The Midsummer Wife (The Heirs to Camelot Book 1)

by Jacqueline Church Simonds

  Harper nodded his thanks. “If Morgaine takes us over or kills us, Falke’s to be our ‘insurance policy.’”

  “What?” Ron asked in alarm.

  “Very sensible,” Ava said.

  Harper said in a rush, “We’ll send him away before we do…whatever it is we’re going to do. I’ll give him all the access codes to what’s left of our wealth. Ava, I want the Sisterhood to take him away and hide him if things go wrong. He’ll have to go someplace safe, study and grow mentally and physically. But don’t tell me where you would keep him. Don’t even think about it now. I believe you’re strong enough to keep Morgaine out. I’m fairly sure I’m not.” He looked close to tears.

  “The Sisterhood will guard him with their lives,” Ava pledged. And now she had the whole of the Goddess’ backup plan—as far as it concerned Falke.

  “He must survive,” Harper said. “If it all goes wrong, Falke’s our last chance to save Britain from Morgaine.”

  Ron bent over and put his face in his hands. “Why is this so complicated?”

  Ava kissed his temple and put her hand on his neck, but she also reached out to hold hands with Harper. “We’re the right ones for this task. We were born to do it. Just as Mother Anya sent Arianrhod away in case the Merlin and Arthur lines fell, so Falke is to be sent somewhere safe if things go awry. The future isn’t set in stone. But I believe we will succeed.”

  “Goddess willing,” Harper said forcefully.

  “Blessed be.” Goddess, please protect Falke if you can’t protect me.

  “You both have more faith than I,” Ron said, raising his head.

  “That’s what we’re for,” Harper said with a fake laugh.

  Ron nodded. “All right. I’ll depend on you both, then. And let’s pray Falke doesn’t feel the weight of this.”

  “Agreed,” Harper said wholeheartedly.

  In the middle of the night, Ava was awakened by Ron’s moans. He was shivering and twitching, hands balled up. She switched on the light, but he was too deeply asleep. His features—now so dear to her—were contorted in a mask of fear.

  “No!” he gasped. “Tommy!”

  “Ron!” Ava whispered into his ear. “Ron! It’s a dream!”

  “Agh!” he gasped, sitting up, wide-eyed.

  “Ron!” Ava stroked his cheek. “Everything’s all right.”

  His eyes were dark and unreadable. He blinked once, and then he was her Ron again. Blowing out a breath, he said, “Sorry. Bit of a weird dream.” He was covered in sweat, and his breathing was fast and shallow.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  His jaw muscles tensed into a hard line. He looked away, shook his head.

  “It’s all right. Would it help if I held you?”

  He managed a smile and gathered her to him. She reached out to turn out the light, but just before she did, she saw a look of fear in his eyes as he stared at the ornate ceiling.

  What was that about?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Two Days to Midsummer

  Ms. Clarke started the day giving the men their marching orders: “If you succeed in this…task, then Lord Steadbye will become king. We need to establish him with the population. To do that, we’ll need to have both he and Duke Drunemeton interviewed on as many shows as possible to reach everyone. We’ll also broadcast images of the material you presented at the warehouse.”

  To Ava’s relief, she was not included in the interviews. She didn’t fit the “King Arthur narrative” they were building.

  Ron pressed them to involve her, since they were engaged and “her work will be more important than mine on the day of the Healing!”

  Vera said, “Explaining Ava and her part in things is too much information all at once for an already overwhelmed populace, my lord.”

  Ron and Harper started to argue with her, but Ava let them know she was fine with it. She had no wish to be in the public eye. Her ego wasn’t harmed by making the heirs of Arthur and Merlin a media event. Being an “overnight sensation” wasn’t what the Sisterhood or she required at that moment. Besides, the idea of being on some show made her distinctly queasy.

  Vera was relieved Ava wouldn’t make an issue of it. “Besides, I’m planning a big broadcast on Midsummer’s Eve to explain what you’re about to do, and of course, Ava will be in that.”

  Ron looked mollified. In truth, Ava would be just as happy to skip that one, too. She had so much to do and so little time.

  But Ava’s free time evaporated when Vera discovered she had already worn the only good dress she brought. “Go shopping! Get some clothes to last you for the next few days. You’ll be on camera a lot after The Healing. Get makeup and have your hair done, too.” Vera shoved her assistant, Siobhan Byrne—a young woman who looked to be no older than sixteen—at Ava. “Siobhan, get her outfitted properly.”

  When Ava got back to the castle later, Ron and Harper were draped over the furniture in the sitting room, looking exhausted. Neither noticed her “new look,” which proved the worthlessness of the venture. “How was it?”

  “Twelve interviews in five hours!” Ron moaned.

  “After a while, I was afraid I’d stopped speaking English,” Harper said.

  Ron said, “And when we weren’t running to this studio or appearing in front of that screen, Harper and I were in meetings with the temporary government. The Prime Minister’s thinking is that if we succeed, there’ll be a smooth transition of power. I guess you were right, Ava. They really want a ruling king—at least in the early days.”

  Ava studied his face. There were lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there that morning. Harper looked similarly concerned. She sat down. “How bad is it?”

  “Appalling,” Ron said, and looked away.

  “We found out exactly how the temporary government is coping with the effects of The Day,” Harper said.

  “And?” she asked.

  “Mostly, they’re not coping at all,” Harper said with a sigh. “And honestly, I don’t know how anyone can do any better.”

  “That damned bomb just gutted the country. There are resources left, but not many. There’s no way to feed and treat all those who are afflicted by radiation. And there’s not a lot any other country can do to help,” Ron said quietly.

  They sat in silence a moment, each wondering how to deal with the enormity of the problem.

  Abruptly, Harper said, “I had a good mind to punch that one woman in the face.”

  “Which? The one who stopped just short of calling me a ‘kaffir,’ or the other one who implied people of color aren’t smart enough to run a country?” Ron asked tiredly.

  Harper paused, mouth open. “That’s what Monica Whatsername meant, wasn’t it? I was wondering why she phrased it like that.”

  Ron nodded. “I’ve heard it all my life, from school to the battlefield, from the courts to the House of Commons. ‘Micro-aggressions,’ the Americans call it. I just call it bigotry. No matter what year it is on the calendar, some people refuse to move out of the nineteenth century.”

  “The Sisterhood did a lengthy study of how the British would respond to a king of color. In ordinary times, you were going to have about thirty-five percent of the population against you. There’s no telling how accepting they’ll be during a crisis. I suspect it will depend on how effective you are in resolving the problems facing the country.”

  “Not to mention the legislature. If we have a substantial group in Parliament aligned against me—for whatever reason—we won’t get much done,” Ron said.

  Falke, who had been ignoring them and watching his comm, said, “Hey look! They have a show on the Grotto material and you three.”

  They peered over his shoulder. Vera had obviously put together a documentary about “the extraordinary events at Cardiff.”

  “Whoa!” Falke exclaimed, as the intro showed quick pictures of the items and Ron, Harper, and Ava. “There are pictures of the tapestries and the artifacts and everything.”

>   “So much for keeping things a secret,” Ron said.

  “We’re definitely not hidden away in the Grotto, my friend,’” Harper said.

  In the evening, Ron, Harper, and Ava worked out a plan for how to deal with Morgaine. Ava had gotten many of the details for what to do in a dream-vision last night. Harper put her together with Daniel Littori of Eight Lights and some of their best adepts. Their preparations were made in haste, and Ava worried she was missing some important aspect. She was so concerned they wouldn’t get everything done in time, her stomach became a hot ball of acid.

  Staycalmstaycalmstaycalm.

  For the most part, Ava was coping pretty well. She knew she wouldn’t have been able to handle the pressure just a couple of days ago. But she felt she had a better handle on the fear and anxiety. The agoraphobia hadn’t bothered her at all.

  Yet.

  When she had a few moments to herself, she set up the support system to take Falke away if everything went against them. Falke couldn’t be sent to the Sisterhood in Viborg—that was the first place Morgaine would look for him. Ava put together a complex schedule of where in the world he would be taken, for how long, and with whom he’d study. For once, having a head full of the Sisterhood’s minutia was useful.

  And then there was the matter of building up Viborg’s defenses in case Morgaine should decide to attack the Daughters of Arianrhod. No matter what happens to me, Sisters, you must not come and try to rectify the situation yourselves. If it’s clear Morgaine has defeated me, accept it and move forward. Implement the plan, teach Falke what he needs to know. Protect your Sisters and the Motherhouses. But don’t try to take on Morgaine until Falke has enough training. He’s the key!

  Ava spent hours in meditation, carefully building up what amounted to a firewall in her mind, where she could hide the details about Falke and the Motherhouse data. It was a technique she’d learned from an adept in Nepal. Although it was simple, it took concentration to create and store the information there, and not anywhere else in her mind.

  Falke didn’t take the news of Ava’s plan well, and several times became angry with his father at the prospect of being abandoned.

  Late in the evening, after Ava witnessed a particularly fierce argument between Falke and Harper, she took him to the drawing room. “Falke, we need to talk.”

  “You’re not sending me away? I’m not losing Dad, too!” he shouted

  “Please, come sit with me.” She sat on a divan in front of the fire.

  Angrily, Falke dropped into the farthest spot from her. “I’m not your son in this life!” he snapped.

  “No, Falke. You’re not. Nor would I try to act as a family member. We’re mere acquaintances thrown together in a crisis. But I know some things you don’t,” she said.

  “Like?” he asked, interested in spite of himself.

  “Let me start with the most positive outcome of what we’re about to attempt,” she said.

  “You beat Morgaine,” he said.

  “We beat Morgaine and affect the healing of your country. Ron will be king, your father will be his chief advisor—” she said.

  “You’ll be queen,” he said.

  “I’ll be queen. Whatever that means.”

  His eyes went wide. “Wait, don’t you want to be queen?”

  Ava shook her head. “That wasn’t part of the Sisterhood’s plan. Don’t get me wrong. I love Ron. I will happily be his life partner. But it greatly complicates my position.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m the High Priestess of the Daughters of Arianrhod. Trying to be both priestess-leader and queen might make Ron’s task harder if I’m going about, asserting a spiritual authority. Essentially, you’d have two rulers with two different aims. To that end, I’ve asked my order to consider elevating my sister, Hébé, who’s currently the Chief Healer, to High Priestess.”

  In spite of himself, Falke was interested. “That must be kind of weird for you,” he said. “Does Lord Steadbye know?”

  “No. He has enough on his mind. I’ll tell him later. I suspect he’s been worrying about it and hasn’t found a way to discuss it with me yet,” she said.

  “You hear his thoughts,” Falke said in a slightly accusatory tone.

  Will these men ever find a way to trust me? “I don’t read people except as demand warrants. However, I’m…very close to him. I can feel how he thinks. I don’t need to know the contents of those thoughts.”

  “Okay, so, someone else will be High Priestess. What’s the big deal?” Falke asked.

  “We’ll need leadership for the worship in Britain. The Sisterhood will be attempting to establish the Goddess religion early. I’ll bring in a group from the Viborg Motherhouse. But we have no one from Britain who’s sufficiently strong enough here—in spirit and training—to be declared the leader. I’d like for that to be you.”

  “Me?” Falke exclaims, his voice breaking. “I’m fifteen!”

  “Anya was fourteen when she became the High Priestess in Viborg. Arthur was sixteen when he became king.” He still looked alarmed. “But don’t worry. I don’t mean you have to take this on now. I hope that you can be invested by the time you’re twenty-one; no later than twenty-five. There’s a lot for you to know, and you must have your powers under command,” she said.

  “What…What if I don’t want to do it?” he said.

  Ava could feel his uncertainly. “Falke, in your last life, when you were Falcon, son of Merlin, you were supposed to take on the task. You refused, and instead used your prodigious power and intellect to set the lines of Merlin and Arthur on the path to where we are now. Falcon lived to a very old age and even saw his great-grandson initiated. Anya started things, but it was Falcon’s effort that made it happen. You—the Falcon you—are why your father and Ron are here at all! But in this life, I’m asking you to take up the work you should have in the last. You are a great, strong soul. Your country needs you to lead them spiritually.”

  “Why not Dad?”

  “He hasn’t been trained in that way. He could learn, but it would be hard for him to do that and help Ron. I’m asking you to become the High Priest of Britain,” Ava said.

  “But…doesn’t it have to be a woman who leads?” he asked.

  “No. Goddess worship isn’t about the Sisterhood. It’s a religion for all.” Ava didn’t mention that the High Priestess would still direct the global Goddessian community.

  “Oh,” he said, looking thoughtful. “So, the Goddess isn’t only about women?”

  “Far from it. The Goddessian way is not a female-centric view of the world. It’s about respecting both men and women—and all the experiences between those two genders. It’s about connectedness—between each other, the animals in our world, the planet itself, the universe. It’s about gentle, love-centered power, not force and domination.”

  “Huh,” he said, looking into the flames.

  Ava could tell the idea of a leadership position of his own—independent of his father—was appealing.

  “Your teachers at Eight Lights are very competent. But they’re limited in their resources and haven’t been able to teach you the full range that you can learn at Viborg. At the central Motherhouse, you’ll be challenged intellectually and spiritually. In fact, you’ll be pushed much harder than you would be at Eton.” His eyebrows went up. “The reward is, you’ll do and see things no school chum of yours can even imagine doing. Your main teacher would be a woman who was my instructor in two lifetimes, Ifijioku,” Ava said.

  “Iffy-who?”

  “Ifijioku. She’s ninety-seven now, but I expect she’ll live long enough to finish your education. She likes a challenge,” Ava said.

  “Well…I’ll think about it,” he said, trying to hide his excitement. “But that’s if everything goes well,” he said.

  Staring into the fire, Ava wondered how much she should tell him. Should I gloss over the dangers? No. He’s strong. “Falke, if we don’t survive, then you must promise me you’ll fle
e. Let the Sisterhood take you away. You’ll live in Motherhouses across the world, learning remotely and directly with priestesses, adepts, and scholars. You’ll probably only meet with Ifijioku yearly in that case—it would all have to be done online. Study hard, because you’re all that stands between Morgaine and her complete takeover.”

  “No!” he shouted. “It’s too much. You can’t just say this and expect me to obey.”

  “And what would you do otherwise?” Ava was genuinely curious.

  He turned away angrily. “I…I don’t know. I’d be in the Circle with you.”

  “I’m sorry, Falke, but that’s not remotely possible. You haven’t the power or the necessary soul to be in that place, in that time,” Ava said.

  “You just said I was strong.”

  “I said you were strong, but also that you had much to learn,” Ava corrected him. “Besides, all things must be in harmony. Morgaine and I balance each other out as positive and negative. But we also balance out the males—your father and Ron. Morgaine will have eight priestesses, and we’ll have eight males from Eight Lights. The Goddess is all about balance and harmony. Add one more person to the circle, and it becomes unbalanced. As uncertain as the outcome is, it would become unstable with an extra element. And so, you can’t be there with us.”

  “What if I just turned up?” Falke asked.

  “You are a stubborn one.” Ava shivered. “Then you would quite possibly destroy all of us.”

  He turned and glared at her, certain she was lying.

  Ava opened her mind and said in mindspeech: Examine what I know and think for yourself. I hide nothing from you, Falke, son of Talon.

  She felt his hesitating probe of her mind and recalled how it was for her the first time she had been allowed to see into another’s thoughts. It was exhilarating, and frightening, and a little dissociative. It was easy to lose track of who you were and who they were. When he reached the point where he wasn’t sure where the boundaries were, she gently escorted him back to his own mind and closed hers.

  “Wow,” he whispered. “You’re so afraid. I thought you were controlling everything, and you had it all together…but you’re terrified of what’s going on. You’re scared every minute.”