The Dragon of Trelian (16 page)

These thoughts always ran through her mind during the times when Wilem, too, seemed reflective and quiet. Tonight they were sitting near the fountain, keeping close to the castle (as most people did since the night of the creature in the garden) but with the tall and graceful trees to provide a measure of privacy and the soothing sound of the water to mask their words should anyone venture close enough to overhear. Not that there was anything
to
hear at the moment; they were just sitting, Wilem’s hand resting mere inches from her own as he gazed off into the night, Meg staring dreamily at his profile. Her current favorite fantasy was of the day of Maerlie’s swiftly approaching wedding. She pictured herself dancing with Wilem in the crowded hall, everyone’s eyes upon them but their own eyes only on each other. She imagined he was a fine dancer. In real life she knew she would never astound anyone with her gracefulness, but when she danced with Wilem in her mind, she was as light on her feet as a feather, twirling with perfect timing and basking in the glow of his attention and the heated envy of every other girl in the castle.

She sighed inwardly and forced herself back to reality. Not that being in the courtyard with Wilem was such a dreadful reality to return to. Still, she hated when he caught her looking at him that way, certain that he was able to see inside her mind and know what she’d been dreaming. Better to wait until later, when she could play out the entire evening in her mind uninterrupted.

Wilem was still staring out at the surrounding darkness, his eyes focused on something only he could see. She wished she could read his mind as easily as she imagined he could read hers. Instead she had to resort to clumsy questions.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked softly.

He started slightly, and Meg let herself fancy he might have been entertaining his own romantic fantasy about the two of them. He looked at her and smiled.

“I was thinking about Ryant getting married. In less than a week, he and Princess Maerlie will be wed and everything will change.”

She nodded. “They’ll be starting a whole new life together, a different life.”

His smile twisted slightly. “Actually, I was thinking more about myself, I’m afraid. I’ve grown so accustomed to spending my time at Ryant’s side, but now . . .”

Meg thought she understood. “He’ll need to spend that time with Maerlie. Or much of it, anyway. And then with their children, if they are so blessed.” She made the sign of the Lady without thinking, touching her fist to her heart and then holding her palm out in front of her, fingers extended like the rays of the life-giving sun.

“It’s selfish, I know,” he said. “And I am happy for them both, of course. I will just need to — readjust — to the new order of things.” He shook his head ruefully. “How the prince would mock me if he heard me talk like this. But even the little changes will be hard to get used to. I won’t be able to drop by his quarters for a drink at night, once his rooms become hers as well.”

“I’m sure Maerlie would never object to . . .” She trailed off. “No, you’re right. Although, surely they’ll have chambers large enough in Kragnir for each of them to have their own space?”

Wilem nodded. “Of course. And I know I will still see plenty of my dear friend. But I believe the evenings will belong to his new wife, especially in the beginning.”

Meg opened her mouth to reassure him, and then closed it, realizing what he was referring to.
I will not blush,
she thought fiercely, even as she felt the slow fire begin creeping up from her neck.
He will think me an innocent child now.
She glanced away, unable to meet his eyes.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Meglynne. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

She forced herself to look up. “Oh, you didn’t. Not really. I just — I just hadn’t been thinking . . .”

“No, of course not. I think men tend to speak more frankly of these things.” He was clearly uncomfortable now, which made her feel even worse. “I shouldn’t have made such a comment in your presence.”

She could see him folding in on himself, reaching back for the formality of their earlier conversations.
No,
she thought.
No, you don’t. I don’t want to lose what closeness we’ve gained.
She swallowed and made herself speak far more casually than she felt. “It’s not as though women never speak of such things,” she said quietly. “The wedding night is not just an afterthought to the wedding itself, after all.”

“I’m not even certain what the custom is here, in that regard,” he said.

Meg stared at him.

“No — I didn’t mean — I meant where the couple will stay until they leave for Kragnir. At home, the bride would move into the groom’s chambers, but here, since the groom is not the host . . .”

“They’re preparing a special wedding suite,” Meg said, relieved to actually have something to say to help guide the conversation to somewhat firmer ground —
where
the bride and groom would retire after the wedding, instead of what they might be doing once they got there. “It’s the largest of the guest suites, at the end of the east wing near the tower, and this way it will be a new space for both of them, as seems fitting for the first night of their new lives. She’s been keeping the location a secret from the prince, wanting to surprise him — you won’t say anything, will you? She doesn’t want him to see it before the wedding night. No one knows which room it will be except for us and the servants she trusts most.” She bit her lip and added, “Well, and now you, of course.”

“Your secret is safe with me, Princess.” He gave her one of his small, sad smiles. Perhaps he was thinking more about missing his friend once he was wed; his smile seemed a bit smaller and sadder than usual.

He looked at her a moment more, then rose and suggested that the hour was growing late. Meg supposed it was, at that. She felt the familiar tug-of-war inside her of disappointment and excitement: disappointment that her time with him was ending for the evening, excitement at the thought that maybe, this time, he might attempt to kiss her before they said good night. It didn’t seem so very inappropriate to wish for that; they’d been spending a lot of time together, and none of the parents seemed to have any objection. And wasn’t that how these things worked? A boy and a girl started spending time together, they talked, they held hands, and then, eventually, he kissed her. She’d read enough romance stories to know how it was supposed to go, she thought. And if he didn’t kiss her soon . . . did that mean he didn’t want to? Or that the notions of appropriate behavior were just different where he came from? She wished he’d hurry up so she could stop wondering!

They walked together back into the castle. He was holding her hand, as he so often did now when they walked together, and Meg tried to communicate silently through that tenuous connection, sending him clear and explicit permission to kiss her. Sadly, it didn’t seem to function as well as her link with Jakl did. At the thought of the dragon, she felt him shift his distant awareness to her, questing toward her through the link. Their bond was strong enough now that she could feel him everywhere in the castle. Sometimes that was nice, but at this moment . . .
No, not
now,
you stupid dragon.
She was with
Wilem
now; she didn’t want to have to share this moment with Jakl, too. She didn’t know how to make him understand that, though, so she just pushed him — gently but firmly — away and strengthened the wall between them that Calen had taught her to create.

“Meg?” Wilem was talking to her; how long had he been talking to her? Meg wrenched her focus back outward again.

“I’m sorry, Wilem — I was lost in thought for a moment. What were you saying?”

They had stopped walking, and he was looking down at her, smiling one of those heart-twisting smiles.

“Your hand, Meg. You were, um . . .”

With horror she realized she was gripping his hand tightly enough to make his flesh white. “Oh, gods, I’m sorry —” She tried to let go, but he didn’t let her. She stared at their joined hands in confusion, and then he took his other hand and lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. His lovely, sad, warm, dark, impossibly deep eyes. Their color seemed to swirl and change; she couldn’t tell if they were brown or hazel or black or some new shade of dark that had no name and existed only there — here — in Wilem’s eyes and no place else. She felt as if she could quite literally drown in those eyes. Drown and be happily, truly, wonderfully lost forever. She knew she should look away, but she couldn’t, and besides, his hand was still gently holding her chin, and those eyes, his eyes, his face, drew closer, she could see his mouth parting, and she felt her own mouth mirror his, and her eyes closed almost before she could tell them to and then suddenly, shockingly, his lips were pressed against her own and she thought she had never felt anything so soft and perfect and warm and then she didn’t seem to have any thoughts at all except the one dreamy refrain,
He’s kissing me, kissing me, Wilem is kissing me. . . .

At some point he must have taken his leave, because Meg realized she was somehow standing inside the door of her room, standing even though she could feel that really she was floating and her feet couldn’t possibly truly be touching the floor. Her heart was beating very fast.
So this is what it feels like,
she marveled. Did Maerlie feel like this when Ryant kissed her? Was it going to feel like this every time? She wanted to tear open the door and run back down the hall after him and kiss him again and again to find out.

She managed to resist that urge. Barely.

It took her a long while to regain some semblance of normal thought and function. She took several moments to replay the kiss in her mind a few times, then forced herself to
stop
thinking about it because otherwise she didn’t believe she could move from where she was leaning against the closed door. Finally, her heartbeat as close to back to normal as it was likely to get anytime soon, she smoothed out her dress and touched her hair to make sure it was still in place and then crossed to the inner door and the short back hallway that led to the private entrances to her sisters’ rooms. She poked her head in Maurel’s door to say a quick good night, then continued on toward Maerlie’s room, praying she’d find her sister there.

Meg knocked and stood bouncing on her toes until she heard Maerlie answering, “Come in!” She practically bounded inside. Maerlie was seated at her desk. When she saw Meg’s face, she put down the letter she’d been reading and stood up. She took Meg’s hand and led her to the bed, where they sat facing each other. Maerlie was still holding Meg’s hand in hers.

“Tell me what happened,” Maerlie said.

“He kissed me,” Meg whispered. She felt herself grinning like an idiot, but she didn’t care. It felt good to feel so happy. Maerlie grinned back, and that made it even better.

“And?” Maerlie asked.

“And? And what? It was . . . oh, Maer, it was wonderful.” She laughed and reached up to touch her face. “Look, I can’t stop smiling.”

Maerlie giggled. “I noticed.”

“It was like time stopped, and there was nothing else but the two of us. That must sound so silly. . . .”

“No, Meg, it doesn’t. I know just what you mean.”

Meg flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “Why can’t it stay like this, Maer? Why can’t you and Prince Ryant stay here, and Wilem too, and it can always be like this and we can all be happy and stay together. . . .”

And then without warning, Meg burst into tears.

In an instant, Maerlie’s arms were around her, gathering her up into a fierce hug. “Shh,” Maerlie murmured, holding her close. “Meg, shh, it’s okay.”

“Don’t go,” Meg whispered. “Please don’t go, Maerlie. How can I get by without you here? I won’t be able to stand it. Please.”

“Oh, Meg.” Maerlie pulled away slightly and reached up to smooth Meg’s hair back from her face. “You know I have to go. But we’ll see each other again before too long, you know that. And you’ll be fine. You will — you’ll see. And besides, I’m not leaving tomorrow. The wedding’s still six days away — that’s plenty of time for you to get sick of me.”

Meg shook her head but couldn’t help smiling a little.

Maerlie smiled back. “And plenty of time for more kisses with your Wilem,” she added.

Meg was grinning again before she could help it, and Maerlie laughed.

And then Meg was laughing, too, even with the tears still leaking at the corners of her eyes. “Argh!” she said. “This is crazy. How can I be so happy and so sad at the same time?”

“That’s love, my dear sister,” Maerlie said softly. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped gently at Meg’s face. “That’s love.”

Meg’s sleep was long in coming that night. She lay awake, certain she could feel the dragon reaching for her through the link, probing at her mind and emotions. He was definitely getting stronger, better able to touch her in that way. Meg kept the barrier up, blocking Jakl’s presence from flooding in unchecked, but she worried that eventually he’d find a way around it. And then what? Calen seemed sure that he wouldn’t actually take over her mind, but Meg didn’t have the same confidence. It seemed to her that Jakl was always trying to push their connection as far as it would go, and she always had to keep holding him back.

Sleep!
she thought at him, even though she knew he couldn’t hear her words that way.

She wondered suddenly what Calen was doing right then. Was he sleeping? Catching up on his studies for Serek? Or sneaking into the library to steal more information for her? She wished she didn’t have to ask him to risk getting in trouble on her account. He really didn’t seem to mind, though. She suspected he was almost as eager to learn about dragons as she was — he always seemed so excited about the latest details he was able to discover. Plus, she knew, he was just glad to help her. That’s just how he was. She smiled in the darkness. Somehow she’d been able to tell right away how nice he would be, despite the fact that their first meeting began with him almost falling out the window and then that silly argument. She’d known she could trust him. And of course she’d been right. She felt she could tell him anything.