Arthur appeared to consider, and then shook his head. “Not after Merlin.”
“Sire,” said Gawain, opting for the formal title this time, “you saw what happened with Mordred? I used my power to kill him. I did not even need Excalibur.”
Arthur cast him an assessing glance. “Those were extreme circumstances.”
“I can’t guarantee I won’t do it again,” Gawain replied. “I carry witch’s blood in my veins.”
Arthur folded his arms, his brows knit in concern. “Is this the effect of keeping company with Hector and his daughter?”
Gawain hid a flinch at the mention of Tamsin. “Consider what they’ve done for you.”
“I have. I’m certain that Hector has shown me more grace than I deserve, and we have repaired our friendship. I was a fool when I sent him from my side.”
Gawain seized that concession. Despite his own private struggles, he understood now that magic was a weapon the new Camelot would require. Arthur had to keep the witches safe in the coming war—and realize how badly he needed them. “Hector’s daughter sacrificed her own interests to save us from Mordred’s dungeon. She has healed our wounds, taken us to find you and shown more courage than half your knights. Hector and Tamsin are proof that with a good heart, magic can be turned to good ends.”
Beaumains gave him a look filled with curiosity, but said nothing.
Gawain was arguing for a better Camelot. He was saying what should have been said centuries ago, opening Arthur’s mind even as he struggled to adapt to this new view himself. “We can’t afford to divide ourselves because of our differences. We should unite because of what binds us together—friendship, justice and a safe place to love and raise children free of the horrors of conflict.”
The king shook his head. “Merlin believed all that, and yet he still failed us.”
“He proved that one man can’t solve the world’s problems by himself. He refused to allow anyone to point out the flaws in his thinking. If he’d taken the advice of the fae sorcerers, he would never have made the mistakes he did. Blame his pride, not what he was.”
For a long moment, Arthur turned away to survey the bright madness of Medievaland. “I suppose this is all because you’re in love with the witch?”
Gawain rose and came to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder as he had done on a hundred battlefields. “I love her, but no. I’m saying this because I’m your friend as well as your loyal servant. I’m saying it for the fae, who need a cure for Merlin’s blunder, and for the witches, who need to break free of their fear. You need new allies with a variety of strengths, including magic.”
Arthur’s face creased in disbelief. “But you hate magic. You’ve hated it since the first time you came to my court.”
“That’s the part you can blame Tamsin for. She made me rethink what I assumed to be true.” Gawain turned and nodded to Beaumains. “Though it took a wise brother to help me apply the same logic to myself.”
With a weary snort, Arthur clapped a hand to Gawain’s shoulder. “They call you Silver Tongue for good cause.”
The three knights stood together, pondering the beginnings of the new Camelot. It would work, Gawain decided, because Arthur was willing to grow. In the end, the king wouldn’t turn away valuable alliances, and he certainly wouldn’t turn his back on his friends. He would lead them the way he had in that long-ago campaign to unite the petty kingdoms of Albion—by the hearts. That was why they would win again.
Gawain nodded. “I have always been your man, old world or new.”
“I know,” said the king. “I thank the saints and devils that you are at my side. Now go to your witch and thank her properly for healing you.”
“Healing me,” said Gawain. “Indeed, sire, truer words were never spoken.”
* * *
Hector slammed Waller into the wall of Tamsin’s apartment. “Start explaining.”
The Chief Elder had arrived at Tamsin’s door just hours after they’d arrived home. When Tamsin had opened the door, Waller’s first words had been something about Tamsin’s lack of good judgment and obedience. Word had reached him about the fight at the Henderson house.
That was before he’d noticed Hector in the room.
Now Waller was dangling from Hector’s grip. He waved his hands as if to weave a spell, but then gave up and started clawing at the iron fist pinning him by the throat. The knight might have been barefoot and wearing Gawain’s too-tall clothes, but he was clearly in control.
Tamsin viewed her erstwhile tormentor dangling against the wall. She couldn’t summon much sympathy.
Waller gurgled, his lips turning blue.
Hector released his grip a fraction. “Talk.”
“Whatever you want, it’s yours. Money. A better house. You can have your old job back,” Waller said between gasps. “I can make that happen.”
Hector made an incredulous noise. “Employment is the least of my concerns, you lickspittle weasel. Besides, my daughter seems to be doing just fine in her position. Unlike you.
“What do you want?” Waller cried, but his eyes shifted, as if seeking a weapon.
Tamsin shifted closer, readying a spell just in case. Waller wasn’t known as an expert in fighting magic, but she didn’t trust him one bit.
Hector tapped the tip of Waller’s nose with his free hand. “I haven’t been home long, but I’ve made a few calls to some old friends from the other covens. They were very interested to hear that you were aligning yourself with LaFaye’s interests. They don’t approve. They think Shadowring’s council deserves a housecleaning.”
“Then they’re fools,” Waller shot back. “The witches are too weak to battle the fae. Too much was lost after Merlin gave us a black name.”
“Ah, yes, it’s Merlin’s fault you’re such a coward,” Hector mused. “A dead sorcerer is so easy to blame. Tell me, has LaFaye promised you a special treat if you deliver the covens to her control?”
At that, Waller began a frantic struggle. Hector put a hand on the man’s chest. “Stop, unless you want me to crush you like the spider you are.”
Tamsin felt power building in the room and knew the Elder was summoning his magic. She moved in quickly, calling a fireball to her hand. A small one—she had her damage deposit to think of.
“He said stop!” She held up the coruscating ball of blue fire. “I’ve fought zombies. Fast ones. You don’t want to mess with me.”
“Don’t give yourself airs, girl,” he sneered, proving exactly how stupid he was.
Tamsin held the ball close enough for Waller to feel the heat. “Just try it.”
Waller stilled as quickly as if someone had flipped a switch. Fear glazed his eyes, but so did a vicious anger. He deliberately turned his attention to Hector. “What do you mean to do with me?”
“The Court of Covens has some questions for you,” her father said, serious now. “They’ve had an eye on you for some time. They knew you were coming this way and asked me to escort you to them once you arrived. Some fae friends of ours set up a portal to take you there.”
The look on Waller’s face was too delicious to waste. Tamsin kept the ball of fire in one hand while she fished in her pocket with the other. She pulled out her smartphone and snapped a photo of the two men. Hector raised his eyebrows in question.
Tamsin texted the picture before she hit speed dial and put the phone to her ear. “Stacy would never believe any of this without evidence. Want to say hi before you go, Mr. Waller? Something tells me our paths may never cross again.”
Chapter 28
An hour later Tamsin was alone. Hector had left through the portal with his prisoner, and her call to Stacy was done. Tamsin sank onto the edge of her bed, exhausted. Someone—perhaps one of the rebel fae who had come for Angmar—had made the bed with fresh sheets and washe
d the dishes. It was a polite gesture, but it made Tamsin feel forlorn. It reminded her that her home had been alive, filled with people, and now every last one was gone. Solitude pressed in with almost physical force.
Tamsin closed her eyes. Stacy had been ecstatic, shocked and outraged in turn by Tamsin’s story. There would be a real Thanksgiving dinner now that their father had returned. It was something to look forward to—and Tamsin did. Really.
Except she wasn’t sure she could resume the old patterns of her life again. She’d glimpsed another world filled with danger, one where she fought as an equal and the history she’d studied had come to life. One filled with larger-than-life warriors who believed what she had to offer wasn’t merely important, but critical to success. For a while, she’d mattered.
Until she hadn’t. She’d given Gawain what he’d asked for, and then he’d asked her to go.
In a fit of temper, Tamsin hurled a pillow at the wall. It bounced harmlessly away, making just about as much impact as Tamsin apparently had on Gawain’s heart. Tears hovered behind her eyes, but she refused to cry anymore. She was tougher than that. She’d proved as much lately.
A knock came at the door. She rose to answer it, but instinct made her hesitate. She sensed something—danger passing by like shadow over moonlight. Silently, Tamsin approached the door on tiptoe. She’d had her share of battle experience in the past few days, but she still played it safe and checked the peephole. No one was there.
Readying another fireball, Tamsin opened the door and looked into the corridor. It was empty. Irritated now, she stepped into the hallway to find a large blue sticky note on the outside of her door. The bottom was folded up to hide the writing. Tamsin reached up, then stood there with her hand poised, wondering if she was going to like what it said.
Summoning her courage, she pulled the note down and flattened it in her hand. The writing was in old-fashioned copperplate script.
Did I not promise you he would get his reward?
I am in your debt for my freedom, but I am gone. Do not look for me.
PS Tell your knights their horses are at the theme park.
Also, the demon sends his thanks for the snack.
-N
Tamsin stared at the note. Nimueh? Since when did fae leave drive-by sticky notes? Yet her mood lightened. The Lady of the Lake had helped them. It felt good to know they’d been able to help her in return.
She looked up to see Gawain getting off the elevator. Someone must have let him in the front door. At the sight of his tall frame, still dressed in full battle array, her heart leaped and sank at once, leaving her feeling queasy. Tamsin drew herself up, standing her ground until he drew near.
“My father’s not here,” she said.
Gawain stopped. “I did not come to speak to Hector. I came to see you.”
A sudden surge of panic flooded Tamsin. She had no idea what to say since he had ended their—whatever it was they had. Too much had happened for anything to feel casual.
So she thrust the note at him. “Look at this. If I’m reading it right, Nimueh has skipped town. Plus, you’re up some horses.” She stopped, realizing that she was babbling.
“So it seems.” Gawain crumpled the note. He’d barely looked at it, only at her. “May I come in?”
Tamsin stepped back, her mouth going dry. “Okay.”
She followed Gawain inside, locking the door behind her in case any other roaming fae decided to drop by. Gawain paced her small living space like a caged lion. Not that long ago, they’d been naked in her bed. Not that long ago, they’d been naked in his bed, too. She’d thought there was a chance of a relationship, but she’d been so wrong.
They’d had a bargain, and it was over.
Her throat constricted painfully, as if she were imploding inside. “Let me guess. You’re sorry, but you’re not that into a witch. It’s not my fault, it’s just you. Plus, it’s hard to maintain a relationship when you’re always out on a quest.”
Gawain frowned. “Don’t assume you know what I’m thinking.”
“You have your king. I have my books. That’s what you said.”
He turned to her, folding his arms. “Don’t hold those words against me. I was bleeding when I said them.”
“And you wouldn’t even let me stop it.” Tamsin was on a roll. “You got a taste of your own magic out there, and it scared you. You think I’m responsible for that.”
“Yes.” The one simple word hung in the air, seeming to fill the room.
“That’s it?” Fury pushed Tamsin’s voice higher. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”
Gawain drew near, putting a finger over her lips. “Let me talk.”
No, don’t! It was one thing for her to throw bitter words at him, but she couldn’t bear the reverse. Angry as Tamsin was, she wanted to stop his mouth with hers so that he would not speak. That way, he couldn’t say the words that would break them apart forever. Even a minute’s reprieve was something. Whoever preached ripping the bandage off had never been in love with an impossible man.
Panic clawed inside her. There was still a retreat, still a path back to something good for them. Back to the place where they simply had to touch each other and where every glance was a heated invitation. They’d been there for such a short time—surely it was worth giving such happiness a fighting chance?
But, reluctantly, Tamsin nodded.
Gawain took her hand in his. “I’ve told you about some of the things I saw my mother do when I was growing up. I told you about how Lady Bertilak tried to tempt me even though it might mean my death. And you’ve heard plenty of times about how Merlin’s mistakes caused so much damage.”
“Yes,” Tamsin said in a small voice.
“Well, I’ve got one more story to tell you about magic in my family. It didn’t happen to me, but to Gaheris, one of my middle brothers.”
Tamsin braced herself. “Is this going to be awful like the other stories?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “But that’s for you to judge.”
Tamsin looked down, unable to meet his intense blue eyes. “Get on with it, then.”
Gawain smiled, his expression touched with nerves. “Early on in his time at the Round Table, Gaheris was tricked by magic into marrying the ugliest crone in the world.”
“This story sucks.” Tamsin tried to pull away, but Gawain held on fast.
“Have patience. There is a point to this tale.”
Tamsin fidgeted, but let him continue.
“The bride’s name was Dame Ragnall, and she was witch-born. She was not just unpleasant to look at, she smelled like a dead cat left in the sun for weeks. She was rude and coarse of speech and manner so that no one wished to be in the same room, much less sit with her at a meal. But Gaheris was a man of honor and would not go back on his word. So, he made the witch his one true wife and he swore he would take no other women to his bed. Thus he went to his wedding night anticipating no pleasure.”
“Are you saying that’s what he got for marrying a witch?”
“I’m saying that he would have been a fool to break his word.” Gawain gave her a quelling look. “The tale does not end at the wedding. When Gaheris shut the bedchamber door that night, he was astonished to find his ghastly wife had turned into the most beautiful—not to mention sweet-smelling—woman he had ever encountered. Not only that, her entire manner had changed. She was soft voiced and courteous, full of wit and as much wisdom as the craftiest counselors of the realm. Needless to say, Gaheris was overjoyed by this change and asked his bride what had happened.”
“A magic curse,” Tamsin said in flat tones.
“Which had been partially lifted because Gaheris had kept his word and taken her to wife. Dame Ragnall told him that because the curse was only half-broken he had a choice—he could have her be
autiful at night and ugly during the day, or the other way around. It was a choice between his pride—for what man did not wish everyone to know his lady is the finest above all others?—or his pleasure.”
Despite herself, Tamsin was curious. “What did your brother do?”
“The wisest thing in the world,” said Gawain. “He trusted her. He told his wife the decision was hers to make.”
That wasn’t what Tamsin had expected to hear. “And?”
He met her eyes. “That broke the curse entirely, for a woman cannot be her true self if she is subject to another’s choices. The fact that he trusted her allowed her beauty to shine.”
Tamsin’s heart beat fast as she turned the meaning of the story over and over, but she wasn’t sure what he meant by it. Gawain reached up, brushing his thumb over her lips. “I’ve held on to the terrible things magic has done. When I discovered it was still inside me, I dreaded what it might make me do. I thought it a curse.”
“It’s not. It’s like the bride in the story.” Tamsin suddenly understood his meaning. “Act with honor and trust yourself enough to make the right choices, and what is fearful can become our joy. We are the magic we make.”
“That’s what Ragnall said many, many years ago. I should have listened to her then.”
“What happened to them?” Tamsin asked. “Dame Ragnall and your brother?”
“They were the one bright oasis in my family. Ragnall was a beautiful soul and given freedom of choice, she was her true self every hour of the day. My brother Gaheris lived a long and happy life with her. Their love was founded on trust and respect and they spread happiness to all who met them. You won’t find his tomb among the stone sleepers. He would not leave her to follow us into the future.”
Tamsin felt tears sting her eyes. “That’s both beautiful and sad.”
“Not sad. Their love was a blessing. That is the kind of magic I want with you. I love you, Tamsin Greene. I will be your true knight as long as you will have me.”
She ducked her head, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. He wanted her, magic and all. She’d yearned for that kind of love from him, and he had just laid it at her feet.
Enchanted Warrior Page 25
