Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle) (8 page)

             
He pointed to his forehead. “They carve blue moons between their eyes. They are small, and their garments are made of fur.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “If you see one, you will know.”

             
“Is Morgaina of the fairy folk?” I asked, remembering how he had searched my forehead before believing I was not her.

             
“She was raised with them and took the mark, but she is not quite one of them.” He stopped, scowling at the mention of her then turned in a small circle observing the vast amount of trees around him.

             
“What is she?”  I was curious now.

             
He shifted his eyes down at me. “She is a sorceress, amongst many other things that I shall not name in front of a lady.” He shrugged his shoulders again, looking up towards the slanted treetops. “She uses demons and black magic to do her drudgery.” His gaze was still tilted upward, but I could see the emeralds watching me from the corners. “She is powerful…” he drawled out in a chilling tone, “evil in its foulest form.”

             
I glanced around, feeling very uneasy at the dark shadows that crept from the forest trees in places where the sun could not penetrate through. I couldn’t help but feel that she was near, watching us, and the idea of it suddenly made him seem like a teddy bear. “Aren’t you afraid?” I blurted out.

             
He chuckled. “Why should
I
be afraid?”

             
“Because she could kill you.”

             
He smiled wickedly again, as he began walking forward. “I do not fear death, girl.”

             
My eyes widened, shocked at his words, which only seemed to entertain him. “But it is human nature to fight for survival,” I mumbled, not really sure what to say. 

He stopped and turned to face me, the sinfu
l gleam brightening in his eyes. “If it was in your nature to survive, you would have released the bracelet.” He put one hand behind my neck and roughly yanked my head towards him, leaning down close to my face, nose-to-nose, making my heart beat so fast, I was sure it would burst. “Your instincts should have told you to run from me,” he whispered sardonically. He put a few inches between our faces, green eyes sparkling with nefarious amusement, as he slowly lowered his hand from my neck. “But here you are.”

My legs felt flimsy
, and I tried to swallow down the acid rising in my stomach, but it was nearly impossible with the huge knot that had tangled once again in my throat.

“How are you to know I will not
leave you to fend for yourself.” He tilted his head down, as his eyes peered threateningly at me. “Or take your life myself?”

I stepped back from him
, bumping into a tree behind me. “Y—you saved me from that dragon…”

             
He crossed his arms over his red tunic. “I saved myself.” He smirked matter-of-factly, and there was a truth to his words. After all, of course he had to fight it off; he would have been killed as well. I had expected fight or flight to make a showing but neither did, both appearing to be as afraid of him as I was, and so there I stood—alone and trembling—staring dumbly at him like a deer caught in the headlights. 

             
The right side of his mouth curled up wider showing all his marvelous teeth. “See
now
you understand,” he said slowly, as if reading my mind, pointing his tanned index finger at me. “You
should
fear me.”

             
Abstraction was all that remained as his words pierced into my mind. Mr. Riley had said he wasn’t mentioned in the legends of Arthur’s heroes because he disappeared before Arthur was king, but it was starting to become obvious that maybe he wasn’t mentioned because he wasn’t a hero at all—at least not the typical fairytale knight in shining armor kind—and if he wasn’t the hero, did that mean he was the villain?

His eyes glittered, clearly delighted by my reactions. Then he grabbed my wrist again and pulled me through the trail, causing my arm to tingle once more. “Worry not,” he said with a friendly chuckle, eyes softening
as his mood completely changed. “You are safe for now.”

“D—
do you like scaring people?” I stammered, panic melting into confusion. His mood changes were too rapid for me to keep up, and he seemed to be enjoying this quite a bit. I suddenly had no idea if he really
was
mean or just liked to appear to be, after all who was I to determine which side was genuine; I didn’t know him at all.

“Yes very much so,” he replied bluntly with a slight shrug, “but it is their own insecurity that makes them fearful.”

“Is this all just some game to you?” I tried to sound demanding, hating the stir of emotions he had caused, but my voice only came out weak.

“Everything is a game, Katarina,” he said, using my name for the first time,
and I hated how much I liked it, “and all that matters is how well you play it.” His harmonious voice was nonchalant, and he wore a charismatic grin, but his eyes were sadistic, baffling me all the more.

I only knew one thing for certain; he was right. My instincts
should
have told me to flee. I
should
have been afraid of him, but in that moment I wasn’t, and I wasn’t sure if ever would be again. His ambiguity caused an allure that stifled the intended alarm, doubt was muffled with interest, and curiosity subdued the fear. I was immersed, consumed with contemplating the makings of this apparent eighth wonder of the world, and it left no room for cautionary intuition.

He
strut forward, shoulders straight, and appearing to not fear any of the things he had been warning me about, as he walked carelessly through the despondent wasteland. I scampered after him as he veered further left off the beaten ground littered with fallen leaves, following the flow of the small stream that sang a song as water rushed over pebbles and rocks. The birds joined in on the chorus, giving what had once seemed like a fearful forest a sudden calming peace, changing almost as swiftly as his moods. We left behind the grim enchanted places and after some time, found our way into an area that was vivacious, filled with flowers brighter than I could have ever imagined, only dulled by the brilliance of the man before me.

For most of the walk, he had remained deep in his thoughts, seeming to not want to be bothered, but the silence began tormenting me. I had been flawed with an inquisitive nature, and he… well, he was a question I could spend the rest of my life trying to answer. I knew I should keep my distance; he was perilous and unpredictable, but despite the impending threat of danger, I had become nothing more than a mindless fish drawn to a sparkling lure, willing to do just about anything for a bite.  

“What do you think brought you to that field?” I started carefully, leaning up against a large tree with branches that spiraled out in different directions forming an almost perfect ladder, reminding me of the trees I use to climb when I went hiking with my grandfather.

He looked at me like he forgot I was even there then wrinkled his perfectly sculpt eyebrows. “I do not remember clearly,” he muttered.

Disappointmen
t resurfaced. “You don’t know
anything
?”

He
sighed and gripped a chunk of his hair. “I know we are near Tintigal, assuming all is as before.” He dropped his hand frustrated. “Mordegrant was placed on the throne by his kin who is married to Morgaina’s aunt. Morgaina’s father had long ago been lord over Tintigal, and she still thinks herself to be the rightful heir, often remaining in this area, which is certainly why she was here.” He pouted his full lips. “But I remember nothing of the curse nor do I know why
I
would come to this
loathsome
place.”

“Loathsome?” I placed my foot on the lower branch and began climbing to get a better view of the endless rolling green hills that peeked out from
a copious forest, blooming with vibrant colors announcing the life of spring. “What do you mean loathsome? It’s beautiful here.” I leaned my cheek against the branch and watched two blue birds with white bellies swoop down low, one chasing the other before looking back down at him.

He stared up at me, one eyebrow lowered and one raised as though baffled and seemingly certain I had lost my mind. I felt my cheeks burn, realizing I had been caught in my own world for a moment and
, once again, probably looked absolutely ridiculous to him. I blinked and turned my face away, cringing inside. “So would that be Arthur’s aunt too?” I mumbled, trying to ignore my embarrassment, as I carefully worked my way back to the ground

“Uh, aye
.” He seemed to be at a loss for words, as he watched me descend, and I hated myself for being so odd, as Stacey put it, especially in front of someone as perfect as him. “But he hardly knows her,” he continued hurriedly, glancing away awkwardly for a moment. “Arthur was taken as a baby and hidden; they only knew him to be Uther’s son after he pulled the sword.”

“That’s terrible to be taken from your family so young.” I wiped my dirty hands onto the sides of my jeans, ignoring the slight ache from the rough branches that dug into my skin.

He scrunched the left side of his face, looking at me like I was unintelligent. “Had he stayed, he certainly would have been killed. Ector was more of a father to him than Uther would ever have been, had he lived.”

I knew I should stop before his mood changed again
, but I was still hungry for more. “How do you know?”

He scoffed slightly. “All kings are terrible fathers.” H
is eyebrow burrowed in irritation. “Besides, he was only a baby. He knew no different.”

I hooked my thumbs onto the lower straps of my backpack adjusting it,
mentally taking note that as he was in fact a prince, which meant his own father was a king, and according to his reasoning, must have been a terrible one. “So did you only know him after he pulled the sword too?”

He glanced away, shifting his weight
. “That is when I first knew him to be my cousin, but we had been raised together.”

“
You lived with Ector too?” I hedged.

He kept his eyes averted
, but I saw the muscles in his jaw flex out. “No,” he said gruffly, as he began walking again.

“Where did you—”

“You know,” he interrupted, his eyes darting around as though he were searching for scattered items to gather. “Arthur pulled the sword when we were only of fifteen summers.” The words came out fast, as he continued rummaging the landscape. “But these old dogs would not hear of having a boy rule over them,” he continued. I had a feeling he had meant to distract me, and it worked. “So after days of deliberation they finally decided to call him the Battle Duke of Britain until he could prove he was fit to rule. It was Uther’s old title when Aurelious ruled—” 

“Who is Aurelious?” 

“Our uncle,” he replied indifferently, “and Arthur wears the title proudly. They only meant to make a fool of him,” he said pointing at me, “but he quickly proved them all wrong.” His green eyes gleamed with mischief.

“What do you mean?” I asked, boiling over with curiosity.

He raised his eyebrows, enjoying the suspense of it. “Well, after a few months, old King Lucan began causing trouble.” He pulled me by my elbow as he crossed the small stream, lithely placing his feet on the stones and guiding me to do the same.

“He was testing Arthur
, so of course we had to face him. Now, I would have just gone to find Lucan on the field to take him there, sword to sword.” He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, eyes off in a different world for a brief moment before turning his gaze back to me, smiling slightly. “But we were outnumbered and Arthur was smart, a lot smarter than me. He rode right up to Lucan’s castle, and in God’s truth it was the grandest place I had seen, just like the palaces in Rome.” He spread his arms wide, emeralds twinkling as he spoke. “And that damned fool of a king left it unguarded, thinking we meant to meet him on the battlefield. Arthur stormed in as though he had been crowned High King since birth, and Bedivere—as cunning as he is—played right along demanding that they all cook a feast for the Battle Duke of Britain! The measly servants all scrambled, ashamed of their impertinence, and while Artos and Bed kept them distracted with demands, the rest of our guard took control of all the gates around his massive wall.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the excitement that rose in his voice as he spoke. He stopped, quickly inspecting our surroundings before continuing our path uphill.

“Then what?” I prompted impatiently. 

He smiled.
“Well, the next morn Lucan arrived, spitting mad. He bellowed all day and night for Arthur to open the gates, but Arthur would not come, infuriating him all the more. Imagine him being locked out of his own castle!” He put a hand up to his jaw, holding it for a moment while he chuckled at the memory.

“By the following morning
, Lucan was ready to have each of our heads upon sticks, so finally Artos went to meet him. He stood high upon the turret as it were his own castle, yawned as though he were nothing but bored, and innocently asked why he had been disrupting us all night.” His wicked smile spread wider across his face. “Lucan was enraged, but Arthur was not close to being done. After a heated argument, he proceeded to set fire to piles hay, telling Lucan it is his castle that he is being burned. You should have heard the things Lucan said.” He grinned, laughing to himself again, liking it far more than he should. “And he was so afraid of his precious palace being destroyed that he finally heeded to Arthur’s demands, giving us a hundred of his men for our war band and finally swore his fealty to Arthur, all without a single drop of blood.”