“You could claim the sword for yourself. And the Shadow Lords could rule once more.”
“You know that can never happen,” Merlin warned. “In a distant age I once tried to unite humankind and the Fey”—he paused, his eyes clouded—“and failed.”
“Well, the Leper King will not forgive your betrayal. By now he’s put a high price on your head. Your best course is to disappear for another hundred years.”
“Once this business with the sword is complete, that is my intention.”
“And what about this Fey girl?”
“Left to her own, she will drown in a sea of fire or Viking swords. I hope to reason with her, but one way or another, this Wolf-Blood Witch will deliver me the sword.”
Merlin mounted his horse and turned to the castle, beard blowing in the sea air, unaware of Lady Lunette’s spy in the high grasses on a nearby hill. She watched Merlin cross the fields until he dismounted at the perilous walking bridge connecting the cliffs to Graymalkin Tower. Then she crept backward through the grass to send the signal.
Nimue could not sleep. She tossed and turned, but the ground in the low hills of the Minotaurs was hard and full of small rocks. They had agreed to camp without a fire, so it was also miserably cold, though Morgan seemed to sleep without complaint.
Kaze had agreed to stand guard. Nimue had never seen the mysterious woman sleep. She just sat atop a fallen tree, alert to every sound, yellow eyes gleaming in the moonlight, her tail drooping lazily to the ground.
“Your tail is very beautiful,” Nimue whispered.
“Thank you.” Kaze smiled, baring her white fangs.
“Have you known Gawain for very long?”
“Not very long.”
A waterfall of conversation, Nimue mused. “Well, I thank you for accompanying us.”
“Yes, I am interested to see this Merlin who causes so much argument.”
“Have you heard of him?” Nimue asked, curious. Given Gawain’s travels, Kaze’s thick accent and unique robes, she naturally assumed the woman came from lands far from Francia.
“Not by this name,” Kaze said.
“You know him by other names?” Nimue said.
“He live a very long time,” Kaze offered. “You must know this. You bring him the sword of your people.”
Nimue was embarrassed by her ignorance of the world. “My mother asked me to bring the sword to Merlin. Prior to that, all I’d heard of Merlin had been in children’s stories.”
“Then he was very important to your mother,” Kaze assumed.
Nimue shook her head. “No, she—he wasn’t. She would have said something.”
“To your father, then.”
“My father left,” Nimue started, but hesitated. “He left when I was very young.”
Kaze stared at the moon. “Your mother kept secrets.”
Nimue frowned. “No. Not usually.”
“Did she tell you she possessed the great sword?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Your mother kept secrets,” Kaze repeated, her point made. As though tiring of the conversation, she leaped lightly down from the fallen tree and vanished silently into the forest.
Cold sweat trickled down the back of Nimue’s neck. She felt so unprepared for this. Her heart was fluttering.
She brings darkness on this house!
Every time she shut her eyes to sleep, the memory kept creeping in. Her father’s voice.
She’s your child!
And Lenore, furious, throwing a clay jug of water. Nimue could still hear it shatter against the stone hearth.
I don’t know what she is.
Her parents screamed all night through her fitful dreams.
THIRTY-THREE
THE BITING, SALTY WIND HIT the riders hard as the trees thinned and low, grassy hills opened up to the sea and the distant towers of Graymalkin Castle. Nimue felt exposed in the open like this. Perhaps sensing her fear, Kaze picked up their pace to a gallop as Morgan rode up beside Nimue.
“Offer nothing. Let him make the proposal.”
“I know,” Nimue said.
I don’t know anything, she thought. Part of her felt anxious for this gauntlet to end, anxious to hand the sword over and be done with it. Yet she felt duty bound to the Fey refugees who were counting on her, to her friends, even to the sword. That’s absurd. It’s only a sword. Yet the sword had saved her from the wolves and spared her in the thorn maze. The sword had given her the courage to challenge Bors and had served justice in the glade. It has served me well. And my thanks is to hand it over to a Man-Blood king? Who might use the very same steel to slay what’s left of my kind?
“Make sure your thoughts are yours!” Kaze called back. “Don’t let Merlin crawl into your mind!”
How am to know if my thoughts are mine? Such a thing had never even occurred to her.
Mists rose from the bottom of the sea cliffs to envelop Graymalkin Castle, making it seem like the castle towers hovered above a bubbling cauldron. For reassurance, Nimue glanced back at Kaze and Morgan holding the reins of their horses. Kaze nodded to her from beneath her purple cowl.
Morgan said, “You’re not Nimue. You’re the Wolf-Blood Witch.”
Nimue turned back to the broken towers looming over her, then glanced down between her boots and the wet boards of the walking bridge and saw only fog beneath her, but she could hear the crashing surf. She crossed the bridge as quickly as she could, holding her breath through most of it, and then walked the muddy path to the rotted drawbridge and entered into the shadows of the castle.
Her footsteps echoed as she passed under the crumbling gatehouse. She looked up at the rusted chains of the drawbridge. Somewhere water was dripping. The feel of the sword against her back gave her some security as she crossed into the overgrown bailey. Here the vast size of the castle became real. Seven wretched black towers tilted over her like the fingers of a closing fist. Someone whispered behind her, and she turned to a dark doorway of the gatehouse. For a moment she thought she saw a shadow move within.
“Hello?” Nimue called out.
There was no answer.
Unnerved, Nimue backed away from the gatehouse and walked through the mists of the bailey, crossing to the wide keep, which was one of the few structures of the castle still largely intact.
“Is anyone there?” Nimue called as she entered the winding stairway. She detected a flickering green glow above her. She climbed into the darkness, her hand sliding along the timeworn walls until she reached the Great Hall.
Green fire crackled in a large brazier in the center of the vast, empty chamber, offering warmth against the chill of the sea air.
The man in ragged blue robes standing by the window was younger than Nimue expected. His brown hair and beard were unkempt and his cold gray eyes alert and suspicious. On his belt were pouches overstuffed with what looked like various plants and branches. Even from across the hall, Nimue could smell notes of cedar and lemongrass, geraniums and clove. This was not a snobbish, self-important royal envoy but an authentic Druid, a human versed in many magical languages, Fey and otherwise, and a stew of wild energy.
When he saw her, something took him aback, but only for a moment, and he tried to smile, but its effect was not comforting.