Camelot Burning (6 page)

Eight

My father is the first to speak. “Your majesty,” he says, “Vivienne is but an imaginative—”

Arthur holds up a hand. “What did you say, girl?” It isn't out of anger, but curiosity.

I look around. At Merlin's face of warning. At Guinevere's empty eyes. At Marcus standing by the window. At his posture tensing, and his eyes falling shut with a strange sadness.

My hands shake. “I mean—”

“Don't be afraid. Speak, if what you have to say is the truth.”

Morgan's eyes narrow as though to caution me. It sends a chill over my skin. I rub my arms, pulling my sleeves tightly over my wrists. “I saw men outside the city walls. They wore black armor, and they … were not human.”

Merlin hesitates at my revelation, and his eyes search mine as though wondering,
What is it you might know?
I don't miss Morgan catching how Merlin's temper has now softened.

The sorcerer clears his throat. “Arthur, you cannot ignore this, boy.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I saw no one beyond the drawbridge—”

Morgan laughs. “Because there
was
no one. Arthur, the girl is lying. For attention, for a reward—for God knows what!”

I can't help but steal a glance at Marcus by the window. His shoulders slump over from fatigue; his eyelids are just as smudged as the rest. But unlike his companions, Marcus stands unthreatened by Morgan. He stares at me, full of melancholic questions, as though an alleged witch is not mere feet away. Out of embarrassment we should both look away, but don't.

“It's the truth,” I whisper, despite how Morgan's glare could shatter crystal.

“Morgan, your lies blacken your soul.” Merlin steps in front, holding out a subtle arm between the witch and me. “Blood is not thicker than the poison in your heart.”

Morgan clenches her fists until that blood drips to the floor from long, pointed nails. There's no sense of pain on her face, and I'm wondering if she is human. “I came in peace, Merlin.”

Lancelot's hand rests on the belt underneath his jacket, where his weapon lies. Fingers drum against his
fusionah
. He exchanges a peculiar glance of understanding with Guinevere. He might disobey the king, if needed.

And then what?

“Peace,” Merlin mutters, circling Morgan like a cat gauging a wounded mouse. “The witch is more likely to become with child again than issue a true statement of peace.”

Morgan's eyes snap up. Her hands are quick. Blood-stained fingers find the knife atop her plate, and soon the blade is piercing through the air for the sorcerer.

I scream, “Merlin!”

Merlin catches the knife before it can gouge out his left eye. He lowers the blade with the smallest smile. “It seems I've hit a nerve.”

Morgan's skin turns to a shade of harsh sunlight. Her eyes drop to the floor.

“You haven't lost your touch, Merlin,” she says in a cool voice. “I can't hear you inside my head chanting
Sensu Ahchla
so I know you haven't stolen that spell to read my mind and learn its contents. Knowledge of our kind alone has entrapped me.” She sighs. “I suppose I've waited long enough, now that you're here.”

Merlin frowns.

Morgan casts outstretched fingers toward him. Eyes lift, stark-white. Dark lips pull back over teeth.

“Laohchandrith!”

A ripple of blinding light twists in her hand.

Then vanishes.

Morgan's eyes flash with confusion. Her body recoils.

Lancelot's
fusionah
flies from its holster into his hand. The tarnished steel glints, every dent in the barrel, every twisted design, shining. He clicks back the hammer. The other knights follow suit and draw their weapons, as Percy loops Morgan's arms with his, binding her still.

Merlin is unfazed.

The whiteness in Morgan's eyes fades as she struggles against Percy. “Magic protects the kingdom. Merlin, you hypocrite—”

Merlin doesn't move. “You didn't know I'd stolen an incantation to protect Camelot? It was before the mechanical arts took rank over magic. Before I'd freed myself of my thievery of it. Seems my memory is going, or you'd already left to curse Lyonesse for being the last kingdom to abandon the pagan ways. You hoped to use a particular spell once you got here, didn't you, Morgan? One that needed to be done from inside the city walls, right in front of your targets, lest you would fail from afar. A quick, disarming spell I dare not repeat to weaken me first? Tsk, tsk. Has my own life taught you nothing?”

He approaches her. “What was that spell in question, though? Oh, blast. It's one of the inscriptions on my lower back. Wait—
Telum Paret,
yes? ‘The Obeying Weapon'? Very dangerous. Takes years to perfect. A terrible thievery of magic indeed. It would entrap us to your will, to anything you desired. You could have taken Camelot easily, and my own mind would have been nothing more than the empty teacup left here at your spot. Perhaps you would have entertained legend and sought impossible, lost coordinates. And I would have become the slave to help you.”

He leans in close to study her. Gold-rimmed eyes shine against her agonized gray ones. “Yes, it would have been quite the accomplishment, twenty years in the making.”

Morgan struggles against Percy. The knight glances up at Arthur. “Your majesty?”

The king is broken. “Unhand her.”

“Not so fast!” Merlin barks as he turns quickly to face the king. “You're out of your mind, Arthur. War will be on its way if Corbenic discovers this. And they'd be justified, boy.”

Guinevere glances up from my arms, her face incredulous. The entire court regards the king, all with identical faces reading
Arthur, you fool.
I shake my head. I don't understand. Surely his tie to Morgan cannot be as strong as this.

The king walks to his trapped sister. “We share blood, Morgan.”

She bares her teeth. “Unwanted blood,” she growls as she struggles against Percy. “Uther Pendragon's legitimate heir should be the one to rule Camelot, not the garbage born to the whore our father never should have lain with! You speak of blood but disregard it! To hell with your tyranny!” She spits in his face.

The king's eyes shut. He wipes away the spit. “Let her go, Percival.” Then, to Morgan, his voice shrouded in devastation, “Leave Camelot. Don't go back to your kingdom in Glastonbury, and don't dismiss my mercy. Keep your word, and you'll escape without any trouble. We could have had an allegiance if … ” But Arthur is unable to finish that thought.

“You're mad, Arthur,” Lancelot growls. “Listen to your advisors. To your
wife
.” He bites the word, like to speak of this might tread upon personal insult, and darts his eyes to the queen.

Guinevere shakes with anger. “I will not live in a place where the murderer of my kingdom's people escaped without justice. She's a liar, Arthur.”

Morgan cocks her head toward the queen, and while she admits to no evil, the tiniest smile blossoms, and I'm certain Guinevere sees it, too.

“All of Lyonesse would tell you if the dead could speak. You deserve any war to come,” the queen declares in a voice that rattles porcelain. She tears her arm from my grasp and storms out.

With haste, I follow. But when I reach the door, Arthur calls me. “Leave her, girl. The woman I know will mourn only in solitude.”

I let the iron ring in my hand fall against the wood but cannot find the courage to turn. I pray for Arthur's dismissal as Morgan's eyes surely cast knives into my back.
What was I thinking, speaking up like that?

But then a flash of movement forces me to turn around. The knights shout in warning. But Morgan's strides are too quick to be human, and suddenly, her arm is around my neck, her skin like ice or metal. I scream, but her bony hand silences me.

Clicks of firelances. More cries.

My fingers dig into her arm. I feel my heart choke my lungs and throat, suffocating me into a terrifying high.

We face the court. Shouts are not as loud as the blood pounding against my eardrums. Morgan lifts me until I must pedal backward to stay upright. Another bone-slicing click sounds by my temple. She's kept a golden miniature firelance holstered to her thigh. Now it threatens to end my life with one wrong move.

I'm her captive.

My father storms forward, armed with his personal
fusionah
. “Unhand her! She has nothing to do with this!”

Owen is the first squire to unsheathe his firelance. “Your majesty, give the order!”

Morgan hisses with disapproval.

Knights and squires follow Owen's lead. All but Marcus. Marcus, whose breathing is forced and uncertain. But then he locks eyes with me and boldly follows, clicking the hammer of his
fusionah
back with purpose. I see the reflection of Morgan's icy eyes in his, how they stare at one another like they're long-acquainted adversaries. Though calmer than my brother, the squire steps closer like his presence would be enough to free me from the witch's grasp.

It's Merlin
who has to hold Marcus back, a cautious glance at Morgan whose clothes are breaths of dried herbs and days of stark sunshine. He gives a quick look to the squire, one that reads he'll consider his thoughts later.

The sorcerer looks out from under drawn eyebrows. “Release the handmaid, Morgan.”

“Ahhh. She's important, Merlin? Not just insurance I'll leave without an army following?” Her hand falls from my mouth. “What does this one know?”

I shake my head, my eyes steady on the firelance's shine. “I'm no one,” I whisper in a haggard breath. “I'm the queen's attendant—”

“If that were true,” she whispers against my cheek, “the fool Merlin would have slapped your face the moment you spoke up. You might know more than you realize, girl. Or is it that you work alongside the sorcerer while the rest of Camelot sleeps?”

Firelances are pointed and ready, but it's only one girl's life, I realize, and perhaps they'll give up. Or maybe further negotiation is King Arthur Pendragon's plan. Maybe he doesn't order fire because I'm the last hope for the family he wants.

But there's no hope on Arthur's face. “The girl stays here. Release her.”

Morgan's arm digs into my neck as she drags me toward the door. “Not likely.” She's called her brother's bluff. And Arthur knows it.

I glance at Marcus. He won't look at Morgan anymore. He watches me, his firelance aimed at the witch. The vengeance in his face disappears, and what replaces it is a look of certainty.
It's all right.

It's enough to calm me.

But my wide-eyed response to Morgan's whispered comment has certainly given me away. “You're not just an attendant or a minion of Merlin's. You're the one I need, aren't you?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Lies.”

We're out the door; we've left the hall, but not the danger. She marches us down the front steps as guards scream, “Unhand her or have your blood replaced with lead!”
But that only forces the rounded mouth of her firelance deeper into my temple. I breathe in sharply and bite my lip to keep from crying. I hate how Morgan knows I'm afraid.

“Soon, I'll know for myself,” she says. “Once we reach a place where my magic holds power.
Vivienne
, was it?” She speaks with her lips against my face, eyelashes batting against mine. Her pupils swirl whiter as she leads us away until I think there's no way I'll ever get out of this alive.

We pass over the platform as guards bellow, scores in formation with raised
fusionahs
. My nails lock deeper into Morgan's skin as I search for anything that might save me.

But then, on the other side of the drawbridge, Morgan halts. Struck by something. Blessed with an epiphany. Her skin warms as she turns back to the kingdom. I'm outside, outside of Camelot, but I can't gather the courage to regard the world I'm seeing for the first time. All I see is how they've lowered steel platforms to cover the moat in case they'd have to charge.

“But wait,” Morgan whispers, not to me. “What is this I feel?” Her grip around me loosens. A ringing sound invades my ears, like an aura has penetrated the space with me in it. A cunning smile broadens her face, and I watch her eyes swirl with that same whiteness as her sharp nails grip my temples. A heavy whisper slices my mind in half, and I wince. “Much sooner than I thought. Let's see what you know.”

Sensu ahchla tetay meo loqui havahchi …

Words tasting like metal, pricking at my skull. I have to shut my eyes, but it does nothing to temper the explosion in my mind, colored like blasts in the sky. I see a castle build itself, brick by brick, but I cast away the image when something inside tells me it's not for the witch to see. I open my eyes to hers rolling into the back of her head and yank away, but she holds tight.

I hear the thunderous gallops of guards storming toward the gates. I hear Arthur's shouts beneath the strength of those gallops, Lancelot calling, “On guard!” Merlin screaming at Morgan to drop me.

Sensu ahchla tetay meo loqui havahchi …

Flashes of a chalice that rings of a fairy tale. I banish them from my mind.

I realize Morgan has forgotten the barrel warm against my skin. Now, there are only seconds. Seconds before she'll seize this image. Seconds before the opportunity to escape will pass. She's called her brother's bluff, so now I must take care of this myself.

I glance at the castle. At Marcus, who's amongst the knights. At him realizing what I'm about to do.