An idea bloomed to life inside of him.
“I wonder,” he said, “If there is something I can do for ye . . .”
Fionna’s cheeks reddened. “Oh Percival, that’s very generous—”
“Nae, not that,” he said hastily. “Though, I would happily serve ye in such a way, whenever ye wish for pleasures between a man and woman. Rather, I meant . . . I would like to make a gesture of my favor. Prove to ye the depth of my regard for ye, and my worthiness. To lie with ye and . . . to love ye.”
“Ye don’t need to earn my favor,” Fionna said, threading her fingers through the ends of her braids. “Ye already have my affections.”
“Please, I want to, dove,” Percival said. “There must be something I can do for ye.”
Fionna’s expression grew thoughtful, and then a conspiratorial smile crept over her face. “I’ve half a mind to do something dangerous,” she quietly confessed. “Something that rides the borderland between bravery and stupidity.”
Percival’s heart soared, and a mischievous smile crested on his own face. “Go on . . .”
ENTERTAINING A FAERIE always proved disconcerting. Arthur had felt uneasy around the Túatha dé Danann since boyhood. For he was the product of a vile act against the children of Danu when his conniving father, Uther, had arranged others in the front lines of war to slaughter Gorlois—Arthur’s mother’s first fae husband. His half-sisters never forgot or forgave. And with Uther now dead, their vengeful attentions turned Arthur’s way.
His steps dragged as he made his way to the Great Hall from his room. Freshly bathed and wearing a tunic of emerald green, Arthur was physically clean. But nothing could wash away the worry that clouded him. A fog swirled about in his mind, thick as the Otherworldly mist of Castellum Puellarum, paralyzing his reason and quick wit. Everything was spinning out of control. The curse, the broken Grail, war, rebellion, his errant knight come home. His love, the daughter of a goddess? Half fae? Certainly, Fionna was no ordinary woman. It was as plain as day. But he had always attributed her unique grace, beauty, and battle prowess to the wonder that was Fionna herself, not some undeserved gift of divine parentage.
“That look can’t be good,” a deep voice called out.
He looked up and found Lancelot striding toward him. His knight and sword-brother met him in the hallway outside of the Great Hall, wearing a tunic of grey trimmed in silver.
Arthur forced a laugh. “I admit, there is much on my mind as of late.”
“A large piece of the blame lies with me,” Lancelot said. “And for all the pain I have caused you and Caerleon, I am deeply sorry.” Lancelot dropped to one knee, his head bowed.
“Lance—” Arthur began, but Lancelot interrupted him.
“You must let me make amends, Your Majesty. I wronged you. I wronged you all, by keeping the secret of the third curse. Though my motives were to keep the burden from you . . . my desires were selfish too. I wounded you a second time when I left. But I have returned with aid from my foster mother, and glad tidings. The Blessed Grail’s magic washed the third curse from me. Morgana’s prophecy hangs over our head no longer. I wish nothing more than for you to give me another chance. To be your second-in-command once again. To earn your trust again.” Lancelot peered up at him, his eyes red and glossy with building emotion. His voice grew thick. “Arthur, I will do anything.”
Lancelot’s words warmed Arthur like a roaring hearth on the coldest of winter nights. Yes, part of him remained angry. But he no longer desired to be at odds with his dearest and oldest friend. His brother. He needed Lancelot, now more than ever.
“Stand, Sir Lancelot du Lac,” Arthur said, and Lancelot did. “I’m afraid you’ve underestimated the depths of my feelings on this subject.”
The anxious thoughts racing behind his friend’s ice-blue eyes flashed bright with grief, the muscles in his jaw working. “I understand,” Lancelot whispered, gritting back the tears. “It’s nothing less than I deserve, Your Majesty.”
Arthur laid a hand on Lancelot’s shoulder, his friend’s body a tense, coiled spring. “I love you far too much, brother, to let your fool-headedness tear us apart.”
Lancelot let out a gasp of disbelieving laughter, his head curling down. He nodded, and a hand strayed to cover his eyes as his shoulders began to shake. Arthur pulled him into an embrace, and Lancelot shuddered against him, before he wrapped his arms around Arthur, his hands fisting in Arthur’s tunic. Arthur clapped his friend’s back, his relief at Lancelot’s safe return forming into something harder. Something strong and unyielding as granite. His enemies could take his sword, the health of his land, even his kingship. But they could never take the loyalty of those Arthur loved. Lancelot and Galahad and Percival and now Fionna—he would lay down his life for any of them. And he knew in the marrow of his bones that they would each do the same for him. For each other. The Celts believed that a cord of three strands was not easily broken. Well, Morgana, he thought, the fire stoked within him—try five.
Lancelot pulled back, wiping his eyes.
“Do you fare well?” Arthur asked. “For I have need of my second. One who is clear-headed. No more doubts. No more letting faeries play upon our weaknesses. Each of us must be ready to do what needs to be done, if we are to get through the days to come.”
Lancelot’s smile was grim and his voice hard. “Let them come. We’ll be ready.”
“Do I sense a spring thaw in the ice of yer fated brotherhood?” Fionna asked, striding up the corridor in a stunning gown the color of plum. The dress dipped low, revealing the slender curve of her neck, the spill of her cleavage where the lily necklace gifted by Morgana’s ambassador still nestled. Her hair was freshly braided at the crown of her hair, the rest falling free down her back in a waterfall of white. Lancelot slid him a questioning look and Arthur smiled his assent.
“A man can do naught but burn inside in the face of your beauty,” Lancelot said with a grin, taking Fionna’s hand and bowing over her fingers with a kiss.
She quirked a brow. “Just returned and ye’re already back to full form I see.”
Arthur motioned them inside. “You have no idea Fionna. You’ve been stuck with crabapple. If the old Lancelot is back, get ready for interesting times ahead.”
Lancelot offered Fionna his arm, which she accepted, and then they all moved into the candlelight-warmed Great Hall.
“Back with a vengeance and ready to kick some faerie arse,” Lancelot said with a laugh, before realizing his foster mother and Merlin stood inside the dining hall. “Er, sorry Mother,” he said.
Vivien patted him on the cheek, grinning in such a way that her canines appeared. “Perhaps it best you stick to kicking faerie arse for a spell, rather than doing anything else with it.”
A booming laugh sounded behind them, and Arthur turned to see Galahad and Percival joining their circle.
“Too right, My Lady.” Galahad greeted the Lady of the Lake with a bow and a kiss on her delicate hand.
“Fair Galahad.” Vivien studied him with a gleam in her eyes before she caressed one of his sizable biceps. “My son has spoken of you. Time has treated you well. And Percival! Our very own Fisher King, in the flesh.”
“Welcome, Lady,” Percival said, with a wide smile.
Arthur couldn’t help the grin that now stretched across his face. Gods, it was good to have them all back together, here in his keep. Despite all that faced them outside these walls, inside, things were finally as they were supposed to be.
“Shall we sit?” Arthur asked, gesturing to the head table.
Murmurs of affirmation rounded the group and they made their way to their seats. Until Vivien grabbed Fionna’s wrist, her glittering blue eyes growing wide. “What is this you wear?” Vivian half-whispered, her hand straying to the necklace at Fionna’s throat.
Arthur halted all movement, his instincts on alert.
Fionna shot him a wild look as the Lady of the Lake picked up the pendant hanging from Fionna’s neck and insp
ected the lily.
“How did you come upon this necklace, child?” Vivien asked.
“The ambassador Alworn delivered this gift from Tintagel,” Arthur said. “When we knighted Fionna.”
“The chain won’t come off,” Fionna admitted. “No matter what I try.”
“You did not mention this during our discussion,” Merlin quietly said.
“Nor me,” Arthur added. “I wish I had known, so I could have sought your relief sooner.”
Fionna gnawed the inside of her lip. “There were far more important matters at hand than troubles with a silly necklace.”
“This silly necklace was stolen from me,” Vivien hissed. Her eyes darted about the room, resting on each person in turn. “And missing for months from my keep on the Isle of Man.”
Horror flickered across Fionna’s face. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, My Lady. Please, take the necklace back.” Fionna fumbled with the clasp, letting out a growl of frustration.
“Relax child, I care not that my property was here in your safekeeping. Tintagel, however . . . I shall deal with the dark sisters.” Vivien grasped the necklace, closing her eyes and murmuring under her breath.
The clasp of the necklace sprang apart, and then the silver chain slithered down from around Fionna’s neck and into Vivien’s hand.
Fionna released a gasp, feeling her bare neck. “Thank ye!”
“Little Dragon King, your half-sister’s meddling was more than just idle,” Vivien said. She loosed a laugh, but her blue eyes held little mirth. There was something foreign in her gaze that made Arthur’s stomach clench in fear. Pity. She looked upon him with pity. “Rather clever, actually. A curse on my dearest Lancelot, declaring ruin if he fell in love. And a necklace enchanted to ensure he did.”
Silence blanketed the room, thick and heavy.
“What do ye mean?” Fionna whispered, her hand still on her throat.
“This necklace is enchanted with a love charm. Whoever wears this pendant and corded chain will be irresistible to the opposite sex. Whatever men cross her path will have no choice but to fall madly in love with her.”
VIVIEN’S WORDS SETTLED over them like a drenched wool cloak, heavy and stifling.
Lancelot looked at Arthur, and saw his own shock mirrored on his king’s face. The necklace made a man fall in love with the wearer? So . . . were their feelings for Fionna . . . false? Lies spun of faerie enchantments? Had the last weeks, the fire that had burned hot within him—
“I think it’s bollocks,” Percival cut in, marching across the room. He took Fionna’s hand and began walking toward the head table, saying, “A man need no enchantment to fall for our fifth knight. If her beauty and wit weren’t enough, the might of her sword arm would capture him completely.” Fionna followed Percival to her seat like an obedient child. “I for one am certain that my feelings are my own.”
Fionna shot Percival a grateful look as she sank heavily into her chair.
For once, Lancelot envied Percival’s quick thinking. While he stood stock-still, processing his doubts and shock, Percival had proven his loyalty.
“Agreed,” Galahad said, sinking into his chair as well. “No faerie trinket can confuse my heart.”
His foster mother was watching this all with a twinkle of impish amusement in her eyes.
“Thank you, Vivien,” Arthur said quietly, “for removing the necklace. Perhaps now we are almost rid of Morgana and her sisters’ magical meddling.”
“But not quite.” Vivien sank gracefully into her chair between Merlin and Arthur, and then cocked her head at Arthur in that inhuman, animalistic way of hers. “The Blessed Grail failed to eradicate the curse upon your land.”
“A mystery, that,” Merlin murmured, leaning in toward Vivien eagerly as his pupils narrowed into reptilian slits. “I would relish your ancient wisdom on the matter, My Lady. When each of them drank from the Grail, the land healed. Except Fionna’s portion.”
Fionna’s face remained downturned, her eyes fixed on her empty trencher.
Lancelot reached under the table and grasped the fingers of one of the hands resting limply on her lap. She slid a glance his way beneath lowered lashes. Shadows darkened her eyes and doubts carved lines into her face. He squeezed her hand in a weak attempt at comfort. Still, he believed they would sort this mess out.
“Very peculiar indeed, druid,” Vivien mused. “The Grail should have wiped away all magical enchantment, like with Lancelot. Although . . . perhaps the Grail’s healing properties could not affect a more powerful enchantment.”
“But what could be more powerful than the Grail?” Merlin asked.
“The magic of a goddess, obviously.” Vivien huffed in irritation. Lancelot knew this look. His foster mother grew weary of mortals. But she continued when Merlin dipped his head for her to explain further. “Such as the goddess Danu. If Princess Fionnabhair Allán is the Gwenevere, then perhaps her mother placed a spell upon her that even the Grail could not break.”
Merlin’s eyes flashed gold as he turned toward Arthur. “I am telling you, Your Majesty, our answers lie in the Otherworld. With the court of the Túatha dé Danann.”
Arthur sighed, taking a sip of wine. Servants were bringing out trays of food now, filling the room with the smell of spices and fresh bread. “I fear you are right. But we still do not have a way to travel there quickly.”
“You seek the Otherworld?” Vivien asked, eyebrow arched. “As I already shared, you will not find Danu there. A steward holds court in her name. Though, I fear that after years of her absence, Danu would scarcely recognize the place.”
“Answers from Danu would be a bonus,” Merlin said, “but I have advised Arthur that the Cauldron of Plenty may be able to help feed the people while the curse lingers, as well as aid us if Morgana’s armies lay siege.”
“The Cauldron is rumored to have healing properties, as well,” Vivien remarked, though somewhat distracted. She sniffed at the leg of lamb placed onto her trencher and wrinkled her nose. Lancelot resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His foster mother’s focus was like a butterfly, flitting and fluttering about endlessly.
“If the rumors prove true,” Arthur said, “that would be a helpful fact. Only, we don’t have the time. With an army approaching, I cannot leave my keep.”
“Can the Lady of the Lake assist?” Galahad suggested. “She did transport herself and Lancelot here by magical means, did she not?”
“Of course,” Vivien purred, looking at Galahad with an appraising eye as she licked sauce from her fingertip. “But my power transports you between locations on the mortal plane. You would still need a key to enter the Otherworld.”
“They have such a key,” Merlin said. “Carved from the tusk of the Twrch Trwyth.”
“And you mention this now?” Vivien nibbled on a bannock, melodramatically peering up at the rafters of the Great Hall, as though in great thought. “Then,” she added after swallowing, “I could see you there, Little Dragon King. Entering the Otherworld would be as simple as stepping through a door.”
“Truly?” Arthur set his goblet of wine down and leaned toward her. “Your assistance would help us greatly. This Cauldron, if the magical properties are true, could solve several of our problems efficiently.”
“Which only leaves us with several other problems to contend with,” Percival said cheerfully around a bite of chicken leg. Vivien grinned at the younger man and then side-eyed Lancelot. She knew. His foster mother sensed Lancelot’s tether to Percival. How? He wasn’t sure.
“Quite right, Percival.” Arthur’s gaze darkened. “Fionna, I should like you to accompany me. The Otherworld might hold answers for you as well.”
Fionna’s head snapped up and she stared at Arthur, eyes wide and unblinking, as though a startled deer. “As ye wish, Yer Majesty,” she managed.
“If I may,” Vivien interjected, practically cooing. “I would not take Fionna, if I were you.”
“Why not?” Lancelot asked. His foster moth
er was always scheming and maneuvering, and he didn’t trust the glimmer in her eyes.
“Do you mortals ever listen? As I said, the steward who rules over the court of the Túatha dé Danann has sworn fealty to Danu, but I fear over these years . . . her allegiances may have shifted.”
“You didn’t share this latter piece of information, mother,” Lancelot muttered.
“No? Well, then listen now.” Vivien’s hand fluttered through the air as she giggled before turning solemn once more. “There could be faeries at court who are no longer friends of Danu. If Fionna is the Gwenevere, and if Danu placed a géis to shield her daughter’s true nature, then she had reasons for doing so. Delivering Fionna to those who may be hostile toward her could prove dangerous.”
Arthur’s brow furrowed.
“Lady Vivien speaks sense,” Merlin said. “Until we can untangle the truth of Fionna’s heritage, and her powers, she is safest within your keep.”
Fionna swept a heated gaze across the table, the fire in her finally rekindling. “I am no wilting maiden who needs protection. I am safe so long as I have my sword at my side and my knives in their sheaths,” she snapped. Then she took a long, slow breath, seeming to re-center herself. “But I am happy to remain here, if everyone thinks it best. I have tasks to attend to here, anyway.” She hurried on. “Ye know . . . assisting in the defense of Caerleon. I have the most knowledge of the Uí Tuírtri battle styles and tactics.”
“Of course,” Arthur said. “Merlin didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t protect yourself. Right Merlin?” Arthur raised an eyebrow, to which Merlin nodded in apology to Fionna.
Vivien ignored it all, continuing. “May I suggest . . . young, virile Galahad?” She turned to the brawny knight. “Elathia, Danu’s regent, has a weakness for handsome mortals of his persuasion. His presence could prove useful.”
“I will seize any advantage.” Arthur sent a sly look to the knight in question. “What say you, young, virile Galahad?”
Gwenevere's Knights- The Complete Knights of Caerleon Trilogy Page 44