“It is never enough. You do realise that don’t you? I could train her for years and she still won’t be able to face that dragon.”
“I’m right here.”
Wyn turned on me. “And do you really think you could face the dragon and live? All I’m trying to do is give you half a fighting chance.”
I shook my head as Percy helped me unstrap the shield. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Wyn took three strides and was suddenly in my face. “The last female dragon killed a dozen knights before Arthur killed her. And you won’t have a dozen knights. You’ll have me and Percy. And Arthur was a seasoned warrior; you on the other hand are – not.” He stepped back, rough breaths whistling through his teeth. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit.”
This was an old argument now. Wyn and Percy were both dead set against me going to London. They were convinced it was a trap. The dragon was planting visions intentionally to draw me to London, and there it would kill me.
I agreed with them completely. But unlike them, I didn’t see that I had much of a choice. If I went I might die, if I didn’t a lot of people would definitely die.
To me that wasn’t a choice.
Sam stayed out of it. She didn’t like the idea of what might happen, but she also seemed to realise that there was no talking me out of it. A conclusion Wyn and Percy had yet to reach.
I’d seen her once or twice during the training session, her eyes always fixed on Wyn, when she wasn’t absorbed with her iPhone. She was still convinced we might be able to track down the Silver Bough and that would magically solve all our problems.
I couldn’t deny that the idea of having Lance by my side when I faced the dragon was appealing, even if he wasn’t going to magically make it possible to defeat the dragon. So far though the Silver Bough seemed to be proving elusive. Of all the legends surrounding the Fey, it seemed the most obscure. We’d found only a few vague mentions of it in all the research we’d done. And it didn’t matter how much I wished time would just slow down and stop the days kept racing by and the 23rd of April crept ever closer.
Wyn continued his gruelling training sessions and I went home every evening sore, sweaty and exhausted. I was so tired that I slept too deeply for Merlin to get into my dreams and I begin to miss even that tenuous connection to Lance.
As positive as I tried to stay I was slowly losing hope of ever seeing him again. I couldn’t help but wonder if we were just not supposed to be together.
Time and the Fair Folk had separated us once, and now Fey magic kept us apart again. I had no way of knowing how much time was passing for him there in Avalon. It could have been a few hours, days, weeks or even years.
The thought of never seeing him again made it hard to breathe, so I tried not to think about it, but it crept up on me sometimes, and the hope trickled away.
Chapter Seventeen
It was two weeks before St George’s Day when I finally gave in. It had been the only option left to me for quite a while, but I’d refused to consider it. Going to the Order of Camelot for help felt wrong somehow. I wanted to be involved with them as little as possible.
But we’d run out of other options. Sam’s research into the Silver Bough had hit a dead end. It was such a vague myth – too old to even be a part of the mythology surrounding Arthur. It came from further back – much further back. And the usual infallible google search was proving useless.
After my English Lit class on the Monday I hung back as the rest of the class packed up their bags and headed out the door. Sam hesitated for a moment, but I shook my head at her and jerked it towards the door. As yet I didn’t think the Order knew about Sam, or that she was one of the only people in the world to know the truth, and I wanted to keep it that way.
It took a few moments after she left before Mackay realised the classroom wasn’t empty. He’d been busy wiping the whiteboard clean and as he turned around I gave him my sweetest smile.
“Cara.” He carefully placed the eraser on the desk and dusted off his hands. “Did you have a question about the lesson?” His eyes flicked towards the open door into the corridor, where students were passing on their way to their next class.
“Not about the lesson, no.”
He looked intrigued, but again looked towards the milling students outside the classroom. “This probably isn’t the safest place to talk.”
I glanced out of the door myself and nodded. “You might be right. Do you know the old farmhouse out on Foxhole Road?”
He cocked one eyebrow. “You mean the one where they used to hold the parties last year?”
It had been a big story at the time, so it didn’t surprise me that he’d heard about it. “That’s the one. After school. I’ll meet you there.”
He looked hesitant. He knew full well I wouldn’t be there alone, and he didn’t know why I was asking him to come.
“No one is going to hurt you, Mr Mackay. I just need to ask you a few questions, that’s all.”
Finally he nodded.
When Wyn and Percy picked me up from school, I quietly explained my plan. Wyn protested the entire drive to the farmhouse. He didn’t like Mackay, and he didn’t trust him. His hatred of the Order ran deeper than mine. I didn’t like them, but Wyn despised them. His loyalty to Arthur, and Merlin was too strong.
But I wasn’t about to let him talk me out of it. We needed the Bough. I needed Lance. And to get those things, unfortunately it seemed like I needed the Order too.
Once at the farmhouse Wyn started pacing, and didn’t stop until we heard a car pull up to the farmhouse, tyres crunching on the gravel. Much to Sam’s disgust we’d dropped her home, I still wanted to keep her involvement to a minimum, especially where the Order were concerned, and so it was just Wyn, Percy and myself who stood waiting in the musty living room of the farmhouse as the front door opened.
“A lovely place you have here.” Mackay hesitated on the threshold of the room, watching Wyn and Percy carefully. “You know, I’d feel much more welcome if I wasn’t being confronted with cold steel.”
I groaned as I turned to Wyn and Percy. I hadn’t even noticed them drawing their swords. “Put those away. There’s not going to be any fighting here.”
Percy complied quickly enough, but Wyn hesitated, glowering over my shoulder at Mackay.
“Wyn, now.”
His eyes flicked to me and for a moment they were rebellious, then with a dissatisfied grunt, he slid his sword into its sheath and it did its usual disappearing act.
“Why don’t you sit down?” I told Mackay, gesturing towards one of the musty old couches.
He dusted one off with a grimace of distaste and sat down as I took the chair opposite. Wyn and Percy stayed standing, positioning themselves on either side of my chair.
Mackay snorted. “You deny who you are so vehemently, and yet look at you, regal without even meaning to be.”
I frowned and shifted uncomfortably. I didn’t want Wyn and Percy acting as my honour guard, but it was very hard to stop them.
“That’s not what we’re here to talk about.”
“Well, I must say, I am very intrigued. The last time we spoke outside of class, you made it very clear that you were not happy with what the Order was doing. Has something changed?”
“No. I still don’t like what you’re doing. And I think you’re wasting your time. I am never going to be Queen. However,” I held up one hand to forestall Mackay’s retort. “I think I need the help of the Order.”
“Our help? Well, now I am even more intrigued. What could we possibly help you with? And more importantly, what do we get in return?”
I’d been worried that might be a problem. That the Order would want something I didn’t want to give in return for helping me. Wyn muttered something highly uncomplimentary under his breath but I tried to ignore him.
“Your Order seems to have access to a lot of information we don’t. And I honestly don’t know where else to turn. I need to know if
you know anything about the Silver Bough.”
Mackay gave me such a blank look that I knew he had no idea what I was talking about. “The Silver Bough?”
“It’s part of an old myth. It’s supposed to allow passage into the Otherworld – into Avalon. It might be the key to unlocking the gateways into Avalon.”
Mackay spread his hands helplessly. “I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong person. I’ve never even heard of it. You must remember most of the legends and myths we’ve passed down have concerned themselves with you, and with Arthur. We don’t have as much interest in the legends of the Fair Folk as you might think. We concern ourselves with this world. Not Avalon.”
I groaned and glanced over my shoulder at Wyn and Percy. They both gazed helplessly back.
“Of course,” Mackay said slowly. “I’m not exactly the best person to ask. David would be your best bet, David Collins.”
The name rang a bell and I frowned.
“He’s a historian, of sorts. Passionate about Celtic mythology. He’s part of the Order. But he also writes books on Arthurian legend.”
I remembered where I’d seen the name. He’d written one of the articles I’d read online about Lancelot’s tomb. “Do you have a phone number for him? Can you put me in touch with him?”
Mackay grimaced. “You seem to think I’m better connected than I am. I’m fairly low down in the Order.” He looked bitter. “I don’t have noble enough blood I’m afraid.” It was the first time Mackay had expressed anything about the Order other than blind devotion.
I was curious in spite of myself. “What do you mean?”
He laughed. “Remember, the Order was formed by the former Knights of the Round Table, along with a number of Lords and princelings of the time. Most of the Order can very proudly trace their roots back in an unbroken line to Knights and Lords; I can only trace my roots back to the bastard son of a knight. A man who held no lands or title. Just the dubious honour of having been sired by one of Arthur’s most notorious womanisers.”
Sudden understanding dawned as Mackay’s eyes moved from me to Wyn stood at my left shoulder.
“Or at least, that’s the story I’ve always been told.” He laughed again. “Admittedly, the story has been passed down through my family for centuries, father to son, passing on the same tale, and I don’t doubt it’s been a little twisted with each telling. That my ancestor was born to a lowly, unmarried castle serving girl, who proclaimed to everyone, including the boy himself, that his father was none other than the noble Sir Gwain. And when, many years later, after the fall of Camelot, he was approached by Sir Lamork, he was proud to join the Order his absent father was so vocally opposed to. Teenage rebellion of a kind I suppose.”
Wyn forced a smile. “More than one woman claimed I was the father of their children, including a few women I’d never even met. Nothing but gossip and rumours for the most part.”
Mackay scowled and I elbowed Wyn in the ribs. The last thing I wanted, or needed, was for Wyn to antagonise Mackay. Especially when it seemed like he might be able to help us.
“So, going back to David Collins. Do you know anything about him? Where we might be able to find him?”
“Glastonbury,” Mackay replied, finally looking away from Wyn. “He runs a bookshop there when he’s not writing books of his own. That’s where you’ll find him.”
Dad didn’t pay too much attention to me at dinner. We still hadn’t spoken much since I’d told him everything, and so he read the paper whilst we ate. I was pretty sure it was a defence mechanism; look busy and I wouldn’t bother him with outlandish stories.
“So…”
He stiffened but didn’t look up from the paper. “Yes?”
“I need to go to Glastonbury.”
He did look up from the paper then, more out of surprise than anything else. “Glastonbury?”
“There’s – there’s someone there I need to talk to. Someone who can help me.”
He pushed his mash potatoes around his plate for a minute. “Someone who can help you do what?”
I didn’t want to have this conversation with him, but at the same time, I was done lying to him. I couldn’t keep disappearing without telling him where I was going, it wasn’t fair to him, and even if he didn’t believe me he deserved to know the truth.
“Help me find a way to bring Lancelot back to this world.”
“From Avalon?”
I was surprised that Dad even really remembered, and that he seemed willing to go along with my ‘delusions’ as I was sure he considered them.
“Yes. I need him back.” It was strange talking to Dad about this. Not just the mythology thing, but talking about a boy. A boy I loved. Dad and I had been close before everything had happened, but even so, we’d never really talked about my love life. Besides, for a long time Dad had been convinced Wyn had been the one I’d run away with.
For a moment Dad’s expression softened. Like he was remembering what it was like to be a teenager in love. Though I doubt he could quite understand the connection that existed between Lance and me. Even I still didn’t fully understand that connection.
“Why?” He said finally. Perhaps he didn’t really understand.
I hesitated. I hadn’t told Dad about the vison of the dragon in London, or that I was going to be there when it attacked. I didn’t know if I wanted to. I didn’t like lying to him, but what good would the truth do? He couldn’t help; it wasn’t something he could protect me from. It would only worry him.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
He gave a little snort. “You don’t think I understand love, Cara?” He pushed his plate away and for a moment looked far older than his years. “I understand love. Your mother and I…” He cleared his throat and looked away from me, but not before I saw the wetness in his eyes. “But, you’re young. Too young for love.”
“It’s not just about that.” I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to tell him that my age had nothing to do with my ability to love. That no matter how young I was, when something was real, it was real. I couldn’t change how I felt about Lance any more than I could change the colour of the sky. It was a part of me, under my skin, and it was never going away.
He seemed to realise he’d upset me and he sighed. “You’re going to go to Glastonbury whether I give you my permission or not.” It wasn’t a question.
I grimaced and looked down at my plate, not wanting to meet his disappointed gaze.
“When did you want to go?”
“This weekend. With Sam.”
“And them?” Dad never used Wyn and Percy’s names.
I shrugged.
“Go, Cara. Do whatever it is you feel the need to do. I don’t-“ He sighed and pushed his chair back. “I don’t have the energy to fight you any more on this.”
His last words stung, and for a long moment I sat staring at the wood of the kitchen table. Then I reached for my phone and text Sam.
Chapter Eighteen
The bookshop was small, dark and cramped. There were more books than could ever be contained by the bookshelves lining the walls, and they had been stacked and balanced on every available space. Some of them hadn’t even been unpacked, and neatly labelled cardboard boxes took up a lot of the remaining floor space.
The bell over the door jangled as Wyn and I let ourselves in. We didn’t want to overwhelm Mr Collins, or make him nervous, so Percy and Sam waited for us in a coffee shop down the road.
As the door swung closed behind us the musty smell of old books washed over us. It was a strangely comforting smell.
“Just a minute.” A voice called out from the back room, accompanied by shuffling footsteps.
Wyn shot me a quick look and turned away, moving across the room to inspect some of the books on the shelves. Almost every title I could see related to Arthur and Camelot in some way, shape or form. But there were a few other books too, books on Irish and Scottish mythology, books on fairies and other mythical beasts and more than a few book
on witches, druids and magic.
A cough drew my attention away from the books and I turned to see a man watching me from the doorway into the back room. He was vaguely familiar. He’d been just another face in the crowd the night I’d met the Order of Camelot, and I hadn’t paid him much attention. He wasn’t what I expected of an old historian who specialised in mythology. He was a big man, tall and broad shouldered, with a thick beard that reached the middle of his chest. Something about him reminded me of the knights I’d met in Arthur’s court, and no doubt he could trace his linage back to one of them.
“Miss Page?” He raised both eyebrows so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline. “Well, this is a surprise. An honour of course.”
I winced. I didn’t want it to be an honour. I didn’t like the connotations attached to that honour. “I was hoping you might be able to help me. Mackay – he thought you might-“
“But of course, it is my duty to assist you in any way I can. But, I do wonder what help an old historian like me can be.” His eyes flicked to Wyn, who appeared to be paying as little attention to our conversation as possible. “Perhaps Thomas would be the better person for you to go to.”
I glanced through the door behind me at the people passing on the street. “Are we all right to talk here?”
Collins chuckled. “Dear girl, you are in Glastonbury. The one place in England where conversations about King Arthur won’t raise so much as an eyebrow. But if it makes you more comfortable-“ He swept one arm towards the back room.
The back room was, if possible, more cluttered than the main shop. Boxes of books were piled all around the walls, and the tiny wooden desk was scattered with papers and even more books. The walls themselves were plastered with pictures, cuttings and what looked like a family tree stretching right back to Arthur’s time.
“Ah yes, my pride and joy.”
He squeezed past me and tapped the family tree fondly. “This has been my life’s work. Not publicly of course, but my private passion.”
The Forever Queen (Pendragon Book 2) Page 15