Morgan and Nimue followed behind in hooded cloaks, protection against the chill and against prying eyes. The high gray clouds were flat and unmoving, as though waiting for something. They gave the day an unwelcome suspense.
The Faun boy raised the dead rabbit. Morgan held up five fingers, indicating that the day’s hunt had barely begun. He stuffed the rabbit in a sling around his back and set off once more.
“That’s a lot of work for one boy,” Nimue offered.
“We dare not travel in greater numbers. The rector in Cinder’s Gate has been giving me funny looks, and he’s recently taken to wearing red robes. It’s a miracle we haven’t been discovered already.” Morgan knelt down to examine a root in the ground, decided it had no value, and left it.
“It’s incredibly brave what you’ve done,” Nimue said.
“I suppose. Mind you, I’m no Wolf-Blood Witch,” Morgan teased.
“All I’ve done is run and . . . and fight . . . just to live. I’m no one, I assure you. I hate to disappoint them, but I’m no one,” Nimue said, but she felt a rush of warmth at Morgan’s words. She found that she was hungrier for encouragement than she’d realized.
Morgan shook Nimue’s shoulder. “You’re the only one who’s stood up to them, who’s fought back. These people need to know that. They deserve a little hope, even if it’s fleeting.”
“Fleeting?” Nimue repeated.
Morgan nodded sadly. “We can’t sustain this. Every day brings a new family, new survivors. And now the cold. If the paladins don’t kill them, the winter surely will. Up to now I’ve convinced them not to raid the farms, because once that happens, the game is up, but they won’t listen to me for long. And gods, how they argue. Thank the gods for the Green Knight. They respect him.”
“Who is he?” Nimue asked, curious.
Morgan chuckled. “I couldn’t tell you. He doesn’t really speak to ‘Man Bloods.’ Doesn’t trust our kind.”
“But you’re helping them. That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s a divided world, Nimue.”
“But you think this Merlin can help?”
Morgan nodded. “Perhaps. If you’re willing to be strong. If you’re willing to challenge him.”
Nimue felt a pit in her stomach and was desperate to change the subject. “How did you get involved in any of this? You’re not”—Nimue saw Morgan’s eyes darken ever so briefly—“by that I mean—you owe them—you owe us nothing.”
“My bundles were light.” Morgan noted Nimue’s confusion and continued, “The vegetables I would buy from the local farms were half the weight. The farmers railed on about thieves. This went on for a week. And then I was out gathering herbs for my little ‘recipes’—call them potions, if you like; I know it sounds foolish. Sometimes they take me quite far off the road, and that’s where I found a family of Tusks, huddled inside a dead oak tree. One of them—an old woman, the grandmother—had been pulled from a burning cross, half-cooked, poor wretched thing. They had carried her for days. She’s buried not far from here. And then the floodgates opened. Two families the next day—Snakes, I think you call them. When the Moon Wings arrived, we were able to set up a signal watch in the trees. Scouts were sent to divert survivors from the King’s Road. And one sleepless month later we find ourselves here. And you? How did you rope Arthur into all this? He’s not exactly known for his selfless behavior. He must fancy you.”
Nimue opened her mouth but found no words.
Morgan chuckled. “Oh no, look how red you’re getting! We must teach you not to blush. You’ll give all your cards away.”
“I’m not, that’s—that’s absurd.” Nimue tried walking faster.
“There’s no shame in it if you fancy him. He’s a beautiful boy, my brother, if unreliable. Here today, gone tomorrow.” There was something about Morgan, the way her words seemed to always carry two meanings, that made Nimue think of Pym. Nimue always enjoyed toying with Pym, who wore her feelings so openly. She loved to whisper the foulest thoughts into Pym’s ear during lessons, because Pym could never stifle an emotion. Pym’s purity always made Nimue feel braver, made her take greater risks, like at the tavern, the day they’d met Arthur. Had she not challenged Bors, had they gone home when the sun was up, would it have made a difference? Would more of her clan have survived? Nimue’s chest ached for her friend.
“I owe him my life,” Nimue admitted.
“You give him too much credit.”
Nimue felt a heat rise around her ears. “Were you there? He showed true friendship and could have left me to the wolves a dozen times.”
“Owe him what you like. But ask yourself why he took you south, closer to danger, rather than north? Hmm?”
“We’ve been running. We barely had a chance to give it much thought.”
“You never gave it much thought. But Arthur did. He brought you here to abandon you,” Morgan said matter-of-factly. It stung.
“He wouldn’t do that,” Nimue said with little confidence. In truth, the thought of Arthur leaving made her legs weak. It touched a deep and remnant pain of childhood.
“Do you think he wants your problems? His feet never touch the ground. Be grateful he got you this far.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
Morgan turned on Nimue fiercely. “Because you’re too important to tie your heart to any man. You don’t owe him anything. It was Arthur’s privilege to serve you, and you need to believe that if you want to survive.”
Nimue frowned. “I don’t—”
“You’re not some Fey girl anymore. You are the Wolf-Blood Witch. You wield the Devil’s Tooth. Some will worship you, Nimue, and some will fear you, and some will do everything they can to burn you on the cross. But unless you claim this fate, it will eat you alive. You need to know who your true friends are.”
“And how do I know that?”
“Look around you. When the paladins come for me, no bards will sing my story. I’ve thrown in my lot with you and there is no turning back.”
“And does that make you my friend?”
“More than friends. Blood sisters. My survival is now tied to yours, Nimue. I will lie and steal and kill for you. But the one thing I won’t do is stand by and watch you give up your power to any man.” Morgan took her knife and dragged the blade over the edge of her palm, opening a cut of dark blood. She made a fist and got her fingers wet. Then, with the same hand, she clasped Nimue’s neck and cheek, smearing the flesh red. “I pledge my life to you. Let me be your soldier. And your student. Teach me.” Morgan’s bloody thumb dragged across Nimue’s lips.
Nimue tasted the salt of her blood.
“I want to learn. I want to hear your voices. I want to see what you see. I want to save the Fey Folk from the wrath of the One God.” Morgan smeared blood on her own cheeks and knelt before Nimue.
“Stand up,” Nimue said, embarrassed.
Morgan did as asked.
Nimue took Morgan’s face in her hands. “I’m no teacher. I’m not what you think I am. You’ve done more than I have. All I’ve done is survive.”