There was a snort from the dragon and one baleful yellow eye peered out of the dark for a moment before closing again. Arthur wasn’t fooled by the outward show of quietude. He’d already asked Merlin how long he could maintain the spell that kept the cage secure, and all indicators said they needed to make a plan quickly.
Arthur gestured for Owen to relax. The knight sat again, while Merlin lounged against a tree. Arthur paced, forcing his thoughts to the topic of dragons and away from the fight with his wife. It should have been easy. It wasn’t, and his head began to pound.
A rustle in the brush broke his concentration. He spun toward the sound, scanning the trees but seeing nothing. His gaze worked downward until he saw a black nose poking from the bushes. It was followed by a long, delicate snout and a pair of upright ears. Arthur stared at the red fox. He had seen hundreds roaming the woods of Camelot, and not one of them had ever approached humans willingly—yet this one was.
There was blood matting its coat. It was also limping, one black-furred leg obviously lame and his bright brush of a tail so low it dragged through the dirt. A tuft of green fur colored the end of its tail, marking it as a Charmed Beast. Arthur remained still, transfixed as it hobbled up to him and sat, trembling and staring up with intelligent eyes. Slowly, Arthur crouched, cautiously aware this was no ordinary creature.
The fox’s nose lowered as Arthur went to one knee. “You are the Pendragon?” the beast asked in a clear voice that was firm despite its piteous shaking.
“I am,” Arthur replied.
“He is,” Rukon rumbled.
The dragon was awake and watching the fox intently. The fox turned, his ears swiveling toward Rukon before he bowed his head in a gesture of respect.
“I am sorry to see you here, little brother,” said the dragon in a voice that was almost gentle.
Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur noticed Merlin and Owen approaching. Merlin appeared fascinated, Owen frowning with concern. Their presence made the animal tremble even more. “What can I do for you?” Arthur asked the fox.
“I bear a message from Talvaric of the fae,” said the fox.
The name made Rukon snort fire. The two creatures exchanged a look of mutual commiseration. Arthur’s fists clenched, hating their shared pain. “And what does he want?” Arthur said in a strained voice.
The fox cringed then, licking his injured leg. “I did not want any part of this,” he said plaintively. “You cannot think I call him master out of my own free will!”
Arthur remembered Gwen lecturing the foxes she caught, warning them away from her father’s chickens. She’d loved them. Sadness and anger mixed in a volatile brew until Arthur ground his teeth in frustration.
“I understand. You have nothing to fear from me.” No, these creatures need a protector. They need my sword as much as any human. He reached out, letting the fox sniff his hand. “What is the message you have been sent to deliver?”
“He wants—demands—that you present yourself at the front gates of your theme park in two hours. He wants re-por-ters.” The fox said the word carefully, as if it was unfamiliar.
Arthur cursed, thinking of Gwen’s unhappy experience with the press. She had been so upset, so in need of comfort. He cursed again. “To what end?”
The poor creature shook with dread. “You are to surrender yourself to him.”
Both Merlin and Owen made sounds of outrage, but Arthur felt a cold hand grip deep inside him. “And if I don’t?”
The fox’s ears flattened, its chin drooping to the ground. Furry eyebrows bunched in a plaintive expression. “He said by the time you hear this message, he will have Queen Guinevere.”
* * *
Gwen landed on her knees, unable to catch herself with her hands bound behind her back. On this side of the portal, the floor was marble, and the shock was enough to send spikes of pain through her hips. Talvaric was behind her, his light footfalls scuffing as he spun to seal the portal—and every chance of retreat—closed.
It took him a second, but that was all Gwen needed to scramble to her feet and run. Talvaric shouted something in his own language. It sounded like a curse, but it was just words and she kept sprinting at top speed. At first, she was only aware of where a door was open and whether it led to a dead end. Her experience with the troll had made that hazard painfully clear.
A few turnings later, she realized she’d actually left the fae behind, at least for a few seconds. She ducked behind a curtain, finding a wide window embrasure looking onto a starlit forest. It was too dark outside to see more than trees and grass. No chance of bolting into some public place and screaming for help. Worse, there was no way to open the window and escape.
She had to think, not just react. This was Talvaric’s territory, and simply running wouldn’t help her. Gwen made herself small, perching in a ball on the window ledge. It was awkward without the use of her hands, but it gave her the chance to calm her pounding heart.
The respite only lasted for moments. She heard him—or someone—moving, and he wasn’t alone. Toenails clicked past. An animal. A dog, she guessed—Gwen missed her greyhounds with a physical ache and knew the sound of their feet on the palace floors—but this one was large, given the length of its stride. Then she heard it snuffling.
She was being hunted. She was prey.
Her whole body tingled with fright. She wanted to jump up and run so badly, her toes cramped inside her boots. But running wouldn’t help. Run where and do what? Her hands were numb and useless. Even if she found a doorway into the woods outside this house, she couldn’t turn the knob. All the same, remaining still and quiet was an act of will.
I’m trapped. She could hear the rasping breath of whatever it was coming closer. It didn’t whine or bark like a normal dog on a scent and that made the suspense worse. Help! She pleaded silently, wishing Arthur could hear her thoughts. Help!
But he wasn’t a mind reader, and he was far away in the mortal realm. Worse than that, he probably hated her. She was lost.
A snout poked through the curtains. It was black, pointed and huge. Gwen cringed back from it, watching a trail of drool dangling from the chops of the enormous animal. It smelled like a battlefield a week after the war. A second later, the curtain jerked aside, revealing Talvaric and a massive red-eyed creature.
“Meet my barguest,” said Talvaric.
A barguest. They were creatures of moors and lonely places, and they were the reason no one wandered the roads alone after dark. She’d never expected to see one inside a home—even a fae’s home. The incongruity of it broke the spell of terror.
“Is he your pet?” she asked incredulously.
The barguest gave her a withering stare from those fire-red eyes. Gwen held its gaze just long enough to see its defiance fade to something more painful. Monster or not, it was miserable.
“He is your guarantee of good behavior.” Talvaric grabbed her arm and dragged her off the windowsill.
She moved awkwardly, her knees stiff from her earlier bad landing. “Where are you taking me?” she demanded.
“To your cage. You will join my other curiosities.” He gave her a savage shove, and she stumbled but kept her feet. He snatched her shoulder hard enough a cry escaped her clenched teeth. “If you try to escape again, my barguest will hunt you down and make you his dinner. I never feed him quite enough, you see. That’s the best way to deal with picky eaters.”
All the same, Gwen did her best to memorize the route through the sprawling residence. It was mostly bare and white, as if decorating it had been too much effort. Not surprising, if the fae had lost their ability to perceive beauty, but it made it hard to find landmarks to anchor the route.
That all changed when they reached his collection. Gwen stopped cold, digging in her heels at the unforgettable sight. This corridor was all of stone and had a series
of tiny rooms on either side. The walls that looked into the hallway were plain metal bars, each door fitted with a heavy padlock. There was straw on the floor of the cells, but no furniture.
He really meant to put her in a cage. A literal cage. Gwen’s knees went weak as her ability to breathe deserted her.
Talvaric jerked her forward. “Say hello to your compatriots.”
She made an involuntary cry when she saw a huge snake curled in the straw of the first room. It had glistening green scales and the head of a woman. In the next was a deerlike creature with a single spiral horn. In the one after that was a bird with feathers made of flame. There was no straw in that cell.
Talvaric all but tossed her into the next, and followed her inside. He held her down with one hand and cut her bonds with a knife he had strapped to his belt. It was rough, but impersonal. The second Gwen’s hands parted, he retreated and slammed the barred door shut.
Her shoulders sang with pain, but she spun around to face Talvaric. He stood on the other side of the door, arms folded, with a speculative look on his face.
“You’re mine now,” he said. “Just like all the others.”
All Gwen’s rage screamed in her head, but she was too appalled to speak a single word.
Chapter 24
As soon as the sun rose, Talvaric strolled into the cells to admire his newest acquisition.
“I brought you something to wear,” he said, motioning to the silent servants who shuffled behind him.
They drew close, unlocking the door and opening it wide enough for two of their number to slip into Gwen’s cell. Gwen backed away, unsure what to expect. She’d glimpsed green-skinned beings like this in the Forest Sauvage. They were dryads, creatures who shifted at will into trees. How Talvaric had trapped them and made them his slaves was beyond her comprehension, but it had to be with cruelty. Such beings did not belong anywhere but under open skies.
The scent of fresh leaves surrounded them. Their features were strange—humanlike without following the same rules of proportion. Nevertheless, they were beautiful, with long green hair and graceful limbs. One bore a pitcher of water and basin for washing, the other carried garments. Gwen noted their fingers had too many joints, or perhaps it was too many fingers. Nothing seemed completely fixed, but shifted every time she looked.
“I don’t want your clothes,” she said, although she silently wished for a bath.
His response was terse. “You are a queen. You will dress appropriately.”
“Why? Is your collection diminished if I choose to remain as I am?”
He refused to show annoyance. “You will diminish if I choose to withhold your food. The rules here are simple—do as I bid you, or suffer the consequences.”
At his sign, the dryads set down their burdens and left the cell, locking the door behind them. “Thank you,” Gwen said to the pair, but the green-skinned creatures remained silent, their eyes downcast.
“Don’t bother,” Talvaric said. “Plants are terrible conversationalists.”
Gwen glanced down at the dress he’d given her. It was a long court gown, full-skirted and jeweled and very much like her clothes from Camelot. It reminded her of all the things at stake besides her own life. “Is there a regent on the throne of Faery while Morgan is away?”
To her surprise, he answered the question. “There is a council of nobles. No one person dares to take Morgan’s place.”
She heard the derision in his tone. He thought them cowards. “What do they think of my capture?”
Silence. That meant he hadn’t told them, and possibly didn’t intend to. She risked going one step more. “You intend to take the throne for yourself.”
“Why not? They are a fractured, leaderless court with no ambition and less courage. Whoever dazzles them enough will hold them like flies in honey. I intend to demonstrate how Arthur and his magic sword are clay dragons, frightening to behold but easily smashed.”
This confirmed what Gwen already knew. Still, her stomach plummeted. “I’m bait to bring him here.”
“Precisely.” His smile was icy.
She wanted to scream that Arthur wouldn’t come, that this was all foolishness because he didn’t love her, but there was no point. Likewise, begging for Arthur’s life would be a waste of time. Nothing would convince the fae to spare their deadliest foe.
And if Talvaric was telling her his plans, he had no intention of ever letting her go, either.
“Are you certain you want a throne?” she asked bitterly. “I’ve never seen that much power bring anyone joy.”
Talvaric’s expression didn’t change. “I don’t feel joy. Not any longer.”
“Then why bother?”
He shrugged, the gesture stiff with unease. Perhaps he did feel something, after all—she’d heard some of the fae had recovered pieces of their soul. Did he want revenge? Or hunger for recognition? Or was he simply deranged?
“I shall sweep away the unworthy,” he said after a long pause.
She waited for more, but it didn’t come. Irritation overcame her fear. “As a plan, it lacks detail.”
His smile was feline. “And yet I know what I am worth. I will rise by my own merit. That is more than you can claim.”
“I am Queen of Camelot.”
“You are a mortal woman, unloved by her husband and cursed to a barren womb. You are worth nothing.”
The cold certainty of his words felled Gwen as if they were a physical slap. She dropped to her knees, the shock of violation wrenching a gasp from her throat. “How did you know?” she whispered. How does he know about the blacksmith’s wife and her curse?
“Please,” he purred. “I am a fae enchanter. Your secrets are pebbles on a beach, waiting to be gathered as I please.”
The idea of his mind—or any part of Talvaric—leafing through her secrets brought bile burning up her throat. She covered her face with her hands, pushing the image away. But he had stirred something—the aching, scorching disappointment in her own life.
She’d accused Arthur of disregarding her, but was that actually a reflection of her own opinion? Did she blame him for what she felt about herself? The idea sickened her, and yet it felt true—at least in part. She was her own worst enemy.
Talvaric turned away then, the force of his attention shifting like a great weight. It was a relief, and yet she felt obliterated, as if she’d ceased to exist. As if she deserved nothing more.
Talvaric began to walk through the clutch of dryads, returning the way he had come, but then stopped. “I can already feel that this is going to be a momentous day. One worth remembering as a vivid experience.” He spun to face Gwen, walking backward. “You’ve been asleep for many years. How much do you understand about today’s fae?”
She had no idea what he meant, so merely shook her head.
He grabbed one of the dryads, holding her face between his hands. The creature, mute until now, shrieked. It was not a human sound, but like the rending of green branches and bark. Gwen flinched, knowing terror when she heard it. Talvaric didn’t slow, but brought his face close to the dryad’s, almost as if he would kiss her. Horribly, Gwen understood what he meant to do, and a rush of panic prickled over her skin. Arthur had mentioned the fae’s hunger for mortal souls, and dryads were long-lived, but as mortal as the trees they called home.
“Stop!” Gwen was on her feet, grabbing the door to the cage and wrenching it. The lock clattered, but would not budge. “Stop it!”
The dryad’s eyes, dark brown in her pale green face, had gone wide. She seemed to be screaming, but silently now. She tried to push away, back bowed so far that Talvaric was forced to crouch over her, but there was no escape. Slowly, a mist rose from her lips to his. He was taking her life essence, her spark, and all the emotions that went with truly living.
“H
elp her!” Gwen reached between the bars, her fingers just brushing the sleeve of the closest dryad. They were all just standing there, faces blank. “She’s your sister! Save her!”
At last, Gwen caught hold of the sleeve, winding her fingers in the cloth and pulling for all she was worth. The owner of the sleeve stumbled and turned to look Gwen in the eyes. Then she saw. The other dryads knew exactly what was going on, but he had some hold over them that prevented the slightest interference. That helplessness shamed them beyond anything Gwen could fathom. Magic. He’s holding them helpless with a spell!
The creature in Talvaric’s arms began to shudder as the last of her life was consumed. When the struggle ended, her entire frame went limp. The fae released her, and she toppled like a sapling under the woodsman’s ax. Talvaric sucked in a long, noisy breath. As long as the dryad’s life essence lasted, he would regain his ability to feel.
“I understand why this is addictive,” he said to Gwen, stretching his arms as if waking from a long nap.
Suddenly, there was a leer in his voice that hadn’t been there before. If she’d felt vulnerable before, this was much worse. Something inside her curled into a tiny ball.
“You look terrified,” he added, obviously amused.
“I’ve been told that drinking souls eventually destroys your kind.”
Talvaric laughed, the sound harsh and hoarse. Clearly, he didn’t get much practice. “Don’t think I’m that weak.”
“Remorse is an emotion,” Gwen said, hating this new Talvaric even more than before. “What will happen when you realize what you’ve become?”
This time, Talvaric’s smile held layers of malice. “Moralists always make one mistake. They assume the fae were universally good to begin with. My old self would applaud what my present self is finally able to achieve.”
Gwen’s heart dropped. He was right. She’d never considered evil fae. “You were already a nightmare. Merlin’s magic simply dulled your enjoyment of it.”
“And now I am my own true self, at least for today.” Talvaric stirred the dead dryad with his foot, then spared a glance for the other servants. “Clean this up.”
Royal Enchantment Page 20
