairies, blinking in a disjointed concert that made the entire wood look as though it shimmered gold. Scraw wove between the branches, darting far ahead of them down the path.

  At last, they burst out of the wood, and charged up the garden lane toward the palace.

  The bowls of flame that lit the façade stood uncovered tonight, and the palace itself seemed to glory in full, golden sun. Garlands of yellow roses adorned every window, and scarlet royal-crest flags hung from every wall and flew from every peak pole. A full regiment of guards lined the front gate in complete battle dress, their swords and helmets flashing.

  All the ornate guest carriages were lined up and parked beside the lane. Everyone else had already gone inside the palace.

  When they drew up in front of the guards, Thondorfax gave a mighty huff that sent dust flying, and he tossed his great head. Galahad dismounted, landed easily, and drew Meira down with him. She met his eyes, and he looked back at her. Then, he held out his left arm horizontally and bent his elbow—and she laid her forearm on top of his, and spread her fingers across the back of his hand.

  Then, Galahad and Meira, together, lifted their chins and strode through the open gate. And Thondorfax followed, with Scraw perched on his saddle.

  The guards gaped and stammered, but no one dared grasp the reins of that powerful beast. With slow, purposeful steps, Galahad and Meira strode through the courtyard, matching stride, and entered the decorated door. They passed through that same blue-flame, marble corridor, and advanced upon the tall glass doors.

  Through them, Galahad could see the hundred dancers already swirling and twirling, and the powerful, beautiful music resounded through the panes. The guards, gaping at the oncoming party, scrambled to pull the doors open for them…

  And, ahead of the horse and the raven, Galahad Stormcrane led Princess Meira into the light.

  The skin of her graceful neck, shoulders, arms and face shimmered like mother of pearl. Her countenance shone with otherworldly light, her lips the shade of coral, her eyes shining with sailor’s delight, her cheeks blushing like sunrise on the water. Her deep chestnut hair tumbled down past her waist in effortless, careless waves, banded only by her silver crown that flashed with blinding sapphires. Within her tresses winked thousands of effervescent lights, like water fairies hiding beneath the surface.

  The colorful jewels upon her throat and breast pulsed with inner light—sunlight glimpsed through a wave. The stormy blue overlay clouded around her arms and out behind her in roiling waves that foamed at the shredded ends, turning to white vapor that twinkled like bursts of starlight. The patterned underlay of fathomless green and vivid aquamarine glimmered and gleamed with her every step, as if she had gathered together and draped the very waters of the great southern sea around herself. The golden slippers on her feet beamed with a dozen white pearls each, and the whole of her figure bathed in enraptured starlight.

  Galahad did not turn to look at her—he kept his head erect, his eyes forward, but the magic radiating from her created a crystal-clear image of her in his mind. And as they descended the stairs with strength and resolve in every movement, the dancers slowed, hesitated, turned…

  And they stared.

  Galahad caught sight of Sir Tristan, Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain, all paired with young ladies, but they gaped at Meira—and at Thondorfax and Scraw, who remained up on the landing like animal lords overseeing an ancient ritual.

  And there was the new king, wearing sky blue, with a long, magnificent cape and high collar, and a flashing circlet of Metern silver. He danced with an elegant, middle-aged lady, all garbed in black, with dark hair and flashing black eyes.

  But the king’s attention caught on Meira, and even as he kept dancing, he stared past his partner at her.

  Without a word or a glance to the king, Galahad turned to face Meira. Her eyes flashed to his in sudden uncertainty.

  He said nothing. Instead, he slipped his right hand around her waist and took up her right hand in his left.

  Then, he stepped even closer to her—far closer than ever before. And he pulled her into his chest.

  Her eyes flickered—he felt her breathing quicken.

  The music began. A single, soulful violin ringing out through the vast chamber, its lone voice calling like a gull into the wind.

  Galahad felt the eyes of the king and the knights fix on him and Meira, even as the rest of the court kept dancing. But Galahad purposefully looked down at Meira, as if the other men didn’t exist. Then, he leaned slightly to the side…

  And led her into one long, sweeping step, followed by two quicker ones.

  Meira followed instinctively, holding onto him loosely but attuning her body with his. Magic from Meira’s dress hummed through Galahad’s right hand, and as they gracefully turned, tendrils of her skirts washed around his legs like mist. She searched his face, but he never wave
red. He turned her in the center of the ballroom, then again, then again…

  A viola and a cello joined the violin, and the song deepened, swelling through the ballroom. The other men swept their ladies into a vast circle, and Galahad drew Meira along with the current.

  The ladies’ colorful gowns spun like opening flowers all around them, and the crystal chandeliers twinkled in the corners of Galahad’s vision as he slowly turned with Meira around and around…

  As they danced, Meira gracefully tilted her head back and to the side, so that with every downbeat and turn, her dark hair flagged out behind her, and her slender body leaned elegantly against Galahad’s arm. And, as he watched her, she closed her long-lashed eyes—but her every movement still matched his perfectly. As if she was listening to him beyond speech.

  After they had made one round of the room, Galahad stepped back, and released her into a gentle twirl. Her eyes easily opened, and her dress eddied around her ankles as she went up on her toes and performed a perfect spin. Instead of drawing her back in, Galahad himself took a long step to close the distance, and took her in his arms for the next turn. His chin brushed her forehead, and the scent of sea wind upon the moors flooded his senses.

  He could feel the music all around him—it felt immediate as breath, as if it resounded through his very bones. The rest of the crowd faded back in his mind until they virtually vanished—and he and Meira danced in the middle of the chamber floor. They stepped back from each other, then clasped hands and made a pass, in the elegant fashion of the country dances Galahad had learned as a boy. He twirled her under his arm, they faced each other…

  Her eyes captured him. Brilliant as crystal, deep as the sea. She smiled at him, and reached out for him…

  When their hands met, the warmth of her touch almost stung his fingers—yet he eagerly enfolded her hands in his. They swung around each other again, keeping time with the rising, aching music…

  He gave her out to another twirl. Their arms fully extended, her dress flared out around her and then wrapped like a closing lily around her legs. With the grace of a swan, she spun back into him…

  And, unbidden, she encircled his neck with her arm.

  Galahad’s breath caught.

  His eyes flashed, and he reflexively brought her in close to him, his own arm around her waist. He could see nothing but her, gazing back up at him. Could feel nothing but her in his arms, and the heartbeat of the enveloping song.

  As the crescendo built, they took one last waltzing turn around the center of the room, the ceiling sparkling like splintered suns, Meira’s dress foaming and frothing like breakers upon the Metern beaches.

  Finally, like a wistful sigh upon waking from a dream, the music diminished and quieted. Galahad slowed his steps and Meira did the same. And as the last few notes drifted through the air, they stopped completely.

  For just an eternal moment, Galahad held Meira tight against his heart. Her head tilted back, and her grey eyes gazed up into his. Her left arm still encircled his neck. They hardly breathed, her nose not inches from his. He could feel her heart hammering against his chest.

  Suddenly, without his consent, his gaze wandered all over her face—her flushed cheeks, her brilliant eyes, her delicate nose, the curls that framed her countenance…

  Her soft mouth.

  And suddenly, something deep inside him gave a terrifying, wrenching pulse.

  The court burst into applause for the musicians.

  Galahad’s head jerked up, and he sucked in a breath. The illusion of silence all around him shattered.

  “Galahad!” The king pushed through the crowd. He grinned at them as he strode out, and held out his hand toward Meira.

  Gently, Meira pulled back from Galahad so she could take the king’s hand and curtsey—but she kept hold of Galahad’s left hand.

  Galahad suddenly felt shaken, his legs weak. He didn’t dare look at her, or at the king…

  Meira interlaced their fingers, and squeezed.

  A thrill shot up through Galahad’s arm and lanced through his heart. He nearly staggered. He closed his eyes, fleetingly trying to remember the nearest door…

  The king came round in front of him, and Galahad forced himself to open his eyes and look up.

  “Incredible!” the king cried, gesturing to Meira. “This dress is…It’s simply stunning! Tell me that magic is involved somehow—I know it is!”

  Meira curtseyed again, and Galahad bowed to him.

  “Just a touch, Your Majesty,” he managed—but all at once, he couldn’t recall any of the rest of what he’d planned to say to direct attention to Meira’s dress, her hair, her dancing…

  “Come!” the king slapped Galahad on the shoulder. “I have two people I want you to meet, and then we can all sit together at dinner!”

  The king started off as the orchestra started to tune again. But Galahad couldn’t move.

  He felt Meira’s grip on his hand change. It gentled, and she rubbed her thumb across the back of his.

  He made himself look at her.

  Her eyebrows drew together, and her grey eyes had flooded with blue. She searched straight through him, and then softly touched his wrist with the fingertips of her other hand.

  He drew in a deep, shaking breath, and shook his head.

  Still watching him, she tilted her own head toward the king, took half a step in that direction…

  Galahad swallowed, and nodded. But she didn’t let go of him.

  Together, with Meira leading, they followed the king. The guests parted ways for them, and showered Meira with compliments—most of which Galahad did not hear. At last, they caught up to the king, who approached the tall, dark-haired, middle-aged woman with piercing black eyes, wearing elegant black trimmed in lace, her hair done up amongst a golden crown decorated with white shells. It was the lady the king had been dancing with. She looked directly at Galahad, then Meira—

  And Galahad immediately bowed low. Meira followed suit.

  “Mother, may I present Galahad Stormcrane and Lady Meira, of the Fortress of Maith,” the king said, stepping up beside her. “Galahad; Meira—this is Anne, Queen of Mhuirlan.”

  “Queen Mother,” the woman corrected gently, smiling at him. “Now that you are king.”

  The king laughed.

  “I’m afraid I shan’t get used to that!”

  She patted his arm, then turned back to Galahad and Meira.

  “The two of you make a beautiful pair,” she said. “Thank you for honoring my son with your presence here tonight. He was delighted to see you come in. I am so sorry that my husband and my brother-in-law cannot share our joy.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Galahad said quietly. “We’re sorry, also.”

  He sneaked a look at the king—but the young man only beamed at his mother.

  Delighted…?

  The queen mother then took a breath and drew herself up. “Dearest, I believe I’ll go sit with Lady Ellington.”

  “Of course,” the king nodded, leaned in and kissed her cheek. She gave him another smile, and then passed through the crowd, who gave way for her.

  “Come!” the king abruptly took up Meira’s hand and tugged on her. She immediately followed him—

  And her right hand pulled out of Galahad’s.

  He mentally stumbled, half his body going cold.

  The king drew Meira toward the back corner of the room and she trotted to keep up. Galahad set his teeth and followed. He wove between several courtiers, trying to glimpse whoever-it-was they would be meeting…

  He slowed.

  A lady stood beside a pillar, gazing at the orchestra. She wore purple as soft as evening, which draped in a simple, elegant fashion around her slender, shapely form. She had skin like moonlight, hair of spun gold, which was woven into a crown of curls upon her head, some tendrils raining down upon her bare, graceful shoulders. A heavenly face—young and fresh, with long lashes, soft features, and a rosy mouth. Diamonds twinkled upon her ears, and a
rare water sapphire glittered at her throat, upon a nearly-invisible chain of Metern silver.

  She turned her head, and striking blue eyes lifted to find Galahad—eyes bright as the summer sky, yet filled with the depth of a star-filled midnight.

  Her beautiful mouth smiled, and her gaze laughed. Even without adornment, her radiance would outshine the full splendor of the heavens.

  Galahad’s heart skipped a beat.

  “My friends,” the king said, releasing Meira’s hand and coming around to stand beside the lady. “May I introduce you to my oldest comrade, Lady Beatrix Greigh of the castle of Arsa Coill.”

  “Galahad Stormcrane!” Lady Beatrix said, her voice bright and musical. “I know that name almost as well as my own! You once helped rescue my father out of a mire in the Welhold Marshes, do you remember?”

  Galahad frowned sharply at her.

  “The Grey Knight,” Lady Beatrix prompted. “Eidrid the Halfelfin.”

  “Oh. Yes,” Galahad managed. “Yes, I…I was only ten years old.”

  “He is still grateful to you,” she said cheerfully, extending her hand. “He would be so happy that you and I have finally met—I cannot remember how many times he’s told me that story.”

  Galahad hesitated, then reached out his hand and enfolded her fingers with his.

  Great, ancient power, pure as sunlight, washed through his chest. His eyes misted, and he closed them…

  Then, unable to do anything else, he bowed his head, and pressed her hand to his brow.

  “The greatest honor is mine,” he said softly—and he spoke in high elvish. “To lay hold of the hand of one of the kinsmen of the Source.”

  The lady laughed, and when he lifted his eyes, she was beaming happily down at him.

  “How sweetly you speak my mother tongue, Curse-Breaker,” she said.

  He looked at her a moment longer, then arose, and reluctantly let her hand slip from his.