THE WITCHES OF AVALON: a thrilling Arthurian fantasy (THE MORGAN TRILOGY Book 1)

by Lavinia Collins

  The words tumbled out of Kay in a strange, jumbled present tense as though he was experiencing the whole disorientating rush of it around himself again. I could imagine that moment, when the world that had once made sense made sense no longer, and Kay had looked at his brother and seen someone else entirely. But I was relieved, just a little, that it had not been Kay’s mother who had been Uther’s victim. But then, who could Arthur’s mother have been?

  Kay sighed again, wrapping me more tightly in his arms. I rested my head against his chest, listening to the quick beat of his heart, feeling the softness of his skin against my cheek.

  “I remember him, as a baby,” Kay said, softly. “And before that, dimly, I remember my mother being pregnant. I suppose she must have lost that child, and that’s why Merlin brought Arthur to her. But I remember him as a baby, his little gold head and – god, he used to cry. Now he is the King. The King of all of Britain.” Kay sighed again, pressing a kiss against the top of my head. “I suppose that means we ought not to be doing this. I don’t want to get you in trouble when it’s time for you to get married. Though, I suppose, we spilt that milk a while ago now, before it seemed like it mattered, eh?” I turned my face up to Kay, and he kissed me gently again. “I suppose we won’t do any extra harm, if no one finds out.”

  Kay sank back against the pillow, staring up above him. I saw him sigh with the realisation that we would not get the innocence of our summer days back. I wished I could have honestly told him that we would, but I could not. Kay was not, then, without the thoughts of politics and consequences that he had ignored just a little less than a year ago. He had seen his younger brother turn into the King of Britain. I supposed that made a man wonder about his place in the world, but I wished it had not made him wonder. Quietly, thoughtfully, he said, “Still, I’m afraid this cannot last.”

  “Why not?” I sat up, suddenly fired with a thought. “We could marry. I am a princess, and Ector is the son of a king in France. Why not?”

  Kay shook his head, and an awful, dark, hopeless look came across his face.

  “My father is a prince, but my mother was just a girl he met on the shores of Avalon. He lost his place among his brothers marrying her. You are Igraine’s daughter. You are Cornwall. You’ll get a king, not a half-commoner knight like me.”

  I lay back down beside him, disturbed by what I knew was the truth of his words. It would not be long before someone told Arthur to have me married off to someone. It was not a wise political move to leave a princess floating around on her own without tying down an allegiance with her. I did not want to get married, though. Not if it was not to Kay.

  “Maybe no one will want to marry me,” I said, quietly. “First I was plain, now I’m painted like this. Maybe no men will want me.”

  Kay said nothing, just gently stroked my hair. When I gazed at him, he was staring up, directly above him at the ceiling. We both knew that it would not matter. The world had changed when Arthur had pulled the sword from the stone, and we would all have to swiftly become political adults, thinking of the realm rather than ourselves. I was the daughter of a queen, and marriage would come for me, no matter how unwilling I was.

  Chapter Nine

  When I woke up Kay was gone, but he had left a little note scrawled on the back of a scrap of paper on my desk. When I saw it, I realised how slowly and carefully he must have written the letter he had sent me, for this was far scruffier and I had to struggle to read it. It just said,

  “I had to go, very important knightly duties. I like the blue – K.”

  I folded it up tight and slipped it between my dresses, along with the book. When my hand brushed the book I felt another stab of guilt about Merlin, but I pushed it away. It had been a mistake. I did not have to carry all my guilty mistakes around with me.

  I would wait a while before I read the book, I thought. I wanted to wait until Merlin had gone, but I did not know when that would be. I had the uncomfortable feeling that he would sense that I was reading it, and come back, and while Kay was in Camelot I wanted to keep Merlin as far away from me as possible. I pulled on my plain black wool dress and tied my hair into a plait. The dull, automatic actions of readying myself soothed me, just a little, and I walked down to the courtyard, to see what was happening. There was a crowd of knights gathered, fighting together in training. They all looked awfully young to me. At the edge of the crowd, I could see Kay standing beside Lancelot. They were leaning against the courtyard wall, and Kay was leaning down to whisper something in his ear. I felt the little flutter of jealousy within me, but I decided to ignore it. After all, Ector stood there with them, and I did not think that Kay would stand there with Lancelot and his father if whatever had been happening between them was still going on. He had seemed, after all, to heed his father’s words. They seemed to have stuck with him, for there had been something of them in his worried words to me – that we ought to be thinking about our duties and our families rather than one another.

  Kay saw me and gave a little nod, and a half smile, and when Lancelot followed his gaze and recognised me he gave a reserved wave. I was not sure what Kay had seen in him. He was dull and quiet and serious. Though, I supposed, to Lancelot I too must appear dull and quiet and serious. Perhaps it was people like us who were attracted to Kay, because he was bright and loud and fun.

  I could see, too, on the other side of the crowd, Arthur, a stunned look still on his face, standing beside Merlin who was talking in his ear. That made me uneasy. The sun glinted on Excalibur’s hilt at Arthur’s side and I felt the little burn of anger in my stomach. I was still furious that Merlin had stolen my sword.

  Trying to distract myself from them, I watched the knights training together. They were young, but many of them were good. I was surprised at how good they were. Lancelot, whom I had always thought of as small and slight, had grown even taller over the winter, and more wiry, and I was surprised to see him knock the swords from the hands of men almost twice his size. It was clear from the way he moved that he had a talent for it, for fighting. He would be a great warrior soon. He was among the strongest already, and he moved with a quick, catlike grace that made it hard for any of his opponents to land a blow on him. I could see Arthur’s excitement as he watched him fight, and it was only when Arthur stepped forward with his practice sword that Lancelot seemed to be in any danger of losing at all. Arthur, the kind-hearted clumsy boy I had known as a child, had a warrior’s blood in him, and was growing huge already about the shoulders and the chest. He was not as fast as Lancelot, but the power he put behind every blow was easy to see, and he appeared to do it with so little effort. I remembered, suddenly, the dream I had had while I was painted, of the two of them in battle, it had seemed, with one another, and Lancelot poised to kill Arthur. It had looked to me more than twenty years away, but even with that knowledge, I could not see what would turn those two men against one another. Their fight in the yard was good-natured, companionable, and they clapped each other on the back afterwards, when they had agreed a draw, laughing and flushed from the pleasure of fighting. They were like brothers. It was clear, too, that fighting had brought them closer together, as each recognised the other’s skill. I could not imagine anything turning them against one another, no more than I could imagine Kay turning against Arthur.

  It was Kay who stepped forward next to fight with Lancelot. Kay was a little slower, but sharper, more devious. Lancelot, with all the deadpan honour of a man who had been raised as a king’s son, fighting fair, did not expect it when Kay darted a foot out to trip him. He stumbled back, but he didn’t fall, and a noise that was half approval of Lancelot’s skill, half disapproval of Kay’s tricks rose from the crowd. But that was what battle was like. I hoped that sharp wit and clever tricks would be enough to keep Kay alive. But he was strong, too, and lasted a long time before Lancelot knocked the sword from his hand, and at the end they, too, were both laughing. But these were games, the swords short and blunted. What would it be like when blood
was spilled, and the fallen friend could not be picked back up to his feet unharmed?

  There would be those who did not accept a boy-king, especially since there had been no real proof of Arthur’s parentage other than his golden hair and Merlin’s trick with the stone. No mother had stepped forward to claim him as her child.

  After the training was over, I saw Kay slip off to the stables as the others dispersed. Merlin and Arthur, too, I saw walk off to the tower that had been Uther’s. Merlin had all of Arthur’s attention, it seemed, and all of his trust.

  It wasn’t long before I saw Kay come out of the stables again, dressed in his black Otherworld armour, on a huge armoured horse and holding a shield that bore the great grey keys of the Seneschal’s office. When he saw I was still out in the yard, and looking over at him, he smiled and waved. I walked over slowly. The horse was still and calm with Kay on it, and let me put out a hand to stroke its velvety nose. I peered up at Kay, against the brightness of the spring sunshine, and saw him smiling down at me.

  “You’re the Seneschal, are you?” I asked him.

  He grinned. “Not bad for a shabby small town knight like me, eh? I suppose it pays if the King thinks you’re his brother for almost fourteen years.” He leaned down a little closer to me. “Morgan, Arthur’s sending some of us to Cornwall, to fetch your mother. He thinks she will be safer here.”

  I nodded. I wanted to go. I wanted him to take me with him, and to see my mother and to see Tintagel, my childhood home, again, but I did not ask. I did not think Kay would be dressed to depart like that if it was going to be a safe journey. There was not peace and acceptance throughout Britain of Arthur’s new rule, of course, but I was sorry to see that it was so in Cornwall.

  “Shouldn’t the Seneschal stay at court?” I asked. I thought it was his duty to keep the capital safe and in running order, to make sure the law courts were working properly, to keep track of the lands.

  Kay sighed in his saddle. “If I don’t go, there might not be a court. There’s no one else Arthur trusts to fetch Queen Igraine. He thinks other men will be out to steal her and marry her and try to take the throne for themselves.” Kay gave a wicked grin, then. “Who knows, maybe Arthur’s not so clever to send me.”

  He was teasing me, pretending he would marry my mother. I gave him a playful shove, and he laughed.

  “Oh Morgan, you know I would far rather steal you.” It was a joke, or it had begun as one, but as he finished I saw the sadness creep across his face. We knew it could not be. I opened my mouth to say something, some kind of painful, inadequate goodbye, but as I did I heard a voice, familiar with its deep tones of southern French, call Kay’s name from the gates. So, Lancelot was riding to Cornwall, too. Kay sighed and turned back to me. “I have to go, Morgan. I hope I will not be long.”

  He reached down his hand to clasp mine as I offered it up to him, and for a moment I saw him close his eyes as though he was making a wish, and then he let go of my hand, and waved, and flashed me his wicked smile, and left.

  One late autumn evening when the sun was low and red in the sky, streaming through the window, I went to my bedroom, hoping to be alone. When I opened the door to my bedroom, I felt a shock go through me as I thought I saw Kay sitting in the chair at my window, but as I blinked in disbelief, he changed before my eyes in to Merlin as I had seen him as a young man. I felt the burn of rage within me. So, Merlin thought himself very clever. The young Merlin gave me a handsome half-smile, but I was no longer susceptible to him and crossed my arms in the doorway, refusing to shut the door.

  “Oh yes, Morgan. I know all about you and the Seneschal. I have known everything about you. How did you think I knew that you liked dark, skinny boys?” Merlin stood, walking over to me. I hung back. I was not going to step in to the room with him. If he would not leave, then I would. “But not so skinny now, our Sir Kay. He’s becoming a man made for war, and men made for war don’t last long.”

  “What do you want, Merlin?” I demanded sharply.

  “Nothing yet,” he replied archly, coming closer. I stepped back into the corridor, and he laughed. “Have you finished with my book?”

  “No. Have you finished with my sword?”

  He laughed again.

  “It’s not your sword any more, Morgan. It’s Arthur’s sword.”

  “It is mine,” I hissed at him, feeling the anger burn through my veins.

  Merlin wrapped an arm around me and pulled me against him, into the room, slamming the door behind us with his other hand. He was stronger and faster than I would have thought, and he caught me by surprise, pressing his mouth against mine in a violent attempt at a kiss. I pushed him off me, hard, and he stepped back. I could feel that I was flushed with anger, full of its strength, breathing hard with it already. I did not have any weapon, nor even one tenth of his black magic strength, but I had my anger. If Merlin thought he could have me again because he had had me once then he was wrong.

  “Merlin, leave,” I demanded.

  He gave a facetious little bow. “If that is what you desire, my Lady,” he said, his voice returning to its rasping wheedle, his form to the ugly shaven-headed man. When he left, I bolted the door.

  When he was gone, I wrote to Nimue, asking her what news had reached Avalon, and if she was planning to come to Camelot. With Kay gone, and Arthur utterly absorbed by Merlin and his newfound role as king, I felt as though I needed an ally.

  When it was spring again, Kay returned with news that none of them could convince Queen Igraine to leave Tintagel. She would come, he said, when her daughter Morgawse was at Camelot with her. Morgawse, my sister, was Queen of Lothian and I supposed that our mother wanted the protection of a fellow queen at the court of this new king, whom she as yet had no reason to trust. I felt slighted, still, that she had not written to me, and did not seem to care that I was at Camelot.

  Letters were sent to my sister and her husband, inviting them to come and pledge their fealty to their new High King. I did not think, from the little I knew of King Lot, that he would be happy to pledge himself into the service of a boy. But Arthur looked less and less like a boy every day, and more and more like a king. While Kay had been gone, though Kay was almost a head taller than his old father Ector, Arthur had almost caught him up in height, and was twice as broad. They were a pair of giants together, those two.

  Camelot had grown as well, as more and more lords put themselves in Arthur’s power. Those who did not faced the growing band of knights, whom Arthur rode out with, against Merlin’s counsel. But it was for the best. Arthur was fearsome in battle, and the men liked to have a king who rode at their side. Soon all the lands of Logrys were securely in his power, and the King of Gore in North Wales had come briefly to pledge as well. We only needed to wait for King Lot, and Cornwall, and Britain would be Arthur’s.

  I didn’t care about that, though, as much as I cared about the fact that Kay had returned. There was a feast for the return of the knights from Cornwall, so that Arthur could reward them and hear their stories. I caught Kay’s eye as he sat beside Arthur, and he grinned at me. I smiled back, more reserved. Merlin was there, and I could feel him watching me. I felt too nervous, too sick with being so close yet far from Kay, and so unbearably close to Merlin, to enjoy the food. It was simple enough, I supposed, to the knights who came from rich families – just a beef stew with vegetables – but it was far richer than anything I had eaten in the abbey, or in Avalon.

  I was glad of the wine to settle my nerves, and glad when Kay and Arthur had exchanged their stories, and I could slip away.

  I had only just got to my room and begun to unwind the plait of my hair, when the door opened and Kay, flushed with wine and excitement, and the knowledge of what was forbidden, rushed in to the room, and shut the door behind, drawing the bolt. I rushed forward and took his face in my hands.

  “Kay, is it really you?” I whispered, thinking of Merlin sitting there in Kay’s form, suddenly worried. Kay looked confused.

 
; “It’s me.” An amused half-smile crept across his face. No, I could not mistake the real Kay. “Was I away that long?”

  I kissed him, hard, full of relief, relief to have him back and alive, and for a moment alone with him. I kissed him so I didn’t have to tell him why I was afraid he was Merlin. So that I didn’t have to talk about Merlin at all. And because it was easy, and familiar, and I had been so lonely without him.

  Chapter Ten

  The days after that passed quickly, and spring turned to summer, and to autumn fast. Kay was busy, and our need to be secretive kept us apart, but whenever he could he would sneak to my room, and we would come together with all the forbidden passion of secret lovers. I could see, though, that he was growing more and more wary. Arthur wanted him more and more at his side as Logrys became stronger, because as Logrys became stronger, and Arthur more established as a king, he became more of a threat to the other kings of Britain, and the time would come soon when they would either have to pledge to him in fealty, or fight against him for their independence from him. Arthur grew fast into his role as King, and as the end of summer brought his fifteenth birthday, I would have been sure that he was fully a man if I had not known it. He looked, certainly, of an age with Kay and myself, who were three years older than him, or even Lancelot who was a year older than us. I had found a kind of precarious happiness in Camelot, seeing Kay when I could, offering my services as a healer to the wounded knights. They were afraid of my woaded face, of course, but soon saw that I was not a danger to them, and only brought them health and wholeness. I had almost forgotten Macrobius’ book, and certainly had forgotten my desire to know its secrets, but I still checked every day it was there. I would have, then, exchanged it for my sword, and I knew well enough what it was worth not to want to risk losing it.