by Skye, Sariah
“Apologies, your highness but I have urgent news.” Bedivere panted, worn out from having to quickly change out of and hide his dark armor. Not that Arthur knew that, of course. For all Arthur knew he was hard at work, readying the army.
Arthur frowned, feigning the urge to roll his eyes as Bedivere dutifully waited for permission to divulge. Arthur waved a hand at him, sighing loudly. “What is it, Bedivere?”
“Cadbury Village has been attacked.”
“Attacked? By whom?” Arthur demanded, rapping an angry fist on the surface of the table in the center of the room. “It’s Lancelot’s bastard daughter and those menace demons, isn’t it?”
“No sir. It was…” Bedivere hesitated, as if dreading to give him terrible news. Really, Bedivere relished in it if it weren’t for the fact that people died and lost their homes. Good, honest, hard-working people…
“Well? Out with it, Bedivere!” Arthur demanded.
“It was… the army.”
“Army?” Arthur repeated, obviously confused.
“Nimue’s army.”
“Nimue’s army? That’s preposterous! She doesn’t have an army! I have an army, and my soldiers weren’t issued to commit to any such attack! You must be mistaken—it’s a trick by the demons, nothing more!” Arthur exclaimed angrily, his tone rising with each syllable until his voice bounced off the walls of the room.
“It was demons… but not the kind you are thinking. It was part of Nimue’s brethren. Her shadow fae cohorts.”
“Have you proof, knight?”
Bedivere shook his head. “No. But I know who it wasn’t.”
“And who wasn’t it?” Arthur snarled.
“Avalon and her protectors.”
Arthur practically growled, throwing up his hands. “And how do you know this?”
“Question the survivors, milord. Avalon came to assist,” Bedivere replied, and Arthur shook his head.
“He is lying, milord,” Lamorak spat at Bedivere.
With his general calm, Bedivere slowly glanced in the younger knight’s direction. “I am not.”
“Avalon assisted… it is a trick.”
“What do you mean ‘assisted?’” Arthur inquired.
“I mean that the isle—the witches—came and assisted. They helped the fallen pass over, they healed…” Bedivere explained. “It was remarkable. Just like before, years ago…”
“Wait. You are telling me that the witches were here?”
Bedivere nodded.
“How… how is that possible?” Arthur stammered, shaking his head and began to pace again.
“You know how it is possible. Avalon is resurrected once more and is being led again by a priestess. A woman with Pendragon heritage: Lancelot’s daughter. If you do not believe my account, visit the village of Cadbury and inquire for yourself…” Bedivere replied. “Or, with permission… I have a witness account.” Bedivere cornered the young man before leaving the village and asked him to come to the palace to tell his story of the brave priestess and her protectors, hoping it would help his case: that Avalon was good, and this war was pointless.
Arthur pressed his mouth into a firm line, arching a suspicious brow. “Do you now? Well then, Bedivere, let him in.”
Bedivere nodded once, still in arm’s length of the door. He nudged it open, and slowly emerged a very nervous young man who appeared shaken with intimidation.
“It is all right,” Bedivere spoke softly to him, and the young man lifted his gaze. Arthur was immediately struck by his golden-colored eyes, though he wasn’t sure why, just that it was an unusual shade.
“Who are you?” Arthur demanded curtly. The young gentleman coughed awkwardly and offered a strained smile.
“Ashton Everleigh, your highness,” Ashton replied, purposely avoiding Arthur’s suspicious, icy-eyed stare.
“Everleigh?” Arthur scratched his chin in question. “I am unfamiliar with your surname. Who are your parents?”
“Just mere farmers, sire, before the fever took them five years ago,” Ashton answered.
Arthur didn’t acknowledge his loss. “How old are you?”
“Just turned eighteen, your highness.”
“He was the youngest of all the victims that had been injured,” Bedivere spoke up, as Ashton nodded. “He almost didn’t make it.”
“Good fortune to you that you were spared,” Arthur said, mostly blandly, prepared to roll his eyes and dismiss him with a wave, when Ashton blurted intently:
“—I wasn’t just spared. I was saved. The… blonde woman with the lavender hair and blue eyes…” Ashton stammered.
“Ava, the Priestess. Lancelot’s daughter,” Bedivere spoke.
“Yes, her. She… healed me. She was strong, I could literally feel death grip me. It was terrifying, but she brought me back,” Ashton blurted quickly, before he lost his nerve to speak in front of his king.
Arthur turned on his heels and glowered severely at the young man. “Preposterous! She is a demon! A heathen!”
“She is not!” Ashton dared to speak, immediately regretting it when Arthur’s icy gaze narrowed more towards him.
“Apologies, milord,” Bedivere said, with a light smile, gently nudging the young man aside. “It’s been a trying day.”
“Certainly,” Arthur replied, through gritted teeth. “But surely, the young man is mistaken. Hallucinating, perhaps. Lamorak—please see the young man gets a good meal before dispatching him back to his home.”
“There is nothing left.” Ashton replied blandly, as Lamorak attempted to take his arm. “There’s… hardly anything to go back to. What there is left is there because of Avalon. I saw it all.”
“Delusions. Nothing more.” With a flick of his hand, Lamorak began to rough up the young man, pulling him out before Bedivere calmly intervened, leading him to the door and beckoning to a servant nearby to have him safely escorted away.
“Surely, he’s lying milord. Or… bewitched,” Lamorak insisted.
“Of course.” Something inside was setting quite right, though, Arthur realized, as he took a few more troubled paces along the length of the room before pausing to regard both of his noble knights. “Has there been any sign of Nimue?”
“Apologies but no, milord…
Arthur let loose a tirade of curse words under his breath. “Bedivere, Lamorak. Gather the knights. We must talk.”
“Very good milord.” Bedivere sent a glower at the smug knight and turned on his heels to summon the others.
He hoped beyond hope he could get his old friend to see reason. If not… he was going to have to be cut down. Bedivere just dreaded the thought of being the one to do it.
But if that’s what it took… anything to save Camelot.
Chapter Forty-Five
“Ava?” I was shaken out of a sultry dream I was having, involving all the guys and Liam Payne as well—how did he get there, I wondered?
My eyes slowly opened, and I groaned, even when looking into Xander’s handsome face and sultry eyes as he leaned over me.
“Where the fuck am I?” I demanded. Xander took my hand and assisted me to a sitting position. I glanced around, grimacing; I had been laying in some sort of makeshift tent, the cold, drafty air able to be blown in. Only I had been obviously curled up against Trystan who still rested heavily on a pile of blankets placed on the ground, snoring lightly and his limbs twitching. “Oh yeah…” I said, with a sigh. “Is everyone here?”
Xander nodded singly. “The rebel army is here, awaiting orders.”
“Awaiting? Uh, what is there to wait for? We trample through the woods, charging and yelling and take down the castle. You know, like Braveheart. ‘Freeeeeeeeeeeeeedom!’ Easy-peasy. Surely they can manage that, right?” I scoffed at myself. Xander stood nearby, shooting me his side-ways grin and folding his arms over his chest, appearing amused. I shot him a funny look and shook my head, turning to the eagle-shifter sleeping in my “bed.” I remembered groggily that I was “implored” by the guys to t
ake a nap, and Trystan “volunteered” to watch over me as I did. And when I say volunteer, I mean pass out the second his head hit one of the crappy pillows we were using.
I peeled off the light blanket that covered him, mildly disappointed that he was still fully clothed. I knew fooling around just before a battle situation probably wasn’t a good idea. I knew I had to wake up Trystan and didn’t bother with niceties. Because if I did, I would probably fall into this crappy bed and let him sink into me which was just what I wanted… but I couldn’t.
Instead, I smacked him hard in the ass, and shouted, “Get up!”
Trystan’s green eyes flew open, looking startled as he scrambled to sit upright. “Och, what the shite Avie?” He scolded, groaning and scrubbing a hand over his sleepy face. I doubled over laughing and Xander chuckled as the Scot groused in Gaelic, obviously unhappy with his wake up call. He feigned a scowl at me, shaking a finger in my direction. “When we get home, Ava, luv… I am going to repay the favor you just gave me.”
I held out my hand in a taunting gesture Matrix style, with all the same stoicism as Keanu Reeves. “Bring it, eagle-man.”
Xander was laughing as he held out a hand. “Come on, Ava. Time to go address your people.”
Snorting, I set my hand in his and he lifted my to my feet with little effort until I was just a whisper away from him; I could feel the heat radiating off his body. “What people? You guys?”
“No, dearest. The army. They’re waiting for you.”
“Me?” I squeaked in horror, pressing a hand to my chest. I shook my head.
“Aye, your the priestess. You give the orders.” Trystan also stood now, brushing his hands over his tight green shirt and re-tucking it into his blue jeans that were also deliciously tight in all the right places. I arched a brow, obviously ogling him, and he released an easy chuckle. “Soon, luv. Soon. Meet ye out there.” As he passed me he swatted his hand against my ass, making me jump lightly. It shouldn’t have been hot… especially now… but it was especially with Xander standing there. “Just a wee preview, lassie.”
“By the gods…” I muttered, channeling Mathias’ sentiments. Xander set his hand on my cheek, urging my gaze back towards him; I’d been watching Trystan wander out of the tent. He grinned at me and my cheeks heated as he bent in to brush his lips sensually over my cheek.
“With luck we’ll be home tonight and in bed, and this whole thing will be a memory. But first—get out there. They’re waiting for you,” he said, his voice a husky whisper in my ear.
I let out a light groan. “Fine.” I looked over my attire; I didn’t really appear battle ready. Excalibur was entwined around my wrist as usual, heavy and warm against my skin, and I wore the same black jeans but had changed into a green long-sleeved shirt that I think belonged to Xander. It fit snugly around my bust and shoulders and allowed for maximum movement. I slipped my black boots back on and wrapped my hair at the back of my head and held it in place with a hair binder at my wrist. “Do I look commanding enough?”
Xander chuckled. “Always, dear.” He motioned past himself, and I led the way out of the tent. The immediate area was a bustle of chatter and clanging swords and the occasional laughter around a campfire in the center. Trystan had joined Mathias and Bash who were chatting with weapons in hand, Rhys was flitting about from person to person, grinning widely and showing off his magic. His eyes were still weary though, and I knew it was all an act.
Lachlan and Percival were talking with several rebels and appearing to be giving instructions.
All conversation halted the moment I stepped out of the tent.
“Uh…” I stammered uncomfortably.
“You’re on, dear.” Xander whispered to me, and I glared at him and mouthed an obscenity at him. At least they weren’t bowing.
“On your knees, you damn cretins!” Rhys shouted, hands cupping the sides of his mouth. He glanced at me mischievously as I glowered. Damn him… everyone began to kneel.
“Stop!” I demanded loudly, my voice carrying through the clearing. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. I am not a battle-person—for that you want Mathias. Or Bash. I know shit about weapons—talk to Xander for that one. For sarcastic comments, find Trystan,” I quipped in his direction, and he gave me a mock salute. Traitor… “All I know is that this needs to end. No more innocents need to be brought into this. Arthur needs to come down, and Nimue needs to be taken down. I don’t know how quite to do that—I’m depending on you for that. I just know that it needs to happen, and Avalon will be here to help in any way it can? Okay? ‘Kay. So…” I made shooing motions with my hands, and the people and demons directly in front of me chuckled lightly. “Let’s go. Run or jump on your horses or skip for all I give a shit. Let’s go get him so I can go home and take a long nap.”
“For Camelot!” Percival echoed his sentiments. The rebels all cheered, echoing him themselves.
I slapped my hand over my face, shaking my head reproachfully at all the male posturing. “For fuck’s sake…”
“You heard her!” Trystan gave a loud whistle by shoving his two fingers in his mouth and his arm shot in the air, spinning around once as if to say, “let’s go.” Everyone began to bustle, everything seeming completely chaotic and disorganized. I’m not sure what I expected, really… but it wasn’t this.
“No matter what happens, you must keep these two safe at all costs. No exceptions.” Mathias voice boomed loudly in a deep growl as he pointed not only at me, but Rhys as well. He tossed his hair over his shoulder, with a self-important, smug smile and disappeared, reappearing next to me.
I jumped, irritated. “Stop that—so help me I’ll let Bash put a bell on you, wizard boy.”
Rhys grinned evilly and I rolled my eyes.
“I might like that idea. Bash playing with my… bells…” He wiggled his brow naughtily. I slapped my hand over my face.
“Ugh, can we stop with the jokes and the bullshit? Just for once?” I demanded bitterly. Rhys set a hand my shoulder, regarding me with a sober sincerity.
“No, Ava. We won’t. Because that’s what Arthur wants. That’s what Nimue wants… to stop being ourselves. To control us with fear. That’s not how we operate. We’re gonna take ‘em down, and we’re gonna take ‘em down with big smiles on our faces, laughing the entire time,” Rhys said, and I arched a brow.
“Wow, Rhys. You are a twisted motherfucker, you know that?”
Rhys tipped his head back and laughed a taunting cackle. “Yes, yes I am.” He outstretched his hand to me and I took it, pulling him in close.
“Thanks, Merlin,” I said, winking at him
I don’t know what I expected next, but everything seemed to happen in a blur. Bash’s hands were on me suddenly, adorning me with various crystals and stones on chains or strings, tying them to my arm, wrist, or draping them over my neck. He shoved sachets in any pocket that he could, actually not trying to feel me up which was unusual. He was all business and his steel-blue eye were positively frozen with worry.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he explained, leaning into me to be heard; the field was a flurry of chaotic activity and cacophonous noise. “Lachlan and Percival are leading the rebels. They are bringing them in around the west. Trystan will be flying overhead for reconnaissance, and the five of us,” he said, indicating himself, Rhys, and I, and Xander and Mathias nearby who were strapping themselves with weapons. Trystan was grooming several horses and seeming to be communicating with them telepathically; they nickered and bobbed their heads in some sort of understanding. These guys never ceased to amaze me. “We will be coming straight head on. Trystan will confirm everyone is in place and then… you know what comes next.”
I nodded in determined affirmation, punching my fist into my opposite hand so hard the knuckles cracked. I snarled at myself. “Ow…”
“Save the anger for Arthur, babe,” Bash said with a grin.
“I’m really not meant for this hero business.” I shook out my ha
nd at my side.
“All the best heroes don’t seem to be heroes at all,” Rhys reminded me. “They’re just like everyone else, imperfect but determined with good intentions.”
“Damn… stop that. Serious Rhys—I can’t take it,” I quipped.
“Did I forget tigers in the sack?” Rhys finished, flashing a wide grin at me.
“Ha. Welcome back, Merlin.” He snickered a laugh.
Trystan led two of the horses to Rhys and me; the larger one and the white one. Rhys didn’t hesitate to blink out and reappear on the horse’s back. For its credit, the horse didn’t even seem surprised by it. Xander followed along, still carrying the large bag with the weaponry, and Mathias walked with a hand gently stroking the side of the large animal—the horse, that was, not Trystan.
Xander approached me, retrieving the small stunner from the bag and handed to me. “I know you have Excalibur but… just in case.”
“Right,” I said, shoving it in a holster that Bash had attached to my waist.
Xander retrieved his own long katana plus one other, and sheathed them at his sides. He shot me a long, sultry smile and I felt guilty ogling him. He wore simple black jeans and a tight, dark blue tee—again with the tight stuff—that accentuated all his sinful, lean musculature. Mathias wore something similar, except replacing the tee with a red one instead that looked fantastic against his golden skin, deep brown hair and eyes. Normally I might balk a bit at the red but I didn’t give two shits about it now; he looked fantastic.
“Doesn’t exactly feel like… war clothes. It looks more like we’re going to a club or something,” I said, with a wry grin observing them both.
“Well, we don’t need armor,” Xander insisted. “Real war is often not nearly as glamorous as it seems on TV.”
“Truth,” Mathias agreed, with a dry snort.
“She has a point though.” Rhys tapped his finger on his cheek, observing everything around us with scrutiny. “We need some kind of something for solidarity. Hmm…”