by Cori Chaffee
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With My Last Breath, Book Three
But the servants here in the castle’s compound had nothing to fear. I stared out the nearest open window and watched the knights from the roundtable and Arthur himself practicing hand-to-hand combat. They were without their armor this morning and many of them were shirtless, their tanned skin already glistening in the early morning heat. All of them were perfectly toned, a testament to their physical prowess. Not a soul in the kingdom wanted to face these knights in battle.
I sought out my soul mate and found him sparring with Arthur’s brother, Kay. I smiled. Out of all of the knights, besides Lancelot and Lucan, Kay was probably my favorite. Good-natured and strong, he stood a head taller than even Lucan. He always had a smile and a good word for everyone, something that I appreciated. Even in a dire or bleak circumstance, Kay attempted to put everyone around him at ease.
Behind them, I saw Gawain, Arthur’s nephew, going hand-to-hand with Tristan. It seemed strange to refer to him as Arthur’s nephew, because since Arthur’s sister was so much older than he was, he and Gawain were the same age. Gawain’s younger brother, Gareth, was fighting with the king by the edge of the courtyard lawns.
Arthur, a superior swordsman, was clearly letting the younger knight gain the upper hand and he laughed as he began to hold Gareth at bay.
‚Young pup,' he laughed, ‚You must use your legs to anchor you. They’re stronger than your arms!'
Gareth growled and lunged again, errantly trying to use his forearms to hold off the King’s advances. He wasn’t strong enough and Arthur easily toppled him to the ground. Laughing again, Arthur reached a hand down to help him up.
Gareth shook his head good-naturedly as Arthur slapped him on the back. As they rough-housed and joked with the others, I turned my attention back to my mother. I found that she was watching me with a gentle expression.
‚They’re beautiful, aren’t they?' she observed, shifting her gaze to the knights outside. I nodded in agreement.
‚But we aren’t here to appreciate them, are we?' she asked, leveling her dark gaze at me. I shook my head with a sigh.
‚We must find the sword,' she needlessly reminded me. ‚And I know where it is.
But the problem will be… getting it.'
I stared at her in confusion. ‚What do you mean? It’s right there.' I gestured toward Arthur’s hand where Excalibur, his famous sword, gleamed. Guinevere stared at me with raised eyebrows.
‚Harmonia, that isn’t the sword that he pulled from the stone. Think back.'
And at her words, I did remember. The sword from the stone and Excalibur were two separate swords. And the king didn’t use the sword that he had pulled from the stone. Merlin had decreed that whoever pulled it from the stone would be the rightful king of Camelot and of course, Arthur had done so… all according to Fate’s plan.
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He kept that sacred sword safe. Excalibur had been a gift and was the sword that he used in battle and in practice. I sighed.
‚So where is it?' I asked. ‚I don’t recall that part.'
‚I’m not certain,' she admitted, ‚It’s not public knowledge, of course, and he hasn’t mentioned it to me. But I believe it to be at his parents’ home. He has spoken about a secret room where his father hid hundreds of books to protect them from invaders and looters. I would bet anything that he has hidden the sword there as well. No one would think to look there.'
‚So we will need to travel to his foster parents’ home and ransack it to find the sword?' I raised my eyebrows. ‚That doesn’t seem polite.'
My mother rolled her eyes. ‚You know that no one is there. After his parents died, Arthur kept their home vacant… just another indication that I am correct. He doesn’t want to chance anyone disturbing his hidden things.'
‚Perhaps,' I acknowledged, picking up my last piece of bread and chewing on it.
In every life, bread had been a comfort food for me. There was no need to change that now.
As I pondered my mother’s idea, I felt someone staring at me. I turned, scanning the busy dining hall. In the midst of the clamor surrounding us, a lone figure dressed in dark clothing was sitting a short distance from us, all alone. I would recognize his dark eyes anywhere. He was the stranger from the gardens.
He stared at me, a direct stare that wasn’t friendly, but neither was it unfriendly.
He lifted his hand in a subtle greeting, then let it drop. He knew that I recognized him.
I could see it on his face and somehow, I knew that that fact pleased him.
He wasn’t handsome nor was he ugly. He was of average height, his hair light brown. He wasn’t remarkable that I could see. I turned to point him out to my mother, but was interrupted by noise and clattering.
The knights were filing in from the courtyard, hungry for breakfast. Servants were already hurrying to fill heaping trenchers for them. Gawain grabbed one and made his way toward the queen and I. But he too was distracted by the stranger.
He stopped short in his tracks, then grinned. Clearly, the stranger wasn’t a stranger to him.
‚Mordred!' he shouted joyfully. ‚You’ve come! At long last!'
He set his plate down beside me and rushed to embrace the man who had seen Guinevere and Lancelot together earlier this morning.
Clapping the man’s back, Gawain shouted to Arthur.
‚Your highness, my youngest brother has finally arrived! We have found our final knight!'
Arthur smiled in welcome at the same moment that my knees turned weak and my heart seemed to still in my chest.
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Mordred. The youngest brother of Gawain and Gareth. I remembered him now, with sickening clarity. He would be the downfall of us all.
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With My Last Breath, Book Three
Chapter Six
Arthur made his way across the crowded hall to greet Mordred, his youngest nephew. Clasping Mordred’s hand, he grinned broadly, clearly happy to see him.
‚Welcome, young nephew,' he greeted him. ‚I trust your travels here were safe and uneventful? I expected you last week. Did you run into a complication?'
Mordred turned calm eyes toward his king and uncle, quietly deferent but not overly so. My hackles slightly rose, but no one else seemed bothered.
‚Nothing that I could not handle, uncle,' he replied. ‚Some minor issues along the road. I am blessed to have inherited your battle prowess and find myself delivered to you safe and sound this day.'
‚I don’t know,' Arthur drawled thoughtfully. ‚You might be too modest to be my relation.'
He stroked his chin and everyone around laughed. He could say what he wanted, but Arthur was fairly modest himself. He had single-handedly restored order to Camelot, yet he acted as though he was any other knight from his round table. Of course, part of the knight’s code was to practice humility. Arthur expected the same from himself as he did from his knights.
As everyone laughed, I saw that the humor in Mordred’s voice didn’t reach his eyes and a cold, unsettling feeling formed in my belly. The knowledge that he would eventually topple everything that Arthur worked for put me instantly on edge. And Lancelot and Guinevere had inadvertently given him even more ammunition.
Guinevere rose from her breakfast, crossing to Arthur’s side. Although my father was her soul mate, she did harbor true affection for King Arthur. It would be impossible not to. He was a decent man with a good heart. I felt a sense of regret for him. His life should have ended better. I brushed my melancholy aside. I couldn’t change it.
Guinevere nodded daintily to Mordred as she clasped Arthur’s arm. Out of my periphery, I noticed Lancelot’s eyes narrow. I hid a smile before returning my attention to Guinevere.
‚Welcome to Camelot, nephew,' she murmured. ‚I trust you will be happy here.'
‚
My lady,' Mordred bowed low. As he rose, he kissed her slender hand. ‚I have seen so many interesting things already. Camelot is full of surprises. I have no doubt that I will enjoy my new home.'
My blood ran cold as Mordred appraised my mother and she returned his stare.
She knew. I could see on her face that she knew who he was, but no one else would have guessed her anxiety. Her lovely face was as smooth as ever.
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‚Please let me know if you require anything,' she told him politely, before she curtsied quickly to Arthur and returned to my side. As the men talked over their breakfasts, she sank back down next to me.
‚What a chilling man,' she murmured into my ear. I nodded.
‚He is as cold-hearted as they come,' I agreed. ‚I can sense it.' Guinevere’s eyes glazed over and I knew that she was remembering the last time we had been here.
Even though the Fates were currently imprisoned in Ogygia, they were still firmly in control here in Camelot…because our little skirmish on Calypso’s island had not yet happened. Their spells to bind our memories were still active. In my mortal body here, I could remember Heleyne’s memories- everything that had happened up until this point in time. Everything in the future was hidden to me.
Although, I was finding that my awakened goddess mind was somehow providing glimpses into the future here that I would not have had otherwise. The glimpses were random and limited, and were both welcome and frustrating.
I somehow knew that Mordred would be the downfall of Arthur, but I couldn’t remember exactly how. I could see on Guinevere’s face that she was the same.
‚Don’t fret,' I soothed her. ‚It will all work out.'
She nodded.
‚I know. I just wish I could remember more.' She shook her head sadly.
‚Perhaps it is for the best that we cannot,' I suggested. ‚We must leave here without interfering. The Fates might not control us anymore, but I do not know what effects tampering with history would have. We should not take that chance.'
‚I agree,' she replied dejectedly. ‚But I do not have to like it.'
As she spoke, she gazed again at the knights good-naturedly bickering amongst each other as they ate. Arthur was sitting next to Mordred, dipping his bread crust into bacon grease as he chatted with the man who would eventually betray him.
‚No,' I agreed as I carefully stood and arranged my skirts. ‚You do not. And neither do I. Come. Let us take a walk or maybe even go for a ride.'
That perked her up. She did enjoy horseback riding. She kindly thanked the servant who came to clear our plates and we made our way out of the crowded dining hall onto the manicured paths surrounding the castle.
As we strolled, I remembered what these grounds had looked like when Arthur had first assumed the crown. The castle had been crumbling, the grounds overgrown.
Within months of winning over the people, Arthur had completely restored the castle and had overhauled the castle grounds to turn them into the beautiful gardens that they were today.
He felt that taking such care of things would restore the will and the confidence of the people. And I had to agree. It had certainly accomplished that. Of course, having a group of strong, well-trained knights on his side hadn’t hurt, either.
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Pausing briefly, Guinevere bent to pick a dark red rose. She was partial to them and had requested many of them planted around the palace grounds. Pricking her finger on a thorn, she stuck it in her mouth and sucked on it.
‚You know what they say,' I reminded her wryly. ‚Every rose has a—‚
‚Shut it,' she growled playfully. ‚I might need stitches.'
I rolled my eyes. As I did, I thought I saw something move behind me. Turning, there was nothing there. There was only a striped tabby cat from the stables batting a pebble across the path. She chased the tiny stone into the brambles and disappeared.
‚What?' Guinevere asked, concern wrinkling her forehead.
‚Nothing,' I answered. ‚I thought something was behind us, but it was only a cat.'
‚Silly girl,' she grinned. ‚Let us ride.'
I understood her need to get away from here just for a bit and try to forget what we were facing, so I nodded and we quickly continued to the stables. The old toothless groomsman, Reagan, greeted us. His wiry gray hair stuck out of in tufts beneath his felt hat, making him look slightly deranged. He was a gentle soul, though, and would never hurt a fly.
‚Reagan, we wish to have a ride on this beautiful day,' Guinevere announced, passing him to stand at the door of her mare’s stable. Her horse, Flower, tossed her head as Guinevere stroked her nose. ‚We shall need our horses saddled.'
‚Of course, my lady,' he bowed quickly, abandoning a saddle that he was oiling in order to saddle our mounts. My own mare, Celine, was a soft buckskin who had just a little more spirit than the average woman would normally care for. I personally preferred it. A horse that was too docile was just plain boring.
We waited while he readied our mares, watching Arthur’s black charger paw at the floor in his stall and the barn cats hunt for mice, all the while enjoying the freshly-cut hay smell that surrounded us. The scent, combined with saddle oil, was distinctive to this stable and like scents often do, it triggered memories.
I had spent many stolen hours hidden in the hayloft above us with Lucan. The window upstairs swung open and flooded the loft with sunshine, all while providing a nice private alcove for a pair of lovers. My chest twinged as I remembered those carefree days. I briefly wondered if I would ever be carefree again, but Reagan interrupted my self-pitying thoughts.
‚My ladies, your mounts are full of vim and vinegar today,' he warned us as he handed us the reins. ‚They need a good, hard ride. Should I call for escorts?'
Guinevere shook her head. ‚We won’t go far,' she assured him. ‚We just need some fresh air and a good run. We’ll be back shortly.'
‚My lady, are you certain? The King said never to allow you to leave without protection…' Reagan worried, but trailed off when he noticed Guinevere’s face. ‚I’m Courtney Cole 35
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sorry, my lady,' he hastened to add. ‚I do not mean to second guess you. I will see you when you return.'
‚Thank you for your concern,' she told him with a smile. ‚But we will be fine.' He helped us mount and we rode past him into the sunshine. Once we were safely out of the courtyard and beyond the palace walls, Guinevere turned to me with a mischievous grin.
‚I wish I could have told him that we could level an entire army with just one thought, if we had a mind to,' she laughed. ‚The idea that a mere mortal could harm us…' she trailed off and laughed again.
‚Mother,' I warned, ‚As far as anyone is concerned, we are mere mortals right now, remember?'
‚Pftt,' she turned up her nose. I sensed the beginning of a minor display of drama and tensed in preparation. ‚Could a mortal do this?'
She pointed to a nearby rose bush. Every petal on every rose detached from the stem and fluttered into the air, swirling around into a cloud above us before drifting to the ground in the shape of an A. Aphrodite.
‚Mother,' I warned again, then changed tactics. ‚ Guinevere.” She sighed. ‚Fine,' she muttered and motioned toward the A. It shifted into a G.
One lone petal fell out of formation and she glared at it. It quickly fit itself in with the rest.
‚ Guinevere,” I repeated sharply.
She rolled her eyes at me before finally motioning toward the G one more time. The petals flew into an arrow formation and rushed at my head. I ducked and they sailed over me, separating to once again attach themselves to the stems on the rosebush. They rustled in the gentle breeze as if nothing had ever happened.
I glared at my mother, as I tried to soothe my anxious mare.
‚Not funny,' I chastised. ‚What if
someone had seen that?'
Guinevere looked around. ‚Like who?'
I had to admit, she had a point. There was no one around for miles. The green hills rolled on like unfurled velvet for acres and acres on one side, while the sea churned against the craggy shore on the other.
‚Like me, perhaps,' a low voice suggested and we both spun around in our saddles.
Mordred was leaning against a nearby tree, lightly holding the leather reins to his own horse in his hand.
‚You were so absorbed in your theatrics that you didn’t hear me approach,' he continued. ‚What are you, pray tell?'
Guinevere spluttered and if the situation wasn’t so serious, I would have laughed.
She was rendered speechless for the first time in as long as I could remember.
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‚Sir Mordred!' she exclaimed. ‚I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was near.'
‚Obviously,' he nodded calmly.
‚It was just a simple parlor trick,' she attempted helplessly. ‚A stupid thing, really…'
He watched her calmly as she attempted to come up with a plausible explanation.
His dark eyes were expressionless. I couldn’t tell if he was frightened by her or intrigued.
‚A parlor trick?' he asked softly. ‚I think not, my queen.'
He tied his mount to the tree and approached us.
‚Are you a witch?' he asked calmly, stopping in front of her. ‚Does the king know? He does seem sympathetic to witchcraft.'
‚The king most certainly does not…' Guinevere stopped and stuck out her chin. ‚I do not owe you an explanation, Sir Mordred,' she announced sweetly. ‚I am the queen. If you have any concerns, you should take them up with my husband, the king.'
‚Mayhap I will,' he replied, his dark eyes glittering. For the first time since he had arrived, I saw an emotion in them. A threat.
Guinevere saw it too and I sighed as I watched her bristle.
