Especially Meira’s.
Galahad possessed no appetite. He could only watch her as she sat across from him. Watch the way her earrings glistened, her cheeks blushed; how two free curls fell across her forehead…
And how she looked at the king.
Her sky-blue gaze lingered upon the young man, caressed his features—drinking in every detail, every movement of his shining head, every smile on his face. When he grinned, her face illuminated. When he laughed, she smiled in delight. When he spoke, she held her breath, as if afraid she would miss a syllable. Whenever he briefly met her eyes, she became incandescent…
And each time he turned away, her light would fade. And that grief—the grief Galahad could now see as plainly as daylight—would mark her entire bearing.
Galahad ate mechanically, and only half his meal. He nodded and attended to everyone who spoke to him…
But his attention kept drawing back to her, bathed in soft candlelight, even as she memorized the very essence of the king.
“I can’t eat another thing,” Sir Gawain finally grunted, laughing, and pushed his plate away.
“Nor I, to be sure,” Guinevere remarked. “So delicious!”
Everyone around the table agreed.
“Come, you must join me in a toast,” the king declared, then snapped his fingers. “Some more wine for everyone, please.”
The servants came forward and refilled everyone’s glass. Then, the king took his up, and arose.
Galahad frowned. He picked up his glass too, watching the king…
Who gazed softly at the far end of the table, at Lady Beatrix. The king’s expression changed. His eyes lit, and something unfamiliar came over him.
Galahad stopped breathing.
“My friends, I asked you all here this evening to bear witness,” he began. “As I desire all of your friendships for many years to come—hopefully the rest of my life. I know the value of friendships, and how they add strength and purpose and honesty to one’s life. The Source has blessed me with several such friendships, but none dearer to me than that of Lady Beatrix Greigh of Arsa Coill.”
Galahad glanced down the table at Lady Beatrix. She looked back at the king, her glass absently held in her hand, her attention captured.
“All my life, she has been there for me,” the king continued. “Through the stillborn death of my brother, my days at academy, my broken leg…” His voice trembled. “The loss of my father. And then…I was there for her, when she lost her own dear sister, Valentine.”
Lady Beatrix gasped and nodded, tears suddenly trailing down her face. The king’s gaze sharpened, and he saw no one but her.
“And now that I have become king, I can conceive of no one I would rather have by my side—no one I would rather have to share the burdens and joys of ruling Mhuirlan. In fact, I…” the king stopped, swallowed, and gave a watery laugh. “I couldn’t bear being without you at all, Bea.”
Beatrix covered her mouth with her hand, more tears tumbling.
“Dearest Lady Beatrix,” the king whispered. “Will you be my queen?”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Sir?”
Galahad didn’t turn. He kept folding his letter, then pressed his seal down on the fold. Scraw hopped impatiently up and down on the desk in front of him, but Galahad’s shoulders and hands—his whole body, in fact—felt heavy.
“What is it, Little Emblyn?” he asked faintly.
“Sir, is it true? The king’s to be married to Lady Beatrix?” she managed.
Galahad didn’t answer. He held the letter up between two fingers, Scraw snapped it out of his grasp, leaped over to the windowsill, and waited. Galahad sighed, leaned over and opened the window. The great bird flapped through the opening and took off into the night.
“I have written to my masters for their advice,” he finally said, gazing out into the blackness. “Until then, we wait.”
“But…” she tried.
“Go to bed, Little Emblyn,” he said flatly. “There isn’t anything to be done tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” she breathed, and he listened as her footsteps trailed off.
He released a ragged sigh and shut his eyes, leaning his shoulder against the window frame. The lamps in the study burnt low, and the shadows hung thick in the corners. The night breeze through the window touched his face, smelling of mist, and the sea.
He felt it.
He didn’t hear anything, but he felt it.
Someone behind him.
He turned around.
Meira, in her nightclothes and dressing gown, her dark hair undone and falling all around her shoulders. She stood in a shaft of moonlight just a few feet from him, with her arms wrapped tight around herself, gripping her sleeves with white-knuckled fingers. She stared at the floor.
Galahad carefully rested his hand on the back of the chair, questions rising in his mind…
None of them came to his mouth.
The two just stood there, motionless. He could see her breathing tightly, her head slightly turned to the side. Then, as if it took a great effort, she lifted her eyes, and risked looking at him for an instant.
Shadows haunted her gaze. Her lip trembled.
Galahad pulled in a shuddering breath—cold washed down through his gut.
Meira took half a step toward him, prying her hands free of her dressing gown, fumbling for the front of his shirt. She caught hold of him, leaning into him, pressing her face into his chest…
And broke down sobbing.
Muffled, broken cries shivered through his body; hot tears bled into his shirt.
And before he could stop himself, he had wrapped his arms all around her.
He pulled her into him, binding her tight. Her muscles quivered, her breathing hitched in spasms. White-cold terror rippled out from her and straight into him.
“No,” he gritted, screwing his eyes shut and leaning down to lay his cheek to her ear. “No, Meira, don’t be afraid.”
She let out a gasping cry, her fingers clawing at him in a panic. He moved his arms and grasped her closer, pressing the side of his face into her hair.
“I have you,” he insisted in a rough whisper. “I have you.” He shook his head so she could feel it, then rested his chin on the crown of her head, enfolding her with his entire frame.
“I came here for this purpose, Meira,” he breathed. “To protect the guardian of that seal. And I will. I swear that I will.” His jaw tightened. “I will not let her beat us. Not while I’m still alive.”
Her shaking calmed. Her cries subsided. Within his arms, he felt her ease, and she turned her head, resting it against his heart. And at last, she let out a long, exhausted sigh.
He backed up just slightly from her, dipping his head to see her features—but the darkness hid them. So he reached up, took her head in his hands, and tilted her face toward the moonlight.
Tears glittered in rivers down her white cheeks. The silvery moonlight blazed in her eyes, teardrops like dew upon her lashes. Galahad softly stroked the tear tracks away with his thumbs, gazing back down at her.
Then, as they stood in silence, her fingers curled around his collar—and she blinked. Fresh tears fell, but her eyebrows drew together. As if she were seeing him for the very first time.
Galahad released her. He stepped back, dropping his hands, and turned to the window—fighting against the sudden tremors in his muscles.
“You should go to bed,” he said shortly. “We all need sleep.”
She didn’t move. But he didn’t look at her. So, finally, she whispered out of the library.
Galahad sagged forward, resting his forearm against the wall, pressing his forehead to his wrist…
“Decide to do the impossible,” he breathed—shut his eyes, and ground his teeth.
Galahad returned from his early morning ride to find Little Emblyn standing on the front stoop with letters in her hand. Galahad dismounted from Thondorfax and pulled off his gloves, frowning at her.
&nb
sp; “What is it?”
“Letters for you,” Little Emblyn said, shakily holding them up. “Well…One from the palace, and one that Scraw gave me.”
“Scraw gave it to you?” Galahad asked, taking them from her.
“Yes, sir,” she murmured, looking pale. And without saying anything more, she dipped a curtsey and went back inside. Galahad turned his attention to the letters.
One bore a red seal—the personal seal of the king. He broke the seal and opened it.
Galahad,
The knights and I were discussing your mission in Metern after you and Lady Meira left the party last evening. I told them what you told me about my father’s ship at the Ruined Mount, and they are gravely concerned, as I am, about Myrkur and the threat she may pose. Have you yet made any progress in discovering the identity of the missing Seal Guardian, or what Myrkur may want with the forest around the Ruined Mount?
James
Galahad rolled his eyes, folded the letter up and stuffed it in his pocket. Then, he broke Reola’s seal on the other letter, and read.
Galahad,
This is the worst news I could have imagined. If you bid me, I shall come directly to you—the only reason I am not following this letter is that Rose Melhorn may be in growing peril in Spegel, and we are all extremely worried for her. My heart is torn in two directions.
Meantime, at least I can share my thoughts with you.
You are correct in sensing sinister motives within that unexpected storm. I share your sentiments exactly: that Myrkur was behind it, and that she succeeded in flooding the Ruined Mount, which may have sent her tentacles out over the entire island. She may have learned a great deal about the king and Lady Beatrix, as well as you and Meira. As you doubtlessly have concluded, if the weather turns stormy again, Myrkur may be trying to learn more, or change something she has discovered. But if it is fair and bright, she is satisfied with the state of things. Either may be fatal to Meira.
The only hope I have to offer is that, perhaps, the king is feeling insecure and lonely, which is why he turns to an old friend now to make a union. A long friendship is a great power to contend with, I must confess—but it is possible that he harbors romantic feelings for Meira, especially if she is as beautiful and charming as you say. If there remains even the slightest chance that he might, then I would recommend giving Meira a Scríobh potion. Even though it will only last a few hours, it should enable her to write a letter to the king. She must pour out her heart, tell him what he means to her. Be distressed, if she must! Propose marriage, if she must! Beg him to postpone his wedding. Anything she can say to give him pause, to consider her, to awaken feelings in his heart for her. Now is the time for desperate measures.
But I must confess to you, Galahad…
I have very little hope of this mermaid surviving in the end. The odds were stacked against her before she ever made the bargain. Myrkur made certain of that.
Keep me informed.
Reola
Galahad refolded this letter much more slowly, and stood staring into the abyss for a long time. Eventually, he lifted his eyes, listening to the distant roar of the waves. And he put the letter in his pocket, climbed back on his horse, and rode out of the yard.
Galahad rode at a long stride along the hilly lanes, hooves scraping gravel, still kicking up mud from the storm. His cape flapped out behind him, and he set his jaw as he maneuvered around herds of sheep, mule-drawn carts, and groups of workers hiking to and from the mines.
At last, he arrived on the outskirts of Megipesk and the streets turned to cobble. He rattled down the central lane, through the noisy merchants and the smell of fresh-caught fish. He made his way down, down, all the way to the reaches of the town to the long piers where the fishing boats bobbed and swayed.
Thondorfax’s feet clomped heavily on the wooden dock as Galahad guided him out amidst the waves at a walk.
A full gust of sea wind swept through Galahad’s hair and clothes, filling his lungs with the scent of brine. He leaned back, and Thondorfax stopped at the very end of the dock. Out to sea just a short distance, a two-masted ship coasted languidly along, half her sails down. On board, as the crew made her ready to make port soon, they all sang together at the tops of their voices. And as Galahad listened, he found he couldn’t move, or even breathe.
“The work was hard and the voyage was long,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
The sea was high and the gales were strong.
And it's time for us to leave her!
Leave her, Johnny, leave her—
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!
For the voyage is done and the winds don’t blow
And it’s time for us to leave her.”
Several of the sailors had young, beautiful voices—Galahad was forced to acknowledge that music must run in the blood of Mhuirlanians. And so the song—sung with a lingering lift—took on a wistful yearning, a hardship, a fondness, a regret…
One that he had never felt. But it sank down through him.
“The wind was foul and the sea ran high,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
She shipped it green and none went by
And it's time for us to leave her!
Leave her, Johnny, leave her—
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!
For the voyage is done and the winds don’t blow
And it’s time for us to leave her.”
Galahad’s hands went slack on the reins and his eyes drifted shut. The
music swelled over the waves to him, overpowering all other sounds, pierced by the lonely cry of the gulls.
“She's poverty stricken a' parish-rigged,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
The bloomin' crowd is fever-stricked
And it's time for us to leave her!
She will not wear, nor steer, nor stay,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
Her sails and gear all carried away.
And it's time for us to leave her!
Oh, leave her, Johnny, and we'll work no more,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
Of pump or drown, we've had full store.
And it's time for us to leave her!”
A deep, shaking sigh escaped him, and he lowered his head. The
shadow of the sails fell across him as the ship passed, the flap of the canvas called to him.
“We're all of us old and weak n' sad,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
Since we first joined this ruddy wooden-clad
And it's time for us to leave her!
Leave her, Johnny, leave her—
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!
For the voyage is done and the winds don’t blow
And it’s time for us to leave her.”
Galahad lifted his head and opened his eyes. The ship floated past,
dolphins leaping in its wake, gulls swirling around her crow’s nest. And the final verse and refrain flew from the deck and rested upon his shoulders.
“Leave her, Johnny, ye can leave her like a man,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
Oh, leave her, Johnny, oh, leave her while you can!
And it's time for us to leave her!
Leave her, Johnny, leave her—
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!
For the voyage is done and the winds don’t blow
And it’s time for us to leave her!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Galahad sat at the table in the library, open books spread out all across its surface. A forgotten cup of tea—his only luncheon—had gone cold by his right elbow. He braced his forehead in his left hand as he pored over the tome in front of him. It was bright and clear outside, so the open windows provided enough light without a lamp.
Tap, tap, tap.
His head came up and he looked to the door.
Meira dropped her hand—she’s knocked on the doorframe.
“Come i
n,” he motioned to her, straightening up—then winced at the stiff pain in his back and neck. Meira drew closer. She wore her simple brown dress and white apron, her hair braided. She looked pale. Galahad got up, gritting his teeth and stretching his shoulders, then sighed and faced her.
“My masters have a suggestion for us,” he began. “Let me know what you think.”
Meira swallowed, but clasped her hands in hfront of her and nodded.
Galahad hesitated, then glanced down at the book and tapped the tabletop. Frowning, he formed his words carefully before he spoke.
“My masters and I agree that there may be a chance that the king is merely proposing to Lady Beatrix out of loneliness, and a desire to hold onto the golden days of his past. That he may, in fact, harbor true affection for you that has, at the moment, been overshadowed.” He finally met her eyes. “We think you ought to let him know how you feel.”
Meira’s eyes widened and her lips parted.
“I have a potion I can give you,” Galahad continued. “It will only last about six hours—but it will enable you to write in Edeltung.” He picked up a small blue bottle off the table and took three steps toward her. “Don’t let him know you’re merfolk. But tell him whatever else you can think of that might make him hesitate, might force him to think of you instead of Beatrix.” He held it out to her. “I have plenty of paper and a good pen.”
Meira lost even more of her color, and her eyes went grey as winter. She took a shaking breath, searching his face.
“Come,” Galahad said quietly, glancing down but lifting the potion to her. “This may be your last chance to win him.”
Meira stood there for a long time, her gaze fixed on him. He just tightened his mouth and regarded the rug, holding the bottle out.
At last, she reached up and took it from him. She pulled the cork out, and took a sip. She swallowed without coughing.
“All right,” Galahad turned from her, briskly shut several of the books and moved them out of the way, then snatched five sheets of paper off the desk, along with his pen, and set them down in front of the chair. “I’ll leave you to it.” And without looking at her again, he strode past her and out of the library.
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