by Cori Chaffee
‚Yes, we have more important things to do. But we cannot help that right this moment. Our absence from this joust would be missed. We will resume our search for Courtney Cole 59
With My Last Breath, Book Three
the sword tonight after this tournament. I wish to search this castle from top to bottom before we hunt away from here. It makes no sense otherwise.'
Guinevere finished tying a bow on the banister in front of me and stopped, pausing to survey the area in front of us. The arena was empty and quiet, the bleachers free of people. She sighed.
‚I know you are right,' she murmured. ‚I’m sorry for adding to your stress. I know you must be anxious already. You are correct. We will thoroughly search the palace grounds before we search elsewhere.'
As we descended the wooden steps from the gallery tower, I tossed my hair out of my face and as I did, I caught sight of Morgan sitting in the far seats of the arena, back in a darkened corner. Hunched with her, his head to hers, was Mordred. My blood turned cold as I stopped moving. My mother ran into my back, and I felt her follow my gaze, then heard her sharp intake of breath.
They were talking animatedly; Morgan was throwing her hands around wildly and finally Mordred stood, glaring down at her in agitation before barking something at her. He stood still for a moment and then stalked down the wooden walkway and across the field back to the palace.
Morgan watched him go and then she turned her head, meeting my gaze. Her eyes were dark and stormy and froze into mine. I felt as though I would ignite from the heat emanating from her glare. Finally, she turned her head and leaped to her feet, flouncing away in the opposite direction. Her dark cloak swirled around her and I watched her disappear in the tunnels under the arena.
‚What was the about?' my mother whispered in my ear.
‚That is a good question,' I answered. ‚The two of them together is a worrisome combination.' She nodded in agreement, but we didn’t have time left to continue the conversation. People from nearby villages were beginning to arrive for the evening’s joust.
I sighed as I settled into my chair, watching the stands fill up with peasants, farmers and noblemen. To our right, Reagan and his stable boys led out the knights’ horses. All of them were decorated festively, with masks and ribbons while banners draped from their backs. Pageantry was a large part of jousting. Every action was steeped in tradition, going back hundreds of years. It was a celebration of honor and chivalry and Arthur thought that it was a good reminder to the people of what he stood for.
Arthur himself was laughing with Sir Tristan a few yards from us. They were both already wearing their armor, each of them holding their helmets in their hands as they talked. Tristan’s sandy blonde hair curled around his shoulders, his brown eyes warm as they twinkled with jest. He was typically a quiet man, very thoughtful in everything that he did. But he was very loyal to the king and just as deadly as anyone else seated on the roundtable.
Courtney Cole 60
With My Last Breath, Book Three
Arthur slapped Tristan on the back, his hand clanging against the metal, before he turned and walked quickly for Guinevere. Bounding easily up the steps, mindless of the heavy armor, he knelt in front of his queen.
‚My lady, may I wear your favors?'
His cornflower blue eyes beseeched her and I saw just a glimmer of insecurity in them. He was afraid to trust that she had truly forgiven him. It spoke to a soft place in my heart and I smiled at him.
Guinevere laughed, a soft tinkling sound. ‚Of course, husband.' From her skirts, she withdrew a satin kerchief, tucking it into the front plate of his armor. ‚Wear it here, by your heart,' she instructed. ‚My love will protect you, your highness.'
My heart swelled with pride for my mother. She did so carry out the part that she was meant to play here. And even though her true heart belonged to my father, she treated Arthur with the love and respect that he deserved.
He grinned in response, bending to kiss her hand.
‚I shall win for you,' he told her solemnly. I couldn’t help but pipe up.
‚Then you shall have to best Lucan, my king. He has sworn to win for me, as well.'
We all laughed, Arthur hardest of all, before he rose to his feet and bowed slightly at his waist. ‚Well, Lucan is certainly a worthy adversary. I will do my best.'
He straightened and grinned at us both.
‚Ladies,' he said. ‚I will return in a few moments.' He turned and began walking noisily down the walkway. ‚As a victor, Heleyne!' he called over his shoulder.
I couldn’t help but laugh as I watched him join the rest of his knights. They were all congregating around their horses as their squires finished final preparations.
This joust would only be between themselves. They did host tournaments when they invited other challengers from throughout the land. Those competitions could turn deadly. But with the current state of the country, Arthur couldn’t risk losing any of his highly trained knights to a simple jousting loss. He needed them on the battlefield.
These tournaments now were for fun and sport. A simple exhibition only, one meant to restore the morale of the people and to provide sheer entertainment.
I watched Lucan’s squire tie my red scarf around his bicep over the metal of his armor. Lucan looked up at me, catching my eye and winked before he dropped the visor of his helmet.
Instead of taking the stairs back up to the gallery, Arthur leaped onto the ledge in front of us, balancing precariously as he addressed the crowd. Clad as he was in heavy armor, it was a sheer testament to his athletic prowess.
‚Countrymen!' he shouted. ‚We all know that we face challenges ahead from enemies from other lands. They come here, to our own land, to challenge us. But today… today we will put this aside and in this exhibition, my knights will show you Courtney Cole 61
With My Last Breath, Book Three
the caliber of the men protecting you. You will see that your country is in good hands.
Let the games begin!'
Bugles sounded and he leaped once more to the ground. Flags fluttered from the corners of the stands and people laughed merrily, all willing to forget the current dire situation of the country in exchange for one joyous evening.
First up, was Arthur and Tristan. As they faced each other from opposite ends of the arena, the court herald leaned from a small box protruding from the bleachers at the midpoint. When the king participated, the herald acted as an official in his stead and ruled the winners. The herald lifted his arm, a flowing black scarf in his hand, then dropped it.
At his signal, King Arthur and Tristan rode for his each other, their lances held tightly under one arm as their horses’ hooves thundered in the dirt. As they drew closer, anticipation built and then they met in the middle. Their horses did not swerve and they each lifted their lance, their faces invisible from behind their visors.
Arthur made the first contact, striking Tristan sideways on his chest, squarely across his chest plate. Arthur’s weapon knocked Tristan from his seat, causing him to sprawl headfirst into the dust.
Arthur spun his horse to face first the crowd, with his arms raised in victory, then to Guinevere. He dipped his head and then straightened again before sliding from his horse. Walking to Tristan, he helped him from the dirt. They both flipped up their helmets and chatted as they walked from the arena. Their squires scrambled to retrieve their weapons and horses, clearing the area for the next dual.
Gawain and Gareth competed next, two brothers pitted against one another in fun.
They each winked to the crowd before facing off, causing the eligible ladies in the crowd to giggle and watch the men with interest. Both of them were eligible bachelors, and they both incited much interest from the females in the kingdom.
After Gawain good-naturedly prevailed over his brother, they shoved each other out of the arena, much to the crowd’s delight. Sir Bedivere and Sir Kay followed them with Kay as the winner. Gaheris and Bors de Ganis were next.
As they faced off, Guinevere whispered to me.
‚How are you feeling? Are you okay in this heat?'
I reached over and squeezed her hand. ‚I’m fine, your highness. The breeze is nice, though, is it not?'
The ocean breeze blew in from the sea, breaking up the horse and dust smells.
Without that, the smell around the arena could become stifling, particularly to a newly pregnant woman. It seemed that all smells were becoming more potent to me now. I could even smell the sweat from the horses from here.
‚Oh, look!' Guinevere nudged me. ‚Lucan’s turn!'
Courtney Cole 62
With My Last Breath, Book Three
My eyes shot to the arena to seek out my soulmate. He was poised, tense and ready, waiting for the scarf to fall. It dropped, fluttering in the wind, and he and Sir Percivale went head to head, their horses’ massive hindquarters digging into the dirt as they ran.
Lucan raised his lance and deftly knocked Percivale from his seat. The crowd erupted into cheers and Lucan rode directly to my feet, taking off his helmet.
‚For you, my lady!' he called. I blushed and blew him a kiss. The crowd roared once more and Guinevere laughed, while Lucan retreated to help his brother-in-arms out of the dirt.
I glanced toward the end of the arena to find Mordred tensed and at attention, waiting for the signal to begin. As the newest knight, it was his turn to face Lancelot, the king’s champion. Even though this was simply an exhibition, tradition must be adhered to.
Mordred’s eyes were trained with razor sharp precision on my father as he dropped his visor and something about his stare put me instantly on edge. Everyone else was jovial and light-hearted. But Mordred was icy and tense. The hackles rose on my neck as the black scarf dropped in the wind.
They tore off for each other and as Lancelot raised his lance to knock Mordred from his horse in a sweeping motion, Mordred raised his lance as a javelin. While Lancelot’s arm was raised, Mordred impaled my father beneath his arm, in one of the few spots where armor was vulnerable.
The crowd gasped in unison and Guinevere jumped from her seat, her hands covering her mouth as Lancelot tumbled from his saddle.
‚Mother, don’t,' I warned as she hurried for the stairs. She ignored me and rushed into the arena. We were closer than anyone else, so we were able to get there more quickly than Arthur. He too hurried for his champion’s side, but Guinevere reached him first.
Easing off his helmet, she murmured, ‚Are you alright?'
‚Of course,' he nodded slowly. ‚It is but a scratch.'
Pushing in beside my mother, I lifted his arm and examined the wound. Mordred’s lance was embedded a few inches beneath Lancelot’s right arm. I swallowed hard. A mortal could bleed to death from such an injury.
Mordred had yet to dismount, instead sitting above us, the evening sun casting his shadow over where Lancelot lay.
‚This was an exhibition!' I snapped up at him. ‚What were you thinking?'
His face was meant to be sympathetic, I’m sure, but to me he seemed impassive as he apologized to the King.
‚Your highness, I apologize. I meant no serious injury. It was a slip of the lance. I have only the utmost respect for your champion and I beg your forgiveness, uncle.'
Courtney Cole 63
With My Last Breath, Book Three
Arthur clenched his jaw and remained silent as he knelt beside Guinevere.
Gripping the lance firmly, he wrenched it from my father’s side. Lancelot groaned and blood gushed from the wound. I quickly took off my cloak and wadded it up against the injury, hoping to staunch the blood.
Arthur called to the knights, ‚Come- bring your shields. We must carry him inside.'
The knights quickly brought their shields and laid four of them on the ground in a line. They transferred my father onto the makeshift gurney and then carefully carried him toward the castle with Mordred straggling behind them. Arthur turned to his squire.
‚Find the medicine woman,' he instructed. ‚And hurry.'
The boy took off running as Arthur studied his wife. She still sat in the dust, her skirts tangled around her legs, next to a pool of Lancelot’s blood. Her hands were visibly shaking, her face pale.
‚Are you alright, my queen?' Arthur asked in concern, reaching down to help her stand. ‚Your concern for my champion is admirable. You have a very kind heart.'
She nodded and allowed him to pull him into an embrace, and she laid her head onto his shoulder. He patted her back gently for a moment, before stepping back, gazing down at her. His blue eyes were full of emotion.
‚I must see to Lancelot,' he said. ‚But I will see you at dinner.' He looked to me.
‚Can you see her to her chambers, Heleyne?' I nodded.
He strode quickly from the arena, but as he retreated, I noticed the strangest look on his face and my heart stilled for a moment. It seemed that perhaps, my mother had given herself away.
Courtney Cole 64
With My Last Breath, Book Three
Chapter Eleven
‚By all that is holy!' my father thundered. I smiled under my breath. I could hear him all the way down the stone hall. The medicine woman had already attended to him by cleansing and dressing his wound before she decreed that he would live.
But he was pissed.
Apparently, my father wasn’t enjoying the limitations of mortals, in particular the slow healing process. I knocked lightly on his door and found him propped in his bed, while a page tried to help him into a clean tunic.
‚I do not need a shirt!' he yelled in agitation. The boy shrank away.
‚But sir, you must be dressed. Particularly in the company of a lady…' he trailed off at the look on my father’s face.
‚I do not give a rat’s front teeth about decorum right now,' my father enunciated clearly and loudly. ‚I have a hole in my side! Have you not noticed?'
I smiled and motioned for the boy to leave.
‚I can assist the kind knight,' I told him gently. ‚Why don’t you bring something for him to eat?'
The page more than happily took his exit while Lancelot scowled. ‚I am not hungry, either,' he informed me, his expression dark and sulking.
I stepped closer and rounded the bed, my skirts trailing behind me with a rustle.
‚Um, you do know that you are the god of war, right?' I asked with a raised eyebrow. My father stared at me for a moment before exploding into laughter, holding his side as he did.
‚Maybe,' he acknowledged finally. ‚But the god of war should not be reduced to weak mortal form. This is unacceptable…and painful.'
I patted his leg. ‚Perhaps,' I agreed. ‚But you’ve done it for thousands of years and have been none the worse for it.'
‚None the worse?' he asked incredulously. ‚Have you not noticed the hole in my side?'
‚So we’re back to that, are we?' I grinned. ‚You’ll be fine. My worry now is not your injury. It is Mordred. He tried to kill you and make it look like an accident. What did he call it? A ‘slip of the lance’?'
Lancelot instantly sobered. ‚Yes. He did. And he will not live to do it again.'
‚Father,' I cautioned. ‚You know that you may not seek retribution. Not right now. His death isn’t meant for you.'
My father’s glare was dark enough to eclipse the sun. He didn’t intimidate me. I shrugged. ‚You know it’s true.'
Courtney Cole 65
With My Last Breath, Book Three
He sighed heavily, stretching one leg gingerly in front of him. ‚Maybe,' he acknowledged and then changed the subject. ‚How is your mother? Is she worried sick?'
He actually sounded pleased by the prospect. I rolled my eyes.
‚She was,' I offered. ‚But then she remembered who you are and how strong you are and she realized that you would be fine. She did send me to check on you, though.'
He settled back into his pillows with a satisfied expression, reaching over to pick up an apple
from his nightstand.
‚You’re both treading a thin line,' I told seriously, as he took a bite. ‚Arthur noticed that mother was the first to your side in the arena. I saw it on his face.'
For once, my father took what I said seriously and I watched him ponder it.
‚You know,' he said thoughtfully. ‚I never thought I would say this, but I actually like your mother’s husband. He’s a good man.'
‚Yes, he is,' I agreed. ‚And you will both break his heart.'
‚Perhaps,' he replied. ‚But I won’t enjoy it.'
‚Like that matters,' I muttered beneath my breath. ‚Okay. I’ve checked on you.
You’re fine, but for a foul mood. I will report back to mother and then I will continue to search for the sword. I only wish to find it and leave here. We can leave Camelot behind us and never think of it again. What say you?'
‚I say that you’d better be jesting,' Arthur said as he stepped into the room. My gaze flew to his face and he studied me curiously. ‚Leave Camelot? You can’t be serious.'
I nodded. ‚Of course, your highness. I was simply telling Sir Lancelot that with his luck of late, he might be better served to ride away from Camelot and never look back.
But of course I was simply jesting. Where would the Roundtable be without your champion?'
He nodded and I curtsied.
‚I’ll take my leave, your highness. I simply wished to check on Sir Lancelot’s injuries. He appears to be back to himself.'
Arthur nodded and turned his attention back to his knight and I slipped from the door, pausing to lean against it as I gathered my thoughts. I had almost given us away to Arthur. I really would have to be more careful.
The hall was empty, but for me. This section of the castle contained bedrooms, all of which were usually empty during the day. The queen’s bower was here, a quiet place where she was supposed to sew and do womanly things, although I didn’t think that Guinevere had used it even once since we’d been here.
Down the hall from the bower was the solar, the long room used for entertainment for the royal family. Court jesters and musicians performed for the family in the Courtney Cole 66
