“Yes. You will have the chalice and you will share its power with me. No one else values you and your power. No one but me. No one loves you as I do.”
Dylan took a step backward, away from her. She followed him, putting her hand on top of his—the one that gripped Excalibur. His grip loosened. She took the sword without him even noticing.
It wasn’t until she pressed his own sword gently against his throat that his eyes refocused from his inner turmoil. His Adams apple bobbed with fear as he realized his predicament.
He wasn’t fully hers yet. He was still too strong. But she would take care of that. It would take very strong magic to bring him fully under her control, but it would be worth it. The chalice, all of its power—and all of his—would be hers.
He closed his eyes in defeat, but she couldn’t actually kill him as he clearly expected her to. No, she needed him alive.
“Look at me, Dylan.”
He opened his eyes and stared down at her. She penetrated his deep black eyes, just like her own, with her stare. Her magic flowing to maintain control. Into his mind she wove her magic, but it was not enough.
He tried to fight her off. Narrowing his eyes, he pushed back. He willed her to lower the sword and she did so, but not at his command.
A moment of victory leapt into his eyes, but then he grew wary as he watched her slide the blade into her left palm and then, without breaking eye contact with him, sliced it open. Blood burbled from the wound. She waited until her palm was filled and then pressed her hand to the wound on his chest so that their blood commingled.
His body jerked as magic shot through him. She fought hard to keep control as she felt the shocks travel through him. “You will join me. You will be by my side forever more. I will teach you how to control your magic, and you will bring forth the power from the chalice. You will give it to me, for I, alone, love you.” She sent her voice echoing through his mind, seeping into his body. He was hers now, completely.
Chapter 19
Nimuë tried to shake off the jolts of magic that were still traveling through her body, as well as the exhaustion that threatened her. She had not had to use such strong magic over such a prolonged period of time for, well, since she had last fought with her sister. Her grandson was a lot stronger than she had imagined. No matter how much magic she had put into her words as they had sparred, he seemed to block it thoughtlessly.
It was only when she had found the nerve that hurt him the most—his father’s love—had he been overcome. But now he was hers.
“Nimuë! Nimuë are you there?” Her sister’s voice came from her silver bowl, which sat toward the back of her table.
Nimuë almost giggled. “Oh, yes. I am here, sister.” She moved so that she could see her sister’s reflection in the bowl.
“Why are you laughing? What has happened?”
“Why do you ask?” Nimuë was immediately suspicious.
“It is never a good sign when you are happy. Something must be wrong.”
“Oh no, nothing is wrong, Morgan. I can assure you. In fact, everything is very right.”
“What have you done?”
“Well... I must thank you, Morgan, for it is thanks to you that I now have Dylan.”
“How did that happen? Is he all right? You have not hurt him, Nimuë?” Morgan’s words practically tripped over themselves.
“Oh, not very much. You know I wouldn’t hurt my own grandson. Why, I love him.”
“What are you up to, Nimuë?”
“You are so suspicious of me.”
“I have every right to be. Show me that you have not hurt him.”
With a sigh, Nimuë turned back to the boy who was standing there in a near trancelike state. “Dylan, come here and show your aunt that you are all right.” She turned back to her sister. “Ignore the blood. It is merely superficial. It took a little persuasion to get him to work with me.”
Nimuë stood back from the bowl and allowed her sister to see her great–grandson. He, in turn, stared blankly into the water.
“Dylan! What happened?” Morgan demanded.
“My grandmother loves me,” he answered, his tone flat.
“Nimuë, what did you do to him?”
“I merely convinced him that a grandmother’s love cannot be dismissed so easily.” She smiled benignly down into the bowl. “Now, Morgan, you will have to excuse us; we have work to do.”
“Nimuë!”
Nimuë waved her hand over the bowl and her sister’s image shimmered away.
“Now,” she said, turning back to the boy, “how do we get Merlin’s powers from the chalice?”
Dylan stared at her saying nothing.
“Well?” she asked again.
“I don’t know, Grandmother.”
“You don’t... but then how did you expect... no,” she stopped herself. It was clear that he truly did not know. She remembered when she had met the boy at that church and he had been unable to use the chalice against her and had been forced to throw it from the room to keep it from her. How stupid of her not to remember that earlier.
Leaning back against the table, she thought about this. There had to be a way. Something about these children brought out the power, but what was it? A drop of blood hit the floor at her feet.
Blood. It was Dylan’s blood. He was still bleeding from when she had cut him.
She turned back to the table and grabbed the chalice, then grabbed Dylan’s arm. He cried out in pain as she squeezed a cut so that it bled more freely. She caught the blood in the cup and then released the boy as she starred down at it.
Nothing. It did nothing.
She swirled it around. Still nothing.
That was not it. The blood glistened against the pure white of the stone cup. It sickened her to see such defilement. She looked about for a pitcher of water with which to clean out the chalice, but there was none. The only water she had was what she had brought back from Avalon.
It was a waste, but she poured the precious water into the chalice to clean it out. She swirled it around and was about to throw it out the window when a face wavered into being.
Nimuë’s breath caught in her throat. “Merlin.” The name came out as a whisper.
“Nimuë, my love.” Merlin’s voice echoed, sounding hollow as if he were truly under water.
“Oh, Merlin. Where are you?” The pain exploded inside of her even more strongly than the last time they spoke. How could her love for him still be so strong? And yet it was. She clutched at her chest. It was.
“I am here, where you left me.”
“My dearest, I am so sorry.” The words slipped from her lips as a tear slid from the corner of her eye.
“It is all right, my love. I understand. I knew what was coming.”
Nimuë sighed and nodded. “How I miss you. We did incredible things together.”
The lines around the old man’s eyes crinkled as he smiled up at her. “We created life.”
She could not help but smile back. “Indeed. He was beautiful, our child. It was so sad that we had to hide him away from the world.”
“But it would have destroyed both my reputation and yours had anyone known.”
“Yes.”
“Nimuë, why do you have the chalice? What have you done with the children?”
Nimuë closed her eyes for a moment in order to push aside all of the emotions that were running through her. All of the pain. All of the joy. Concentrate. She had to concentrate now. Merlin was truly the only one who could help her. “I have Dylan, but the girls are still free. Merlin, tell me how to get the power. How do I get it from this cup?”
The Vallen just shook his head. “You need the children. You need...” He paused and seemed to be thinking about it for a moment, clearly trying to find the right words. “You need their essence and their cooperation.”
“Their essence.” But what could that be? How did one get another’s essence? She looked over at Dylan who just stood there cradling his hurt ar
m.
“Come back to me soon, my love,” she said gently to Merlin, before putting the chalice back on the table and turning to her grandson. His essence.
She rested one hand on his shoulder and peered deep into his eyes. They were blank as if there was nothing behind them. “Give it to me,” she whispered, infusing her words with strong magic. “Give it to me.” She moved her hand to his cheek and then let her other hand rest on the other side of his face, holding it there.
Reaching deep down within herself, she pulled on all of her magic. Over two hundred years of magical knowledge, of patience waiting for this day, she pulled it up. She pulled it all up and focused it into this boy. “Give me your essence.”
The boy winced in pain, but his eyes never left hers. His knees bowed under the strength of her onslaught as she reached inside of him and pulled.
~~~~~
I felt as if my insides were being pulled out through my eyes. The pain. Oh, God, the pain. No. No, I could not let this happen. She was trying to take my very soul. I could not let this happen.
Why would she do this if she loved me?
She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
She doesn’t love me. The words echoed through my whole body. All she wants is power. My power. Merlin’s power. The power of the chalice. That’s all she wants.
But I would not let her have it! I fought back with every ounce of my will. I would not let her do this to me. Blood tie or no, she would not win.
Use her own emotions against her, the voice of Merlin slipped into my mind. That’s what he had said when he’d taught me my new magic. Use her own emotions. And then I got it. Like a dam bursting inside of me, I got it!
I had been using my new magic in the wrong way. I’d been lowering my wall and using the emotional energy I’d stored there—my own emotions—to manipulate the emotions of others, but I didn’t need to do that. I could use my opponent’s emotions against them.
I focused myself inward and reached out to feel the emotion running through Lady Nimuë. It was a heady, powerful mix of love, pain and triumph tinged with a worry of uncertainty. My God, but she was emotional—just like me. No! I would not think of the link we shared. I would not consider the fact that she was my own flesh and blood. I had to destroy her—before she destroyed me.
Harnessing the power of her emotions, I stared into her eyes, taking control. Reaching up, I pulled her hands from my face. I was the one in control now.
Uncertainty. “Your doubt is well–founded, my lady, because it is founded in truth. You cannot defeat me. You cannot pull my magic from me. You don’t have the ability because I am too strong for you.”
Nimuë blinked.
Chapter 20
The door behind me crashed open and my friends came in in a fury of fire and wind. Bridget threw her energy balls and Scai had brought on a wind so strong it blew Nimuë straight back into the table. I did the only intelligent thing I could do. I ducked.
I was not at all confident in Bridget’s aim, nor did I want to get blown back by Scai’s wind. I flattened myself on the floor for the moment until the barrage stopped, watching Nimuë tumble around the table, too overcome at first to even fight back. By the time the girls paused to see the effect of their attack, Nimuë was in the back of the room running out the door.
I jumped up and ran to follow her. The girls were right on my heels.
“Sir, grab the chalice!” Scai shouted behind me.
Sir Dagonet? Could he possibly be up and about so soon? I had a moment of panic of what I’d forced that old man to do, but Nimuë’s fireballs quickly focused my mind back on the fight at hand.
I gathered my strength and localized a cloud overhead, directing hailstones to pound onto Nimuë. Scai joined in whirling the wind around Nimuë so that the hail hit her again and again. Bridget was not to be left out and brought forth lightning from the cloud. Now this was a battle I was familiar with. Emotional battles were more difficult, although possible, as I’d just proved. This one, with the girls beside me, was just fun.
Nimuë was overcome by our combined force. She stumbled across the terrace. A stronger, bigger lightning bolt shot out of the sky in an almost direct hit, sending her stumbling into the wall right next to where Sir Dagonet was standing. He caught the woman and then gave her a good shove to push her over the parapet.
She scrambled, grabbing at his arms, refusing to go over. They struggled until a strong wind and another bolt of lightning set her off balance enough for Sir Dagonet to finally send her over.
I ran for the side to watch, but as I reached it, a large black raven flew up and away. There was no one at the bottom.
“She turned into a bird!”
I spun around to face my father, surprise—no shock—washing through me. The older man was standing staring at the retreating raven. “Did you see that? She turned into a bird,” he repeated in awe.
“She got away again,” Bridget spat.
“Father, what are you doing here?” I took a step closer to the earl, who was still watching the sky, the chalice safe in his hands.
My father readjusted his gaze, gave a relieved sigh and, in three large steps, pulled me into his arms. “Thank God, you’re all right. When Bridget and Scai told me of your stupidity, I had to come help rescue you.”
I returned his embrace but then pulled back.
“My...” I started.
“You couldn’t be more right, sir. Really, Dylan, that was the most idiotic thing I’ve ever seen you do,” Bridget said.
I looked to Scai who just nodded her head with a touch of chagrin. I wouldn’t even get support from her.
Bridget came over and started prodding at my cuts making sure they had stopped bleeding, putting a mending hand to those which hadn’t. “It looks like she took a whip to you.”
“How did she hurt you, son?” my father asked, watching Bridget with interest.
I looked away from what Bridget was doing to me. “She hurt me with her words. I’ve never seen or heard of anything like it.”
“How do you mean?” Scai took a step forward.
“She told me...” I paused, looking my father straight in the eye. Could I say aloud what she’d told me? Was it true? Would my father even admit that it was? Surely he would lie and say it wasn’t. He would say just what I wanted to hear. I supposed that would be better than the truth, though, wouldn’t it? I couldn’t decide.
“What did she say, Dylan?” my father prodded.
He had to know that it was about him. Well, the truth it was, then. “She said that you didn’t love me. She said you never cared. And as she told me those things, it felt as if she were taking a lash to me.”
“My God!” Sir Dagonet exclaimed.
“What lies!” the earl said at the same time—as expected. Oddly, there was a feeling of truth to his words, but I didn’t know what to believe.
“And it was her words that cut you?” Scai asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ve heard of this once before, but many, many years ago, don’t you know?” Sir Dagonet nodded. He had a slightly vacant expression in his eyes, as if he were thinking back to when he’d last heard of such a thing.
“She said you didn’t care for me and that’s why you so rarely wrote or came to visit,” I continued. I couldn’t stop, now that I had started. “She knew how you’d criticize me when you did come, and how you never taught me or gave me a kind word. She even knew about my foster–brother’s cruelty and how he used me. She knew every hurtful thing of my childhood and used that to cut me.” My voice grew softer as I saw my father’s expression fall and his thoughts turn inward.
“But they’re not true,” Scai said, breaking a few awkward moments of silence after my words had faded away.
That seemed to bring my father back from his thoughts. He gave Scai a wan smile. “Some of them are true, I’m afraid. We do terrible things to our sons in the hopes of hardening them, readying them for manhood. It’s not easy to be a man and even hard
er being a knight. Sometimes we have to hurt the ones we love the most to prepare them for this difficult life.”
He turned back to me. “I am sorry, son, that I’ve hurt you this way. Clearly, those cuts are simply an outward showing of the wounds you hold inside and for that I am deeply and truly sorry. I do love you.”
A brief thought passed through my mind about being a man. A man would acknowledge his father’s words with a nod or at most a grasp of his hand. But I didn’t care about being a man at this moment. I put my arms around my father and rested my head on his shoulder. “I love you, too, Papa.” My father’s arms came around me and he held me tight.
After a moment’s embrace, I heard someone sniffing behind me as if they were holding back tears of their own. I pulled away from my father and looked at Scai, but she was dry–eyed and smiling at Sir Dagonet.
The old knight was trying to surreptitiously dab at his eyes, but then he looked up and saw us all watching him. “Hobnobbit! Just an old man’s folly, wot?”
“What?” the earl asked.
“Precisely,” Bridget answered before Sir Dagonet had a chance.
We all burst out laughing.
“Do you have a son, Dagonet?” my father asked, after we had calmed down a bit.
The old man shook his head. “Never had the honor. Enjoying these three, though, if you all don’t mind?”
Bridget smiled. “It is our honor, sir, that you’ve taken on such a task. It can’t be easy.”
Sir Dagonet nodded a little too quickly and chuckled his agreement.
As we all laughed at this, he cleared his throat and said, “Well, as your foster father, I say we should all go inside and get out of this chilly night air.”
“Ah, yes. Dylan, you need to get yourself cleaned up. The king is still waiting to see you,” my father scolded lightly.
As we all started in, Bridget turned to her sister. “That was excellently placed lightning, Scai.”
“That wasn’t me.” Scai turned to look at me.
“I didn’t do it,” I said.
My father chuckled. “I didn’t get this old by sitting on my rump, you know? Although, I do think the power in the chalice helped. My aim has never been so good.”
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