I lost myself in him, in his lips, his arms.
The tempo of his kisses changed, the urgency in his touch heightening. His breathing deepened, becoming rough and almost desperate, matching my own.
As my fingers roamed up under his chainmail he suddenly caught them, holding us both still.
His fingers brushed over the ring on my finger and he smiled wryly.
“Not like this.”
I looked up at him, a tiny spark of hurt flaring inside me.
He saw my expression. “I want you for real, not in a vision.”
“But it feels real.”
A smile curved his lips. “I know. But it isn’t. If I am to be with you, I want it to be the real thing.”
I knew he was right, but my body, vision or not, was screaming for more. I’d never realised how powerful that want, that need, would be.
He smiled suddenly, as though he knew what thoughts were going through my head.
Brushing his lips over the tips of my fingers he whispered, “Soon, Cariad.”
That soft promise sent a shiver through me and I leant in for another kiss.
Lance was suddenly yanked away from me, the walls of my room crumbling as I was thrust into a new vision.
I stood by a wide river. A city, London, mushrooming up behind me as the vision came into focus. Westminster Bridge lay just down river on my right. Across the water the white wheel of the Eye turned lazily, and Big Ben chimed the hour. 5pm.
There was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing unusual about the bustling streets. Workers flooded out of the buildings on their way home, an open top bus rumbled past, the top deck crowded with tourists, their cameras flashing.
I turned in a slow circle, trying to see what the vision was trying to tell me.
A tourist next to me, taking pictures down river, suddenly grabbed their companion, pointing and speaking in rapid Japanese.
I spun to see what they were pointing at. There was a shadow on the river, huge and moving fast, but the air overhead remained clear.
Except - except if you looked at it out of the corner of your eye. There was a strange shimmer in the air, as though the light was being broken, refracted.
I blinked as the power of the Ring of Dispel did its job and the shimmer became a blur and then a dark shadow – and then it was there.
Winging over the water.
It reminded me of Morgana, beautiful and terrifying all at the same time. The scales gleamed like polished bronze, each wing gossamer fine yet impossibly strong. And huge. Impossibly, mind-numbingly huge.
A noise like a thunderclap split the air as the dragon arched its neck and a ball of fire bigger than a car slammed into Westminster Bridge.
Then people began to scream, racing for the shelter of the buildings.
I pushed against the tide, running towards the dragon as it settled itself atop the clock tower of Big Ben. Great talons scraped against the ornate masonry, huge chunks dropping onto the building below.
Then I heard its voice, deep, ancient, and powerful.
Come to me little Pendragon. Come to me little queen of Albion or I shall make you too the last of your kind.
And the dragon swung its neck, fire raining down on the streets of London.
I woke with a thud. I had been trying to run towards the dragon and had thrown myself out of bed.
Panting, I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, the sweat drying on my skin. Had it been a vision? Or just a regular nightmare? I wasn’t sure. After all, it seemed so unlikely that the dragon would go so far as to reveal itself to the whole world. Just a dream then, surely.
The alarm clock beside my bed blinked at me.
5.00am.
I groaned. I knew I wasn’t getting back to sleep, not with my alarm going off in just an hour anyway.
My sheets and duvet were a tangled mess and I yanked them back into place, only just resisting the urge to check if they smelt like Lance.
I climbed back on top of them with my laptop, ready to waste an hour or so until my usual wake up time, when something caught my eye. A glint of metal at the end of my bed.
I picked it up and dropped it almost immediately.
“Shit.” Blood blossomed from a deep cut in my finger and I sucked on it as I gazed down at the shard of bronze on my bed.
“What the hell?” A cold chill swept over me. I flicked it over with one finger. It wasn’t a shard of metal. It was a scale.
I shot off the bed and lunged for the light switch. My room was empty but it didn’t feel like it. My skin crawled.
Had it really been there? Had the dragon been in my room? Why? Why hadn’t it just killed me in my sleep? Was its presence what had sparked the vision? And now I was certain it had been a vision. In the same way that Lance being close had sparked them once before.
I hugged myself, trying to stop the chills. More than any time in my life I wished I still had Arthur in my head. I needed his advice more than ever.
My thoughts suddenly flashed to Dad. Morgana had once threatened to get to me through my family, what if the dragon had the same idea?
I raced into the hallway and pressed my ear up against Dad’s closed bedroom door. His soft snore reached me and I relaxed, just a tiny fraction.
I thought about waking him, just so I didn’t have to be alone. But I still wasn’t sure he believed me so I didn’t know how much help he’d be. Going to Wyn and Percy also crossed my mind, but it was dark and cold out, and I didn’t want to wake them. I’d see them in a few short hours anyway.
Back in my room and desperate to distract myself I grabbed my laptop again and signed into Facebook. The only ‘friends’ I had on there were a few cousins and Sam, so my wall was woefully blank, but the newsfeed had only one topic of conversation. Link after link to articles about the discovery of the tomb.
Articles calling it a hoax, articles calling it the greatest historical discovery for years. No one seemed to know quite what to believe.
I clicked on a few. It seemed they’d finished testing the age of many of the objects found down there and had confirmed it was well over a thousand years old.
Some commenters claimed it only meant the tomb was that old, the carvings, they said, could have been added later.
It didn’t seem as though they knew who’s tomb it was yet. Some people were saying the carvings suggested it was Arthur himself, but others were closer to the truth saying it had to be one of Arthur’s knights.
I clicked on one article supposedly written by an ‘expert’ on Arthurian myth. The first thing that jumped out at me was Lancelot’s name, and I read more closely.
I couldn’t help smiling as I read. I wondered how this man would feel to know that he was the only one close to the truth.
In his article he postulated that due to the distance from any of the supposed locations of Camelot the castle was most likely to be Joyous Gard, and its famous occupant, Lancelot.
I skimmed further down and found a picture of the author. I felt a little shiver of familiarity. I’d seen his face before, in the cave beneath Tintagel. He was a member of the Order of Camelot.
Chapter Fifteen
We picked Sam up on the way to school again the next day, but no one spoke much. There were dark circles under Sam’s eyes, and I guessed she’d been up late reading stories on the internet too. I knew I should tell Wyn and Percy about the dragon and the vision, but I didn’t want to worry them with only half the story and then have to rush into school. It could wait until later.
My first class was English and I avoided Mackay’s gaze as Sam and I hurried to seats at the back of the room.
As soon as I glanced up though I found him watching me with a smug half smile on his face.
“All right everyone, lets settle down.”
The class quietened almost immediately, but Mackay never really looked away from me.
“Now, I don’t know how many of you bother to watch the news or read the papers, but there’s been a very interestin
g discovery over the weekend.”
“You mean King Arthur’s tomb?” One of the girls at the front piped up.
Mackay smiled indulgently. “Well, I don’t think it’s actually his, but yes. How many of you have heard about it?”
Most of the hands in the class went up. More than I’d expected. I kept my hand in my lap and so did Sam.
Mackay smiled. “Well, for those who don’t know, this weekend someone discovered a tomb that seemed to prove the existence of King Arthur. For a lot of people that’s like proving the tooth fairy exists.” He chuckled. “Now, personally, I don’t know if it’s true or not, but it’s definitely interesting and it makes me think about some very interesting works of literature. Does anyone know what I’m talking about? Cara?”
He looked right at me, even though I hadn’t raised my hand and a few others had.
I kept my expression blank and shrugged. “I don’t know, Sir.”
“Sure you do. Think about it for a minute.”
I wanted to slap the smug smile off his face, but instead I just shrugged again.
By now everyone seemed to have noticed the odd tension between me and Mackay and looks were shooting between the two of us.
He smiled. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t know anything about King Arthur?”
I snapped. “Oh sure. I know loads. I had his voice in my head for months and just recently I ran off with Sir Lancelot to go visit Merlin. He and I are like that.” I held up my crossed fingers.
Around me the class burst into laughter and Mackay was forced to laugh along with them, although the look in his eyes spoke volumes.
“Well, seeing as Miss Page has chosen to be uncooperative can anyone else tell me what I’m talking about?”
I tuned out. I didn’t want to sit and listen to Mackay talking about Monmouth and Malory and texts that might now have to be considered historical rather than fictional.
A folded up square of paper landed on my desk and I unfolded it to read Sam’s curly handwriting.
What is he doing?
I grabbed my pen and scribbled back.
They want people talking about it. They want the idea in people’s heads.
And then what? The note came back.
I glanced over at her and shrugged. That, after all, was the one question I didn’t have an answer to.
Wyn and Percy didn’t pick Sam and me up at school, we’d already agreed to meet at the farmhouse, and I didn’t bother with any preliminaries once we were all settled in the main room.
“I think he’s going to attack London.”
Percy looked up from the mammoth sandwich Sam and I had brought him from Subway on our way home from school. “Who?”
Wyn clipped him round the back of the head. “The dragon, idiot.”
He rubbed the back of his head. “Well, I don’t know. A minute ago we were talking about Mackay.”
I amused myself for a moment imagining Mackay breathing fire and attacking London, then I forced myself to get more serious.
“I had a vision. I was on the banks of the Thames and the dragon destroyed Westminster Bridge.” I’d wanted to wait until we were inside and seated before dropping the bombshell, so I was a little disappointed when Wyn gave a little shrug.
“You’re sure it was a vision and not just a dream?”
I hesitated for a moment, then pulled the scale out of my bag, being careful not to cut myself this time. “I also found this in my room.”
Wyn snatched it out of my hand, turning it over in his fingers, his previously calm expression vanishing in a heartbeat.
“He wanted you to have that vision, Cara. And if he’s trying to lure you out then it’s a trap.”
“But why didn’t he just kill me? If he was in my room I was defenceless. He could have just roasted me in my bed.”
Wyn shook his head. “No. He wants to cause as much havoc as he can. If he’d have done that it would have just been passed off as a regular fire and no one would have known any different. He wants more than just you dead.”
“So London is a trap, but what else can I do? I have to go. I can’t let him destroy the city.”
His hands clenched onto fists against his thighs. “I know. I know. I just don’t like this. It feels like we’re being manipulated and that doesn’t bode well.”
“Do you know when?” Sam asked in a small voice. She was sitting close to Wyn, their knees touching.
I shrugged.
“Nothing in the vision that suggested a date?” Wyn unclenched one fist to squeeze Sam’s knee, feeling her trembling slightly against him.
I started to shake my head and then stopped. There was something. I tried to picture the scene around me. Then it clicked.
“There were a lot of flags.”
“Flags?”
I nodded. “St George’s flags.”
“St George as in, St George and the Dragon?” Wyn shook his head in disbelief.
I nodded. “The very same. St George’s day is coming up. The 23rd of April. It’s the English Saints day. You don’t think – that would be too – “
“I think it sounds just about perfect,” Wyn said with a low, long sigh.
I couldn’t help but agree with him and for a moment we all sat in silence just imaging the havoc the dragon could unleash on London.
“I think I need to know more,” I said finally.
Wyn cocked his head at me. “More?”
“About the dragon. To be honest the only thing I know is a half story that Lance told me that night we stayed in Camelot. I need to know the full story. I need to know everything I can about him.”
Wyn looked thoughtful for a moment. “There might be a better way. I could tell you, but I think it might be easier for me to show you.”
As I’d gotten better at controlling my abilities I’d tried hard not to let myself get caught up in Wyn or Percy’s memories. It was easy to do; skin on skin contact allowed me to see visions, normally what they were thinking about at the time, or what they chose to show me. But since the time I had nearly gotten trapped in Arthur’s memories as he died I had tried to resist as much as possible. This would mean letting myself slip into Wyn’s memories. Deeper than I’d been in a long time.
Finally I nodded. “It might be easiest.”
He reached out, holding his hand out to me, palm up. I took a long, deep breath and then placed my hand in his.
Chapter Sixteen
At first it was only images and disjointed sounds and smells. A large part of me didn’t want to let myself get completely submerged; I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get back out. Eventually I let myself slip deeper and the images and sounds began to coalesce.
I found myself stood off to the side in the great room that had once housed the Round Table. It felt strange to be back in Camelot, even if it was only in a vision.
The light streamed through the high windows and the dust motes danced in the golden glow. I glanced to my left and found Wyn stood beside me. He was older than how I knew him, wiser and sterner, though no amount of age would ever erase the mischievous glint in his eyes. His gaze was fixed on the middle of the room, where three men poured over a map spread out on the table.
Their conversation was muted, but before I could step closer to try and listen in Arthur looked up from the map. He too was older than the last time I’d seen him, or looked older, more worn down by the strain of leadership.
“Gwain, come join us. I could use your experience on this matter.”
Gwain snorted. “Experience, Sire? I’m afraid I’ve fought no more dragons than you have.”
Arthur winced. “I am still hoping it won’t come down to a fight. I have no wish to kill the last dragon. Not unless he forces my hand.”
Again Gwain snorted. “Forces your hand? Sire, he’s been burning towns all along his path from the mountains. He’s challenging you in the best way he knows.”
“Then we shall give him what he wants.”
I spun towards
the voice, unable to help myself, as Lancelot straightened up from the table. His unruly curls were tied back from his face with a leather thong, and he too looked a little older, a little more careworn. His armour gleamed in the sun streaming in through the windows and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
Arthur laid a restraining hand on his arm. “If we have to, we will face him in battle, but it is not my intention. Not if I can find any other way.”
Lancelot grunted and turned back to the map, but there was no mistaking the disappointment in his eyes. He wanted to face the dragon, for him it was just another opportunity to prove his worth. I couldn’t help the half smile that crept onto my lips. He really had been an arrogant little git.
Merlin leant on his staff. “Sadly, I think young Lancelot may have the right of it. The dragon wants a battle. He wants to avenge his mate’s death, and he will not rest until either you or he is dead.”
Arthur turned away from the table, his jaw set, and strode over to the windows, looking out across the sprawl of Camelot. Merlin watched him go, but both Gwain and Lancelot turned back to the map.
I had just walked over to join him at the window when the door from the hall opened. Lancelot looked up and stiffened, his lips turning to a thin line as he swallowed hard.
“My Queen.” Arthur turned from the window and bowed.
I had to steel myself to turn and look. I knew who stood in the doorway, I’d known from the moment I’d seen Lancelot’s reaction, but I had never thought I would see her in the flesh.
I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped my lips, not that anyone could hear me. I could see now why Lancelot had thought at first it was me, and why he had continued to feel affection for the queen even after he knew the truth.
Her long hair was the same exact shade of honey blond; it even curled the same way. Our features, cheekbones, lips, even the shape of our eyes, were the same. Though the colour was different. It was like someone had painted my portrait, but made certain deliberate errors. She was older than me, however, only by a few years, but enough to tell.
“I was concerned, my lord, when you didn’t join me for our midday meal. You have been in here for half the day already.”
The Forever Queen (Pendragon Book 2) Page 13