Then the blade leaped off the wall into her hand.
And the song ceased.
Morgan looked at the sword she held. The silence of it was as deafening as the noise had been before. The blade continued to glow with a soft light that was so exquisite she simply could not look away.
And then it too subsided, until Morgan could only see a faint glow. She realized that the song was still there, sung between the sword and the knife, but faint enough that it didn't trouble her. She took a deep breath, finding that she hadn't breathed in quite a while.
She held the blade in her hand and turned to look behind her for the first time.
The great hall was full of people who were all staring at her as if they'd seen either a miracle or a nightmare.
Morgan understood completely.
To her right stood Adhémar. He was watching with a look of satisfaction on his face. Her company was standing directly before her on the other side of the table. They were watching her with varying degrees of amazement.
And there, to her left, stood Miach. Alone. Apart. Watching her with an expression she couldn't identify. She wanted to walk around the table and fling herself into his arms, but she found she couldn't move. All she could do was stand there with her feet rooted to the ground and clutch the new sword in her hand.
But then a voice cut through the silence like a particularly sharp blade.
"And who, pray tell, is this?"
Morgan looked about the chamber, feeling a little drunken with what was going on inside her head, and searched feebly for the speaker of those words. She found, at length, a woman who had come to stand next to Adhémar.
The woman was, put simply, the most beautiful creature Morgan had ever seen. She was perfectly coiffed, perfectly dressed, perfectly mannered. Perfection embodied. She even spoke with perfect crispness, as if she could not have permitted anything less.
"Could no one find her a bath?" the woman demanded.
Morgan felt compelled to answer. She had to have some excuse for her filthy clothes, her boots that had tromped through mud, manure, and snow, and her hair which she was quite certain she hadn't brushed since Miach had done it for her. Morgan took her free hand and pushed her hair back from her face. "I was going to today," she managed. "Bathe, I mean." She paused and drew in a ragged breath. "I was distracted."
The woman raked her with a look that was perfectly callous. "One does not enter the king's great hall in such a state."
Morgan nodded dumbly. Of course not. But the song…
"Who are you?" the woman demanded. "Why are you here? "
Morgan would have asked the same thing, but she was not quite herself and this was not her hall. She took a deep breath. "I am Morgan. I have something for the king." She paused. "A blade. I was charged with its delivery. "
"Well," the woman said shortly. "Give it to him and be off with you before we have to clean the floors again."
Morgan looked around, wondering where the king might be hiding. She'd never seen him, save on his coins, and those could have been any man wearing a crown. There were no crowns to be seen in the hall at present, no robes trimmed in ermine, no cloaks of purple velvet. Perhaps he was still busy.
Then again, there was a man standing near Adhémar wearing quite nice clothes. He had no crown, though, so Morgan continued to look.
"Um," she said finally, feeling very uncomfortable with everyone staring at her. She couldn't even bring herself to touch the mark over her brow. She was past that now. She was so far out of her usual existence, she couldn't have recited one of Weger's strictures if her life had depended on it. It was all she could do not to tall to her knees and weep. "I don't see the king," she whispered miserably.
"Is this possible?" the woman said with a humorless laugh, it. "Is it possible that this ragged country wench does not know who the king is?"
Morgan did not care for the slight, but could not bring herself to defend her honor She was too desperate to get the sword out of her hand, the knife in the king's and be on her way. She looked at the woman hopefully. "Do you know who he is?"
The woman looked at Adhémar in astonishment. "Adhémar? "
Morgan shrugged. She was not above asking Adhémar, though she couldn't imagine he knew any better than she did. "Very well," she said. "Adhémar,do youknow the king?"
The woman's laughter was painful to listen to. It left bits of ice in the air as it wafted toward Morgan. "You foolish girl, heisthe king."
Morgan blinked. "No, he isn't."
"Adhémar, you should perhaps improve your likeness on your coinage," the woman said scornfully.
