"My lady," said Merlin on the shortest day, after the fires had been lit and the court were milling around Camelot's great hall, sipping warm Yule wine ahead of the night's midwinter feast.
"Merlin," Mithian said.
Their argument seemed foolish now, under candlelight and in the throng of a great court. She wore a scarlet gown, a tribute to her hosts, and her cheeks were once again plump and rosy. Merlin wore what he always did, for the King, in mistaken kindness, had set him to work, thinking to take his friend's mind off Mithian's imminent departure.
Mithian smiled at the physician, her Merlin, and touched his arm. Surely the whole court knew by now anyway. If everyone could not see her happiness, they were as much fools as she had once been. But Merlin's answering look was serious. "What is it? Is something wrong?"
He drew her to stand by the window, their backs to the room. The two-foot thick walls gave a great wide sill, and beyond it a narrow window glazed in wavy green.
Merlin placed his hands on the grey stone sill. "I want to ask you something and I want you to tell me the truth. Even if you think the truth is not what I want."
"What is it?"
He lifted one hand from the sill and beneath it was a tiny rose, white, a mere bud, the last of any such this year. Mithian blinked. She had not seen any sleight of hand to hide a bloom.
He stopped her question with a look, and lifted his other hand. Beneath it lay a pearly white snowdrop flower, very early, from some sheltered part of Camelot kitchen garden no doubt. It was beautiful, and perfect, a sign of the distant spring.
"Will you marry me?" he said. She stared in amazement and began to exclaim. "Wait. I will walk away, and you must consider. Wear one of these as your answer, at the feast tonight."
Mithian starred at the tiny winter rose and the spring snowdrop. "Merlin..."
"If the answer is no then wear the rose. I will know that our time together has been nothing but a season in my life, a moment that I must try to forget when you are gone.
"If there is any hope, any chance you would stay and be my love, my wife, whatever arrangement we can make, then wear the snowdrop, a sign that you will stay and look for spring with me."
He placed the flowers in her hand and cupped both his around them. He kissed her hands, bowed and walked away.
Mithian cradled the fragile blooms. Merlin's devotion in her hands.
She knew already what her heart would answer, but duty showed another destiny.
She stood a long while, holding two choices, and at last went to walk under the midwinter stars, and ask what they would advise.
Mithian closed the books. In the end, the answers she sought were not in the stars but in ancient wisdom, the wisdom she should have looked for straight away. In her grief and loss her mind had become muddled. She had been lucky, so lucky, that her plan involved only Merlin, and not some charlatan who would want his offspring on her throne.
She sighed. Only Merlin. That was not at all what she meant. Her luck had gone so far beyond her hopes, in finding him. He was honest, strong, brave, and everything a lover should be. On top of this he was clever, and kind, and had tried to protect her from her own foolishness. But he had succumbed, as she had, to love, and now they both had a chance to make themselves truly unhappy.
Mithian stood, and replaced the books on their shelves. She stood listening, but there was no sign of Merlin's old uncle.
She ought to go and change her gown for the feast tonight. She had planned to wear white, for her departure as well as her arrival. If she lingered now, there would not be time.
She took a breath, steadied herself, and strode to Merlin's room. Crouching, she found the book under his bed.
Almanacs can tell you many things, but not when it is time to crack open a secret, or mend an aching heart.