The second was a tall knight in leather armor, with a green, gleaming pauldron across his right shoulder, a broadsword at his hips, a longbow across his back, and a green helm with a chain-mail face shield and curving antlers.
“And is that the one who rescued you? The Green Knight?” Nimue asked.
Squirrel chuckled. “Nimue, you don’t know?”
IN THAT MOMENT THEY WERE UNAWARE OF ANYONE ELSE.
The Green Knight lifted the antlered helm from his head, revealing a sweating face with lean cheeks, a high forehead, and a patchy goatee.
Nimue’s lips parted with shock as she processed a face she hadn’t seen in almost ten years.
“It’s Gawain!” Squirrel shook her arm.
Arthur frowned. “Who’s Gawain?”
Stunned, Nimue pulled Squirrel by the arm toward the Green Knight, who took time to acknowledge the Fey children pulling at his gloves and belt. When he looked up at Nimue approaching, he squinted with confusion, unable to place the face after so much time.
“Gawain, it’s me.” Her voice shook. “It’s Nimue.”
His face lit up like the sun. “No, no, no, this is not Nimue. This is not her.” He laughed loudly and lifted her into the air. They both began talking immediately.
“You have to tell me everything! When did you come back?” Nimue gushed.
“This can’t be the skinny little tree climber I left behind! Who is this young woman? Tell me all!” His words tumbled over hers.
Arthur stood awkwardly by until Nimue recognized his discomfort. “Gawain, this is Arthur. We’re . . .” She laughed with nervousness. “Friends? Hard to describe, exactly. We’ve been on quite the journey together.”
Gawain looked him up and down. “Sell-sword?”
Arthur nodded. “On occasion.”
“Human,” Gawain said, not smiling.
“Aye.” Arthur shifted his sword belt.
Gawain scratched his chin, considering. “Well, thank you for taking care of our Nimue.”
“Your Nimue?” Arthur said.
“I am my own Nimue.”
Gawain held out his arms, addressing Arthur. “Take as long as you need here to rest up. What little we have, we will share.”
Arthur smiled through clenched teeth. “Thank you.”
Gawain turned to Nimue. “There’s so much to talk about. Come with me.” Nimue shot an apologetic look back at Arthur before disappearing with Gawain into the shadows.
TWENTY-SEVEN
GAWAIN TURNED THE SWORD OF power in the torchlight, marveling at its design. “Who knows about this?” he asked with concern.
“Arthur, Morgan,” Nimue answered.
“The Man Bloods.”
“They’ve proven to be true friends. And you’re better than that. The Gawain I knew would never judge others by their blood.”
“Times have changed, Nimue.”
“Have they? I hadn’t noticed.” Nimue held out her hand. Surprised by the gesture, Gawain returned the blade to her. She slid it back into the makeshift scabbard she’d slung around her back.
“I’m not the only one who’s changed, it seems,” he observed.
Nimue stared at the flickering torch. “I watched the Joining and all I could see was blood. And burning crosses. I have no taste for war. We should strive for peace.”
Gawain pointed at the Devil’s Tooth. “You say that, but this is the sword of our people. This sword is our history. It’s our hope, Nimue.” He stood up, frustrated. “And you want to give this to Merlin the Magician? Who turned against his own kind? He’s a conjurer, serving a Man-Blood king.”
“It was Lenore’s wish.”
“I loved Lenore like a mother,” Gawain said. “But this is wrong. Why him?”
Nimue threw up her hands. “What do you want me to say? They were her very last words to me. She could have said anything to me, but this was what she chose: bring this to Merlin.”
Gawain looked puzzled. “A bargaining chip, then. She hoped this Merlin would protect you. But you don’t need that, because I will protect you.”
Nimue had no time for this. “I don’t need protecting.”
Gawain softened his tone. “Are you sure? For this sword is also called the Sword of the First Kings. ‘Whosoever wields the Sword of Power shall be the one true king.’ Uther Pendragon will want this sword, and if history is any guide, he will promise the world, then leave the Fey to the mercy of the Red Paladins.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know, for I am no king.”
“If you don’t want the responsibility, then give it to someone else. Someone here. I’ll take it if I must. Just not Merlin.”
“No one will take it.” Her fist was tight around the sword.
Surprised, Gawain sought to calm her. “All I meant—”
But Nimue was embarrassed by her outburst. “No, I just—I won’t dishonor her memory.” She still felt hot with anger. What is wrong with me?
Gawain sat on a rock. “Well, then I guess that’s it, then. We put all our hopes and faith in Merlin.”
“Not all,” Nimue offered. She knelt by her meager belongings, found what she was looking for, turned and scattered the stolen maps across the floor. Curious, Gawain got down on his knees to study them.
“We asked Yeva to send a bird to Merlin, but we haven’t yet received an answer. In the meantime, these are Carden’s plans. Arthur and I stole them. His maps, his death lists. We know his mind. We know what villages he’s targeting and with how many men.”
Gawain was stunned. “Gods, girl, why didn’t you show me this sooner? We’ll ride tonight.”
He gathered the maps and was nearly under the archway when Nimue called, “Gawain.”
He turned back to her.
“If you’re hunting paladins, I’m coming with you.”
For a moment, Gawain seemed bemused, but then he sensed her resolve, and his eyes turned a touch sad. He nodded and headed down the corridor.
Nimue headed in the other direction, back to the cavern where the Joining had been, to find Arthur and to apologize. I kissed him! Or he kissed me. She wasn’t sure. But she was certain she had run off like a fool when Gawain had arrived and that it made her look quite fickle. She hoped to repair that breach and even pick up where they had left off.
She entered the cavern and was sad to see that the beautiful boughs of flowers had already come down and been trampled underfoot by the new refugees. Nimue looked for Arthur amid those tending the wounded, but he wasn’t there. After a few minutes, she found Morgan tearing clothes into strips for dressing wounds.
“Have you seen Arthur?” Nimue asked.
“He left.”
“Left? It’s the middle of the night. Left for where?”
Morgan looked up at Nimue with sympathy. “To wherever Arthur goes.”
“What are you saying? You mean he left for good? Without saying goodbye?” Nimue tried to sound calm, but her voice shook.
“I warned you this would happen,” Morgan said with an edge to her voice.
Speechless, Nimue hurried down the corridor to the alcove where Arthur slept. His lantern, wineskin, sword, and saddlebags were gone.