Albion's Legacy (Sons Of Camelot Book 3)

by Sarah Luddington

  “Fey blood,” it hissed. “Hungry.”

  The head was narrow, lumpy, thick, and pale skin covered its skull and neck. It looked like an ugly version of Torvec’s savage and ancient beauty.

  “Want to try negotiation?” Galahad asked.

  “Not really,” I said.

  “He won’t leave you.”

  “Just concentrate on the monster,” I told him.

  We moved together. I heard Morgan and Severus talking rapidly but I needed to concentrate. The light in the tunnel was poor and I couldn’t see the end of the Aillén, just a shadowy bulk almost filling the large tunnel.

  “At least it can’t move far,” Galahad muttered.

  “That’s what you think, fey scum?” the creature hissed. Its body moved crashing against the tunnel wall, dust and small rocks rained down on our heads. “Do you want to be trapped down in the darkest heart of Albion? I have been for millennium. I have lost the use of my eyes, fey scum, but not my taste buds. Fey and something similar, something new...” Its tongue flickered in my direction. “Something that might be tastier than fey, once I rid you of your foul steel.”

  I heard Morgan cry out as the Aillén continued to force the walls and ceiling to shake. Galahad and I rushed forward, screaming our battle cry, blinded not just by the dark but also the dust. My sword slashed into the leathery skin but the huge head, far larger than me, swept me to one side and I hit the wall of the tunnel my unprotected skull slamming back into the rock.

  Pain and flashing lights engulfed my awareness. I heard Galahad scream my name but he seemed a very long distance from my dislocated body. I felt my sword hilt under my hand but I couldn’t close my fist over its familiar shape. It would be really nice to vanish under the beckoning waves of silence.

  A flash blaze of colour jerked me from my descent into unconsciousness, a wash of blue and red. A scream, so loud it shattered my peace and would haunt me forever. I tried to focus on the threat. Galahad stood before the Aillén, the blaze of colour hit him in the back, passed through the body of the King of Albion and out through his sword. During the process the blue became laced with red and he poured the power into the beast who howled in agony.

  The burning light itself came from Morgan. She stood with her hands out, the energy a live flowing force. Her braid had begun to loosen and her black hair whipped around her face and body like snakes. Her lips moved forming words I could not hear as she supported her brother’s attack. I did not feel the bonding between us, Galahad was closed to me, either protecting me from the ferocity of the energies used, or too focused to allow me to be a part of his attack. Severus and Quilliam were pressed against the wall of the cave, my lover protecting the Brownie. I was alone.

  I looked at the extraordinary man before me, his dark grace almost overwhelming. I loved him completely, he was magnificent. He would make a fine king, probably stronger than this father with the right partner. I looked at Morgan, her back straight, her concentration on her brother absolute. I realised she’d finally found it in her heart to adore him as she had her father. She would support him, she was his queen, whether he married or not, she would stand beside him and they would rule together. Albion would be held together through their combined compassion and strength. Nim would be their heart and Lance their grounding.

  Severus, protecting the Brownie stood with his back to the fight, but his head turned to watch them and me. Our eyes locked; the vivid shades of hazel green and brown bored into my soul. For the first time I could see the world through his eyes. His dedication to me because I cared about him, nurtured him and despite my addiction to bugleweed, I showed him respect for the first time in his life. He loved me because I gave him what he needed, a level of freedom he’d never have found on his own. I offered safety regardless of the danger I repeatedly place us in and for that I had his undying loyalty. Galahad was right, he’d never leave me, not if I made him stay, but I’d dragged him from his world and if I expected him to remain the same humble man I found, the creative, native intelligence of him would be vanquished.

  I would set him free. A flash of grief washed through his eyes as he saw my dawning understanding of our relationship. Then acceptance. We needed to establish a new world, a new warp and weft to our reality once this adventure ended. If it ended with us all living.

  I suddenly realised I was alone. Completely alone as Galahad and Morgan fried the Aillén, the last of its kind, into oblivion.

  If I didn’t return to Camelot as the king, I had nothing. I considered that, while I tried to work out if my legs would support my weight, I thought about having nothing. The dream was one thing but for the first time I actually realised it was possible. I didn’t have to be king. I could dissolve the monarchy, force my sister to accept a republic of Camelot and there would just be me.

  The light gradually dimmed but Galahad did not collapse, or faint away, he stood strong and gazed at the creature now slumped, dead, at his feet.

  “Holt,” Severus said into the silence. I closed my eyes unable to deal with either him or Galahad. I was not needed by either of my companions, not really, and I just wanted to stop.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  “Holt? Holt? You should wake, you should join us...”

  A gentle voice, a woman’s, a warmth in the back of my head, a tingle down my spine and whispering fingers searching my skull.

  “You’ve a hard head, Pendragon,” Morgan said with fondness.

  “I just don’t know when to stop,” I said.

  Morgan lifted my head so I could look into her eyes. “What did you say?”

  “I said...” I frowned. My tongue and lips felt odd. “I just don’t know when...”

  “Holt, I can’t understand you. There’s a great deal of blood back here and a soft spot in your skull where there shouldn’t be one. Can you say your name?”

  I tried. It wasn’t correct. A slur of sound. I didn’t feel panic, just an absence of something, an emotion I’d never experienced, perhaps – surrender. A smile, an attempt at a smile anyway, tried to give Morgan reassurance. I didn’t mind. I really didn’t mind, so long as the bonding didn’t bring Galahad with me, I was happy to leave. She and the King of Albion could destroy The Lady. I wasn’t important.

  “Galahad, stop arguing with Severus, we have a problem,” Morgan said. Her hands were sticky as they gripped mine. “Squeeze hard, Holt.”

  I tried to, just as I’d tried to hold the hilt of my sword. Just as I’d tried to stand, nothing worked except my eyes. The torch light made them smart but I could see Galahad and Severus, they were locked in a quiet but bitter argument.

  I wondered what the problem might be, then realised I didn’t care. My eyelids closed.

  ***

  “Son, I think you need to wake up,” this voice was darkness over gravel. “Holt, wake up.”

  I opened my eyes and my Uncle Wolf knelt over me, a smile on his lips but a concerned expression on his strong face. He looked younger than when I’d last seen him.

  “Where am I?” I asked, sitting up without aid.

  “Where do you think you are?” he asked. He wore a white shirt and leather hose with long boots to his knees. I wore black woollen hose, a dark red shirt, and thigh length leather boots.

  “Um...” I looked around me and realised I was in my room in The City, the safest place I knew. “Home?” I tried.

  “No, Holt, this isn’t home, Camelot is home, how do you think your mother feels when you go out in Camelot, get drunk and you’re finally scraped off the streets of The City? She’s not happy.” He sat on a bed, my bed. I sat up in my bed and I realised my clothes were none too clean.

  “What happened?” I asked. Every limb ached and my mouth felt like a sandpit used as a toilet by feral cats.

  “You don’t remember?” he asked, dark eyes narrowing, assessing, weighing up how much trouble I was in this time.

  I organised my thoughts. I remembered a beautiful dark haired man with a scar down his cheek and ov
er his jaw... “How much do you want to know?” I asked somewhat sheepishly.

  Lancelot sighed heavily. “Holt, this has to stop. You need to be discreet. I understand why you want to play the field but the reason I’m talking to you not your father is because he’s so angry Morgana’s afraid of what he’s going to say.”

  Father, I hadn’t really considered my father’s reaction. Or had I?

  Perhaps the weight of that relationship is what led me to behave like a drunken fool. Though I never intended to end up in The City and make my problems, Lancelot’s. “I... I’m sorry, Sir.”

  “You’ve only been back on leave for a week. What’s going on? What happened in the desert? You’ve never been like this before, never this reckless with your sexuality.”

  Lancelot was the only man who spoke to me about my desires so honestly, as if they were perfectly normal despite having to keep them quiet. “I won’t do it again,” I said, moving off the bed the opposite side to my uncle.

  “Holt, talk to me, please.”

  My shoulders, tight and aching for weeks now, slumped. “I met someone. In the desert.”

  “The Salamander, I know, I warned you what they are capable of –”

  “I know,” I said, cutting him off, feeling the heat rush up my face.

  “Then if you know, what’s wrong?” he asked, frustration clear.

  “Have you ever been alone?” I asked. My voice trembled slightly, the emotions I’d been smothering for years bubbling up now my defences were breached.

  A pause, heavy and pregnant. “Son, I’ve been alone for so long it would make your teeth ache just thinking about it and I’ve been alone while standing among the Knights of Camelot, with your father beside me.”

  “I thought I loved him,” I confessed, unable to feel my uncle’s agony – selfish boy.

  “The Salamander?” Lancelot asked.

  “Nix, he’s called Nix.”

  “So what happened?”

  “We met, we fucked, it was great, we kept fucking and I thought I loved him until I found someone else in his bed... A woman,” I said.

  “Ouch,” murmured Lancelot.

  “I know it wasn’t love, not really, not what you and father have, I’m not sure I’ll ever meet someone who makes me feel like that, but I cared about him. I cared a great deal and for my place to be taken by a woman!” The anger finally bubbled over. “It’s bad enough my bloody mother keeps writing to tell me about this eligible lady or that new face in Court, but to find my lover in bed with a fey woman. Why can’t I just be normal?” I asked, frustration warring with pleading confusion.

  Lancelot placed a large and heavy hand on my shoulder. “I am sorry, Holt, but you will not be like most men, not unless you’ve met a woman that makes you –”

  “I haven’t,” I said. “Being away from Camelot, from The City, from my family, it gave me a freedom I’ve never known or will again if my mother keeps me tied to her apron strings. Which frankly feels more like a noose.”

  I heard Lancelot try to stifle a laugh. “Hmm, she does have a desire to see you under control.”

  Turning to face him, I begged, “Isn’t there something you can do? Some way to get me back there?”

  “To Nix?”

  “Sex with him was amazing. The strength and passion of his desire, it was like nothing I’ve ever known.”

  Lancelot sat again. “I can imagine,” he said wryly.

  “I just can’t be here, do this, be the son they want. I need something else, to ride over the desert, hunting enemies to our state. Lying in the arms of a man I want, watching the desert stars journey overhead.” I brought my gaze back from my fanciful wandering to focus on my uncle. “Can you understand that?”

  He stared at me. “I understand, but what you don’t understand is their need to keep you here. It isn’t a punishment, Holt, it’s simply that you are family and they want what’s best for you.”

  “Then they should give me freedom, that’s what’s best for me.” I stared at the ground, sadness and anger warring for dominance.

  “Freedom is loneliness, son.” A dark intensity tinged his words, an honest understanding of the concept but I wasn’t ready to hear it.

  “Being here is lonely, being out there is freedom. I’m not alone out there. I can have anything I want, anyone...” My frustration poured the words out, my hands gesticulating to match my emotions.

  “Then maybe we need to find you a lover here,” he said.

  “Fat chance,” I snapped.

  “There are many lovely young fey lords looking for companionship, Holt.” His reasonable tone wasn’t helping.

  “I’m from Camelot, the Prince of Camelot, all they want is a way to reach you or father, they aren’t interested in me. I have no magic. I have no real power and no one here will love me for me.” Perhaps I was being unfair, perhaps I could find someone out there for me who didn’t need the ear of the two most powerful men in Albion, but my childhood friendships among the fey fuelled my bitterness.

  “Sounds like Nix didn’t either,” he said.

  The arrow struck true and hard. “Thanks for that.”

  He sighed again and studied his hands between his knees. “I’m sorry, Holt, that was unkind.”

  “You’re right though, he didn’t love me.” I finally gave up and poured myself some wine, which as the sun wasn’t high in the sky yet probably wasn’t wise. My uncle kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t really in a position to argue.

  “I expect he did, Holt, it’s just he was Salamander and their love is a little... Unpredictable. They aren’t really very good at commitment, even political commitment,” Lancelot said.

  I drank the wine, it turned sour almost immediately.

  “That won’t help you know,” he said gently.

  “I know, but it helps right now and that’s all I’m interested in.” I wanted to be numb; I wanted to be quiet in heart and head. I wanted to live a life I could never have and I wanted to be held in a man’s arms, a man who could love me as an equal.

  “You’ll meet the right man one day; it will all fall into place, Holt. You just need to give it time.”

  “With Camelot hanging over my head, a sword ready to plunge into my heart at any moment? I sincerely doubt it.” I sat in the window seat and we were both quiet for a while. “I feel like I’m going to be alone forever.”

  “Camelot always takes her pound of flesh, Holt. You have to try to make sure it’s the right pound.” She’d certainly taken her pound from Lancelot’s back.

  “I can’t be king and have a man at my side as my lover.” I had calmed down, the words were quiet and self-aware, not driven by a child’s tantrum.

  Lancelot rose. “The one thing I’ve learned over the years, you never know how things are going to change from one moment to the next. I’ll talk to your parents once more and see if I can have you back in the desert.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, suddenly on the verge of tears.

  “You’ll figure this out, Holt.” That large hand was on my shoulder again but this time it brought no comfort, just the weight of my future when the old guard died.

  He left my rooms and I poured the wine out of the window. I wasn’t strong enough to be a king; I wasn’t strong enough to be a prince. I just wanted to be a man, a normal man, who could live a simple life...

  ***

  My eyes fluttered open. Torch light and darkness surrounded me. I lay on something soft and I was warm. A fire burned low and I moved. Everything worked, surprising me slightly.

  “Gods,” Galahad murmured. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  I gathered my scattered wits and made a decision. “We need to end the bonding,” I said, the words making sense in my ears.

  “The bonding is why you’re still alive, foolish man,” he said, brushing hair from my face with gentle fingers.

  His shorn scalp and harder features, with the deep scars on his jaw, made him beautiful and otherworldly. He was truly fey.


  “Let me go, Galahad, I am a drain on you,” I said, beginning to work myself loose from the blankets.

  “I can’t, Holt. I can feel you trying to leave me and it hurts. I shall not allow it. You belong to me, we are one, we will always be one. You are not alone.” He stroked my face. Did he know what I’d said in my dreams?

  “Where is Severus?” I asked, finally aware my lover was missing. Galahad was dominating more and more of my consciousness.

  “I have sent him back with Quilliam, we need to go on alone, you’ve been comatose for a day and half. It took Morgan and I a long time to heal you.”

  I lay still and considered my life; it didn’t take long for the saddest of statements to escape my control. “He wants to leave me.”

  “He’s scared. He won’t leave but I think he’s reached the end of his courage for the moment.” Galahad spoke reluctantly, and I heard the lie. Severus could not walk beside me, not any more.

  I clutched Galahad’s hand. “I know how he feels, my friend.”

  “Come, try to sit up. If you are well enough I’ll wake Morgan and we’ll move on.” He pulled me upright and I realised we’d made full camp. The fire was small but burned steadily and several lights, made from fey magic, bobbed over our heads. I could see the body of the Aillén nearby.

  “I died - again,” I said as he handed me something to drink. Milk of all things. We hadn’t brought milk with us. “How?” I asked, holding out the wooden cup.

  “Brownies, Quilliam called for help when we realised how badly off you were. They’ve supplied everything but the lights. Morgan did that. You didn’t die, not quite but it was a close run thing for a while. Without Morgan grounding me I could not have brought you home, she’s strong,” Galahad looked at his sleeping sister on the other side of the fire.

  “As are you,” I said. His choice of words was strange but I couldn’t quite grasp his true meaning. He really did look different, older, more defined and far stronger than I’d ever seen him before. As if he’d been tempered in a fire after being forged by the gods themselves.