“And the hall?” Morgan asked, her voice thin with tension.
Nim could feel the next blow waiting, hovering in the air in case she said something Morgan didn’t like. “Even if someone found the castle, the entrance is completely sealed by debris.”
The blow descended spinning Nim around. Her vision sparked and reeled, making her dizzy.
The queen’s eyes had gone wide. “By the stars, what do you think you’re doing?” She lunged for Nim, her hands raised to hurl more power.
But Nim used her magic to deflect the strike. Instead, the blow blasted chips out of the stone and they skittered to the floor.
“Incidentally,” Nim said, hysteria cracking the word, “I’m the only one who can leave.” And she hurled herself through the window into thin air.
To anyone else, even other fae, it would have been a fatal move. But Nimueh was the Lady of the Lake, and she called to the deep magic of her sanctuary. It drew her falling form as if by a thread, pulling it along an impossible trajectory until she hovered over the water. From there, her free fall became a dive and she plunged into the icy depths, dropping still more until daylight was only a memory.
Nim’s skirts billowed around her like gossamer fins. LaFaye was trapped in the tower. Relief made her light, as if a suit of armor had been peeled from her limbs. She hadn’t admitted, even to herself, the size of the gamble she’d just taken.
Or the price she had paid. She could feel her emotions shutting down already, a loss impossible to describe. It would have been easier to describe color to a sightless worm, or music to a block of ice. It was like lights going off in her mind one by one, and so she fought panic by clinging to the idea that LaFaye had paid for her crimes. Her sacrifice was not wasted. She relaxed her limbs and let herself float in the dark, icy nothingness of the lake. The numbing cold took away her pain.
The contest was over and, for a time at least, Camelot was safe.
Her work was done.
She was done.
Love was a distant memory.
* * *
Dulac defeated every one of the fae, but his body paid the price. He was unconscious on the churned earth when Beaumains arrived to collect him along with his king. Palomedes and Owen came to help, reporting that they were now as mysteriously free of legal charges as they had been mysteriously drawn into a fight. Together, they carried Lancelot and the king back home.
It was late morning on the next day before Dulac woke. As soon as his eyes opened, he remained in bed for approximately five seconds. Through a disoriented fog, he realized that he was in the infirmary at Medievaland’s clubhouse.
“It was easier for Tamsin to nurse everybody if they were all in the same place,” said Gawain from the chair at the foot of the bed.
“You look terrible,” said Dulac.
“Right back at you.” Gawain tried to smile but it fell flat. He was sitting awkwardly, as if he was nursing broken ribs. “Your horse is fine, though.”
“Good.” Some might have called it a small thing compared to the other fallen warriors, but relief hit Dulac like a physical blow. He was extremely fond of Bucephalus.
Then Dulac gripped the edge of the bed as a wave of dizziness hit. He might be sitting up, but he realized that he was weaker than he thought.
“How badly are you injured?” Dulac asked Gawain, in part to cover his own discomfort.
“The only good thing about losing so much blood is that hypertension is right off the table. The thrice-blasted fae stabbed me from behind.” Gawain held up his hands as if measuring a fish. “The blade had to be that long. I’m never eating kebabs again.”
Dulac looked down at his arm, remembering that it had been broken. Now all that lingered was a pulsing ache. “That was a mighty fight.” Then he prodded a bruise, wincing as it complained.
“Tamsin healed what she could, but she couldn’t do everything. There were many injuries to mend and only one witch to go around, so some things need to mend on their own.”
Dulac nodded through the fog of aches and pains, concentrating on Gawain’s words but losing some of the meaning. Memory was returning in starts and fits, one image at a time. “The king?”
“He regained consciousness yesterday.” Gawain brightened. “It was sudden. One moment he was out cold, the next he was sitting up and demanding his clothes. There’s no sign of Excalibur. Or the demon, though I’m hardly complaining about that.”
“Where’s Nimueh?” Dulac asked, suddenly cold.
Gawain shook his head. “No sign of her, either. We searched, but not even her castle is there. She’s probably hiding from LaFaye.”
Dulac wet his lips, suddenly sure he knew what had happened. “The king is awake, and that meant the contest ended in Camelot’s favor. Nimueh is the only one who could have defeated the queen.”
“How?” Gawain asked, sounding doubtful. “I mean, good for her but—how?”
Dulac didn’t want to contemplate that. “I need to find her. I think I know where she’s gone, and I promised her that she wouldn’t be alone.”
Over Tamsin’s protests, Dulac left within the hour and he left without a companion. If he had guessed right, only he could fulfill this particular quest. There was one of the stag’s jewels left, and Dulac used it to ride back to the Forest Sauvage.
He arrived at Taliesin’s Circle in the late afternoon, the sky clear over the emerald fields. The ground stood as he’d first seen it, the fields beside the standing stones untouched by battle. There was no churned mud, no splashes of blood on the wind-ruffled grass. It was as if the mighty contest had been nothing but a song for a winter’s evening.
Dulac hurt in far too many places to sleep in the open, so he wasted no time setting out for Nim’s castle. He encountered no one, not even wild animals, and he made good time. He rode Gringolet, Gawain’s horse, so that Bucephalus could rest and heal his wounds. Gawain’s mount snorted with pleasure at the unexpected exercise, moving easily over the wide, rolling ground.
Years fell away as Dulac rode, and he remembered the first time he’d come to this part of the forest. In those days, the borders between realms had been thinner and he’d stumbled by chance into the mysterious forest in search of adventure. He’d followed the exact same path he traveled now to Nimueh’s domain. And there he’d found the love of his life.
She had ridden in the boat with the head of a swan, a white-clad vision right out of one of his nurse’s fairy tales. Her spell over him had been absolute and immediate. Dulac shook his head to clear it, bracing himself for what lay ahead. Such memories were sweet, but he desperately feared what he would find now.
He urged Gringolet up the rising ground to the lake’s plateau, and he found his answer. At the base of the high hill, the lake spread out like a second sky, every cloud and butterfly mirrored on its still face. As always, the scene was perfect and beautiful. Except, the castle was gone.
Magic was afoot, and that only meant one thing for Nimueh.
Dulac slid from Gringolet’s back, leaving the horse to graze on the lush grass. With hesitant steps, he approached the edge of the lake and sat there, grateful to rest his aching wounds but alert to the slightest movements around him. A leaf fell in the water and spun in lazy circles. He closed his eyes before it could make him dizzy.
“Nimueh,” he said softly. “I promised you would not be alone. I’m here now and it’s time to come home.”
The only answer was the ripple of the breeze over the water. The fallen leaf skittered and spun out of sight. Dulac watched it go, sitting quietly while he made up his mind.
With no wasted motions, he rose and tended to the horse, removing saddle and bridle and making it comfortable for a long wait. Then he stripped off his clothes, leaving them far away from the water. His remaining bandages would be spoiled, but he could not help that. For what he hoped to gain, he could bear the brunt of Tamsin’s wrath.
In a neat, graceful motion, Dulac dove into the water. The icy temperature stole his b
reath, but he kicked his way down, seeking the deepest caverns below. He hoped to catch a glimpse of the Lady of the Lake. She might have lived in the castle above, but just as often she retreated to the silence of the waters below. If something had happened, this was where she would be.
He stayed down until his lungs burned, and then he stayed down some more. Eventually, though, the desperate ache in his chest drove him to the surface for a gulping breath. He gasped and rubbed the water from his eyes, gathering himself for another try. Then he dove again.
The lake was not huge, but it was cold and he was injured. He had only covered half of it when exhaustion forced him to the shore to rest. It was there that he saw her, a figure with sand-dark skin and pale, flowing hair. He smiled slightly, amused that one of the first uses of her power had been to fix that unbecoming hairstyle. Nimueh looked like herself again.
She must have heard his approach. Her head lifted, bright green eyes widening when she saw him. She passed a hand over her face, blinking as if she’d been asleep. It was then he noticed that she wore only a sleeveless shift that left her limbs bare to the sun.
“Nimueh,” he said. “I’ve come for you.”
Quick as an eel she was in the water, barely making a splash. He ran and dove after her, only able to guess where she’d gone. His arms cleaved the water, stroking hard to send him deeper and deeper into the frozen darkness. It was hopeless. She was a fae of the water, and he was just a human. And yet, incredibly, he brushed against the smooth glory of her thigh. He twisted beneath her, his arms closing around her waist.
Her protest was a swish of bubbles, but it wouldn’t have mattered even if he had understood the words. Kick and thrash as she might, even with fae strength Nimueh would not escape him. His heart could not endure it. With Nimueh in tow, Dulac swam back to the shore.
As soon as their feet were on land, she renewed her efforts to push away. “Let me go,” she said, bracing her palms against his chest. She was strong, and he had to work to hold her.
“Why?” he demanded.
“You know why,” she said, her voice cold as the lake. “My magic has returned, and my emotions are gone. We are better off apart.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said.
Her features pulled tight. “You are arrogant. Do you believe yourself so irresistible that not even devastation of the soul can obliterate my need to love you?”
His lips twitched. “You can’t resist me.”
And then, to prove it, he kissed her. Although his outward manner was almost flippant, his every sense was attuned to her response. He needed to know the truth.
She tasted of lake water, a combination of mountain snows and the iron-rich tang of silt. He didn’t mind the earthy taste, or even that her limbs were cold. The day was hot and though she shivered, Dulac was certain he could warm her given half a chance.
But she continued to struggle, resisting the weight of his arms around her. If she’d wanted warmth, she would have clung closer. It was then he began to wonder how much of her trembling was shock. “What’s wrong, my love?”
Nimueh didn’t answer at once. Instead she went still. Her arms dropped to her sides, her head drooping until he could not see her eyes. It was an attitude of weary submission, and it stirred despair in his heart.
“I recalled my magic and trapped LaFaye in the castle,” she said. “It will hold her for a while. Long enough for the Round Table to regain its strength.”
“Arthur is awake,” he replied, tilting her face up to his. “You did what none of us could do.” Nimueh had saved them all, but now someone had to save her.
Her green eyes closed, shutting him out. As ever, she’d retreated into hiding. “And that’s all for me.” She nodded once, taking a shuddering breath. “I’ve done my duty. Now let me go.”
“No.”
“I’ve saved Camelot and Arthur and the sword.” Her voice shook as if the words themselves gave her pain. “Is that not enough for you?”
He smoothed her long, pale hair, realizing how much he’d missed its shining weight. “No,” he said. “I still want you.”
She bowed her head, resting it under his chin. When she spoke, her voice was muffled. “I have no more to give. I’m dead inside all over again.”
Dulac refused to believe her. “I love you.”
She raised her eyes to his, the brilliant green as cold as the deepest ocean. “But I don’t love you anymore.”
Chapter 29
Dulac abandoned all his arguments. His fears had whispered this might happen, but he had slammed the door on those voices and stopped up his ears. Now he could see she was telling the truth. Nimueh did not wish to hurt him, but would not lie about what she could not feel.
But he had turned to stone for centuries to be with her again. He had crossed through worlds and fought with heart and sword to win her trust. He would not give up until every last grain of hope for their love was gone.
He kissed her again, keeping it gentle but holding her so there was no chance she could slip away. This time she refused to yield, remaining wooden beneath his caress. With every sense he had—of taste and smell and touch—he searched her response for something, anything that would hint the Nimueh he knew was still inside.
With a pounding heart, he slid his lips along her jaw to the sensitive spot beneath her ear. That was when he heard the faint gasp of breath, familiar from the many times he had flicked his tongue right there. It was one of the intimate secrets they shared. Perhaps it was just a physical reaction, but hadn’t his touch encouraged her to remember him before? What had Tamsin said about the flesh holding emotion as well as the mind?
His kisses found their way down the slope of her neck, where her long white hair clung in wet tendrils against her skin. His tongue lapped up drops of water, warm from the sun and her skin. His mouth filled with her taste, as if she was his one reality both inside and out. She arched her head back, seeming to forget herself, and pressed into his embrace. She was so beautiful, so delicately made, the graceful bow of her neck tempting his lips anew. Her pulse beat against his lips as he pressed his mouth to her throat, a predator hypnotized by his prey.
Entranced, he ran his mouth down her sternum until the clinging folds of her thin gown blocked his path. With a quick, relentless gesture, he grabbed the neckline and tore the garment apart down its front. She gasped, but she was in his arms again before she could back away. The fabric fell to the shore with a wet sound, leaving them both naked under the hot sun.
Her jaw went hard, a silent, mutinous challenge. He ignored it, laving his tongue over the inside curve of her breast, flicking lightly at the smooth, fine flesh. She was stiff, refusing him, but he nipped and kissed until she arched her back. Her hands were braced against his shoulders, pulling away and giving him access at once. Dulac kept claiming her an inch at a time, waking every nerve with his lips.
Her breath was coming hard now, her pulse beating like the struggles of a trapped bird.
His hands slid down her slender flanks, kneading and caressing. He took his time, massaging each muscle until it relaxed. This was a slow conquering, every touch deep and firm and insistent. The stiffness left her, but he could still feel the coiled tension deep inside, waiting for one wrong move. That was when her eyes finally met his, and he saw the naked panic in them.
“Why are you afraid?” he asked.
“I fell into the abyss,” she whispered. “I’m still falling and there is nothing there to catch me. It was as if I opened my eyes to find nothing but darkness.”
“I’m there to catch you. Let your body be with mine. It will remember everything you need to know.”
“My body is just flesh.”
“Flesh remembers.”
He fell to his knees before her, gently pushing her feet apart. She obeyed, but her expression was perplexed. Then he pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh, tasting the silk of her skin. She gasped, tensing as if she meant to skitter away, but he held her still, gentl
y nipping where he’d kissed. Finally, her hands crept to his chest, her nails grazing his skin as they found his shoulders. The pain made his breath hitch, but it was a goad to his need.
She made a strangled sound, inviting and hostile at once.
“Trust me,” he repeated, though the words had become something more than their meaning. They’d grown into a chant or a prayer or a charm—any magic that would bring her home.
He didn’t rush, didn’t explore beyond what he was certain would give her pleasure. He ran his hands from her slender ankles and up over her calves, shaping her until her hands released his shoulders to bury themselves in his hair. Only then did he allow his lips to rove higher and touch the pale down at the apex of her thighs.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, making a sound of discovery.
Nimueh closed her eyes as he repeated the act, using all his skill until her flesh wept with desire. But whether her mind welcomed her body’s sensations, he could not tell. Just as when they’d kissed outside the wedding hall, the spark of her personality seemed to flicker out of reach. Dulac felt as if he were coaxing it back from ashes and had to be oh, so careful. If he lost her now, there might not be a second chance.
He used his teeth as well as tongue and lips, understanding exactly how pain and pleasure might dance. She tasted sweet, like honey and peaches, and her skin was hot silk against his cheek. She inhaled, her toes digging into the ground as if she were afraid she might fly away.
“Come back to me,” he whispered. “I won’t leave you alone.”
She was making a faint whimpering now, her fingers locked almost painfully in his hair as he worked her to the brink of climax. Her head rolled back, strands of her drying locks flying free in the breeze. All at once, she fell to her knees, eyes half-mad as if she might shatter with more than desire.
“I’m going to break,” she murmured. Her hands were still in his hair, her face just inches away. A sheen of perspiration along her cheekbones added to the ferocity of her stare. “What are you doing to me?”
Enchanted Guardian Page 24