Chapter 38 Galwell
Galwell
None of his friends knew Galwell the Great was questing again.
Questing he was, however. On his own. Understandably, this would concern his companions. But it was important he complete
his present errand personally.
The month since everyone had returned from Vestriya had been joyous for Mythria. It had not been pleasant for Galwell, however.
Mona was gone. Having forgiven Celine, she’d explained to Galwell, she needed time to reflect upon who she was. She’d requested
Galwell go home without her.
The decision frightened the hero. He would’ve volunteered to venture into the Grimauld Mines rather than wonder if Mona would
decide she was someone who did not care for him.
But he would hold on to every moment they’d shared, would hold on to his wonderment and gratitude that she had survived Chestlewitt’s
killing sword stroke. The realm with her in it was more important than her loving him.
He walked a winding road, surveying his surroundings. The village was carved entirely into the enormous cliffs over the Southern
Sea, which churned and rolled endlessly to the horizon. White-stone homes were nestled up against the contoured roads winding
up, down, and even into the cliffs themselves. The perilous conditions made this village one of Mythria’s most secluded municipalities.
None of Galwell’s quests had ever carried him to the quiet region.
Until now, when reports of a dangerous Vestriyan criminal in Mythria had required Galwell’s immediate attention.
He was giving said criminal’s perfect curves his attention right now, very avidly. She walked ahead of him, wearing a dark
hood, but he would recognize her swaying steps, her perfect ass anywhere.
Especially here, in Cloudcliff Village.
Where the Grandharts lived, Mona had said, after reading Clare’s mind. Their parents sought seclusion from their old lives
on the unforgiving cliffs. Knowing of Mona’s vow, Clare had made the difficult decision to cut off communication with his
sister to protect them.
Galwell had hoped that forgiving Celine meant Mona would relinquish her obsession with revenge upon her parents. Finding her
here was . . . worrisome.
Mona reached her destination. The simple wooden door of the small home, sculpted of white stone, was no different from the
surrounding cliffside houses. Except, Galwell suspected, in one very important way—the occupants.
Mona reached for her hip, where, Galwell remembered, she often kept her favorite knife. How many times had he seen her draw
her devastating weapon of choice? Never idly. Did she intend to storm into her parents’ home and torture or kidnap them? Or
worse?
Legends never wait, Galwell reminded himself.
Nor, he decided, did very concerned ex-lovers.
He rushed past the wandering roadside merchants whose high-piled wares had provided him cover. He was close to Mona now, poised
to halt her—
Mona spun, pressing her knife to his throat. The blade looked less sharp than her grin.
“You can’t sneak up on a mind reader, Galwell the Guileless,” she chided. “And thank you for the compliments to my ass. I
enjoyed them very much.”
Neither the knife nor the mocking troubled Galwell.
Not while he stared into Mona’s eyes for the first time since Vestriya.
They overwhelmed him. Perfectly, marvelously blue.
He doubted he could ever gaze into them without remembering the reviving flame of harpy enchantment, the source of his greatest gratitude.
Yet the truth was, for Galwell, that life-changing magic had shone like fire in Mona’s eyes since the moment he met her.
He pressed forward, letting her knife dig into his throat and not caring. He needed to be closer to her.
Mona’s eyes widened. “How reckless of you.”
“If I’m to be killed, I’d choose your blade,” Galwell said.
“You flatter me,” Mona replied.
“As long as I draw breath,” he promised.
Mona rolled her eyes. The pink in her cheeks betrayed her, however. Galwell smiled. He knew Mona the Merciless well enough
to know that his sentimentality worked on the oh-so-hardened criminal.
She did not protest. Indeed, she even lowered her knife.
Mona’s demeanor changed, weary wariness raising her defenses. “So you’ve come to stop my crimes?” she inquired.
“Please, Mona,” Galwell returned immediately. He’d rehearsed this part on the wagon ride over. “You can’t exact revenge on
your parents. Please. Give yourself the second chance you deserve. Move on from this.”
Mona did not look convinced. She did not laugh, though, or sneer or spit vitriol in his face. She sheathed her knife.
“You know, I thought you’d write,” she said.
The unhidden emotion in her voice startled Galwell. No petulant playfulness or ironic indignation.
“I—I didn’t know—I thought you wanted—” he managed. He wished he’d rehearsed this in the wagon.
Fortunately, Mona interrupted him. “If not to propose undying love for me after our night of extraordinary physical intimacy, then at least for sacrificing myself to save your life.”
Galwell laughed, which only earned a beautiful scowl from Mona.
“No, I’m not laughing at you,” he hastened to say. “You are right. You know I resented my friends for always saving me. I
didn’t know how to be the one in need of rescue. I thought it made me less of a hero.”
He thought of his first days in Mythria after being revived, how much guilt and confusion he felt while his friends disrupted
their lives to try to make him happy.
“What a fool I was,” he continued. “When you sacrificed yourself for me—I was horrified. Not because of your act but because
of the cost. But when you came back to life, I didn’t resent you for what you’d done. Not one bit. Knowing you wanted to save
me doesn’t make me weak or worthless. It makes me stronger. It makes me a better hero. I am merely grateful someone like you
could care for someone like me.”
“Galwell the Grateful,” she mused, her eyes soft.
Galwell laughed once more, and this time Mona smiled. He recalled when he doubtfully gave himself the honorific while watching
the dramatization of his own death in Farmount.
Now, hearing the nickname in Mona’s voice, the moniker rang true.
“And for the record,” he continued playfully, “I am also grateful for the unforgettable physical intimacy, and I love you
with everything I am and ever will be.”
Waves slammed the Cloudcliff cliffside, sending spray skyward. Mona went even pinker. “It’s nice to hear out loud. One doesn’t
always want to rely on what’s in someone’s mind.” She stepped closer, holding his gaze. “Actions and thoughts can be so very
different, after all.”
Insinuation hummed in her voice. She was—
Was she flirting with him?
Galwell suppressed his smile. He wanted to look composed despite his enormous, incredulous relief. Mona was here, in Mythria, in her parents’ hometown, and she was spending
time flirting with him!
It had to mean something. The opposite of ominous.
The Galwell who escaped death would not have known how to contend with this situation. Neither would the Galwell who fled
to Vestriya. Nor the Galwell who found himself caged in the club of the realm’s most notorious criminal.
Galwell the Great had learned many things on his latest, greatest quest, however. Including flirting!
Leaning against the white stone, he struck his cockiest pose.
“Is that so? Well, Mona, I certainly only have your actions and none of your words to judge by. Shall we go over them? Indeed, you were enthusiastic—vigorous, even—in
the bedchamber,” he praised her. “Or shall I say jail cell. Insatiable could even be employed.”
Mona grinned. She made no objection to his commentary.
“And then, of course, you chose to stay, to help us when threats closed in. That could have been for me. Or it could have
been out of the heroism in your heart,” he contended.
Now Mona grimaced.
Galwell forged ahead. “And we simply cannot forget you stepping in front of a sword for me. Romantically or heroically motivated?
I cannot really know,” he mused, enjoying his performance. “In some other life, I myself stepped in front of a sword meant
for someone else, and I certainly held no romantic notions for her. It was simply . . . the right thing to do.”
Mona pantomimed gagging.
“Cease this insistence on heroism and goodness. I did those things for the same reason I do everything,” she insisted. “Self-interest.”
“Self-interest?” he repeated. Legends never wait. “Why was it self-interest to save me?”
Galwell’s heart rate picked up. Her blade was to his throat once more—she just didn’t know it. Her next words, he felt, could
kill or save him. He leaned forward, closing in, pressing her up against the wall.
“Because I love you, you gryphon!” Mona shouted.
She clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes widening in mortification.
Galwell laughed. He didn’t hesitate. He swept Mona to him, hugging her in the embrace he’d dreamed of for weeks. She smelled
wonderful, Cloudcliff sea spray clinging to her perfect skin, enlivening her inimitable floral scent with the cold, clear
depth of the waters.
“I love you, too,” he murmured into her shoulder.
Mona laughed, the sound one of pure joy.
“I missed you,” she confessed.
“I missed you, too, Mona the Mooning,” he teased.
More laughter was on her lips when he crushed his mouth to hers. He kissed her with every hope and every straining fiber of
longing in him. He clutched her tight, indulging in every feel and taste and smell of her. He wanted never to stop.
He did, though. Long before he wished to, he ended the kiss.
“But, Mona,” he forced himself to say, “I cannot let you kill, torture, maim, kidnap, extort, or otherwise wreak any manner
of revenge on your parents.”
Mona pouted, then smirked. She did not look frustrated by his pronouncement. “Is that so?” she returned.
Giving him no opportunity to reply, she knocked on the door of the home they were pressed against. While they waited, Mona
threaded her fingers through his.
The woman who opened the door had eyes of sapphire. She was in her sixties, like the man peering out past her. Silver streaked his dusty blond hair. His nose was crooked.
Neither of them looked surprised to see Mona, Galwell realized. In confusion, he tensed, fearing some cunning machination
of Mona’s—
Which was when he noticed four place settings on the Grandharts’ humble wooden table.
“Mother, Father,” Mona greeted them, her demeanor stiff. Yet Galwell felt something straining under her curt politeness, something
like longing. “You received my letter, I take it?”
“Oh, Mona,” Mrs. Grandhart replied. Tears sprang to her eyes. “You can’t know how much it means to see you again. Please,
please come in.”
Mona shifted uncomfortably but did not withdraw. When she focused on the other woman, Galwell sensed her reading her mother’s
mind. Whatever she found there . . . oh, thank Ghosts, seemed to soften her. Clare was right. They had changed. People in their very worst of circumstances were rarely their best
selves. With the farthings Clare had sent them over the years, they’d had the chance to lead different lives.
Galwell realized that this meeting would not be the one he’d expected. Mona had forgiven her parents. Or she was on her way, which was enough. Forgiveness was a journey, not unlike a quest.
He felt relief down to the core of his soul, not much different from when Mona had recovered from Chestlewitt’s sword. Galwell
the Great, who’d escaped death himself, knew somebody could return to life in more ways than one.
He was inexpressibly glad Mona had chosen to return to a life surrounded by those who loved her. The new king of Vestriya’s
words entered his head. Hope does not start with punishment. It starts with forgiveness.
Mona stopped in the doorway. Instead of entering her parents’ home, she pulled Galwell forward.
“And this,” she announced, “is who I wrote to you of. I promised I would bring the man I love to meet you.”
The Grandharts’ gazes moved in unison to the enormous hero. When Mona locked eyes with Galwell, he startled.
Would bring the man—
He stifled delighted laughter. This meeting . . . rumors of Mona in Mythria . . . his ease in finding her in Cloudcliff Village . . .
Mona had planned all of it. Her devious plot. Him ensnared. He’d never been so happy to be foiled by a villain in all his
life.
He looked to the Grandharts. “It is my pleasure to meet you,” he greeted.
He wondered whether they knew who he was, or perhaps, out here on their cliffside, they did not. He should explain he was
also their son’s dear friend. Instead, he decided he would commence with something simple. Something true.
“I’m Galwell,” he said.
It was, he felt, the perfect place to begin.