Matthias gained confidence as a few times in a row he forced Patric to retreat. But then Patric took advantage of Matthias’s tiring arms and began his attack once more. He struck again and again at the sword in Matthias’s hands, pounding at him. The sword wobbled and dipped.
My stomach lurched as the expression on Matthias’s face turned again to fear. He paled and I wished for the life of me that I could transfer some of my strength into him. He just needed a touch more fire; the embers of his strength seemed to be giving out.
He tried to parry as we’d seen Dylan do so many times, but the sword just slipped in his sweaty hands.
“Now!” some man shouted, and Patric took the advice and swung a huge blow straight at my brother’s neck.
Blood spurted from wound, arcing into the crowd to shouts of dismay. My brother’s eyes went wide with shock. His head… oh, God, his head…
“Nooo!” The word, my heart, my pain, ripped from me. I could see nothing but my brother. My baby brother. My sweet, annoying, loving…
I tore my eyes away and saw Patric standing with a satisfied expression on his face. I would kill him. He was dead. I tried to move forward, but someone grabbed me and held me in place.
As I struggled against the arms holding me, Dylan whipped out his sword and in one clean sweep did what Patric done to Matthias—he decapitated his foster brother. Another shout of disgust went up from the crowd of men.
“No! He was mine!” I screamed. How could he take my vengeance from me? My fury shifted.
“Do not follow us!” Dylan shouted, his words dripping with magic. He turned and ran into the castle. Scai, who had been holding me in place, now grabbed onto my arm and pulled me after her as she followed him at a run.
I stumbled and nearly fell up the stairs and through the door of the castle. Dylan paused to slam the door shut and use his magic to drop the bar in place to ensure that we weren’t followed.
I doubled over. My stomach clenched and clenched again, but there was nothing but bitterness in my mouth. I was too shocked to speak. Too horrified to cry.
“Nimuë,” Dylan whispered.
“This way,” Scai said, taking my arm again before I had a chance to even catch my breath.
Nimuë—the name echoed in my ears.
Scai pulled me up a winding stair and down a hallway. “Aron said her room was two doors down from the one Matthias had been in,” she said.
Nimuë—it echoed through my mind.
Dylan skirted around us and began opening doors. “Which one was his?” he asked.
“The third window from the end,” she answered.
Nimuë—it echoed through my soul.
He ran ahead counting doors. At the fifth one he stopped. He waited until we’d joined him, then with a nod and grim, determined look on his face he threw the door open.
Noise from the courtyard filled the room, but aside from that it was empty. A carpet. A table and a chair. That was all.
She wasn’t there. Why wasn’t she there? I was ready. I was more ready than I’d ever been—than I would ever be—to kill her.
Nimuë had killed my brother. It was her fault Patric had killed Matthias. I was absolutely certain of it.
Why was she not here to receive retribution?
I let out a scream of frustration.
“Nimuë?” A voice came from the side of the room. “Nimuë, are you there?”
But there was no one there. Just a table with a silver bowl on it.
The three of us moved to the bowl. There, in the shimmering water, was Lady Morgan’s face.
“Lady Morgan!” Scai and Dylan said in unison.
“Where is she?” I asked. “Where is Lady Nimuë?”
“Children!” She was as shocked to see us as we were to see her. “I don’t know where she is, Bridget. But I need to find her.”
“Why? What’s happened?” Scai asked.
I suddenly noticed that Lady Morgan’s face did not hold its usual light smile. In fact, she was looking nearly as upset as I felt.
“My sister has destroyed the boat and murdered the boatman and the priestess of the mist,” Lady Morgan answered.
“What?” Dylan whispered.
“She’s made it so that only the most powerful can come or go from Avalon.” Lady Morgan’s eyes were hard and her mouth held in a straight, firm line.
“Why would she do that?” Scai asked.
“She has always wished to separate Avalon from the world. Now she has done so—permanently.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Is there nothing—” Dylan began.
“Nothing,” Lady Morgan interrupted him. “Without the boatman and the priestess, no one will be able to come to Avalon any more. We are separated for good, never to be a part of the world again.” Lady Morgan put a hand to her cheek and closed her eyes.
I didn’t know what to say. I was empty. I had gone numb.
“It will be up to you,” Lady Morgan said, opening her eyes again. “One of you will have to take on the role of high priestess. One of you will have to rule the Vallen. It can no longer be me. I am too remote. My sister has won. I knew this day would come, but still it saddens me more than I had imagined. She has taken my people from me.”
Her image shimmered for a moment and then disappeared.
Scai let out a gasp.
And just like that, all of my pain rushed back into me. I felt as if someone had torn me open, and as I lay there with my entrails hanging out, they had stepped on them. It was, of course, Nimuë. She had destroyed my life.
She had won. There was now nothing for us. Nothing was left but deep, unending pain.
“Who will be the high priestess?” Dylan asked, his voice sounding as hollow as I felt. He looked from Scai to me.
My anger at him for decapitating Patric before I could do anything returned. It sat heavy in the pit of my stomach.
“Don’t look at me. I won’t be,” I said, shaking my head.
“I can’t do it alone,” Scai said quickly. She turned and looked to Dylan.
He took her hand. “We’ll do it together. We’re so close we practically know what each other is thinking and feeling anyway. It will work.” His voice was filled with such love, such certainty; it was like a bellows to the spark of my anger.
I could only utter a hollow laugh. It came out as a noise from the back of my throat. A noise of distrust, of skepticism.
“What was that?” Dylan asked turning to me.
The vision of Scai and Aron kissing flashed before my eyes, because I wasn’t hurting enough already. But Dylan’s innocence and ignorance at what Scai had been doing behind his back just made me want to laugh—or cry.
I turned and burned my gaze into Scai’s, thinking about it. Wondering if I dare do anything. Say anything.
But I didn’t have to.
Scai saw it there. She could read my thoughts just as easily as she could read those books on Avalon. “No! Bridget it wasn’t what you think.”
“What?” Dylan swung from me to her and then back to me. With a growl of frustration, he put his hand on my arm to read my emotions and then, just as quickly, pulled it back again.
“My God, I’ve never felt such anger. Such hurt!” He glanced at Scai again before whispering, “That can’t just be from your brother’s death.”
“No. Although that’s part of it,” I answered, not removing my gaze from Scai.
“She’s angry that you killed Patric before she could,” Scai said, also not moving her eyes from mine.
“And… Don’t you think you should tell him the rest, Scai?" I prodded.
She shook her head. “It’s not true.”
“You know it is. I saw you.”
“No. I kissed him, but it wasn’t what you think.”
“What?” Dylan nearly shouted. “Who did you kiss?”
Finally, I tore my eyes from my sister to look at Dylan. “Aron, who else?”
He turned pained eyes on to Scai. “I knew it
. I knew he was lying to me about his feelings for you. No man could feel brotherly towards you.” His eyes were angry, but he caressed his hand down Scai’s bright red cheek. “Did he hurt you? Did he force himself on you?”
He started toward the door without waiting for her to respond. “I’m going to kill him.”
A gust of wind burst into the room pushing Dylan back.
“It’s not what you think, Dylan,” Scai said. “He didn’t force himself on me.”
Dylan turned around incredulously. “You willingly kissed him?”
“Yes. I kissed him, not the other way around.”
Dylan took a few steps backwards as if off balance. “But why? Why would you do that to me? I thought…” He paused and then turned to me. “I thought we were friends. Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? When did this happen? Was it while I was gone to see the king?”
“It was in Gloucester,” I started.
“Gloucester! That long ago? And you didn’t say anything?” Dylan exploded.
“I didn’t want to hurt you!” I defended myself.
“We’re friends! You know Scai and I have… had something. You should have told me.”
“We are friends,” I shouted above the wind that was still gusting through the room, “which is why I didn’t say anything. At least, we were.”
I pulled my curls from my mouth. “And I thought that maybe Aron liked me, but it was you all along. He’s always loved you,” I told my sister.
“No, Bridget…” she started.
My stomach churned and I had to swallow to keep the bile from rising up.
“I’m not feeling well,” I said, interrupting her. I couldn't hear it. I couldn't listen to what she had to say. The bitter anger in my stomach burned in the back of my mouth. “You two can stay here and fight. I’m going back to the camp.” I turned and started out the door.
“I’m coming going, too. I’m not feeling very well myself. It’s what happens when the woman you love makes a cuckold of you and your friends let you live in ignorance. And I’m going to kill Aron,” he finished to himself.
<><><>
Nimuë dismissed her sister’s attendant priestess as soon as she came into the house. She was sure Morgan would not want a witness when she broke down into either hysterical tears or shouting, Nimuë could not decide which she thought her sister would indulge in—maybe some of both.
“Well, Nimuë,” Morgan said, looking much too calm standing in the center of her drawing room.
“You are aware of what has happened?” Nimuë asked. Of course, Morgan would know. How silly of her to think otherwise.
“You have finally removed Avalon from the world completely.”
“I should have done it years ago,” Nimuë said, pouring herself a cup of wine. If Morgan could be poised, she certainly could play along. She offered some to her sister, but Morgan shook her head, refusing the drink.
“I am grateful for your restraint,” Morgan said dryly. Was that sarcasm? Nimuë nearly laughed.
“You are most welcome.” Nimuë took a long drink of wine. For some reason her hand was shaking ever so slightly.
“Why now?” Morgan asked. “What drove you to take this final step now?”
Anger flared within Nimuë as she heard the pain in her sister’s question. “Because I am tired of your lies, your tricks, your meddling.”
Morgan drew her eyebrows down, looking concerned. “I have never tricked you. I have been completely open and honest with you my entire life.”
“Ha!” Nimuë could not help but laugh. “Why you lie to me even now, sister.”
“No, Nimuë. When have I lied to you?”
Nimuë slammed her wine cup down onto the table. “Just the other day when you told me Scai was dead.”
Morgan shook her head. “I never told you she was dead. I told you she was close to death, and she was. Bridget revived her.”
“Bridget!” Nimuë paused. Could the girl have actually done so? Was she that powerful?
”Yes, my great-granddaughter Bridget.” Morgan looked entirely too pleased.
“And yet you did not see fit to tell me? Instead you let me think that Scai had died,” Nimuë said, her voice much too close to whining for her own comfort.
Morgan shrugged but said nothing.
“And this is why, Morgan. I do not need you... I do not want you interfering in my life.”
“And so you condemn an island full of people to isolation because you believed I had told you something that was not true?”
“They are your people, Morgan. They deserve what you have brought them. If they no longer wish to live here under your rule, I will welcome them to the mainland,” Nimuë said, graciously.
Morgan pursed her lips together, clearly not liking this answer. “And how will they get there now that you have destroyed the boat and murdered…”
“I am sure they will be able to figure out a way,” Nimuë said, interrupting her.
Morgan just sighed and gave a little nod before turning to stare out the window.
“So what now?” Morgan asked.
“Now? Why, now I become the high priestess, as I should have been all along. I will rule the ordinary folk with a gentle but firm hand, I believe. They will respond to that.”
“May I remind you, sister, that the high priestess is anointed in the circle of standing stones here on Avalon? How will you convince any of the Vallen on the mainland that you are, indeed, the high priestess if none can witness your ascension?”
Morgan had a point, Nimuë thought. Luckily she had already thought this through. She gave her sister a smile. “This is not the only circle of standing stones among the isles,” she pointed out. “Stonehenge will do very nicely. It is not the solstice, but I believe an exception can be made this one time.”
Morgan looked ever so slightly pained, her superiority waning. “And who shall be the one to anoint you? I shall not.”
“No! Of course not.” Nimuë laughed. She wandered around her sister’s pristine white room, finishing her wine. “I was thinking of asking Merlin to do so. I will have the chalice by then. I am sure he would be happy to see to fruition that which he prophesied so many years ago.”
“So you do not yet have the chalice?” Morgan asked, perking up ever so slightly.
Nimuë waved a nonchalant hand. “Not yet. But soon, my dear sister, very soon.”
“It is still with the children.” Morgan stated rather than asked.
“As I said, soon,” Nimuë said, beginning to get annoyed at the spark of hope that had alighted in Morgan’s eyes.
“I would wish you luck, but I do not think you will succeed. Merlin may have allowed for the slight possibility that you would defeat the trio, but—”
“I will defeat them!”
Morgan simply crossed her arms over her chest and gave Nimuë a smug smile. “Good luck with that.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sun was setting as we rode back into our camp. Before I even had a chance to dismount, Dylan swung his leg over his horse’s head and was advancing on Aron.
Everyone stood at his approach.
“You bastard,” Dylan growled, and punched Aron in the face.
Aron was forced to take a few steps backwards by the hit, but he didn’t retaliate.
“What was that for?” Sir Dagonet exclaimed.
“That was for Scai,” Dylan said. He then took another step forward and hit him again, this time knocking him off his feet. “And that was for Bridget who has had to knowingly endure your duplicity for the past week.”
Dylan spun around to me. “But just because I’m defending you, don’t think for a minute that I forgive you for not telling me.”
Aron grabbed onto Dylan’s tunic. “She doesn’t need defending by you.” He raised his fist. “If she needs defending, I’ll be the one to do so.”
Thomas grabbed on to Aron’s arm before he could hit Dylan. “If my sister needs defending I will be the one to do so,” he s
aid. “Now, Dylan, tell us what happened. Where’s Matthias and where’s Scai?”
“I don’t know where Scai is, and right now I don’t care. Matthias is…” He paused, his eyes softening along with his voice. “I’m sorry. Matthias is dead.”
At hearing the words spoken, I couldn’t contain myself anymore. No matter how angry I was, how hurt, how distracted by Aron and Dylan, Lady Morgan and Lady Nimuë, just hearing those words was too much. Grief. Exhaustion. Pain. They all overcame me. I could do nothing but burst into tears.
The ground rose up as my legs gave way, but strong arms caught me before I dropped all the way down.
“It’s okay, Bridget. It’s going to be okay,” Aron’s soothing words slowly seeped into my consciousness. My anger at him, however, had me struggling to get out of his arms. I didn’t want to be comforted by him. I didn’t want anything to do with him. I had pushed aside my anger long enough. Right now, I just didn’t have the patience to deal with it.
My feet touched the ground and I stumbled into Thomas’s arms. “Leave me alone, Aron,” I whispered. It was all I could manage.
The look he gave me would have broken my heart if I’d had one to break. But he nodded and turned away.
My brothers surrounded me in warm familial comfort. It was just what I needed as I sobbed out the tale of what happened. Somehow they managed to piece together the story of our brother’s death and all that had happened afterward. By the time the story was told, I had finally calmed down. I wasn’t happy. Not even close, but as I sat there in the circle of my brothers, my head resting against Thomas’s shoulder, stray thoughts began flitting through my exhausted mind. I sat up as I realized what we’d forgotten.
Wiping the tears off of my face with the sleeve of my dress, I looked around at the four of them. But they were not who I needed to speak with. Unfortunately, it was Dylan and Scai I needed.
“What is it, Bridget?” Thomas asked.
Children of Avalon Page 64