Completely unabashed by what they’d done to the poor man, she actually answered. “There are other grail knights. Five more to be precise. We must have their names.”
“And why would I ever give them to you?”
“You could be the right hand of Morgen herself, Varian. With the grail, she would need nothing else. For you, she’d even kill the new king. Say the word, and Arador is dead. You can be his replacement.”
Oh boy! Let him sign up for that…not. “Until she finds a way to resurrect Mordred, then I’ll be as dead as Arador.”
“She wouldn’t do that.”
Yeah, right. “This is Morgen we’re speaking of. Morgen who threw the entire universe out of order for her own selfish gain, murdered her own brother and who has no love or respect for any living creature. Uh-huh. You would really trust her?”
She lashed out and grabbed his arm in a grip so tight, it managed to hurt even through the armor. “Morgen wants that grail, and I have promised it to her. If you will not serve us, then we will kill you.”
“Good luck trying.”
Her eyes flamed to red as her grip tightened even more. Cursing, she let go of him. “We will get you, Varian. One way or another. You can mark those words in stone.” And then she tried to zap herself out of the room.
Varian laughed at the stunned look on her face. “Your magick doesn’t work here, mum. Remember?”
She let out a fierce screech before she turned on her heel and made her way toward the door with her servant behind her. Varian would have enjoyed the sight of her anger but for the fact that he knew her brain was already concocting some way to fuck him over.
Yeah, it was always good to be him.
Sighing, he grabbed the jug and poured another drink. He still had a body to take back to Merlin. But at least he now knew who to contact for more information about Tarynce’s death…and he knew that Morgen had learned one of their most carefully guarded secrets. There was more than one knight who hid the grail.
And with that, Morgen now wanted him to help her take over and destroy the world. Which meant she wouldn’t rest until she either killed or converted him.
The latter would never happen, so that left him with Morgen throwing everything she could at him. Night and day. Day and night. Eternally.
Letting out a sigh, he knocked back the drink and shook his head as it numbed every taste bud in his mouth.
Yee-haw, this was just starting to make his bright day even better. All he needed now was for Bracken to gouge out his eyes and swallow them.
Chapter 3
Narishka came through the wall of Morgen’s chambers with the air around her crackling from her fury and her powers. As was typical, Morgen was naked, entwined on her bed with her latest paramour. An evil Adoni like herself, Brevalaer was a trained courtesan and thus far had lasted longer than any of Morgen’s previous lovers.
With no embarrassment whatsoever, Narishka approached the dais where the large, carved bed rested and parted the bloodred silk curtains. Morgen lay with one hand entwined in Brevalaer’s dark hair while his head was buried deep between her spread legs. Morgen’s large breasts were covered by a sheer red gown that Brevalaer had pushed up to pool at her waist so that he could attend to his business.
His tanned, rippling body was every bit as bare, but unfortunately Narishka could only see his well-shaped buttocks and back. How she wished she could join them, but unlike Morgen, she believed in business before pleasure.
“A moment, my queen?” Narishka asked.
Morgen turned her head toward her slowly, but she didn’t stop Brevalaer. Little wonder that. It was said that his tongue held more magick than the whole of the fey court. “What?” she asked irritably.
“Merlin did just as we thought. She sent Varian to Glastonbury to investigate.”
Morgen sucked her breath in sharply as if Brevalaer had found a particularly pleasing spot or rhythm. “Did you speak to him?”
“Yes and as I predicted, he refused completely.”
Brevalaer started to pull away to give them space only to have Morgen grip his black hair fiercely. “You stop now, and I’ll cut your tongue out.”
His face completely stoic, he dipped his head and immediately went back to pleasing his mistress.
Morgen glared at her. “You’re his mother. What will it take to get him on our side?”
Narishka shook her head. It was a question she’d been asking herself repeatedly. “I have no idea. He’s grotesquely abnormal, which is why I sent him to live with Lancelot when he was a child. I’ve never understood him. He’s not motivated by greed, lust, or anything else that makes sense. If he has a weakness, I don’t know it.”
Morgen shifted slightly, giving Brevalaer more access to her body. “We have to have him. You know that. Given what the MODs learned from whatever his name was before they killed him, we can pretty much guess that Galahad and Percival are grail knights, but neither of them will ever be foolish enough to fall into our hands. We need someone who can get near them and strike from behind.”
“I know.”
Morgen drummed her fingers against Brevalaer’s head as her eyes narrowed threateningly. “There has to be something that entices him. Something he reacts to without fail.”
Narishka paused at those words as she remembered the little fat mouse trailing behind her. Turning her head, she saw the girl still there, her eyes cast to the floor, her body as still as a statue’s.
Merewyn. She’d been the only thing that her son had reacted to. He’d saved her from being struck, and in that instant, she knew his weakness. “Pity.”
“Yes,” Morgen agreed irritably, “it is a pity.”
“No,” she said, turning back toward her mistress. “His weakness is pity.” One corner of her mouth lifted up as she turned around to stare at Merewyn. “I think I know exactly what we need to do to win him over.”
Cradling Tarynce’s body in his arms, Varian entered the tombs of Avalon. It was a small crypt that was kept beneath the castle. There were only a handful of sarcophagi here. Bors’s father rested to his right, and to his left was Guinevere’s father, along with several other knights who’d died fighting beside Arthur at Camlann. Varian’s father was buried at his own home, Joyous Gard, while Guinevere’s grave was kept secret so that none of the surviving knights would desecrate it out of meanness.
And then there was Arthur…
That sarcophagus was in the center of the room. It held the gilded image of a knight on top that he knew for a fact wasn’t true to the king. The stone face carved there looked passionless and cold, two things Arthur had never been. True to the legend, he’d been larger than life. The kind of man who earned the respect of everyone who’d been fortunate enough to meet him. At least until the end, when everything had fallen apart. But even then, Arthur had faced the tragedy of his life with kingly grace. He’d fought bitterly to the end. Not for himself, but for his people.
And Varian had sworn to him that he would spend his life protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves. That he would model himself after the only man he’d ever respected or loved and do his best to keep Arthur’s dream alive.
The sarcophagus was plain except for the gold that Bors and Galahad had insisted on in direct contradiction to Arthur’s wishes.
“I need no fancy crate for my remains. Spend the gold on those who are still living. Where I’ll be, for better or worse, it’ll do me no good. But if it’ll feed one hungry child, it’ll be much better spent than on a dead man’s grave.”
Arthur truly had been a great man.
Clearing his throat against the knot that suddenly appeared to choke him, Varian took Tarynce to a small table that was against the far wall and laid the body on it. He took a moment to drape the man’s arms over his chest so that he looked as peaceful as possible. Then he whispered a small prayer for the man’s soul before he closed Tarynce’s eyes one last time.
“Merlin?” he said quietly, knowing she could hear hi
m. “I’ve returned.”
The air beside him stirred an instant before she appeared. “That didn’t take long.”
He stepped away from the body. “The information wasn’t well guarded. I know the name of his executioner and from my mother’s own lips, I know that they’ve learned other grail knights exist.”
She sucked her breath in sharply at that as she stepped back as if to leave. “I will send word to them.”
“No,” he said sternly.
“Why not?”
“My mother and Morgen both know the good guy playbook. You start notifying the others, and they’ll follow your messengers right to their doorsteps. It’s probably why my mother told me so easily. I’m sure she’s waiting for us to move so they can, too.”
Still Merlin wasn’t appeased. “We have to warn them. They need to know.”
“Not yet. Besides, once word of Tarynce’s death spreads beyond the walls of Avalon, they’ll know to be on guard. Morgen has no names at this point although I’m sure she can figure out a couple of them, same as me. But the rest should be safe…at least for the time being. Let me talk to Bracken and see what else I can learn before you alert anyone.”
She actually gaped at his words. “The demon Bracken?”
He had no idea why she was surprised. “It’s why you wanted me on this assignment, isn’t it?”
Shaking her head, she reached for him. “Varian—”
He moved back, out of reach. “It’s all right, Merlin. Dealing with assholes is my specialty.”
“Assholes are one thing. Insane demons are another.”
He snorted at that. “Maybe in your book. In mine they’re the same. Both cowardly bastards who come at my back.” He had much more important things to worry about than Bracken. But as he neared the exit for the tomb, he paused as unfounded pain washed through him. “Just promise me one thing, Merlin.”
“And that is?”
He glanced to the brutalized body of the fallen knight and remembered the last time he’d brought a body home from Morgen’s abuse. “If I die, make sure I’m cremated. I don’t want Morgen putting me on display for the others.”
She gave him a gimlet stare as if she understood the nightmare he still had of his father’s death. He might not have loved or respected his father, but no man deserved to die the way Lancelot had.
“I promise.”
Nodding, he made his way from the tomb out into the light of the courtyard. The air here was sweet, scented by apples and lilac, the light sublime and warm against his skin. This was Avalon. A perfect paradise that had once existed on earth. But he also knew the darker side that lived here in the sanctity of this place.
Maybe he was being stupid by fighting his mother and her wants. Maybe he should switch his allegiance. Really, would there be a difference?
An image of the hapless crone in the abbey being bandied between the men flashed in his mind. Along with the sight of her gratitude when he’d picked up the goblet and handed it to her. She was the reason why he fought alongside Merlin. His life had sucked, but it shouldn’t be that way for others. Arthur had taught him to let go of the bitterness and embrace a better way. If he could spare one kid his childhood, then it was worth fighting this battle between his mother and himself.
The strong should never prey on the weak.
His conviction set, he changed his clothes yet again from the leather to his black armor. It was scant protection from the demon’s magick, but at least it would protect him from Bracken’s daggers, swords, or claws.
Merewyn stood before the mirror in complete shock. For centuries, she’d avoided anything that could cast a reflection. But now…
Now she bore the face that she’d been born to. Gone were the scars and the twisted body of the crone. She now stood upright with no hump, no pain. She was beautiful.
Unable to believe it, she cupped her face in her hands and kept waiting for Narishka to take it away from her again.
“What have you done, child?”
She turned to find Magda standing behind her. Old and gnarled, she’d been one of the few people who had befriended Merewyn during her centuries here. “I made a pact with Narishka. I do one last service for her, and she’s going to let me go.”
Magda scoffed. “Have you lost your mind? She never makes such bargains.”
It was true. Her current fate had come from just such a bargain gone wrong. The original terms had been for her to remain ugly only for the cycle of the moon. But Narishka had failed to tell her that here in Camelot there was no moon cycle at all, and so she’d been trapped for eternity.
Until now.
Now she had the one chance she’d waited for.
“I told you, Magda, that one day I would get my beauty back, and I have.”
“At what cost?”
Varian’s service to Morgen. She had three weeks to turn him to their side. Three weeks. If she failed, Narishka would return her to the hag’s form and spend eternity punishing her for her failure. But if she succeeded, she would be allowed to go free. Not as a hag, but as the woman she’d been born to be.
“Don’t worry about the cost.”
Magda shook her head. “I’m not the one who should be worried, child. That would be you.” The old woman drew closer to her so that she could touch the long, silken tresses of her black hair as if to prove to herself that it was real. “Is this why you struggled so hard to survive all these centuries?”
Merewyn didn’t respond. Instead, she remembered a conversation they’d had long ago.
“Give up hope, child. This is your fate. You’re one of us now. Grayling in form, you will never again be the beautiful woman you were.”
“I can’t give up hope, Magda. It’s all I have. I was stupid once, but I know that someday I’ll have the chance to be free. Should I die, then I’ll have lived only as a fool. I don’t want that to be my life. I want to be my own person again. Not a twisted crone, but a woman.”
“You’re a fool, Merewyn. There is nothing but misery here. Learn to embrace it and don’t wish for more. You’ll only be disappointed if you do.”
She’d refused to believe it, and now here she was, restored.
Magda narrowed her beady eyes on her. “And whose life have you sold for the beauty you have now?”
A slice of fear pierced her. “How did you know?”
“There could be nothing else that would make the mistress put you back as you were. So who will you destroy to be beautiful?”
“Varian duFey,” she said quietly, then louder added, “But he’s a monster, and we both know it. Tell me, have you ever heard anyone say anything good about him?”
Magda’s eyes turned dull. “Only you.”
Merewyn looked away as pain filled her. It was true, he’d been kind to her. But one act of kindness couldn’t erase all the cruelty he’d committed in his lifetime. All the lives he’d taken. He was the son of Narishka. His father had destroyed the brotherhood of Arthur’s Round Table and ultimately ruined everyone’s life. And the two of them had bred a child equally as vicious.
What she was doing was a service to the world.
Shaking her head with a disgusted sigh, Magda made her way back toward the door.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Merewyn called to her as she started to leave. “You’ve done your own share of mischief and cruelty at Morgen’s behest.”
“True,” she said quietly. “But I’m not now, nor have I ever been human. I lack your conscience and your conviction. Tell me, Merewyn, once you’ve done this, will you still be able to look at yourself in the mirror, knowing that your beauty was bought in someone else’s blood?”
The centuries of brutal abuse she’d suffered here went through her like a hot lance. Men such as Varian had spat on her and beaten her for no other reason than because she was ugly. They’d never shown her compassion or mercy. She wouldn’t go back to that. Not now. Not ever. She wanted to be human again, and she would do whatever it took to make that happen.<
br />
“Yes,” she said confidently.
Again Magda shook her head at her. “And here I thought you were the only human in Camelot. ’Tis a pity I misjudged you so.”
Merewyn curled her lip as the woman left her alone. “You’re just jealous that you’re trapped here while I’ve been given a chance to earn my freedom.”
Nothing but silence answered her, but it didn’t matter. She knew the truth. There were no decent people left in this world. None. So what if she turned Varian over to Morgen? It wasn’t like they planned to kill him. They only wanted him to serve in their court. There was no harm in that. At least he had family here. And he had beauty, the one thing the inhabitants of Camelot valued above everything.
No, she wasn’t hurting Varian. She was only helping herself. There was nothing wrong with that. Nothing.
Closing his eyes, Varian took himself from Avalon to the dark back halls of Camelot. He was one of the few who could travel between the two realms who was actually willing to do it. Not that he particularly enjoyed this. Since his mother was the right hand of Morgen, their most-despised queen, and his father had been Arthur’s right-hand champion, it left the inhabitants of Camelot a little…shall we say, abrupt with him.
There wasn’t a creature here who wouldn’t love to carve his heart from his chest secretly. And the key word was “secretly.” None of them would ever come from the front.
So with his hand on his sword, he walked slowly down the hallway with the gait of a predator. Every shadow could contain an enemy. Every whisper could be one of the braver fools coming at his back. He kept his head bent down and searched the darkness with his peripheral sight while he listened carefully for any telltale sound.
As he neared the torches on the walls that were held in brackets made to look like blackened arms, they lit themselves, then extinguished once he’d passed. The smell of the rush lights was pungent and thick in the air and it was stirred by his movements.
Varian cocked his head as he felt a whisper behind him that could only come from one of the sharoc—a shadow fey that was renowned for its cruelty and mischief. He gripped the sword hilt, ready to draw it instantly as he continued on his way, waiting for the attack.