The Du Lac Legacy (Sons of Camelot Book 2)

by Sarah Luddington

  “How can you see me married? I know you love me,” he whispered, drawing closer like some dreadful demigod.

  I held my ground. “You must stop. You are not like me.”

  “You haven’t given me a chance. I panicked,” he snarled. “I can’t marry this girl.”

  I finally backed off a step, bumping against the rail on the stern. “It’s politics, Galahad. Do you think it would be any different if it were me that had the real power in Albion? At least you have a chance of loving this girl and she is truly beautiful.”

  “Holt, it’s not what I want.”

  “Then don’t bed her, but you will be marrying her.” I almost shouted at him and I found myself slipping away, trying to avoid his angry presence.

  “Holt!” his cry wrenched through me.

  I turned my back but I heard his knees hit the wooden deck. I just kept walking. I saw Torvec’s white hair shining in the sunlight and focused on him, walking down the steps and across the lower deck toward him. Only him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Are you alright?” Torvec asked. He looked so lovely in his clean new clothes and his hair brushed back.

  “Fine,” I said. He flinched slightly at my tone but nodded nonetheless.

  We helped the sailors lower the dory, I buckled on my sword belt and we waited for the others. Lance and the wolves arrived, all dressed smartly and Galahad came soon after, dressed in the same black I wore. I looked smart, he looked devastatingly beautiful. Valla and I shared a look. Torvec grunted.

  “Let’s go,” he said. He climbed over the rail of the Echo and down the ladder into the small dory. Lance and Kerwin took the oars and we rowed quickly to the dockside. I didn’t remember the walk through the city too well but Galahad led the way without hesitation. He walked alone, his fine black hair a curtain down his back, the heat not seeming to affect him. The rest of us felt it, dressed as we were in the northern style. I walked beside Torvec. None of us spoke. There was nothing more I could say.

  We walked into the grandest plaza I’d seen outside The City, complex patterns woven through the cobbles in different coloured stone, the buildings all sheltered by vast trees and grass verges with exotic flowers waving in the warm, rich wind. The entrance to the palace opened up like an oyster once we walked through the grand gate house. Flowing crystal clear water channelled along causeways cooled the air while we walked the length of the brick paths, up long, shallow flights of stairs and into the palace itself.

  “This place could even teach Morgana a thing or two about how to present a palace, never mind Camelot’s depressing monolith,” Lance muttered behind me.

  “There is nothing wrong with Camelot’s depressing monolith, you’d be pleased enough with it in a siege,” I said.

  He chuckled. “Don’t give me that, you hate it as much as I do.”

  “We can’t all live in the splendour of Albion’s fine architecture,” I said.

  “Some of us know when to acknowledge that Albion is far more comfortable than Camelot ever was,” he said.

  “That’s our heritage you’re moaning about.”

  “It still should be,” Galahad snapped from in front of me.

  “If it was, you wouldn’t be born,” I said as calmly as possible. I wondered what the expression was in his eyes but he didn’t stop walking nor did he turn his head.

  “Perhaps that would have been a better outcome for us all,” he said. His words were quiet, no anger, no shame, just acceptance. They made my heart bleed. I walked and joked about architecture with my oldest friend, while a man I professed to love walked to a marriage he didn’t want.

  I glanced at Torvec, he nodded and I sped up just enough to walk beside Galahad. I touched his hand without a word spent and I felt his finger lace with one of mine. We were not holding hands, but we were touching and it seemed to give him comfort.

  A few more grand gardens passed us before he spoke. “You are right, Holt. I am sorry.” His words were quiet, he didn’t look at me.

  “I am sorry it’s necessary.”

  “It is nothing compared to what you have suffered.”

  “If I could, Galahad, I would spare you this.”

  “I know. Don’t leave me.”

  “I will never leave you,” I whispered. “And I will always love you.”

  He did glance at me then and his dark eyes were traps for my unguarded soul. “And I will always love you,” he whispered. “Even if you chose another, as I must.”

  I nodded just a little and he turned his dark eyes away from me. After everything my father went through with Lancelot was I foolish enough to set up the same traps even if I tried to fight them? I hoped not but my father was one of the wisest men I’d ever known and he failed.

  We marched into the central palace and a man dressed in flowing black robes rushed toward us, his sandaled feet slapping against the marble floor.

  “Prince Galahad, we were not expecting you today,” he said, bowing and trying to run backwards against our steady advance.

  “I would seek an audience with his Eminence,” Galahad said.

  “I’m afraid his Eminence is busy, your Highness,” the fussy bald man said, still moving backward.

  Galahad finally stopped, so did the rest of us. “And I will not be kept waiting,” he said. His imperious tone and the cold expression in his eyes impressed the fussy man enough to see him scurry off.

  We continued to advance through the palace until we reached that grand central room. No longer in chains I finally found myself able to really look at the art and carvings covering the walls. I’d never seen anything so fine and delicate, half way between a carving and an etching. On Camelot’s architecture we had the faces of monsters to guard our dreams and prayers, in The City the carvings were of plants and animals in such flowing forms I often couldn’t tell where one began and other ended; but here art existed in a different form. It came directly from the mind, rather than nature, or perhaps it spoke of the soul of man and nature, rather than the form. I traced sections with my fingers trying to see a pattern or have its meaning revealed to me, but there was nothing here I understood and I felt a loss.

  Noise from behind me dragged me from the patterns and I found Galahad and Torvec watching me. I smiled and stepped between them, favouring neither. Galahad needed me to be his right hand now and I owed him that much regardless of what it might cost Torvec.

  “Uninvited visitors are always welcome,” his Eminence said, “but I would appreciate it if you didn’t march into my palace like an invading army.”

  Galahad bowed low and beautifully, Torvec and I flanked him and matched his movements. “I am sorry, Eminence,” Galahad said. “I have important news that could not wait.”

  I saw a muscle in Eamo’s face twitch. He knew about The Lady. “Oh? And what is this great news I must hear this instant?”

  “I have gained Camelot’s permission to marry your daughter and for all other conditions to be met, but I have one of my own,” he said.

  Eamo’s face grew still and his eyes hardened. “And that would be?”

  “I would beg your Eminence to allow me to marry your sister immediately so she may leave with us on the Echo,” Galahad said.

  Eamo’s blinked. “Oh.”

  “Well?” Galahad asked.

  “I was planning three days of festivities.”

  Torvec glanced at me and shook his head. We really didn’t have three days to wait. I stepped forward and bowed again. “Eminence, we would love to take part in such an honour but we must journey onward to remain free and a free King of Albion and Camelot are valuable allies to your future financial and political plans.”

  That muscle twitched again. “Only if Galahad du Lac becomes king,” he said.

  “Do you doubt me as a warrior?” Galahad said, his body language becoming instantly hostile.

  Eamo studied his young rival. “No, but I doubt your sanity if this plan is anything to go by.”

  Lance and Kerwin stepped up
to flank Torvec and me, their hands on their swords. I decided to interfere.

  “Eminence, this is a practical move on our part. If Galahad and Aleah are married when it comes time to try for the throne of Albion you, through her, will be of a royal family – a royal line of Albion – and therefore you will be able to try for the throne. Whoever you chose will fight with Galahad, help him through the trials and when the plan reaches the final grand display,” or bloodbath as Lancelot called it, “he will fight your champion and win but will, of course, owe it all to you. The shadow behind the throne.”

  “Why wouldn’t I just take the throne?”

  “That will be your right,” I said. “But you can only try for it if they are already married and have known union.”

  “I could marry them just before it all starts.”

  “Only if we can reach you or you find us,” I pointed out.

  “I would be placing my sister in danger.”

  “The Queen of Albion will always be in danger and she has the best of men to protect her now.”

  I could see him working it out. My argument was flawed deeply in many places but I’d worry about them if he chose to see them.

  “My sister would be married to the Prince of Albion and their marriage consummated, so even if he died before he could reach the challenges I would still be able to send someone to fight on my behalf,” Eamo said.

  I bowed. “Your wisdom is far beyond mine, Eminence, and you are quite right.”

  “Done,” he declared.

  Eamo clapped his hands and orders were given. Galahad turned a shade of white I didn’t consider possible for a person.

  “I’m actually going to do this,” he whispered.

  “It’s the right thing,” I told him. “We need her.”

  “It’s not you that has to spend the rest of your life with a woman you don’t know,” he said breathlessly. His eyes were a little too wide and Lance looked at me with concern.

  I didn’t have a chance to respond because we were ushered into a room and left with food and wine. Galahad sat on a low divan and placed his head between his hands. I glanced at Torvec and Lance, who stood near Kerwin, all of whom protected the door; from what I didn’t know, but perhaps they just wanted to run from Galahad’s impending doom. I did the kindest thing I could think of – I sat next to him and handed him a large glass of wine.

  “Drink this, it’ll help,” I said.

  “I don’t drink.”

  “You should start.”

  His dark eyes stared into me and such a wave of pity washed over me, I wanted to grab him and run for the hills. How I wished we were in Camelot drinking wine and talking about our joint childhood. Instead we shared no memories and I was his only true friend but I was sacrificing him and for what?

  So he wouldn’t stand between me and Torvec? To give him a focus that wasn’t going to screw with my head? Or perhaps I was telling him the truth; we really did need him to do this for the good of our escape from The Lady.

  I touched his hand with my fingertips and he instantly grabbed my offer of contact, lacing his fingers with mine as intimately as possible. My resolution crumbled.

  “We can run. Raven will find a way to make the Echo escape.”

  He almost panted with desperation. “I don’t even know what she looks like under the mask,” he said.

  I held his hand in both of mine. “I do, she is very beautiful. With dark skin and dark eyes like yours. Her lips are full and her nose straight but not too strong. Her face is shaped like a heart. She is proud, strong and very intelligent. She understands what it is to be a wife and she will be a good one.” To be honest I had no idea if she were good marrying stock but I needed to find words to help him.

  “I thought I could do this,” he whispered. “I thought I could make the right decision for Albion and Camelot but I don’t know what I’m doing and I feel so alone without you.”

  I glanced at Torvec, who looked as if he wanted to dissolve into the wall. “Galahad, you will never be without me. I will stand beside you for every moment of every day.”

  “I’m sorry I tried to hurt him.” He seemed to have forgotten we weren’t alone.

  “I know. It’s alright. I love you anyway.” I managed to drag a smile from somewhere.

  “I don’t think I’m as brave as my father.”

  I laughed. “Oh, you never saw your father in his cups because he didn’t want to confront his wife or his lover over something difficult. He wasn’t always brave when it came to other people’s emotions. He was brave on a battlefield, but with people? Never. He just always tried to do the right thing.”

  “I want to do the right thing. Do you think he would have done this?” Galahad asked.

  I glanced at Lance. My friend, who knew Lancelot as well as I did and had been named after his own father’s best friend, had tears in his eyes. I wasn’t the only one who missed the old guard.

  “He would have done what his heart told him was the right thing to do for Camelot, or The City and Albion in later years.” Our heads were almost touching we spoke so quietly to each other.

  Galahad slumped into silence, but didn’t release my hand. He drank from the glass and didn’t seem to notice. I stared at Torvec and drew no comfort from his carefully blank expression. He wasn’t going to let my desire to protect and help Galahad betray any possible weakness in his emotions.

  After an age, where we’d all drunk a little too much wine, the door opened.

  “It is time,” the bald and scurrying man said.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Galahad rose and released my hand. He’d clutched it for so long it felt lost without the contact. He straightened his back, pulled his doublet down and flicked his hair over his shoulder. All six foot plus of powerful young warrior stepped forward.

  He didn’t turn toward me but said, “Don’t leave me.”

  “I won’t leave you.”

  He nodded once and stepped out of the room. I walked a single step behind him and wondered what went through his father’s head when he watched my father marry my mother. Such thoughts weren’t helpful considering the outcome of that mess. I hoped we were not stupid enough to make similar mistakes.

  The other three ghosted us, forming a single wall as escort. The bald man led us back to the central meeting room and we saw the transformation instantly. Flowers were every-where. They hung in long festoons between the pillars and seemed to sprout from the bottoms. White petals littered the marble floor and there were officials kneeling on cushions in arching rows around a vast bower of white and green.

  “I’m glad no bride of mine can see this effort. I don’t think Camelot could do anything like this with months to prepare, never mind an afternoon,” Lance muttered.

  “Best I don’t tell Nim about it then,” I said.

  He flushed red, contrasting with his hair. “Sire –”

  “Not now, Fitzwilliam, but I suggest you discuss it with me before you get her pregnant.”

  We were led to the front of the celebrants and the others were made to kneel on the cushions. I remained beside Galahad. The only sign of his anxiety came from the constant flexing of his left hand on his sword’s pommel. I wanted to reach out and stop his fingers’ restless quest for something obvious to fight, rather than the awful emotions surging through the young man’s blood.

  Harps began to play and I turned toward a sound at the back of the large room. I saw four half naked and very lovely men carrying a large divan covered with white damask that hung from a canopy over the top. A wheel-less carriage.

  Inside it sat a figure, completely swathed in white, whereas the men of Albion all wore dark colours, clashing with the general theme. All the officials also wore white and when Eamo appeared from the left of the large room he wore robes of white with gold stitched through the fabric, making him flash bright and hard in the sunlight. A priest of some description came from behind the dais Eamo used to sit on, making him higher than the rest of us. The priest wore
a robe of gold even richer than Eamo’s.

  Why are priests never poor? The random thought made me shake my head to concentrate on the proceedings. The slightly sweating muscular men placed the divan down next to us and two young women stepped up from behind them who I’d failed to notice, and pulled the curtains back. Aleah sat with her hair and face covered in a thick veil and the mask underneath. Her body was also covered in a thinner veil but under that I could see the white of a very tight garment, which hugged her body, seemed to bind her legs together and travelled down her arms, though they could at least move. If she planned on escaping she’d need a great deal of time to undo all that fabric.

  Nether bride or groom looked toward each other. They merely stared at the priest who began intoning some rubbish about the sanctity of marriage between a man and woman, forsaking all others – blah blah...

  It turned into white noise. I stood next to Galahad du Lac while he married a stranger in a land neither of us knew because we were being hunted. I had my lover behind me – a shape shifting dragon who’d bound himself to me in a way I didn’t understand and could never be freed from.

  I stared at Galahad, who looked sickly into the middle distance. This proud and beautifully dark young man said he loved me. I was sending him into married bliss when I knew he wasn’t ready because he was still confused about who Galahad du Lac really was.

  More words were intoned and more young women stepped forward to help Aleah from her carriage. She stood, a tiny doll in white beside her dark prince, and her bound hand was placed on his. The size difference astounded me. I’d always bedded men, I didn’t know what it would be like to take something so small and delicate to bed. I think I’d fear breaking her, knowing how rough sex could be, or was it softer between men and women? That was a question for Raven some drunken night, it would make him laugh but he’d give me an honest answer.

  I watched Galahad repeat words given to him by the priest and wondered if he’d ever forgive me.

  I heard Aleah speak from behind the mask and remembered how it felt to have those calloused hands on my body. He’d touched me once as a lover. He’d held me, made love to me. Would he ever confess to his young bride how foolish he’d been, thinking he loved a man like me? My heart began to ache with a profound sense of loss. I heard a small sound of pain behind me but I couldn’t help Torvec. Not in this moment. In this moment I needed to mourn my loss. I loved Galahad du Lac. I would always love Galahad du Lac. The Pendragon curse was alive and well in my alternative sexual desires. If only I could love Morgan, life would be so much easier for us all.