“You did the right thing,” Morgan reassured her, though her voice shook.
I’m turning into Merlin. The sword will fuse to my hand.
Arthur sheathed his sword and also went to Nimue’s side. “Now we’ve lost the Tusks,” he warned.
This isn’t me. I don’t know who I am. You are Queen of the bloody Fey!
“What in the Nine Hells was she supposed to do!” Morgan shouted at her brother.
Paladin, paladin, choke and twitch, bitten by the Wolf-Blood Witch.
“I don’t know! I know we have fifty bodies at best who can use a sword. And—gods—” Arthur gestured to the clenched, bloody Tusk hands on the first stair and called to the Fauns, “Pick these up.”
Lord Ector shook his head at the display and marched from the hall.
“Have they found Squirrel, Arthur?” Nimue asked, tears streaming down her cheeks, her voice suddenly small.
“Not yet.”
“She’s exhausted,” Morgan told Arthur. “She hasn’t slept or eaten for days.”
“We’re all exhausted,” Arthur shot back, running his hands through his hair.
“Milady! My queen!” Cora ran into the hall, the torchlight catching on her chestnut antlers. “Come quickly!”
Moments later Nimue, Morgan, Arthur, Cora, and several Faun archers hurried along the ramparts of Cinder’s northern wall, joining several Fey Folk soldiers already shouting and pointing into the Minotaur Valley.
A hundred yards farther down the wall, Sister Iris saw the commotion and stood up. She had become a fixture on the ramparts, the Faun archers finding her quirky manner amusing. She had pestered them into longbow training and they had relented, even allowing her to shoot between the crenels at sparrow hawks and ospreys as long as she ran out and retrieved the arrows. Her talent shocked the Fauns, who were renowned archers. After only a week or so, Iris could neck-shoot a raptor, in flight, from two hundred yards. She had become so adept, so quickly, that the Fauns had called over others to watch their young prodigy shoot. They had even given her a bow of her own to practice with, though the catgut was frayed and the wood slightly warped. Fluency with weapons had always been the way with Iris. It was a life-and-death necessity in the fighting pits. At this moment, while all eyes were on the activity beyond the wall, Iris was focused on Nimue. She took her bow in her hands and slid an arrow from her quiver. The catgut creaked in her ear as she nocked the arrow and followed Nimue with her front knuckle. From this distance, Iris could guarantee a neck shot. Her finger slowly eased off the string when dozens of footsteps thundered toward her.
“To the walls!” This order was repeated up and down the ramparts as Fauns shoved past Iris and took up offensive positions. Iris turned back and Nimue had been swallowed into a crowd.
When the archers saw her coming, they cleared a path for Nimue, who climbed onto the wall. Then her breath left her.
A sea of torches, mounted cavalry, and wagons flying the colors and crowns of House Pendragon washed across the vast farmlands only a few miles from the town of Cinder.
Nimue felt her throat go dry. Lord Ector’s words of warning rang in her ears. She had painted a target on their backs.
“To the east! Look to the east!” a Faun shouted.
All heads swung to the eastern farmlands and another army marching into the valley, this one displaying the red banners and white crosses of the Vatican. A thousand torches lit the night, as wave after wave of Red Paladins emerged from the tree lines and farm roads, swallowing up acres and acres of countryside. For the next hour, Nimue and the others could only watch helplessly as the two glowing armies filled in the entire valley between the Minotaurs peaks.
They were completely surrounded, with no chance of escape.
THEY WERE COMPLETELY SURROUNDED, WITH NO CHANCE OF ESCAPE.
FORTY-EIGHT
KING UTHER ENTERED THE ROYAL pavilion shoulder first so as not to disrupt the tray of goblets and the pitcher of spiced wine he carried. Lady Lunette looked up from her tray of cakes, surprised.
“Uther, where were you? What is all that?”
“A bit of honeyed wine to celebrate,” Uther said, smiling, as he set down the tray and poured their cups.
“Celebration, you say?”
“We just met with the famous Father Carden. Turns out he’s quite the reasonable fellow.”
Lady Lunette’s face tightened. “We were supposed to meet with him together, Uther. That was the plan.”
“Yes, well, that is true. But we preferred in our first contact with the rebel leader not to play second fiddle to our mother.” Uther sat down, satisfied. “We are sure you understand.”
Lady Lunette’s gaze did not soften. “If this new arrangement is to work, Uther, you will have to get over such trivialities.”
“Indulge us this once. We think it worked out quite well.”
She sighed, relenting. “And what did you and Father Carden discuss?”
“An alliance. We will allow the Church to keep a majority of the lands seized—as long as a generous tax is paid for the rights, of course. In return, the Red Paladins will support our claim to the throne and lead the siege on this ‘village.’ ” Uther waved his hand dismissively in the direction of Cinder. “No sense in losing any good men to the cause. When all is said and done, they will burn the witch and we will get our sword, countering this Ice King’s slanderous lies. Cheers, Mother.” Uther clicked his goblet against hers.
Lady Lunette’s eyebrows were raised as she sipped, dubious of Uther’s claims. “You were never much of a negotiator. Did you have the good sense to get any of this in writing?”
“Our scribe was present. We think you will find all the terms quite agreeable.”
“Well, we’ll certainly see about that,” Lunette smirked, clearing her throat. “Have him come over here. I have a number of questions for this Father Carden, questions I’m sure you forgot to ask.” She cleared her throat again.
“Yes, Mother, we expect nothing less.”
“Who will define these borders, for example? They’ve scourged half of Aquitania. Are we supposed to—” Lunette paused and stared at the table. She cleared her throat again.
“You were saying?” Uther pressed.
Lunette opened her mouth slightly and touched her throat. “The wine is not agreeing with me.”
“Yes, the borders. We may have missed some details. No doubt you will clean it all up.”
Lady Lunette cleared her throat more violently. Her hands shook as she pushed away the goblet. “Fetch the Healer, Uther,” she gasped.
Ignoring his mother, Uther gazed into his goblet of spiced wine and swirled the contents.
“Uther, do you hear me?” Lady Lunette said, her lips reddening.
Uther looked back up at her, his smile fading. “Yes, Mother?”
“Fetch the bloody—” Then she paused, her eyes widening as she realized.
“Fetch what?”
Lady Lunette tried to speak, but all that came out was a grinding croak and a mist of blood. She clawed at the table, clutched her throat, and fell onto the carpet, then rolled onto her back, struggling to breathe.
All the while, Uther watched impassively. “We forgot to mention, Mother, we had Sir Beric inquire, quite discreetly, of course, into the circumstances of our birth. It was not easy, we assure you. You obviously went to very great lengths to conceal your tracks. However, with the resources of the crown, we found a single record of a peasant girl named Sylvie who worked on a farm quite close to the castle. She died, rather mysteriously, after drinking some spiced wine. She was only nineteen years old. Was this she? Was this our mother you had killed?”