“I’m afraid she’s right,” the demon said with a disgusted sigh. “The rules of the contest are clear. There’s no way around it. Your champion must kill his king.”
Chapter 27
An outburst of protests filled the air. Looking unutterably weary, Lancelot clambered to his feet. Pieces of armor flapped and rattled where the buckles had snapped asunder in the fight. It was clear that his broken arm was only one of many wounds. Blood smeared his legs and breastplate, and not all of it belonged to his foes. Nim realized with a sick flip of her stomach that chance alone had saved him in this fight. He and Arthur had always been evenly matched, the two greatest swordsmen of Camelot. Whatever had made the king hesitate at the last—some flicker of recognition breaking through Morgan’s spell?—had turned the tide in Lancelot’s favor. But for that, their fortunes would have been reversed.
Nim could not help herself. It was too late to worry about who should or shouldn’t be on the battlefield, so she ran to Lancelot’s side, steadying him as he got to his feet. His eyes were on Arthur, but he took her hand with his good one, squeezing hard as if she were his one link to sanity. Nim gasped at the pressure, but the clamor of voices drowned out her cry.
Tremors of exhaustion and spent rage shuddered through Lancelot as he finally raised his head to glare at Tenebrius. “I will not do it.” Lancelot’s rough, steady voice silenced the company.
“Are you sure?”asked Tenebrius. “You know what is at stake.”
“My words were plain. My meaning is clear. The rules of lore and magic do not outweigh the laws of fealty. I swore to defend Arthur, not to murder him.”
“Then give me Excalibur.” Morgan LaFaye pushed forward, eyes flashing with triumph. “The contest requires a fight to the death. He has forfeited the prize.”
With a sudden, angry jerk, Lancelot released Nim’s hand and reached for his ax. Nim grabbed his arm as he swung to throw it. “No! Think what you’re doing!”
The Queen of Faery laughed, a disturbingly lovely sound. “Attempting to kill me is futile, sir knight.”
LaFaye was right. Only Excalibur would kill her, which was exactly why they were in this mess. Lancelot met Nim’s eyes as he lowered his weapon, seeming to ebb back into himself.
“You saw that. The enemy knight threatened me,” LaFaye said haughtily, her confidence returning. Her attention slid to Nim, murder in her gray eyes. “I demand a penalty.”
“Oh, do you mean the collar?” said the demon in a dangerously reasonable tone. “Shall I put the Lady of the Lake to death after she pleaded with Sir Lancelot to spare you?”
“You twist my meaning.”
“I would twist Excalibur in your guts if demonkind could draw the blade and live. I tire of you, LaFaye.”
The queen began a shrill protest, but didn’t get far.
“Silence!” roared Lancelot.
A surprised quiet reigned as Lancelot turned to the demon. “I am a simple warrior,” he said, fatigue etching deep lines into his tired face. Nim’s breath caught as she remembered the sound of breaking bones—which had so far gone ignored. “I am a simple warrior who has been caught in a trap.”
“That trap is your puzzle to solve,” said the demon. “That is the nature of the game.”
“The game has been rigged,” said Lancelot with steady composure. “If I lose and die, LaFaye wins the sword. If I win and kill Arthur, LaFaye is free to take the sword and the crown and whatever else she can take in conquest, for there will be no Camelot to stop her. I ask for an extra roll of the dice to even this match.”
“I will consider it,” said Tenebrius. “What did you have in mind?”
“Another way to win besides a combat to the death. Give us a true contest, with an avenue to win.”
Lancelot had asked wisely, judging by the demon’s nod of approval, but sportsmanship wasn’t the queen’s style. She whirled on the knight, releasing a pale blue blast of killing power. Lancelot pulled Nim to the ground, shielding her with his body, but he was not moving with his usual speed. The spell brushed her, its power cracking through her body hard enough to make her ears ring, but it could have been worse. The collar flared, seeming to absorb the strike. The next instant, the demon’s counterspell had swept the queen’s magic aside.
LaFaye shrieked her frustration. Tenebrius was perspiring, for not even a demon could challenge her power without effort. Moreover, he was angry, his physical form wavering as temper made his glamour slip. Nim caught a glance of his true form—a ragged, monstrous raptor with eyes like pits of fire.
“I warned you,” he said quietly, and that was more terrifying than any roar. He pointed one taloned finger to the queen’s corner of the field. “There are consequences for attacking the contestants.”
Nim looked up in time to see a burst of flame. Horror gagged her as she realized it was her counterpart, the red-haired girl, paying for her queen’s transgression with her life.
“You want another avenue to victory?” said the demon. “Perhaps only Excalibur can kill the Queen of Faery, but there are a thousand other ways to destroy her. Do that, and I will let your king wake and live.”
Morgan’s face turned the color of chalk. “I will wreak untold vengeance on you all.” Grabbing her skirts, she turned and bolted like a hare, her retainers scrambling in her wake. Nim watched her go, a fierce sense of Morgan’s wrongness slamming through her.
She was startled by a slithering sensation at her throat. She grabbed at her neck, expecting a creature set to strangle her, but her hands came away holding the jeweled collar.
“If we are changing the rules, then there is no need for that,” said the demon. “I don’t think your king is in any position to misbehave.”
Nim was relieved to be free of the collar, but while it posed a threat, it had also given her a measure of protection. Without it, she was just another player on the board.
The demon turned back to the contestants and cast a last look over Arthur’s unconscious form. “There is your second roll of the dice, Sir Lancelot of the Lake. Use it well.” With that, Tenebrius vanished.
But that was not the good news it might have been. LaFaye had stopped some distance away and was gesturing wildly. A moment later, her soldiers were turning back, naked swords in their hands, and more were coming from LaFaye’s corner of the field. She was securing her escape because, as the lone knight of Camelot present, Lancelot had to stay and guard the unconscious king.
Lancelot released a breath that was half a groan, the sound coming from a deep well of pain. He pulled Nim close, cupping her nape with his good hand. He didn’t say anything, but kissed the top of her head. It was a blessing, a gesture of understanding that went far beyond words. She pulled away just long enough to kiss his mouth, a single salty taste of her own tears.
“Run,” he said.
But her fingers clung to his, refusing to let go. “I love you.”
He blinked, his dark eyes wild with grief. “Then trust I will come for you, no matter what. I promise you will not be alone again.”
“There are too many enemies. I will stay and fight with you.”
That meant using her magic, and he would never accept that. She knew that before he answered.
“No.” Then he picked up his ax and faced the coming horde. “Love sometimes means trusting to the abyss of fate. Run, let me know you’re safe. Let me fight.”
Trusting to the abyss. Trusting one of them would find a way out of the black hole of loss and darkness, and to do it in time to save the other. Tears stung, but Nim did not argue. Instead, she sped after Morgan LaFaye’s distant form. There was only one way out. It was time for the Lady of the Lake to stop hiding and fight.
The queen wasn’t hard to follow. She was a creature of the court—used to banquet halls and throne rooms, not thickets and mud patches hidden by the rolling grass. By contrast, Nim was a true fae and born to nature. She knew every twig and branch of the land between Taliesin’s Circle and her castle by the lake.
With every step she took, the image of Lancelot turning to face the fae taunted her. Let me fight. Even if he survived, even if he beat every one of those fae, his efforts would be meaningless unless Nim could catch the queen.
It soon became clear that Morgan was blundering closer and closer to Nim’s own home. The white towers were the one habitation anywhere in sight. No doubt they looked like a refuge to a court lady alone in the Forest Sauvage.
Nim emerged from the brush on the far side of the lake just as Morgan disappeared up the path Nim had walked with Lancelot the day before. Her first reaction was fury. Morgan had no business being anywhere near Nim’s retreat. Not after Nim had just reclaimed it from sorrow—not after she and her lover had made it theirs once more. The last time Morgan was there, she’d sown the seeds of their long parting. She did not deserve to so much as breathe the castle’s air.
And yet, Nim saw the possibility for victory. There were pitfalls in the castle Morgan would never suspect. If Nim could call on their power, they might buy Camelot the time it needed to grow strong. But none of those traps could be sprung without magic.
Nim touched the bead of knowledge Merlin had given her. Arthur was wounded. Excalibur was in peril. Lancelot was fighting for his life. Merlin was in exile. If Nim turned and ran now, LaFaye would win for sure and there would be no peace in any realm, human or fae. The greatest act of love Nim had to offer was to do whatever she could to save them all. Perhaps this was the destiny that had brought her back to Lancelot. He was the only one she loved enough to inspire such sacrifice.
Tears streamed down her face, but she made her bargain, all too aware she would lose the very thing that gave that choice meaning.
“Goodbye,” she whispered. Lancelot was first in her mind, but it was a farewell to everything she loved or understood about the heart. She was letting go of the easy companionship of the knights, of her respect for Arthur, for her anger at the treatment of her own people. It was goodbye to the girl with the butterfly wings and all the joy Nim had found in walking with her lover through the park. That bright day shone like a star in her barely recovered soul.
Nim could trust the abyss—she could trust it to swallow her whole. But without LaFaye, those things she loved could still exist—even if Nim never cared about them again.
Merlin’s bead of knowledge rolled through her thoughts, and with a single act of will she cracked it. Knowledge unspooled in her mind with unblemished clarity. She whispered the words he had sent her, the long-dead language dry and angular on her tongue, as if each syllable had physical weight. There was no question this was Merlin’s recipe—she could taste the erratic genius of his magic like a spice. As the taste flooded her mouth and then her blood, exploding like heat through her entire being, the chains of Merlin’s binding fell away.
She sobbed, a ragged farewell and welcoming both. Her magic reared up, pure and elegant as a fine sword. Nim breathed deeply, stretching out her arms. She could touch the deep enchantment of the lake, the natural magic that was the voice and essence of the Forest Sauvage. It welcomed her like a lost sister, winding in and through her until she was part of its tapestry once more. The breeze whispered her name in the trailing willows, the birds sang it from the sky. Power was a part of her, a piece she’d cut off the way an animal chews its limb away from a trap. But it was back.
Light-headed with magic, Nim took a shuddering breath and paused just long enough to consider her approach. She’d never been a showman with her powers, but then she’d never desired to entertain. Stealth came naturally, and that was exactly what she needed.
She drew a doorway in the air, opening a portal from where she stood on the far side of the lake to the hall of her castle. Light bloomed and shimmered in the air and Nim stepped through it as naturally as if it were the elevator in her condominium. The surge of magic made her heart race, but that was nothing to the jolt it gave when she stood in her castle hall and saw LaFaye. Like all fae, Nim still had the ability to fear.
The queen had her back to Nim, the ebony of her gown stark against the bright tapestries that hung on the wall. LaFaye stiffened, the angle of her shoulders growing sharp as the surge of magic gave Nim away. Slowly, the Queen of Faery turned, a murderous look darkening her face.
“Nimueh,” she said. “This is your castle, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“Pity,” said Morgan. “It’s very pretty.”
The queen threw a bolt of power, sending bottles and goblets flying from the table by the window. They fell to the rush-strewn flagstones with a clatter.
“Are you trying to frighten me?” Nim asked, her voice utterly cold.
“I don’t need to try,” Morgan scoffed. “You’ve been running like a rabbit since you betrayed me.”
“Rabbits bite.” Nim returned the blast of power, her own a darker, richer blue.
Morgan was not expecting retaliation, and the attack caught her off guard. The queen flew backward through the air with a shriek and landed hard against the wall.
Good, thought Nim, as the queen regained her balance. No amount of power would kill LaFaye, so the object of the game was to make her angry enough to play. It worked. LaFaye struck back with fury, smashing every stick of furniture in the room. Nim felt an echo of regret as her familiar things were reduced to kindling, yet there was nothing she could do. It was a necessary loss.
Nim darted to the tower stairs, turning back only when she’d run up the first few steps. “It doesn’t matter what you do now. You can’t win.”
LaFaye gave a short, sharp laugh. “The demon promised a win if you destroy me, but we both know that’s impossible. No, either Arthur dies or he doesn’t and I get that damnable sword either way. I won’t walk away empty-handed.”
“Camelot will always defeat you,” Nim said, sounding almost conversational. “It has justice on its side.”
“Camelot is dead history.” LaFaye pushed the long, dark hair from her eyes. “And at last I have my hands around your traitorous neck.”
She made a grasping motion with her fingers, squeezing the air from Nim’s throat. Nim’s fingers scrabbled to grip the castle stone, bracing herself as the edges of her vision went dark. She crawled up a step, then another, putting distance between herself and the faery queen. Every effort she made to draw air strangled her more.
LaFaye’s strength was prodigious, the combined might of fae, witch and Pendragon bloodlines mixed with her own particular power. No one could match the queen in speed, agility or resilience. Her strength was unquestioned. LaFaye’s injuries healed almost instantly, whereas her spells could last an infinity of years. None dared to confront the queen openly, not even Nim.
But sometimes precision could make up for the rest. The vaults of the ceiling were held by interlocking arches, each pair of ribs connected where they met by a single stone. Remove the keystone, and the arches became unstable. Magic could do much, but when assisted by the laws of physics, it was unstoppable. All Nim had to consider was timing.
As Nim retreated, LaFaye advanced—one step, then another. It was slow going and Nim was losing her ability to think, but sheer stubbornness kept her clinging to consciousness.
When the queen was directly below the keystone of the hall’s central arch, Nim flexed her magic. There was a rasping scrape of stone on stone and the keystone dropped, narrowly missing LaFaye’s skull. The queen looked up, only to see the neighboring stones fall away, and then their neighbors, like a vertical game of dominoes.
And the hall came tumbling down.
Chapter 28
The instant LaFaye’s concentration broke, Nim heaved in a lungful of air. She scrambled to her feet and bolted up the tower stairs, leaping up two at a time. Clouds of dust billowed up the stairwell, expanding with every crash of stone from below. With a nudge of power, the collapsing arch had set off a chain reaction and the whole of the great hall was rapidly smashing itself to rubble.
As Nim had hoped, Morgan rushed after her, s
eeking the safety of the tower. Nim could hear the slap of her footfalls between the smashing of masonry. Nim doubled her speed, wanting to gain time, and slipped into the room at the first landing. It was a small, sunny chamber with a casement window overlooking the lake. Nim dropped onto the window seat and pushed open the shutters to view the destruction of the hall. The ground was a dizzying distance below, the tops of the trees barely reaching halfway to the window.
Despite the long drop, she could see the damage. The beautiful white confection that had been her banqueting hall was nothing more than rubble. Shock numbed her, erasing even fear. She’d set the spell as a precaution when the thing was built, but she’d had no idea the result would be so impressive.
And it was just the beginning. Taking a deep breath of the dusty air, she recited the necessary spell. She felt it lock around the tower with a hiss of air, as if the tower had suddenly been sealed in a vacuum.
Then LaFaye stood in the doorway, every line of her body silently demanding an explanation. Nim turned from the window, taking her time. It was a novelty to have the upper hand for once.
“I can feel your magic, such as it is,” said the queen with chill contempt. “So light and delicate it all but melts on the tongue, like one of those froufrou cocktails that never qualifies as a real drink. And you think to use this against me?”
The queen took a stride forward. “What are you playing at, Nimueh?”
The slap sent Nim sprawling. LaFaye hadn’t moved a finger, but rings stung the flesh of Nim’s cheek. She pushed up on one elbow only to receive another invisible blow that made her ear throb. Nim huddled against the edge of the casement, her old, habitual fear returning like a sickness. She remembered its touch, the lines and borders of its limits. She remembered how it made her small.
“Just a household spell,” Nim gasped. “I installed it because of the demons in the forest, just in case they got unfriendly. The tower seals so that no one can get in. In fact, no one can see the castle is even here. We’re absolutely secure from outside eyes.”
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