With My Last Breath, Book Three

by Cori Chaffee

  ‚I did not speak to you as a fool,' I corrected. ‚You are not a fool. You are evil, but not a fool. However, your back is to a wall now. You have boxed yourself in with your brother. What will you do?'

  ‚I do not answer to you,' she hissed and she disappeared, leaving me alone in the damp darkness of the musty room.

  I stood for a moment, gathering my thoughts, before I looked around. Thick books of magic with weathered covers were scattered about, a large mirror was lying in the center of the room surrounded by a circle of ash. Clearly, this was her hideaway where she dabbled in witchcraft. Or, at least, she thought it was witchcraft. What she didn’t know was that any supernatural ability that she had was a direct result of her true identity.

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  With My Last Breath, Book Three

  As I ruffled through parchments filled with writing, I came across one that stilled the breath on my lips. An entire parchment was full of notes about mythology and Morgan’s theories about Zeus’ sword. Her thoughts about his sword would not have been alarming but for one minor detail. No mortal was aware of its existence.

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  With My Last Breath, Book Three

  Chapter Eight

  Harmonia, where are you?

  I heard my mother’s question in my head, her voice strangely sharp. Instantly, I imagined myself with her and within a second, I appeared at her side in her bedchambers.

  ‚You shouldn’t do that,' she observed, her long hair pulled over her shoulder.

  ‚What if someone walked in at just the right moment and saw you?'

  ‚I know, I know,' I dismissed the concern, ‚But you sounded upset and we have an issue.'

  ‚Of course we do,' she sighed. ‚We have many issues.'

  ‚This one is pressing,' I replied and I told her of what I had found.

  ‚Now I’m upset,' she responded, rising to stare out her window. She tapped her finger furiously along the bricks of the sill, the rapid cadence a clear indication of her agitation.

  ‚And that’s not all,' I continued.

  ‚Of course not,' she muttered. ‚What else?'

  ‚I… er… interfered.'

  ‚Interfered?' she turned with a raised eyebrow severely. ‚What do you mean, interfered? With what?'

  ‚We should sit,' I suggested and led her to her bed. Sinking into the softness, I shared what had happened with Arthur in the chapel. When I was finished, her face was a rigid mask of frustration.

  ‚Harmonia!' she exclaimed in her best mother’s voice. ‚We’ve talked about this.

  We don’t know what will happen. You cannot interfere.'

  ‚But I already did,' I pointed out. ‚It’s already done.'

  ‚You can just turn right around and go back to him and tell him that you changed your mind. That you do not want to interfere.' My mother’s face was stubborn and set mulishly.

  ‚Tell the king that I’ve changed my mind?' I asked doubtfully. ‚I don’t think that would go over so well. And mother, you should have seen him. I couldn’t bear it. He’s in so much pain. And once I said that I would help, that I would talk to you, he lit up like a light. I can’t crush him. I can’t.'

  Guinevere sighed. ‚You’ve got a soft heart, daughter. I suppose I shall have to do what you cannot.'

  ‚What do you mean?' I asked suspiciously.

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  ‚Well, you told him that you would speak to me. And you have. So now, it’s in my hands, isn’t it? I’ll just have to take a hard line with him. I shall have to not forgive him.'

  I gasped.

  ‚Mother, don’t,' I pleaded. ‚Truly, if you could just see him, you would know why I feel so strongly. He’s a good man and he doesn’t deserve any of this.'

  My mother’s face clouded over and she opened her mouth to speak, but a commotion from outside caught our attention and we hurried to her windows to look.

  The castle’s giant gates were open and two wooden wagons slowly rolled in, pulled by tired mules and surrounded by raggedly dressed pheasants. They were in an uproar and we tried to see what the fuss was about.

  I watched their dirty faces and found them full of emotion…anger, sadness, outrage. Their clothing was in tatters, most of them barefoot, all of them filthy-spattered with mud. I held my breath in trepidation as the wagons drew closer, creaking past the main hall entrance and coming to a slow stop directly beneath Guinevere’s windows.

  Bodies were piled in the wagons. They were bloodied and mutilated, old and young. My eyes were frozen on the body of a child, his tiny arm dangling from the foot of the wagon bed, his small fingers open and blue. I sucked in my breath and my gaze met Guinevere’s.

  ‚Holy Mary…' I trailed off.

  My mother’s face was severe, her mouth pressed into a hard line. ‚They need us,'

  she said simply.

  We hurried from her rooms and rushed to the foyer, where Arthur was just exiting to meet them. We followed closely behind.

  ‚What will you do?' a peasant woman cried, reaching out to touch Arthur’s velvet cloak. ‚How will you protect us now?'

  A thin man to her left met my gaze before he looked to the king. ‚They murder us in our beds, while you dine on fancy meals and dress in fancy clothing. You are no different from your father at all. You only want to seem like it.'

  The man dropped to his knees and cried next to the wagon, reaching out in his grief to grasp the tiny dead boy’s hand. I assumed that he was the boy’s father and I felt a tear drip down my cheek.

  ‚By the gods,' Guinevere breathed softly. ‚This is evil.'

  ‚This is what you don’t wish to change,' I pointed out quietly. ‚The will of the Fates. They do this for their own entertainment.'

  My mother fell silent and I turned to a nearby servant. ‚I need clothing. Gather others and bring us as much clean clothing as you can find. And ready any empty guest room that is available here in the castle.'

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  The servant girl looked to Guinevere, who nodded.

  ‚Do it,' she murmured.

  The girl turned on her heel and ran for the interior of the castle as I turned my attention back to the bedraggled group of strangers. Women were weeping, men were shouting. It was utter chaos.

  Amid the confusion, Arthur stepped on the ledge of the nearby gardens, making him a few heads taller than everyone else.

  ‚Kinsmen,' he shouted. ‚Listen to me!' It took him a few more attempts before the crowd quieted enough to hear him.

  ‚Do you think this will go unpunished?' he called. ‚Do you think that Arthur Pendragon will allow my subjects to be beaten and killed within the very borders of my country? I will not. I vow to you today that by my very own blood, I will protect you.

  My knights will ride to their last breaths to protect you. Camelot will be strong and we will be victorious. We will avenge this!'

  At his last word, the crowd erupted into cheers, so loud that they made my ears ring. Arthur looked fierce and determined as he assessed his people.

  ‚We will protect you,' he added. ‚You have my word.'

  He stepped from the ledge and strode into the castle, motioning his knights to follow. They fell into line and disappeared into the castle with him, Lucan included. I watched their broad shoulders vanish down the hallway before I returned my attention to the peasants in front of me.

  Joining Guinevere, I helped the servants hand out fresh clothing and linens. Seeing a small group of children standing apart from the rest, I switched directions and headed toward them, a stack of clean linen in my arms.

  Kneeling next to them, I asked, ‚Where are your parents? Were they killed?'

  The child in front nodded solemnly, dried tears streaked on her dirty cheeks. Four or five smaller children crowded behind her, each too shy to meet my gaze.

  ‚Come with me, then,' I instructed. ‚Let us clean
you up. You will sleep here at the castle for now.'

  I grasped the girl’s hand and ushered the others to a well standing not too far away.

  Drawing up a bucket of water, I dipped a soft linen into it and wiped at the girl’s face.

  ‚Everything will be okay,' I assured her. ‚I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it will.'

  The girl nodded silently and let me attend to her before she stepped to the side and sat down. I motioned for the next child to step forward and when she did, I startled.

  It was Raquel.

  Long blondish hair straggled down her back and bright blue eyes peeked from behind the dirt on her face. She was the young girl who the Fates had brought from Calypso’s island and left on Olympus to instruct us where to meet them. Why was she here now?

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  Gesturing her forward, I grasped her skinny arm.

  ‚What is your name, child?' I asked casually as I washed her face.

  ‚Gwendolyn,' she whispered. Her pink lips had the same curve to them that Raquel’s did. She was the same child. My heart started skipping beats. What did this mean?

  ‚Gwendolyn,' I repeated. ‚What a beautiful name! And so very close to our own queen’s name. That makes you special,' I added. ‚Queen Guinevere will be so honored to hear of this.'

  ‚She will?' the child asked shyly as she fidgeted nervously with her foot.

  ‚Of course she will,' I assured her. ‚In fact, stay with me and I’ll introduce you to her in a few minutes. Would you like that?'

  The child looked at me in wonder. I knew she had probably heard all about the new king and his beautiful queen from her parents. To meet them now was beyond anything she’d ever imagined.

  ‚Were your parents killed, as well?' I asked gently.

  ‚No,' she answered. ‚I do not have parents. I’ve been an orphan since birth.'

  ‚I’m sorry for that,' I replied softly. ‚But we will find a place for you here. And you will belong.'

  She smiled, a beatific smile that didn’t quite make it to her eyes.

  ‚Thank you, my lady,' she murmured, dipping her head. Above her, I sought out my mother from across the courtyard. Catching my gaze, she made her way to my side.

  ‚Heleyne, are you almost finished here?' she asked, drawing next to me curiously.

  ‚We should ready the extra bedrooms inside.'

  ‚Of course, your highness,' I answered. ‚But first, I’d like for you to meet Gwendolyn.' I patted the little girl’s back and she stepped forward. My mother’s eyes widened when she saw her and I caught her eye again.

  She knelt, grasping the child’s hand.

  ‚Hello there, little one,' she murmured, staring into the child’s heart-shaped face. ‚I like your name.'

  ‚Your lady told me you would,' Gwendolyn answered shyly. ‚It’s nice to meet you, your highness.'

  ‚And it is so very nice to meet you,' Guinevere answered. ‚Would you like to stay here with us for awhile?'

  Gwendolyn nodded. ‚Yes, please,' she replied. ‚I don’t have anywhere else to go.'

  She dropped her head in shame and I lifted her chin with a finger, forcing her to meet my stare.

  ‚That is not your fault, young one,' I assured her. ‚You will be taken care of here.

  Are you hungry?'

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  She nodded, as did the other children around her. I motioned for a nearby house servant.

  ‚Please get these children something to eat in the kitchens,' I requested the girl.

  ‚And then show them to a clean guestroom. I’ll check on them later.'

  She nodded and hurried away with them, leaving me to stare at my mother in bewilderment.

  ‚What is going on?' I asked. ‚Why is she here? And in the same exact body as in the Spiritlands? There is not one thing different about her but her name. Her hair, her eyes, her voice is the same. And in the Spiritlands, I found her in a pile of rubble, also.

  Here, she came to us with a group of orphans. There must be a correlation, but what?

  You know that it must mean something. The Fates are using her for a reason.'

  My mother nodded, her eyes absent as she thought. ‚I know not,' she finally admitted. ‚I will consult with your father when next I see him. Perhaps he can remember something that we can’t.'

  ‚Have you seen him this afternoon?' I asked suspiciously, but her eyes widened innocently.

  ‚No, of course not,' she replied quickly. Almost too quickly. ‚I’ve been in my rooms and the knights have been with Arthur. There has not been an opportunity. But I will make sure that I do tonight.'

  ‚Just use care,' I cautioned her, my eyes suddenly drawn to Mordred, who was standing at a window above us. He was watching me with glittering eyes and an almost menacing expression before he turned away. ‚I feel as though we are being watched.'

  ‚Well, we probably are,' she shrugged her shoulders. ‚You knew that this life wasn’t easy when you came here, Heleyne.'

  I nodded wordlessly, watching the hungry peasants assemble around the servants carrying large platters of warm bread for them. Dirty fingers reached to snag pieces of the fragrant prizes as the servants pushed through the teeming crowds.

  There were so many of them, all homeless now, some of them orphans, some of them parents who had lost their children. Grief was everywhere around me and there was nothing I could do about it. And it wouldn’t be so hard to bear if it was simply a random act of violence. But the fact that Fate orchestrated all of these horrible things simply to entertain themselves while they ruled in Zeus’ rightful place made my blood boil.

  ‚I feel weary of all of this,' my mother whispered as we sank onto a nearby bench.

  ‚All of the pain and suffering. It wears on me.'

  I reached over and grasped her hand.

  ‚You read my mind,' I agreed. ‚It is horrible. Life is not always fair, but with the Fates involved, it is never fair. And that is an atrocity.'

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  She nodded her head in agreement, watching the melee in front of us as peasants scrambled for food and items of clothing. We tucked our feet underneath of us so that we wouldn’t get stepped on in the chaos.

  We sat that way for a good while before Arthur once again emerged from a side doorway of the castle. Scanning the crowd, he quickly found us and the sea of people parted to let him pass as he made his way to our side.

  Bowing low, he took Guinevere’s hand from mine and kissed it gently, his blue eyes seeking out hers. In his, hesitation and fear lingered and I knew he was afraid that she had not forgiven him. I watched anxiously, waiting to see what she would do. Unable to bear the thought of Arthur’s pain, I almost squeezed my eyes shut so that I didn’t have to witness it.

  But before I could, my mother stood and pressed her lips to Arthur’s. In surprise, his hands clasped at her back and then he pulled her into him for a deeper kiss. As the crowds around us cheered, I met my father’s dark stare from across the courtyard. He turned abruptly and stalked from the commons. I felt a twinge of guilt.

  It must be hard for him to be here, to watch his beloved married to someone else.

  Once again, we were stuck in a parody of the Fates’ choosing.

  Guinevere finally pulled away, her cheeks flushed. Arthur kept her clenched to his side as he turned to face the crowd.

  ‚In Camelot,' he shouted. ‚There is always hope. And when there is hope, anything is possible!'

  The crowd cheered once more and I clapped with them, happy to see the joy that was shining on so many faces. Arthur was truly a charismatic man, someone whose very presence could excite crowds, someone who people innately trusted.

  But as I stood in appreciation of the atmosphere, a wave of nausea washed over me.

  Intense heat flushed my cheeks and the courtyard began to spin.
The sea of faces and noises blended into one another and before I knew it, I was on the ground with my cheek resting in the dirt.

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  With My Last Breath, Book Three

  Chapter Nine

  My mother raced to my side and knelt next to me.

  ‚Heleyne,' she uttered as she rubbed my back. ‚What is it?'

  I tried to open my eyes but every time I did, dizziness threatened to make me vomit. I moaned just slightly, but enough to cause my mother to panic.

  ‚Heleyne! Are you in pain?' She looked into the crowd. ‚Someone send for the medicine woman!'

  Before anyone could move, Lucan pushed through the throngs of people and scooped me into his arms. I gazed up at his handsome face for just a moment before I squeezed my eyes shut against the dizzying nausea.

  ‚When you find her, send her to Heleyne’s rooms,' he instructed my mother over his shoulder. His long steps made short work of the courtyard and before I knew it, we were entering the cool darkness of the castle.

  Once out of the sun, I opened my eyes. Lucan was staring at me worriedly as he carried me down the halls toward my bedchambers.

  ‚Are you alright?' he asked anxiously. ‚You’re very pale.'

  ‚I’m fine,' I answered, although in truth, I felt horribly weak. My hands were shaking and I didn’t know why. ‚I feel better now. I think maybe I got too hot in the sun.'

  He glared down at me. ‚You shouldn’t tax yourself so much, woman.'

  ‚But it is nice to be rescued by a knight in shining armor,' I quipped lightly.

  Unfamiliar with the phrase, he scowled at me. ‚I’m not wearing armor.'

  Kicking my heavy door open, he crossed my bedchambers in four long steps and laid me gently down on the softness of my bed. Pacing back to my window, his boots clicking on the stone floor, he looked outside.

  ‚I don’t see the old woman,' he muttered impatiently, pacing back. Sitting on the edge of my bed next to me, he grasped my hand.

  ‚How do you feel?' He was so anxious.

  I had to smile. Lucan was perfectly at home on the battlefield, but one sign of sickness or tears and he fell to pieces, at least when it came to me. He had always been that way. I reached up and brushed his dark hair away from his forehead and he leaned into my hand.