“Human?” Elosta said, the single word filled with warning. Gwen had never heard a female dragon speak. The voice was feminine, but as resonant as Rukon’s.
“Pardon me,” said Gwen, giving a curtsy because she was the intruder in this mother’s very private domain. “I am Guinevere, Queen of Camelot.”
“Why are you here?” the dragon asked, clearly suspicious.
There was no time to waste, so Gwen explained as quickly as she could. “I’m glad to see you well,” she finished.
“I was spared from death so that my eggs might live. The fae is careful of his investment.” Her tone was dark with anger.
“Perhaps he did this one thing right. Your children are beautiful.”
The dragon made a soft crooning noise that didn’t fit with her size or the sharpness of her teeth. Or maybe it did, Gwen thought as Elosta righted a floundering youngster with her long snout.
“Thank you, human, your words are courteous,” said the dragon. “Someday your children will be beautiful, as well.”
The statement made Gwen flinch. “I’m afraid not.”
“No? I see the shadows of younglings around you. Dragons are rarely mistaken in these things.”
“I was cursed by a witch.” Gwen drew breath with effort. “Even Talvaric said I will mother no heirs.”
The fae’s name drew a plume of angry smoke from the dragon’s snout. “He has no gift of prophecy, but he thrives on the ability to see another’s fears. Do not take his word on this.”
A tiny blue dragon peeped agreement—or perhaps it just peeped. Gwen wasn’t sure when they began to understand spoken language.
“How did you find my den, Queen of Camelot?”
“I am seeking the way out of this place. Rukon is attacking the house and I got away.”
“Rukon is here?” Elosta rose to her feet in excitement, though she was still careful where she placed her talons.
It was then Gwen saw the slender gold chain that bound the dragon’s hind foot to the cavern wall. It had to be magic, because nothing that flimsy would have worked otherwise. The dragon saw her looking. “Yes, he has me bound, and one day he will bind my heart by stealing my children.”
“No,” said Gwen. “Not if Rukon has any say in the matter. He’s coming for you.”
“And where is the King of Camelot?” asked Elosta. “Surely he is coming for his queen?”
Gwen straightened her shoulders. “A king is wherever his people need him the most.” But she wasn’t certain of her husband.
* * *
Arthur was looking for Gwen, but he found Talvaric first. He’d just entered a long room hung with weapons when the fae slid to a stop at the other end of the space, panting. Arthur drew up short, surprised. The fae’s singed appearance spoke of a narrow escape. Tiny shards of glass glittered on his hair and clothes as he moved.
A roar shook the manor, shaking plaster loose from the walls. Talvaric’s panicked gaze swept from Arthur to the windows. A dark shadow flicked over the lawn, marking the circling dragon’s passage.
“You’ve annoyed a lot of people,” Arthur observed. “Especially the wrong ones.”
Talvaric’s response was to dart to the wall and snatch a blade from a rack of swords. He moved with a limp—had that cut come from the dragon, or perhaps the glass?—but Arthur knew better than to count that too heavily in a fight. Fae could fight past pain like no others.
“What have you done with my wife?” Arthur asked, swishing Excalibur to loosen his injured shoulder.
“So you came for her, after all. How endearing.” Talvaric grinned, his panic suspended long enough to enjoy the gibe.
“Gwen was always coming home.”
“Not when you refuse to obey my rules.”
Arthur made a disgusted noise. “Grow up. Answer the question. Where is she?”
Talvaric’s lip curled. “Beat it out of me.”
With pleasure. Arthur grinned as Talvaric launched toward him. Their skirmish at Medievaland had been intense, but this fight was the one that mattered.
They were staggeringly different swordsmen, with distinct styles and weapons. Arthur was quick for a man in armor, but Talvaric’s attack was like water—swift, changeable, seeking the tiniest gaps in Arthur’s guard. Arthur’s blows hammered in return. A two-handed great sword like Excalibur was made for strength, not speed.
Arthur brought Excalibur down in a mighty, two-handed slash. Talvaric dodged and rolled, laughing as he did it. The fae was a natural acrobat, and knew it. The fae lunged, turning the motion into a cutting blow with a twist of his wrist. It caught the underside of Arthur’s arm, finding a slight gap between mail and plate. Arthur roared in pain, but used the sound as a distraction. With a backslash, he left a wide slice along Talvaric’s ribs. The fae screamed.
Talvaric’s blue tunic was instantly soaked in red, but he moved as fast as ever, shrinking back from Arthur with a string of Faery invective. Arthur swung again, but Excalibur whistled through empty air. Talvaric bolted for safety. With an angry roar, Arthur charged after him.
He was not as fast, and in armor he was nowhere as quiet. He kept the fae in sight for several turnings through the anonymous white house, catching a glimpse of the blue tunic or the swing of Talvaric’s long white braid. Eventually, though, Arthur was left panting and lost. Humans could never match a fae in a footrace. However, they weren’t helpless.
Arthur’s gaze fell on the trail of scarlet drops on the stark white floor. Talvaric had drunk a mortal soul, and was experiencing emotions after a long time without. Apparently, he’d forgotten how panic could make one careless. Arthur began to run again, but this time he knew exactly where to go. He hoped, desperately, that the fae would lead him to Gwen.
The blood drops led past cages filled with creatures that left him sad and disturbed. A barguest, black furred and red eyed, peered from the back of its cage, shuddering in fright. He passed dryads standing helpless, as if their wills had been ripped away. They should have been dancing in the woods, far beyond the sight of anyone but the moon. But then he heard Rukon’s frustrated roar, and the crash of the dragon smashing its way into the manor. There would be justice.
When the path descended down a long, broad tunnel leading under the earth, Arthur heard the roar of another dragon. The sound rang off the walls, the echoes magnifying it until it became a physical force. After that he slowed, sword raised to strike. He could smell smoke and blood and the leathery scent of a dragon’s lair. The last time he’d ventured into one, he’d been reminded that humans were a nice-sized snack.
He swung around the corner, ready for anything. A glance took in the female dragon, her young and Talvaric holding a sword to Gwen’s throat. Gwen’s eyes were wide, the blue almost shocking in her pale face.
Arthur did not stop to think. He moved with a speed Talvaric did not, could not expect. The sword went flying from the fae’s hand, taken by the heavy great sword with the delicacy of a rapier. It shouldn’t have been possible, but Arthur was first among the mortal swordsmen for a reason. He understood the value of surprise.
He could have killed the fae then, but he reached for Gwen instead. Talvaric thrust her into Arthur’s arms and ran, crossing just out of the reach of Elosta’s snapping jaws. Arthur caught Gwen’s weight against him for a delicious moment, savored the scent of her skin and hair. It was only for a single heartbeat, but it was long enough for the fae to snatch up his blade.
Arthur spun with a snarl, pushing Gwen to safety behind him. Talvaric’s eyes flew wide at the sound, delivered with the savagery of a man at his limit. When the fae had taken Gwen, he’d pushed Arthur beyond any expectation of mercy. One more time, the fae fled.
But Rukon was at the other end of the tunnel, and he was coming to protect his mate. Talvaric stopped, arms flying wide in an effort to stop hi
s forward motion. Eyes red with fury glared from the darkness. The fae raised his blade and turned to face Arthur, ready to make one final defense.
A series of images flashed through Arthur’s mind: Rukon, Elosta, the barguest, the dryads, Senec wounded and trembling. Gwen, with the blade to her throat. Feeling its even, perfect balance, Arthur swung Excalibur, showing what a great sword was made for. Talvaric’s head flew wide.
Silence rang as loud as any roar. Fountaining blood, the fae’s body fell. Arthur took a step back, and then another as Rukon’s flames turned the remains to ash, scouring the world clean of Talvaric’s presence. But Arthur was not quite done. He spun on his heel, once more hefting the long blade that was so much a part of him. With a shout of victory, he slashed it downward, severing the chain that bound the blue dragon. Light flared as Excalibur’s power severed the spell, burning the links apart. Elosta roared in triumph, bounding free to twine her long, sinuous neck with Rukon’s.
Slowly, Arthur let the weight of Excalibur drag down his arm until the point dug into the stone floor. Gradually, his pounding heart slowed, the furious thunder abating until he could breathe at a normal pace. He leaned into his sword hilt, exhaustion finally making its claws felt.
Gentle hands touched his arm and he lifted his head. Gwen was there, her eyes shining with tears. “You came for me.” Her voice was soft, almost wondering. “You saved my life.”
“Of course I did.” He tried to make it sound matter-of-fact, but his voice shook.
She cupped her hands around his face, leaning close so their foreheads touched and breath mingled. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Arthur said nothing. He could not, with Gwen’s tears burning against his skin. Common words would have been sacrilege.
Chapter 28
The dragon’s fire had destroyed the key to the cages, and it took time to find the spare. It was dark when the creatures were finally freed. Not one made any move to harm their fellows, and each bowed before the King and Queen of Camelot, for he bore the name and duty of the Pendragon, protector of magical beasts. After they paid homage, they ran one by one into the darkness, vanishing back to wherever they belonged. Only the barguest stayed an extra moment to lick Gwen’s hand before he fled.
“He knows I like dogs,” Gwen said, but Arthur looked dubious.
The only part of the manor that remained occupied was Elosta’s underground cavern. She could not fly until her wings healed, and she had to remain until the eggs were fully hatched. But that was safe beneath the ground, and it was time for the dryads to have their say. Gwen watched from a safe distance as they placed their long fingers against the walls and seemed to grow into the stonework, long tendrils crumbling the structure just as roots crack pavement. But rather than taking years, the process took minutes. In no time, Talvaric’s manor—and prison—was reduced to rubble. The dryads cleared the tunnel mouth for the dragons to come and go, and then they, too, vanished into the woods.
After that, Arthur and Gwen used the portal to return home. Clary, who had been waiting, drove them to Arthur’s apartment. The destination was Gwen’s choice. “I can’t go back to the hotel,” she said. “I know Talvaric’s gone, but I’d still be jumping at shadows.”
Still, the apartment held memories, too. Their reunion. The first awkward night when she’d shut Arthur out of his bedroom. Walking out to face the knights who’d left her behind while they’d traveled to the future.
Gwen stood in the living room, still in the blue gown Talvaric had made her wear. It was dark outside, the city lights beautiful but as alien to Gwen as the place she’d just left. Someday this world would look like home, she supposed. Just not yet.
Arthur came out of his office. “I phoned Merlin to let him know we’re safely home. He’ll tell the others.”
“Good,” she replied.
“The knights rounded up most of the creatures,” Arthur added. “Merlin and Clary have been sending them back through the portal. Some probably got away, but no one’s sure.”
“No innocents were hurt?”
“Not seriously, or not that we know of. We were lucky.” He looked tired, his hair rumpled and his feet bare. His armor was piled in the corner, waiting to be cleaned.
They stared at one another for a long moment, neither wanting to say more. The crisis was past, the villain vanquished and even the barguest was safe. She should have been content.
And yet nothing had changed. Not really. The last time they’d been together, they’d parted in anger. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking on the words. “I don’t know if I can change who I am.”
If the shift in topic startled him, he didn’t show it. “Would you be surprised if I said I don’t want you to?” His smile was wistful. “You keep me humble.”
She wasn’t certain how to take that, and stiffened. “I’m not your possession. I can’t be put on display or locked up whenever you like.”
His gaze lowered, a flush spreading over his cheekbones. “No.”
She could see he was sorry, but her hurt went too deep for a single word to cure it. He’d left her too many times. “I can’t be the queen you want.”
“And who is she?”
“Someone else.”
He choked a laugh. “I don’t want someone else. I want the difficult woman who fought beside me in Zorath’s mine.”
Her breath caught, not sure she could trust the intensity in his eyes. “You never wanted her before.”
“I never let myself know her until now.” He reached forward, running his fingers down the length of her arm. The featherlight touch made her shiver. “I want that woman, every day and every night.”
“Are you sure?”
“Only the best of my knights have your wits and nerve. You and I make good partners.”
In other words, she’d proven something in the Crystal Mountains. She suspected they’d both changed perspectives over the last few days. “Do I deserve such praise after keeping secrets from you?”
His expression grew grave. “What you’re really asking is whether you can finally trust me.”
“And whether you’ll ever trust me back,” she said in a small voice. It was true. Everything he said was true. “In some ways, I’ve been selfish. I’m one person, and I never understood how many lives you touch. I wanted too much from you.”
“No.” He shook his head. “If anyone deserved my best, it was you. I’m the one at fault, and I would give much to atone for that.”
“I don’t want to be right at your expense. That was never what I wanted.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he went to the corner, where his armor lay in a jumble, and picked up Excalibur. When he turned back to her, he held the blade balanced across his palms.
“There are moments of faith. Moments when the only choice is to leap into the future. Should I pull the sword from the stone and rule Camelot, or walk away and live a peaceful life? Those decisions make us what we are, and nothing should ever take them away.”
Gwen stood very still, barely breathing, and wondered where he was going with this.
“You were never given a choice about your future. When it came time to wed, others selected a husband for you. That wasn’t just.”
He fell to one knee, offering Excalibur in outstretched hands. Reflexively, she took the sword, balancing the weight with care.
“My lady, this blade is everything I am—my weapon, my power, the symbol of my rank and right to rule. I surrender it to you as a king to his queen, and as a man to his woman. Return Excalibur to me when I prove myself the husband you deserve.”
He reached up, cupping her hands where she held the sword, helping her bear the weight of it. “Will you marry me, Gwen?”
He was giving her a choice, the freedom to go or stay. She’d never had this decision, never known wha
t she might have chosen if her father hadn’t sent her to Camelot to be the queen. And here, in this modern age, the options were beyond counting. If she struck out on her own, she could be anything.
Yet this wasn’t a flight from the familiar into the unknown. It was from one unknown to another. Camelot was utterly changed, even if the dangers facing it were just as deadly as before. The knights lived in secret, using their wits as much as their blades. The trappings of monarchy meant nothing here. If she stayed, she would have to work hard to help this new Camelot thrive.
Gwen was numb, her body tingling with shock. Arthur was giving her the power to direct her future. This was her moment to pull her own sword from the stone, and leap.
She met his blue eyes. There was uncertainty in them, but there was also hope—and love. He was the same man that he had always been, but in this strange time and place they had finally seen the truth in each other.
It was like coming home, but to the home and the husband she’d always wanted.
“Yes,” Gwen said, and pressed Excalibur into his hands.
His eyes grew darker as he lowered the sword to the floor. It rattled slightly as he released it, the sound loud in the sudden, profound silence. It was as if the air had suddenly grown thick.
Arthur rose and stepped over the sword to take her in his arms. “Gwen,” he whispered. “My wife and queen.”
His hands slid from her waist up her ribs, caressing her. She felt suddenly fragile, as if made of eggshell or the finest glass. And yet, here she was, spanning centuries to be in his arms again. Queen Guinevere wasn’t so easy to leave behind as all that. The thought made her laugh even as her throat ached with tears. It wasn’t unhappiness, just the relief of a long journey successfully completed.
“What are you thinking?” he asked. “You have the oddest expression.”
“I belong with you.” When it really mattered, he’d crossed worlds to come for her, to be her hero.
Royal Enchantment Page 23