Lady Lunette struggled to crawl as blood dripped down her chin, but she lost her strength and collapsed beside Uther’s boots.
“These last few days we’ve thought very often of this young Sylvie and the sort of mother she might have been to us. You said you paid for us in gold coins. Obviously, you wanted us to have the impression that this peasant girl was eager to trade her newborn son for riches. Yet we wonder. Was she really given a choice? You knew your intentions. There was no way that woman could live, given the enormity of your secret. Nor do we find it very surprising that you gave birth to a stillborn child. We imagine it would be very difficult for any babe to live inside you. With all that cold blood.”
Lady Lunette was turned face up, eyes open, face the color of chalk, mouth stretched wide. The only sound coming from her was a soft rattle. Uther got down on his knees and took Lady Lunette’s face roughly in his hands. He shook her as he spoke.
“But whatever fantasies we entertained in these past few days of a life we will never know, of a loving mother we will never see, of a kindness we will never feel, let this final toast between us remove all doubt: I am now and forever your son.” Hateful tears streamed down Uther’s cheeks as Lady Lunette’s breathing ceased. Yet before her eyes glazed over, they softened and cleared and brimmed with a feeling Uther had never experienced from her. Her eyes shone with pride.
The king wept over Lunette’s body for several moments. Then he furiously wiped his tears and cried out, “Beric! Beric!”
Moments later Sir Beric and a footman raced inside the pavilion. Sir Beric gasped when he saw Lady Lunette on the floor. “Your Majesty!”
Uther stood and turned away from the body. “She fell over. We were talking and she just collapsed. She’s gone.”
Sir Beric snapped his fingers to the footman. “Quickly, quickly! Get her to the Healer, there may still be time!”
Uther took Sir Beric’s arm. “Don’t bother, she’s gone.”
“There may still be—”
But Uther tightened his grip on Beric’s bicep. “She’s gone.”
Sir Beric flinched at the look in Uther’s eyes. “Yes, yes, sire.” He turned back to the footman, who had lifted Lady Lunette into his arms. “Take the body to her tent and await further instructions.”
The frightened footman nodded and hurried out of the pavilion.
Beric’s shaking hands reached for a wine goblet, but Uther placed a hand over it. “Some water, perhaps.”
Sir Beric quickly connected the dots. He straightened up and struggled to compose himself. His eyes betrayed fear.
Uther savored it. “We need to arrange another meeting with Father Carden. There are new terms to be discussed.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Sir Beric bowed more deeply than usual and made a hasty exit.
FORTY-NINE
ONE HUNDRED SIXTY BARRELS OF ale, forty-five barrels of wine, several hundred bags of wheat flour. We’ve salted the fishes and meats, we’re drying the fruits we can, and the wells should give us fresh fish until they manage to spoil it. And we have plenty of waterbirds in the moats. Unfortunately, the fires have left us in quite a state as far as wood is concerned. We just won’t be able to feed the fires. Available wood may be our greatest need.” Steuben was Lord Ector’s captain of the guard: tall, bald, and rail thin with a quiet, reassuring voice.
“We may need to sacrifice a few structures to the cause,” Arthur noted. Around the table in the Great Hall were Nimue, Lord Ector, Morgan, Arthur, and Cora. Wroth had not been heard from since the incident with B’uluf.
“Aye, though just whose structures pay the price may prove complicated,” Steuben offered.
“How much time,” Nimue asked carefully, “do we have? Before we—”
“Starve, milady?” Steuben finished for her.
“Yes,” Nimue said.
Steuben scratched his chin. “Well, before all of you”—he paused—“newcomers came about, I would have said a month or two before we ran out of food, but given our current state and just how much some of your kind eat . . . Well, I’d say a week at most. Even without the siege, we just have too many mouths to feed.”
“A week,” Nimue whispered, repeating it to allow the reality to sink in.
“There is no choice but surrender,” Lord Ector said bitterly.
“Surrender for you,” Nimue said darkly. “The fires for us.”
“Or death for us all,” Lord Ector shot back. “In a day or two the siege engines will be upon us. Let’s see how bold you all are when they send the burning pitch over those walls.”
“My queen!”
Nimue turned to two Faun archers standing at the entrance to the hall.
“Yes?”
“A rider is at the gates. He says his name is Merlin.”
Minutes later the archers led Merlin into the Great Hall, where a scowling Nimue waited on the throne with Morgan and Arthur standing on either side of her.
“Milady Nimue.” Merlin bowed his head slightly. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
“That’s Queen Nimue, sir. She wields the Sword of Power,” Morgan corrected him.
“Let us not become too attached to our titles,” Merlin said, “for I fear that blade is about to become a bargaining chip in a much larger war.”
“Arthur, Morgan, I would like to introduce you to Merlin the Magician.” Nimue’s tone was tinged with frost. “My father.”
Arthur and Morgan both turned to Nimue, shocked.
Morgan said, “Your what?”
Ignoring Morgan, Nimue said to Merlin sarcastically, “Wasn’t this your plan all along, Merlin? To find a human king to wield the Sword of Power?”
“I had every intention of destroying the sword in order to prevent this very thing: the petty struggles for incremental power, the seizing and reseizing of lands that were formed before time and belong to no one.”
“Pretty words that do not match your actions,” Nimue accused.
“What sort of fool would I be to ambush you with Uther’s soldiers as you claim? Why not kill you on the road? Why the charade? Why show you my most intimate thoughts if my purpose there was to simply betray you? Think, Nimue.”
“I saw them with my own eyes!” Nimue scoffed.
“As did I, confirmation that we both have enemies. I was betrayed. And now his army stands against you, shoulder to shoulder with the Red Paladins. We are at a precipice and must either prepare ourselves to work together and make very difficult choices or risk the very extinction of our people.”
“Our people?” Morgan interjected. “Since when have you been a friend to the Fey?”
Merlin took a few menacing steps toward the throne. “For seven hundred years I have stood in the breach between men and the Fey Kind, giving all my blood and toil to keep them from tearing out each other’s throats. I have lost more than I have won, but it is an effort that has cost me dearly in my heart, in my mind, and in my very soul. You would be wise to know your history before you ask such questions.”
“Morgan is a loyal friend,” Nimue said, while putting a hand over hers to compel her silence. “Continue,” she said, not wishing to betray the gnawing, trapped feeling gripping her heart, urging her to run, flee, and escape it all.