The Spirit of Nimue (The Return to Camelot #3)

by Donna Hosie

  The arched door to the bedroom opened slowly. Guinevere knocked several times before she peered around.

  “You’re awake,” she exclaimed.

  “How long was I asleep?”

  “A full day,” replied Guinevere. She wasn’t wearing the clothes of a knight anymore. She was dressed in a long velvet crimson dress, which had silver beading around the low-scooped neckline. Her long blonde hair was loose down the back, but the sides had been pulled back and plaited with matching crimson ribbon.

  “You look beautiful, Guinevere.”

  “And so will you, once we’ve cleaned you up.”

  “What’s going on? Who are all those people out there?”

  “The kingdom is descending upon Camelot to rejoice in the birth of an heir,” replied Guinevere. “The festivities are to last for the next seven days.”

  Trust Arthur to pull the longest party in the history of mythical England, I thought. And he didn’t even have Facebook to help with the invites.

  “Am I expected to go?” I asked.

  Guinevere laughed. “You and I are guests of honour, Lady Natasha. Now come along. I’ve had the maids draw you a bath already, for I would have woken you if your eyes had not been open. You do not wish to bathe in cold water now, do you?”

  Only the lure of hot water and a scrubbing brush could have taken me away from my bed. I made a mental note to not venture outside unless we were under attack. Geese were even worse than chickens because they had longer necks and a greater range of body parts to bite.

  While I scrubbed every inch of dirty skin – and after days and days without a bath I was totally minging – I asked Guinevere to go look for Bedivere. I wanted to make sure he hadn’t run away. I wasn’t being paranoid, just realistic. I wouldn’t blame him if he went back to Lady Puke for the quiet life. He was perfect to me in every way. I was just damaged. I tried to consider how I would feel if Bedivere had someone’s spirit living inside him. What could the entity feel, touch? Was I sharing Bedivere with another girl? Just the thought that Gwenddydd could sense him through me was repugnant. I wanted her out of my head, and I would do whatever it took to reclaim my mind for me.

  Guinevere returned with two maids. Together, they squeezed, poked and prodded me into an emerald dress that made me look like a cucumber.

  “You are truly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Lady Natasha,” sighed Guinevere admiringly. She twisted my body from left to right, ordering the maids to tighten the dress in some areas, loosen it in others.

  “I can’t breathe...”

  “You need jewels to show off your elegant neck,” said Guinevere, ignoring me. “Amethysts will go well with your colouring and this gown.”

  One of the maids immediately ran out of the room.

  “Did you find Bedivere?”

  “I did. He is with Sir Gareth and Sir Lucan, and they have scrubbed up very well indeed.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “Preparing for the opening of the seven feasts. The knights will form a guard of honour around the hall, but Sir Bedivere has asked to be placed as your guard.”

  “What does that mean?

  “He will be standing behind you.”

  “Do I have to stand as well? I’m telling you, Guinevere, I won’t last five minutes in this dress with a dodgy leg.”

  Guinevere laughed, as the maid ran back into the room. She was followed by a small bald man who had chunky gold rings, shaped like chicken nuggets, on his fingers. His swollen stomach strained against the fabric of his robe, which was the colour of daffodils.

  The man bowed. “Lady Natasha, my name is Salafin, and I am the jewelsmith to Camelot and the king. I am honoured to serve the king’s sweet sister.” He placed a purple velvet pouch on a circular table and opened the cloth. Inside were ropes of rubies, diamonds, and orange stones that I didn’t know the name of.

  “I have more for your delight, Lady Natasha,” said Salafin quickly, mistaking my awed muteness for distaste. “This is but a small sample of Camelot’s great collection. Lady Samantha has already chosen...”

  “I bet she has,” I muttered, with a sly glance to Guinevere.

  “...but I am sure I can find worthy pieces to adorn both you and Lady Guinevere.”

  “I get them too?” squealed Guinevere.

  “The king has ordered so,” replied Salafin.

  Guinevere picked up an amethyst necklace and clasped it around my neck. There must have been twenty hexagonal purple jewels to it, and it weighed more than me. I was going to headbutt the table if I sat down to dinner with that around my neck.

  “We need to ensure every pair of eyes is looking at your loveliness,” she said. “No one can be left in any doubt as to why Sir Bedivere chose you.”

  Then Guinevere picked up a short rope of black stones and passed it to Salafin. Without asking, he placed it around her neck, and then pulled out a smaller pouch from his waistcoat.

  “I took the liberty of bringing the set, Lady Guinevere. Black opals will provide you with great fortune and luck.”

  There was a large black ring - which may have had a smooth surface - yet it glimmered as if there were a thousand facets. The jewelsmith also handed Guinevere a small black studded comb which she slipped into her hair.

  “I think we are ready to be presented to the court,” she said, with a wink.

  I was waiting for Gwenddydd to make a sarcastic remark, but as I thought of her, I was hit with a wave of sadness that wasn’t mine.

  Bedivere and Gareth were waiting at the end of the corridor. Both were dressed in tight black pants, white shirts and long red cloaks. They were both holding swords, even though they also had their own weapons in scabbards at their sides. My stomach nearly exploded out of my head when I saw him – in fact the only thing that kept it in was the weight of the ridiculous necklace around my neck. Bedivere had washed his hair and shaved, and his eyes sparkled so much they matched my dress.

  “We are honoured to accompany you both to the feast of celebration,” said Gareth formally. “We present the Lady Knights of Camelot with their swords.”

  “And we are glad to accept,” replied Guinevere, nudging me in the ribs as Angharad was passed to me.

  But I couldn’t take my eyes off Bedivere, who was looking at me as if I were the only person in the world. I didn’t want to go party. I wanted to find a quiet room and kiss him for hours. Unfortunately, duty called, and so I took his hand, and the four of us walked to the hall together.

  It wasn’t the Great Hall where the Round Table was placed. Instead, the feast was in a larger hall, which looked like several rooms knocked down to make one. Black stone pillars and wooden beams supported each section. Plinths, taller than Arthur, displayed glossy black stone statues of horses and eagles. Long tables had been placed in a perfect square, and were groaning under the weight of roast meat, platters of vegetables and loaves of bread.

  On a raised black stage was another long table. Arthur was sitting in the middle, in front of a whole roasted pig with an apple in its mouth. Slurpy, dressed in black, was to his left; she seemed to melt into the room, perfectly camouflaged. The two seats to Arthur’s right were empty.

  Arthur saw me and waved. I was too appalled to wave back. He was wearing a crown!

  “What the hell has Arthur got on his head?”

  But Bedivere didn’t answer. He wasn’t looking at me anymore; he wasn’t even looking at my brother. He was staring at a woman who was floating towards us like a ghost. A vision in white with diamonds wound through her fair hair, which was piled high in a neat chignon. Her heart-shaped face and rosebud lips reminded me of a china doll. A man with greasy dark hair accompanied her.

  I felt Guinevere stiffen beside me. Gareth was breathing noisily through his nose. I knew who the girl was before the introductions were made.

  It was Lady Fleur, Bedivere’s former fiancée.

  Chapter Eight

  A Watery Grave

  It wasn’t the appe
arance of Lady Fleur that worried me in that instant, but the man in black, following her like a shadow. He had long greasy black hair, which was tied back in a low ponytail. I could see the white flakes of dandruff that had settled on his shoulders.

  He was the mirror image of Sir Archibald, the knight who had tried to avenge his sister by attacking Bedivere. Only I had got in the way. My memory of that event was as clear as the pink jagged scar that now rippled across my stomach.

  Within seconds, Tristram, Talan and David had joined us. Tristram wasn’t taking any chances, and he already had his sword in his hand. I didn’t know the details of what Tristram had done to Archibald, but I knew he was dead. Was this other man in black about to avenge not just Fleur’s honour, but Archibald’s death as well? The hairs on the back of my neck rose, which sent an unpleasant prickling sensation through my jaw.

  Guinevere was standing in front of me; she pulled her elbow back and I knew she had her sword ready for a fight as well. My fingers flexed around the hilt of Angharad. The blue leather strapping was still warm from where Bedivere had been holding it. That gave me strength. I had never regretted placing myself in front of him, and I would do the same now. I would do the same for anyone I loved.

  Lady Fleur – Lady Puke, as I had christened her – didn’t so much as sweat a single bead of worry at the welcome of weapons. She continued to float towards us, an unwelcome spectre from everyone’s past.

  “Sir Bedivere,” said the man in black. He nodded, and then greeted the other knights in exactly the same way. The tension didn’t break though, and others in the crowded hall had started to notice. I could see Lucan to my left. He had stopped eating a chicken leg, and where his hand had dropped, two dogs were now quickly stripping what brown flesh was left from the bone.

  “Lord Rupert,” replied Bedivere stiffly. “Lady Fleur.” He bowed.

  “Good day, sirs,” said Fleur, curtseying. She lowered her eyes to the straw-strewn floor, and dipped so low I thought she had collapsed to the floor. As she rose, she added in a high voice, “Lady Natasha, Lady Guinevere, I am honoured to make your acquaintance. The king has afforded our family a great honour by inviting us to the first feast of celebration. We did not...”

  “What’s done is done, sister,” interrupted Rupert. His eyes, so dark they were almost black, were boring into me. Standing tall, I met his gaze face on. It was hard to be intimidated by someone with hair so greasy you could fry fish in it.

  “We do not seek trouble and discord, Lord Rupert,” said Tristram. “You and Lady Fleur are as welcome here as you have always been.”

  “My late brother’s conduct was not becoming of the House of Solsbury,” said Rupert. “You have my word that I do not seek to avenge his death.”

  “You would not get far if you tried,” muttered Bedivere.

  The atmosphere was glacial. Eyes flickered left to right to left, as everyone waited for something to happen.

  “Lady Natasha,” said Fleur suddenly, taking me by surprise. “Would you take a walk with me? And Lady Guinevere would be most welcome to accompany us.”

  What on earth was she playing at? Taking a friendly walk with Bedivere’s ex was as welcome - and likely - as Slurpy telling me she wanted to be my BFF. Was this a trap? Was there another brother in black waiting outside to kill me?

  But Rupert seemed to be taken by surprise at her request as well. I decided to go with the flow, because what was the worst Fleur could do? She wasn’t magical, and I doubted anything she could say would be worse than the insults I used to get from Slurpy and her friends. I was armed, and so unless Fleur had a secret compartment under that tight white dress, then she wouldn’t be stabbing me anytime soon, and to be honest, she was so frail-looking that one gust of wind would probably snap her in two.

  She may have been a lady, but I was a lady knight, which was worth way more.

  Bedivere looked as if he had been asked to have a vasectomy without anaesthetic. The ex and the new girlfriend going off for a cosy chat was most guys’ idea of a nightmare.

  “It’s cool,” I said, trying to reassure him that I was in control of the situation. “Get yourself some food, and tell my brother to get that ridiculous crown off his head.”

  Guinevere laughed, and to my surprise, so did Fleur, although it sounded fake, forced. The three of us walked out of the hall and into the long black corridor. There was a huge tapestry of a white Ddraig on the wall. The dragon was sewn to show it rearing in pain as hundreds of little stick figures plunged spears into its belly. I knew from experience that was pretty unlikely, but then stick figures spurting blood from piercing claws wouldn’t have been that inspirational. I thought of Eve, my first friend in Logres, and it made me instinctively move closer to Guinevere for support.

  The noise from the hall increased once more: laughing, cheering and the scraping of wood across stone. But Guinevere, Fleur and I were trapped in an awkward silence. I glanced down at Fleur’s pale hands. She was picking at the skin around her nails, which were all bitten to the quick.

  Fleur wasn’t so perfect after all.

  We reached the end of the corridor, but instead of following it round to the left, Guinevere suddenly stopped.

  “We should not stray too far,” she said. “We may yet be called upon.”

  “You wanted to walk,” I asked Fleur. “Was it just exercise, or do you have something to say to me?”

  I was expecting her to yell. I was waiting for her to call me a slut for stealing Bedivere away, but instead, Fleur simply smiled.

  “I wanted to thank you, Lady Natasha,” she said. “Sir Bedivere is a fine knight - the greatest in Logres, many say - and it was a match that my family desired greatly. Yet I did not love him, nor did he love me. It would have brought great shame to my family if I had ended the betrothal, and I knew Sir Bedivere would not have shamed his family either, not unless a great love came his way. You saved us both from a life of sadness.”

  Interesting. I was not expecting that.

  Gwenddydd had found her voice again, but thankfully it was at one with mine.

  “But Archibald tried to avenge the dishonour done to you. He tried to kill Bedivere – he almost killed me.”

  “It was not my honour that Sir Archibald rode to avenge. As a woman of noble blood, I am nothing but a chattel to my family, to be passed from one to another. My brother was avenging the perceived dishonour that was done to him. As the elder brother, the joining of the court of Solsbury and the court of Lindsey would have been valuable to him.”

  “You do not need to tell either myself or Lady Natasha of the malcontent that resides within the court of Lindsey,” said Guinevere. “Cut us down like a tree and you would find smoke rings inside our bodies.”

  “So you don’t hate me?” I asked warily.

  “Not at all,” replied Fleur. “Indeed, I was hoping we could be friends. To have two great women now in the court of Camelot can only mean better times for women like me.”

  “When you say two great women, you mean me and Guinevere?”

  “Indeed,” smiled Fleur, but the upturned mouth did not match the coldness in her grey eyes. I learnt from my mistakes. Lady Fleur would have to do more than smile and flatter to gain my trust.

  “Is all well, m’ladies?” called an Irish voice from back down the corridor. Talan was standing beneath the arches of the doorway, but I had a sneaking suspicion that Bedivere was right behind him. “The king is asking for you.”

  I pulled Guinevere back, to put some distance between us and Fleur, as we started to walk back to the feast.

  “You said she was vain and horrible.”

  “I believed her to be so,” whispered Guinevere. “She always held her nose in the air, as if a vile smell was beneath her.”

  “Should we trust her?”

  “Do you believe her to be true?”

  “I don’t know who is true and who isn’t these days.”

  Arthur was at the doors. He had removed his crown, so I couldn�
��t take the piss out of him, which was fast becoming my favourite activity, if only for the look on David’s face. Yet Arthur looked worried.

  “What year is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich invented, Titch?”

  “Definitely not in this one.”

  “I’m surrounded by food and I’m still starving. Are you okay? You look pale.”

  “I’m always pale.”

  “That was Bedivere’s ex, wasn’t it? She’s pretty hot.”

  “Bite me, Arthur.”

  “Just sayin’. She didn’t have a go at you, did she? Because, according to Merlin, I can banish anyone.”

  “Fleur wanted to be friends.”

  Bedivere and Gareth were hovering nervously in the background.

  “We’re all good,” I called, looking around the hall, which seemed to have filled with even more people in the short time I had been out of it. The top table was now the only one that was empty. A group of musicians remained on the raised black stage, but that was it.

  So where was Slurpy?

  Then my arm jerked upwards. Not with pain, but with a deep buzzing sensation that felt like an electrical shock.

  The blood oath. Your connection to Sir Mordred. He must be escaping. He has help.

  What? How could you possibly know that? I thought.

  I am a seer, and you have awakened more than just a memory. Now hurry. There is little time. I sense malcontent within the walls of Camelot. My brother will have sensed the presence too.

  How can I trust you? I thought back.

  You don’t have to trust me – sense what the bond is telling you.

  Gwenddydd was right. The scar from the blood oath was itching away. It was a sign.

  “We need to go and check on the dungeons. I think Mordred’s up to something.”

  “What are you talking about? He’s guarded by ten men, Titch,” said Arthur. “He isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Where’s Merlin?”

  “The sorcerer is in the Great Hall, Lady Natasha,” replied Gareth. “He is studying the changes to the Round Table.”