Enchanted Guardian

by Sharon Ashwood

  “Hello,” Arthur mumbled, blinking down at the expanse of flesh suddenly inches away.

  “Am I wonder enough?” she asked, pouting. “Would you like a wonder, Mr. King?”

  At that, Lancelot and Nim exchanged a glance that left them both smirking. “I think his wonder just about popped out of her corset,” Lancelot muttered.

  “That could do them both an injury,” Nim returned.

  Oblivious, Arthur laughed with a hearty sound they heard all too seldom. “Well, of course I’d offer a boom.”

  “A boom?” Eyelashes batted.

  “Sorry. A boon.” He tapped her pert nose with his forefinger. “A promise. I’d give my word to pay for the shpec—er—spectacle.”

  “That sounds illegal,” said the girl coyly. “And risky. What if I asked you something impossible?”

  Nim’s ears perked up. There was something besides straightforward flirting in the question.

  “There are rules,” Arthur explained, then drained his goblet one more time. “Lots of rules. That’s what being a king is all about. Rules and rules. I’m only obliged to grant a wish if it is in my power to do so.”

  “Fair enough.” She sat up, winding her arms around his neck. “Promise me a boon for a good, old-fashioned wonder?”

  Nim gripped Lancelot’s arm. Something was off. “My lord?” she called to Arthur. “A moment of your time?”

  He wasn’t listening. “Depends on the wonder, sweetling. What are you doing after dessert?”

  “Whatever you like.” The girl smiled, arching her back. “It’s a really, really good wonder.”

  “For that,” Arthur kissed her nose and chuckled low in his chest. “I would certainly grant a boon.”

  “My lord king!” Nim snapped, her voice sharp with alarm. Lancelot touched her back, calming her.

  The king had spoken softly, privately, but every ear in the pavilion had heard as if supernatural acoustics were at work. Those who understood what had just happened froze in horror, including Arthur himself. He shook his head as if to clear it, his features flushing red with anger. Those who did not understand were slower to fall silent, but as they did, merriment drained from the air.

  The girl slid off Arthur’s lap, her tone changing completely. “Your words have been heard, my lord, and they shall be answered.”

  Arthur rose, drawing himself up until he towered over her. “What is the meaning of this?”

  He was much taller and the girl was forced to look up, but she was calm. “As you said, there are rules. The Queen of Faery bid me to remind you that no King of Camelot can grant a boon in bad faith and hope to keep his crown. The laws of magic will strip him of his authority to rule the mortal realms.”

  Nim’s fingers were still clasped around Lancelot’s arm, her heart pounding with outrage. The knights had patrolled the grounds for fae, but this girl was human. Yet she was clearly LaFaye’s servant, no doubt beguiled into service. But whoever she was and how she got there, it was her words that mattered.

  Stripped bare, the logic was simple: LaFaye wanted Arthur’s crown. She’d used the girl to trick Arthur into giving a promise. If he broke his word, the magic that made him king would grow weaker and LaFaye might just take his crown away. There was no way he could afford to ignore his oath.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, there were still two unknowns: what kind of magical wonder were they about to see, and what would LaFaye demand in return?

  The silence in the pavilion deepened. No sounds reached them—not the murmur of distant traffic, nor the happy discord of the midway music, nor even the voices of pedestrians passing by. The air grew heavy, as it did before a thunderstorm. Nim could almost taste the magic in it, and her shoulders went rigid with apprehension. She didn’t need her powers to foretell that something significant was going to happen.

  Hoofbeats sounded in the distance—more than one rider by the way they seemed to shake the ground. Nim turned to the open end of the tent, confused. There was no path, no quantity of open ground in that direction, and yet a pale road stretched into the distance. It seemed to rise into the sky as if the beaten track were a highway into the clouds. Arthur had asked for a wonder, and he had it.

  Nim expected to see LaFaye on her ebony mare, or the chief warriors of the fae, or even the rogue fae who called themselves the Wild Hunt—though they bowed to no monarch, not even the queen. But what came down the path was a herd of white deer, led by the most magnificent stag she had ever seen. No one spoke. No one even breathed—not even the human tourists—and it was only when the creatures stepped into the tent that Nim saw they were as specters. Their coats glowed white and glittered as if rimed with frost, but they were as transparent as ghosts. The heavy, close feeling of powerful magic filled the pavilion, prickling Nim’s skin.

  As the stag led the others to face the king, Nim counted nine deer in all—stags, does and fawns. They seemed unafraid, though all but the leader kept a respectful distance from the throne, bowing their heads in greeting.

  “Hail and well met,” said King Arthur, his face gone pale and grim. He appeared utterly sober now.

  “Hail to you, King of Mortals,” said the stag in a deep and resonant voice. “In your heart, you called upon the old ones.”

  Nim saw Arthur hesitate, but he nodded. He was nothing if not honest. “I desired to see a wonder as I remember from my old Camelot.”

  The stag made obeisance, the great antlered head dipping almost to the ground. “Here we are. The old world persists beneath the veil of the modern years. It takes but a thought to lift it.”

  Arthur shook his head. “There is always a price for such magic. That was the first lesson Merlin ever taught me.”

  Nim sat down heavily. She was surprised to hear Arthur speak the enchanter’s name. It might have been the first time Arthur acknowledged his existence in a thousand years.

  “The price is simple,” said the stag. “The Queen of Faery demands a tourney—your people against hers. The side that wins names whatever prize they choose.”

  Lancelot leaned close. “Excalibur. It is the only thing she wants.”

  It made sense. Morgan had asked for it, and then she had tried to kill for it. Now she was using the old laws of magic that Arthur knew better than to break. But those laws cut both ways, and Morgan had to obey them, too. If she lost or cheated, the tourney was over and no one could issue the same challenge twice.

  “How is it that when I ask for a wonder, it is the Queen of Faery who sets the terms of payment?” Arthur asked bitterly. “Why are my wishes her business?”

  The stag snorted, stamping one cloven hoof. “Such wishes hang in the ether, awaiting fulfillment like a fish hook bobbing in a stream. A king’s wish is most tempting to those with mischief in mind. The faery queen was listening for your words.”

  “And her servant was there to trip him up,” Nim muttered. She was so tense, her neck muscles burned.

  The red-haired girl gave a silky smile. “Now that your request for a wonder is granted, do you break your promise of a boon?”

  The king’s fingers clenched. “I have no choice. I summoned magic and promised to pay the price. You may tell the queen I accept her challenge.”

  Lancelot cursed and reached for his wine. There was nothing they could do in that moment, but Nim saw the hard lines of anger on Lancelot’s face. In the family of Camelot, Arthur and Lancelot postured and fought, but they were family and now Arthur was in peril.

  Nim wished she could take Lancelot’s pain—wished she had her magic and could fight LaFaye properly, one enchantress to another. As it was, she had no role in the tourney, not even a reason to be there. She was useless.

  Arthur gave a heavy sigh. “King of the Forest, when and where shall the first round be held?”

  “It shall be in the Forest Sauvage, at dusk tomorrow,” said the stag. “The contestants will meet in Taliesin’s Circle.”

  “How do I know this is not another trap?” Arthur asked.

 
One of the does stepped forward and dropped something from her mouth before the king, then backed away. It was a pair of jeweled collars.

  “One member from each side shall wear a collar,” said the stag. “No one can do the wearers harm—not the king or queen or any other participant in the game. However, if one side or the other misbehaves, the wearers are brutally punished. The collars turn them into hostages for good behavior.”

  The red-haired girl picked one up and fastened it around her neck, giving Arthur a defiant look. “I put my life as surety against the queen’s good behavior. If she offends against the rules of the tourney, I shall die.”

  Arthur picked up the second collar. “I shall wear this myself. No one need act as bond for my word.”

  “No,” said the stag. “It must be one of your servants. But beware, once it is on it cannot be removed until the tourney is done.”

  “I will do it,” said Lancelot, rising from his seat.

  “No,” said Nim, moving so quickly that she was at Arthur’s side before Lancelot could stop her. “A champion has enough to do. I will be the guarantee of Arthur’s word.”

  She fastened the collar around her neck. It was light, but she felt the magic in it seal around her throat. She was trusting Arthur with her life, but it also protected her from LaFaye. No one had said a thing about protecting LaFaye from her.

  Her eyes met Lancelot’s. He glared at the collar as if it were a living serpent.

  “So be it,” said the stag. “Good luck to you, King of Mortals.” He shook his antlers, and the sparkling frost fell to form clear white gemstones upon the floor of the pavilion. “These stones will transport you to and from the contest. You have the queen’s oath of safe passage and safety while on neutral ground.” With that, he turned and led his herd from the pavilion, returning along the ghostly road into the clouds.

  The crowd, mostly tourists who thought they’d experienced an excellent display of special effects and awesome acting, applauded with gusto and snapped their cameras to catch the last of the spectacle. By the morning, though, no one remembered exactly what they’d seen—and none of the pictures showed anything but an uncertain blur. And, in all the excitement, no one but Nim noticed the red-haired girl vanish, her work for Queen Morgan done.

  Before the crowd quieted, Arthur turned to Gawain. “See to the guests.” Then he stormed from the tent.

  With a worried glance at Nim, Lancelot followed the king. Nim sat quietly for a moment, staring at the remnants of the pastries on her plate. She’d enjoyed them so much, less than an hour ago, but now they sat like lead in her stomach. With a curse, she stood and followed Lancelot from the tent.

  The golden light from the banquet spilled across the grass and reduced the night to knife-edged shadows. There were few people out here—a handful of smokers and a cook’s assistant wheeling a trolley of dishes back to the kitchen. It didn’t take her long to pick out the silhouette of the king standing beneath the twisting branches of an oak tree. Nim kept to the shadows, not sure whether to approach or to leave him alone.

  She didn’t see Lancelot standing next to the trunk until she was closer. “Be easy,” he said to Arthur. “You cannot take the blame on yourself.”

  “I am a king,” came the answer. “Shame upon me for forgetting the peril of the world, even for a night.” The self-reproach in Arthur’s voice made Nim’s heart twist with pity.

  “That’s not helpful,” Lancelot replied, kind but firm. “We need to think about what comes next.”

  Arthur muttered something Nim couldn’t hear, and Lancelot answered in equally soft tones. Nim stopped her approach, unwilling to interrupt. Although she couldn’t hear the conversation, their body language said much. Tension flared between the men, but there was also a dynamic she had noticed before but never quite understood. Now it was clear.

  Perhaps Lancelot had gone to the king in search of a father, but that had clearly changed. Lancelot was prepared to challenge Arthur as no other knight would. He had matured into an equal—one Arthur needed, even if they disagreed as often as they made peace. One who could speak plainly in times of crisis, and whose forgiveness for a blunder mattered. She saw Lancelot put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, giving comfort.

  Deep anger stirred inside Nim. What LaFaye had done was a brilliant kind of cruelty, for she knew Arthur’s deep sense of obligation to his people. To trap him into a deadly game like this went against every instinct he had. The tournaments of the Forest Sauvage were famed for combining the worst triviality with bloodthirsty sport. No one had held them since Vikings roamed the world.

  All at once, she was fiercely glad Arthur had Lancelot at his side. A king had few real friends. Courtiers were much easier to come by but were of little help in moments like this. Nim turned away, walking back to the banquet. She would let them have their private conversation.

  Her mind was already roaming ahead to tomorrow, when she would see LaFaye for the first time since she’d regained her soul. Nim wasn’t certain how she would do it yet, but she would make the Queen of Faery pay for what she had done.

  Chapter 22

  After that, it was the early hours before Nim and Lancelot finally got to bed. Even then, she couldn’t sleep and lay for a long time listening to Lancelot’s even breaths. It was warm next to him, with his body in a protective curl around hers. His solid, reassuring presence made the wild scene at the banquet seem impossible. The competition the following evening seemed like fantasy.

  Unfortunately, it was the kind of fantasy that could kill. Nim didn’t like the idea of walking into one of LaFaye’s minefields without a dozen backup plans and she didn’t have even one—let alone her powers.

  Slowly, carefully, she inched out of the bed without waking Lancelot. Taking her phone from the bedside table, she tiptoed down the stairs to the living room. The moon shone through the patio doors, washing the room in silvery gray light. She dialed a number from memory because it was too dangerous to put in any contact list. In fact, she’d only used it once before and then been careful to delete the call from her phone’s memory.

  The phone rang a dozen times before Merlin answered.

  “What took you so long to pick up?” Nim snapped, though she kept her voice low and glanced nervously at the ceiling, but she didn’t hear Lancelot stir.

  Merlin made a rude noise. “Pardon me for earning a living. What do you want?”

  “Your binding failed me.”

  There was a brief silence. “Did LaFaye find you? I think not or you wouldn’t be alive to complain.”

  “It worked too well. I can’t use my power at all. It won’t unbind.”

  There was a crash in the background, like pots being dumped in a sink. “Perhaps you should count yourself lucky. Sorcery is a difficult career.”

  “Merlin!” she growled.

  “You have your emotions back, don’t you? I can tell by the venom.”

  “It happened when you bound my magic. It’s a problem. Before I had all kinds of power but didn’t care what happened to other people. Now I care and can’t help.” She was oversimplifying, but she needed to get her point across. “I need options.”

  “You want the option to make some sort of hysterical grand gesture that will erase whatever accidental benefits the binding gave you?”

  Anger brought heat to her skin. “Don’t be ridiculous. Fix this.”

  His tone was defensive. “You wanted a binding. I gave you what you asked for.”

  “You were supposed to include the means to undo it. That’s why I paid you a fortune.” LaFaye’s enchanted jewel should have bought her a lifetime of Merlin’s spell casting.

  “No, that was a one-way ticket. The return flight is extra.”

  Nim’s skin prickled with frustration. She knew Merlin had changed, become more mercenary, but until that moment she hadn’t realized the depth of it. “I’m a friend.”

  “I don’t have a special rate for friends. Not ones that ask me to do something stupid and then
whine when it works too well.”

  She squeezed the phone, pacing from the window to the fireplace and back. “What happened to you?”

  “Don’t pretend to be astonished.”

  Nim’s temper slipped. She slammed her palm against the stone hearth hard enough to sting. “Get over yourself, Merlin.”

  “I thought you wanted my help.”

  Nim ground her teeth. She wanted to blurt out the whole story about the collar, the contest, and LaFaye’s trickery, but it was clear Merlin wasn’t in a place to listen. “What’s this about?”

  “A little bird told me you’re playing nice with Arthur. Here I am, left out in the cold.”

  Her dream came back to her. Merlin had asked for her help with the demon spell, and she’d refused. “I didn’t break Arthur’s trust by devastating his allies.”

  “The spell that ended the demon wars might not have ripped out your soul if you’d helped me.”

  Shock and anger tingled over Nim’s skin. “Are you saying what happened is my fault?”

  There was a soft laugh. “No. Unlike you, I don’t believe I’m qualified to judge others. I’m angry because you spent the night with friends who turned their backs on me. You survived your mistakes. I didn’t.”

  She heard his loneliness. No one had ever forgiven Merlin for destroying the fae. Whether or not he deserved it was irrelevant; it was a question of mercy. “I’m sorry you’re alone.”

  His breath was ragged. “For the record, I don’t know what went wrong with the binding. I can’t help you.”

  And then he hung up.

  * * *

  Dulac’s eyes were sandy from lack of sleep when he left for Medievaland the next day. He’d made plans with Arthur, keeping it simple because they had so little time. The company of knights would split, half staying at the theme park to entertain the crowds and the rest venturing to the Forest Sauvage, the no-man’s-land between the worlds of mortal, fae and demon. Any creature could walk there because none ruled it, and even a few of the banished hellspawn remained. It had always been a realm made to beguile and confuse, a jumbled mirror of the old Camelot but filled with hidden dangers. Now, it seemed, LaFaye had found a use for it as neutral ground for her tourney.