I would force myself to feel some remorse, but over the years a few points have offered me assurance enough.
Firstly, I did try to follow Father’s instructions.
Also, I ended up marrying someone far better than any second son, or anyone else we could have dreamed up.
Additionally, I believe Father bears me no grudge. I might even say he’s a little proud.
Lastly, it was his fault I couldn’t keep to the directives he so earnestly laid out for me that long ago night. He had no one to blame for the direction of my future but himself.
Despite the snow and icy cold, many dances and other social events were held in the winter because the nights were long and there was little else to do but open shop in the village proper. Anyone working the land, or with work depending on the work of the land, had more time on their hands to visit and play.
After Father’s strict instructions to me, I did not refuse a partner, though I attempted to stay away from all firstborns. Besides, I never grew tired of being asked to dance by the same boys who had once mocked me. As I whirled around, giving my hand and smirking coquettishly, I’d recall when they tripped me coming out of the schoolroom, or pulled my hair, or hid mean words behind fake coughs. I reveled in my new control, unabashedly pleased at how they tripped over themselves for me.
I wondered if they ever felt shame at the way they once treated me, or if the blessings of beauty bestowed by my maturation made them forget that there ever was a time that dancing with me was only slightly more preferable to being stung by a swarm of angry bees. Or perhaps they had come to their senses and realized they could do far worse than a miller’s only daughter.
It really didn’t matter much either way. None of them particularly caught my eye, and I rated all on a scale ranging from ‘rather tolerable’ to ‘downright despicable.’ I was still young enough to be unconcerned with what my future would bring, the promise of youth assuring me that life would sort out favorably in time. I felt I had endured and survived, and surely whatever came next wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.
Perhaps, like Merlin’s letters, I thought every plain and unknown box held a swarm of magical butterflies, every plot of soil held the seed of a blossoming flower. I always believed life would grind forward steadily, constant and comforting as a working mill. What did I know then of sudden twists and tumbles in defiance of subtler, more navigable curves of the road? What did I know then of times when choice is but an illusion, when the only action is to pounce on the lesser of two evils? I certainly didn’t yet know of how persevering, yet fragile, my heart could be.
Even after a lifetime of rejecting Father’s stories, I still don’t understand how I could’ve been so naïve about the truth of the world.
I can’t pinpoint a single incident as the one leading to the final lie that turned my world upside down. Rather, it was an accumulation of incidents stacked together since the day I was born, since the day I went to school, since the day I became pretty, all of which changed the assumed course of my life. But rather than recount every moment, the incidents still standing out most strongly in my mind after all these years are the ones deserving of the most attention.
The first began with an early spring dance I attended in my newly stitched, shamrock-green gingham dress. Having had the choice between that season’s colors of sky-blue, sunshine-yellow, and shamrock-green, I’d chosen the latter because I knew my carefully plaited, gold hair would glisten against it. At least as well as a warm sun shining on an endless field of wild green grass. Green was much more appealing to me then.
I can comfortably say that, despite my ignorance in many other important areas of life, one thing I did know was how important exteriors were to other people. That’s why all those boys turned from tormentors into prospective husbands, why the other girls suddenly couldn’t have a party without me there, why my father was always trying to cover up the mediocrity of his life with fantastical stories that couldn’t possibly be true.
The only person I have ever met—even after my new life exposed me to a myriad of people from kings to common folk—who never cared about his appearance, whose outer actions were always a reflection of his inner beliefs, was Merlin. It would be easy for anyone to say that he could afford such a luxury only because he became such a powerful mage, but I would counter such claims with a few basic points.
Firstly, I have known powerful kings whose hearts were less true to themselves than his.
Also, I have known good men who didn’t always have the courage to take action when silence would allow them to remain unnoticed.
Additionally, I have known Merlin far better than most others and can say with absolute conviction that part of him has always been there.
Lastly, it was for this reason that we eventually had to say a goodbye that has lasted far too long and has little indication of ever ending.
I remember clearly that I didn’t bother to look in my small, warped mirror to see how pretty I looked that day. I remember clearly refusing Father’s offer for a ride into town, knowing full well that with the cool weather and just the right pace, the walk in would flush my cheeks and brighten my eyes, an effect more desirable for the purposes of attraction than any amount of cosmetics. That day, we were celebrating the engagement of one village girl to some other village boy, which truthfully mattered very little to me, even less as evening turned to night.
“Remember, no firstborns!” Father called after me when I left, and I waved back merrily in agreement, confident that I would have my pick.
After four dances with four partners, none of them firstborn sons, I decided it was high time I took a break at the punch bowl. Uninterested in making conversation with my latest partner, I extricated myself from his sleep-provoking company and placed myself within a tight circle of girls who were chatting and gossiping near the refreshments.
“Samara Jade is expecting her first child,” whispered one girl to another, loud enough for the rest of us to hear.
“It isn’t her first,” the other girl corrected, “she lost the first.”
“Poor dear,” tsked a third girl.
“Yes, well, for her sake, hope she carries full term and hope she has a son, too,” the second girl replied.
I controlled my wince at the tone of her voice. Clearly, she was not high in the rankings of those possessing sympathy or tact. Obviously, this made her an ideal center for any gossip circle. I always wondered at individuals intelligent enough to know so much about others, and yet still do nothing with such a unique mental capacity for detail besides give it away for a few moments of attention. I’m fairly certain there is more that could be done with that talent.
“Whatever for?” the first girl wanted to know.
“So she can name him Charles, of course,” the second girl informed her.
“Charles?” the third girl inquired.
“Yes, Charles,” the second girl replied with an air of authority because she was such a formidable expert on other people’s lives. “Her husband’s name is Charles, his father’s name is Charles, and every first son in their family is named Charles, so it would be to her benefit to have a son quickly.”
The other girls nodded in sage agreement, as if this information was important enough to affect the course of the night.
I, on the other hand, became lost in thought at the prospect of having a name so important to the family that every generation was entrusted with carrying it through to the next. Frankly, I couldn’t. Having lived so many years without a name, and then being bestowed one by a friend, the whole situation sounded like one of Father’s fanciful tales.
Still, I admit that I’d have taken any name at all if that meant my mother had lived long enough to give it to me. Or that my father had cared enough, even to share his. Just so I could own something that only I could give meaning to, something that packed all I was and all I could be into a simple combination of letters.
While thusly lost in thought, I failed to notice the person who came up b
ehind me, didn’t notice anything until I couldn’t see at all because someone’s hands were over my eyes.
My first reaction was to stiffen in indignation. How dare this person intrude on my person, like so?
My second thought was that if Merlin was there I would immediately give him reason to turn the offender into a cow. Or a boot. Or a leather sailor boot. Or whatever else we could come up with.
Angered, I yanked the hands down from my eyes and flipped around, red-faced, then my indignation melted into an elated cry.
“Merlin!”
I engulfed him in the biggest hug I could muster, knowing full well that my cry had turned people’s heads—not necessarily in a good way—knowing full well that it was unseemly to be hugging him like so in such a public place, knowing full well from the way he hugged me back that neither of us could give a cow or a boot or anything else about what anyone else in the room thought.
When I finally pulled back from him, just enough to study his face, I couldn’t keep my expression straight. My lips kept jerking upward into a giant, toothy smile, which caused Merlin to flush amiably, but not before returning a wide smile of his own.
“This is...new,” Merlin said carefully, gesturing to my dress.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” I exclaimed, grabbing his hand, clutching it tightly in my own. “With this,” I added, with a very forward brush of his well-kept beard.
Of course, this only made his flush deeper, a flattering shade of bashfulness that brightened his wonderful purple eyes.
“How did you know where to find me?” I pressed, still holding his hand and noting he wasn’t either eager to let go.
“Your father,” he replied simply. “He told me where you were after regaling me with a number of stories about the nights he used to dance without stopping in order to accommodate all his dance partners, before your mother, of course.”
“Of course,” I agreed with a laugh.
We navigated to a quiet corner and took seats so we could talk more privately. I studied him, having not seen or heard from him since his last letter over a year ago.
Merlin had always been pleasant-looking, but I could see now how he could be downright handsome. His violet eyes had gained an understanding and appreciation for the world that could only come from observing and living with care, from living in the world outside our little corner of the kingdom. While his face had lost all sense of innocence because of it, he now seemed confident yet shy, a man who knew of the extraordinary things he could do but was loath to act where anyone could see it. It was a look that was both comforting and familiar, the kind of look that would help him make friends easily, the kind of look that people trusted with confidences.
It was a few years before I understood the burden that could come with being such a man, especially when accompanied with a heart as caring as Merlin’s. He would know too much of the world too soon, would know of too many people’s truths beneath the lies they told everyone else. By then, it was too late to undo the decisions I’d made, and so he would have to shoulder it alone the rest of his long, long life. It’s not something I can dwell on for too long, either. It may be the only thing from all that was to happen from which I could never reason away the lingering regret.
Merlin was studying me too, though much more subtly. Suddenly, I didn’t want to be under his observation, didn’t want him to see everything without having time to choose what I would show him as I did with others. I didn’t like how plainly he could see me now, how plainly he could always see me. I didn’t like that there was nothing I could deflect or hide. I foolishly thought then that all he saw was the lonely miller’s daughter who needed a name and a friend. Too late, I learned that I was completely wrong. All he ever saw, all he ever wanted to see, was Millie. The Millie I had created to be worthy of the name he had given me. The Millie I left behind just a few months later.
I grabbed Merlin’s other hand and forced him out of his thoughts. “You must tell me everything; you must show me everything you can do!” I exclaimed.
Merlin chuckled. “Right now?”
“Right now, tomorrow, every day until you are done, and then we’ll start again,” I replied. “But first, we mustn’t let this music continue unheeded.”
Taking his cue, Merlin stood hastily and executed a sharp bow. “Miss, I insist that we share a dance. Would you do me the honor?”
“It would be an absolute pleasure, good sir,” I readily agreed.
I took his proffered hand, whereupon he promptly led me to the dance floor and spun me into his arms. I couldn’t stop the giggle that erupted from me. I was giddy then, in a way that far surpassed just the excitement of my best friend’s return home. I felt that he had brought a part of me back with him, a piece I hadn’t even known was missing.
“You’ve become quite the dancer,” Merlin remarked, not two minutes into the dance.
I couldn’t say the same for him, but I didn’t care. I batted my eyelashes at him. “I’ve had quite a bit of practice,” I said coyly.
Merlin’s brow furrowed and his grip around me tightened. “Well, then, that’s quite enough of that,” he said.
“If it’ll keep you from turning the others into cows,” I conceded with mock resignation.
Merlin smirked. “I’ll consider it.”
“They’ll never know how lucky they were tonight,” I observed with a shake of my head.
“Yes, well,” Merlin said, pulling me closer, “luck is more cooperative when it isn’t pushed, hmm?”
I nodded in agreement, and quickly turned the conversation to other things.
We danced and talked the night away, saying nothing important, yet that was everything that mattered: this time, this place, this dance, this moment of together, talking of inane things again. I didn’t even want the sun to rise with the promise of a new day when the night before us held so much promise of its own.
It was a wonderful, wonderful evening, and for the first time since I started attending dances I kept the same partner for the rest of the night.
I spent as much time as I could with Merlin after that. Sure, he had his family to catch up with and regale with his magic, and I was there for much of that, but the time I really looked forward to, the time that still means the most to me, was when we were able to steal away and be alone together again.
One such day, we followed our familiar path to the log running across the river, which still hung suspended in the air as if overseeing the water’s progress. We climbed up and carefully walked to the middle, took our seats side-by-side, peacefully watching the river race itself downstream.
“I adore this spot,” I said into the calm.
“It’s…” Merlin searched for the right word, “unchanging.”
“It’s constant,” I corrected.
“Reliable?” Merlin suggested.
“And that,” I agreed. “I came here a few times while you were away. It was the same, but it also wasn’t.”
Merlin gave me a small smile and reached for my hand. I let him have it, never thinking twice at his impulse. I never would have allowed any other man to take such liberties, but Merlin wasn’t just any man. Besides, I wanted to stay with him then, didn’t want to let him out of my sight until we’d caught up on the six years we hadn’t seen each other every day. He fidgeted with my hand a bit, then settled down and simply held it between both of his.
“Why did you stop writing to me?” he suddenly asked.
I glanced over at him. He wasn’t exactly looking at me, his gaze was fixed on the river, but I knew he was watching me all the same.
What was there to say? How could I explain how mundane my life was once exposed to a box of butterflies? I had no magic plants, no bird at my command. How long before he too would conclude that this life, with all the people and things it held, was too dull for him?
“I-I-I had nothing to say,” I finally answered.
Now Merlin did turn to me. He freed one hand to chuck me lightly under m
y chin. “I only wanted to hear from you,” he said simply. “Reading your letters, I could hear your voice so clearly. It was like talking to you.” He laughed to himself. “I even responded out loud a few times as if I really was.”
“I didn’t know,” I said.
We sat a while longer in silence. Me contemplating what Merlin had said and wondering why it saddened me that I hadn’t written more, especially with my hand still in his. And Merlin, well, I didn’t know then what Merlin was thinking, and can only guess at it now.
“So,” I said, to break the silence, “did you actually learn how to turn someone into a cow?”
Merlin chuckled and finally released my hand. “No, nothing so large,” he admitted, then seeing my disappointment added, “but I can turn into a bird.”
My eyes widened as a winged image immediately came to mind. “The starling?”
Merlin smiled at the mention. “A friend of mine was passing through and offered the favor.”
I jumped up on the log, unable to contain my excitement anymore. “Show me, you must show me,” I begged.
Merlin took his time standing, then dusting off the back of his pants, knowing the delay would drive me mad. When he finally finished fraying my nerves, he looked up with a cheeky grin. “Do you really want to see?” he asked.
“Yes.” I nodded vigorously. “Absolutely.”
“Then take my hand,” he said, and I complied unquestioningly.
Merlin, still grinning cheekily, raised my hand to his mouth and planted a quick kiss on it. Before I could protest, he began mumbling something I couldn’t quite make out. Within seconds, I felt something come over me. At first, it was a warm tingling, then the very air shifted around me, abruptly bringing every object, every sound into sharp focus. I could hear individual leaves rustling in the trees, the buzz of tiny gnats racing circles around each other as they waited to ambush innocent passersby. I could hear the rush of the river so clearly, as if every drop of water therein sang its own note.
I turned to question Merlin about this change, but he was no longer there. Beside me on the log was a beautiful purple-backed starling with feathers so rich in color they seemed almost iridescent in the sun’s light. The purple eyes, still glowing brightly within his new guise, gave him away.
Lies of Golden Straw Page 4