Kirkin nodded sympathetically. He started to offer me a hand then noticed what was occupying mine. “What have you got there?”
I looked down at Merlin sadly. “A friend.”
Kirkin fidgeted. “Don’t know that you can bring him with to the king,” he said gently, “seeing as he shouldn’t be here.”
I didn’t know then how much Kirkin knew about magic, didn’t know if he recognized the purple feathers for the telltale sign they were, or if he even knew how much an apprentice mage could do. It was very possible he only meant that I couldn’t bring a broken bird with me to the king.
Seeing no other recourse, I offered the bird to him, forcing him to take it from me. “Please look after him,” I whispered. “Until I’m back.”
Kirkin looked at me in surprise, then glanced over at his wheelbarrow, just the first of his reasons for hesitation.
“Never mind that,” I told him, digging deep for strength to stand up and make a beeline for his barrow. “I’ll present this to the king myself,” I informed the captain, with a defiant jut of my jaw.
The captain looked to Kirkin, who merely shrugged in response. The captain passed the shrug on to me, and I took that as my cue. I grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow and pushed it forward, willing my body to find enough power to shove it all the way to the throne room, to the very tip of the king’s mahogany throne.
This time, I led the way out of the room myself, taking great strides down the hall, knowing that if I faltered a moment my strength would leave me. The other guards fell into step behind me and I couldn’t help but smirk when the captain had to scramble to catch up.
Our odd parade entered the throne room without introduction, marching purposefully down the aisle with all the gravitas of a royal procession. I didn’t look right or left, but I knew, I felt, that the throne room was packed with people, every one of them there to see the results of my night with spindle and straw.
I’ll admit that despite the pain around my chest, despite the pain at a magical plan gone awry, I enjoyed the attention. Enjoyed, for once, being the center of a marvelous adventure, a tale better and truer than any Father could conjure. My delight increased when I saw the king’s eyes widen as he counted the five wheelbarrows stacked high with gold thread.
Bidding myself restraint, I executed a crisp and perfect curtsy, when what I really wanted to do was dump the wheelbarrows at the king’s feet and loudly demand if he was satisfied now, if his greed had finally been satiated. If he understood what it had cost.
The king bid me to rise, but before he could speak further, I squared my jaw toward him. “I hope the work satisfies His Majesty,” I said, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
The king seemed momentarily taken aback, though if it was from my audacity to speak first or the way I dared speak was difficult to determine. He could have ended my life right there, and I would not have flinched nor regretted what I said.
When the king regained control of his expression, there was something different about his face, something…softer. He studied me quietly a moment, but it was not fury that kept his lips shut tight. I prefer to think now that it was actual consideration. A slight nod of his head, which I thought was more to himself than me, and he was coming down the steps toward the first wheelbarrow I still gripped with my tired hands. They were shaking from fatigue and I willed them to stop long enough in the king’s presence.
Without looking, without ceremony, the king plucked a random bobbin and unspooled a line of thread to study in the light. For once, he didn’t take long. He effortlessly tossed the thread to Sir Grigory, who fumbled it a bit before it was secure in his hands. He took another from my wheelbarrow and tossed it toward his steward, who caught it easily.
“Pass it through the fire,” instructed the king, who still hadn’t removed his eyes from me.
We waited for Sir Grigory and the jeweler to assess the thread, for the steward to confirm that it would not burn. Those assembled in the throne room held their breath, but my heart beat steady and strong. I held the king’s gaze longer than I thought allowed, but I refused to look away. For his part, the king didn’t either seem intent on breaking our shared gaze. I don’t know what, but something seemed to pass between us at that point, an unspoken truce perhaps. Thinking on it now, I believe the king only wanted me to understand one thing; he had dropped his charade, and it was time that I dropped mine.
I would have. Gladly. But too much had been built upon a lie, too much would have crumbled if I had.
“Gold,” Sir Grigory announced, and only then did the king and I break our stare.
“Gold,” the jeweler seconded.
“Magic,” the steward confirmed.
The throne room erupted with whistles and applause, but I was oblivious to it all. I smiled and flushed modestly, played the part expected of me, but my heart was not in the celebration. I couldn’t stop thinking of the way the king had looked at me, the way the king looked now, as he tried to smile through somber eyes.
“Some rest?” he quietly suggested.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I accepted gratefully.
The king signaled that I should be taken back to my room. As before, people reached out to touch me, my arms, my sleeves, my skirts, any bit of me, any way to grab just a little magic for their lives. I pressed my hands flat against my side, pushing away the strain from having gripped the wheelbarrow so harshly for so long.
Finally, two guards fell into pace on either side of me, effectively blocking me from the crowd. They walked me straight to my room, and I didn’t dare look up until I was safe within. They closed the door behind me, but it reopened seconds later when Kirkin entered cradling Merlin protectively.
He offered his little body to me. “Did the best I could, Miss Millie,” he said apologetically.
An amateurish sling was wrapped around Merlin’s broken wing, so crooked and hapless, and I prayed it wouldn’t permanently damage his arm.
“Thank you,” I managed to say.
Kirkin bowed his head slightly and left the room. I set Merlin on the bed, then shooed the rest of the servants out. I removed the wrappings from his wings and dipped his body into the hot bath, carefully massaging the past few days away. I wrapped him in a towel and left him on the bed again so I could have a turn at the bath myself.
I sank into the water, feeling weary, and not just from the night that had passed, but from all the nights that had led up to it. As much as I loved being in the palace, as much as I luxuriated in the fineries I was given, I wanted nothing more than to go home. Back to the drudgery of the mill, back to my little life. I had left all thrills and all excitement outside the door, for now.
I toweled off and slipped into the soft nightgown for what I thought then would be the last time. As far as I knew, my adventure at the palace was over. The story was done. My life in the village was waiting for me to pick it back up again. It was time to move on.
Of course, I was wrong, but that’s no surprise considering as I had scarcely been right up to that point.
By the time I finished, Merlin was back to his human self and waiting for me on the bed, nestled comfortably within the myriad of pillows fluffed along the headboard. He held out his hand to me and I readily took it.
“How’s your arm?” I asked, as I let him try to help me onto the bed.
“If you hadn’t taken that sling off…”
“He meant well,” I pointed out.
Merlin nodded. “I’m not strong enough to heal it yet, but it’ll be all right.”
He pulled me closer and I tried to find peace and comfort in his presence. I lay awake, trying to summon the exhaustion that should be sending me into the depths of sleep.
“How did you manage it this time?” Merlin finally asked.
I shook my head. “Not now,” I pleaded. “Soon.”
“I failed you,” he blurted.
I shook my head. “You didn’t. You were there when I needed you, just as you always are
. And you must promise you’ll be there for me if ever I need you again.”
Merlin paused, and I knew he wanted to ask what I meant, but the last thing I wanted to talk about then was an imaginary child with a king I wouldn’t wed. Especially after what had passed between us in the throne room that morning.
Merlin relented. “I promise,” he said, and for the second time in just a few short hours, my heart tightened. Knowing what I did then, I wondered if his did, too. “I’m glad you made it through,” he added.
I grabbed his good hand. “I’m glad you’re alive,” I replied.
Merlin raised our joined hands and I could feel his smile as he pressed mine to his lips. “Me too,” he agreed.
We sank into sleep, and it wasn’t until a long while later that I remembered I never did tell him about my bargain with the little man. Of course, by the time I did, it was almost too late.
The little man was not a prophet, but he’d correctly foreseen the future nonetheless. I was given one full, pleasant day to myself before I ventured back out into the palace again, a day I largely spent in the confines of my room with Merlin, though we did finally step out to the balcony at some point to feel the sun on our skin again. For the most part, we slept, we ate, we talked, and though I can’t pinpoint anything significant occurring, it felt like something significant had changed for each of us.
The obvious reason was in the events of the past week: the lie, the tests, the magic battle, and the loss of his master. Even flying seemed a dull and silly trick next to all that had been. For the most part, I needed rest and quiet to gather my wits back around me, but Merlin needed to heal, and not just from his broken arm. He had not only lost his master, but all the power had gone to an evil little man instead of him. The day was far less emotional than it could have been, only because it felt like we were watching ourselves move through the motions of life, as if we’d transformed back into birds and were gliding in the air above our actual selves.
Odd as it may seem, because so many extraordinary things had happened, most of it felt like a dream, a dream that would surely fade with the next morning’s light.
One thing I didn’t speak with Merlin about was that moment in the king’s throne room when he held my eyes and dropped the ceremony he’d performed after each test. I don’t know why, but there was something about that moment that seemed important, something about it that demanded closer inspection, even if I couldn’t figure out what I was looking for. And it wasn’t just because my heart tightened at the memory. That was surely the little man’s doing.
Merlin took off early the following morning with a barely-healed wing to alert the kingdom’s mages and magicals as to what had happened. I, however, would be at the palace almost two more weeks before the next part of my tale took shape. By then, all the reasons that had brought me there had been pushed back into memory. I had begun to enjoy myself, and I wasn’t so anxious to return home anymore.
Once I was sure that no more tests awaited me, I reveled in the new world I’d been forced into, was able to appreciate the grandiosity of living in a palace, of having been brought there by specific order of the king. I was given three new dresses during that time, one of which was another banquet-worthy gown. I was at the palace three weeks in total and had six dresses to show for it, about the same amount I’d owned between the ages of seven and sixteen.
I mainly took the time to explore all the wonderful waterways of the palace, certain I would never have the chance again, though no part of it sparked blue as the base of the waterfall had. There was a music room and a wonderful library, a massive training barracks where anyone could watch the soldiers drill from a walkway above. There were workspaces for the blacksmith, the cobbler, the seamstresses, the jeweler and loads of offices. Of course, most of the work happened away from noble eyes, but being the daughter of a miller I was in tune to such things, even sought them out.
I spent the most time in the palace gardens, spent hours memorizing the designs and asking a myriad of questions to the head gardener, who patiently answered each one. I still wonder that he was so generous with his time, if the king had sent word that I be accommodated or if he was just glad to talk about his wonderful work with someone who wasn’t giving or receiving orders from him.
It was actually in those wonderful gardens that I bumped into the king for the first time since the third test, though by chance or by design, I have yet to know.
I was sitting on a marble bench before a wall of water in a particularly lovely, but curious part of the garden I couldn’t quite figure out. The water wall had a curved shape, enclosing that section of garden along with its array of benches. Grooves in the floor led the falling water into and through a carving in the center that looked very much like the royal crest before allowing the water to continue through the garden.
At some point, above the sound of the water trickling downward, I had a distinct feeling that someone was coming toward me. I turned just as the king stepped up to my bench.
“Your Majesty!” I sprang to my feet and quickly curtsied.
“I hope you are enjoying yourself,” he said pleasantly.
Having forced me to come here, and still keeping me here without once inquiring after my will, I wondered that he hoped anything about my state at all. Still, he was being civil, and despite everything, I really had no place to be rude to the king.
“Yes, very much so,” I quickly assured him.
“Very well then,” the king replied. “Frankly, the delay in sending you home has less to do with when and more to do with what.”
I turned that thought over a moment, allowing some of my animosity to dissipate at his honesty. “His Majesty is pleased with the work I presented?” I asked carefully.
Something indecipherable passed over the king’s face. It seemed less from the statement and more from the memory it incurred. I prayed I hadn’t inadvertently misstepped.
“Very much so,” the king confirmed, without further comment or expression.
We faced each other in silence a moment longer before the king broke the quiet again.
“Most visitors here,” he said slowly, “sit the other way.”
I blinked at him. He raised his eyebrows to the wall that I had been facing instead of the myriad wonderful garden arrangements.
“Oh,” I blushed. “It’s so wonderful, Your Majesty, I was only trying to decipher how it worked.”
The king stepped closer and redirected my gaze to the wall. “Touch it,” he suggested.
I hesitantly raised my hand toward the water, barely sticking my fingers in so the cool drops splashed around the tips on their downward trek.
“Reach further.”
I did and was surprised when my fingers were blocked by something cool. “Glass,” I said in wonder.
Once I felt it, the answer seemed so obvious. But having spent a number of days in a palace that was both natural and magical, it wasn’t always easy to separate the simple from the extraordinary.
The king nodded. “It must be clear to ensure transparency and therefore see the water coating it on the other side,” he explained.
“Which strengthens the illusion,” I concluded.
The king grinned at me much as he had the night of the banquet after I’d told my story. I was beginning to find that grin both charming and infuriating.
“A simple trick of the eyes,” he corrected.
“What His Majesty calls it does not change what it is,” I responded, rather impudently, I believe.
The king remained unfazed. He simply looked at me, and though his expression was not accusatory, it was very focused. “It makes a difference,” he insisted. “Like any choice of words.”
I didn’t reply to that. There wasn’t really much I could say to counter it, anyway. Sure, he’d spent a life in politics, but I’d also lived a life daily affected by how things were phrased. I’d also lived a life where I’d been called one thing and then another, and still I felt it was the same me insi
de. Then there was also the little man and his urgency to guard his name to protect himself. Either way, I certainly couldn’t deny that a careless choice of words was the only reason we were having that conversation at all.
That encounter aside, it was during those two rather pleasant weeks that a number of small, yet important, incidents occurred that would have a decisive impact on what could have been my last day at the palace.
The first, as to be expected, was Merlin’s visit to tell the king that his master had passed from this world. He came just as the king was sitting down to lunch, a rather inopportune time for news of that kind.
I was only there to see it because after that initial week of taking meals in my room, I had been graciously invited to join the rest of the court for the afternoon and evening meals in the main hall. Some would prove to be larger affairs than others, as every day welcomed and sent off any number of visitors. Lunches were usually quieter, and so there were only about two handfuls of people in the room when Merlin entered. The king hadn’t even reached his seat when Merlin strode purposefully forward and immediately knelt before him.
“Rise, apprentice mage,” the king said. “Eat with us, then share the message from your master.”
Merlin rose, but kept his head bowed. Even if his coming to the king to relay his sad news was only part of a role he had to play, he didn’t have to contrive the pain or sense of loss he still acutely felt from his master’s death.
“Rather, my message is about my master, Your Majesty,” Merlin declared quietly.
The king paused, no doubt instantly catching on to Merlin’s choice of words.
“Speak,” he commanded.
Merlin took a ragged breath. “I’ve come to inform His Majesty that my master met an untimely death,” Merlin said, his voice wavering. “We mourn him greatly.”
The king suddenly grew very quiet and very still. All sound in the room ceased. Only Lady Mulberry dared break the silence. “How tragic!” she gasped, with all the melodrama only someone like her could muster.
Lies of Golden Straw Page 14