20. Will
Chapter twenty
Will
Dude king
T he castle at Tintagel wasn’t what I expected.
At least, from the pictures we’d seen online, it was less like a castle and more like a ruin at this point.
Nana was not pleased with the amount of walking it would require to see the castle wreckage, especially not after St. Nectan’s Glen that morning, so she and Dorothy opted out of sightseeing to instead visit some of the local shops in town.
Gerry chatted Otto’s ear off as we trekked down a steep slope from town, and my dad laughed at something he said, though it seemed a little forced.
Dad had been quieter since this morning, and sometimes, I’d catch a distant, haunted look in his eyes as he stared off at nothing in particular.
Dorothy had stuck close by his side ever since the incident with Saint Nectan, but without her here, he’d closed himself off even more. I just wished I knew what to do about it. How to help him. Because even though the saint’s body had been dead, his spirit had remained. So to my father, I was sure it felt like he’d killed him.
Even Arthur kept casting my dad glances, a knowing, solemn look in his eyes. Like he knew what my dad felt. And I supposed he did.
Arthur and I lingered slightly behind, walking closely together. It was windy today, or maybe it was simply how close we were to the coast. But the breeze nipped at our cheeks turning them red.
Arthur didn’t seem to mind the cold, though, then again, after living 1,500 years in agony, he probably had the highest pain and temperature tolerance of us all.
After purchasing our tickets, Gerry bounded forward with excitement and Otto scurried after him, shouting for him to slow down.
My dad chuckled before glancing back at Arthur and me. A strange expression crossed his features for a moment, almost like mischief, and then he grinned, the first semireal smile we’d seen all morning. With a wink, he hurried after the other two of our party, leaving Arthur and me to stare after them in confusion.
“That was odd,” Arthur commented as we started after them.
I shrugged. “Honestly, they’re always a little odd.”
His mouth tipped up into a ridiculously handsome half smile. “I like it. It’s refreshing to see people unafraid to be themselves.” He peeked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Besides, we’ve all got our oddities.”
“Some more than others,” I muttered as I watched Otto haul a whining Gerry down from some rocks he’d been attempting to climb.
But Arthur laughed, eyes bright, “Yes, that is true, indeed.”
The others headed down toward a bridge that had been constructed to help people cross from the mainland to the island, but Arthur and I paused to go up some stairs that led to a small courtyard.
With every step, I could feel Arthur’s presence behind me, could almost sense his gaze tracking my every move.
It wasn’t unusual for him to watch me. Hell, ever since we’d broken him out of his stone prison, it had been a common occurrence.
Once, I would have suspected it as curiosity. Maybe even adoration for helping him. But over time, I’d come to suspect it might have been something else. Something both terrifying and exhilarating in equal measures.
When we reached the top, there was a small clearing that overlooked the bridge and island beyond. I moved to lean against the guardrail for a better look and Arthur came to stand close beside me.
The wind whipped his hair in his face, and I laughed as I conjured a scrunchie from Dorothy’s bag back at the Airbnb. It looked to be barely held together by a few threads, though that was due to my summoning skills, and I grimaced. “Turn around.”
He eyed the scrunchie skeptically but did as I’d asked.
I gathered his hair in my hands, struggling some when some of the strands escaped due to the wind. But after a few attempts, I managed to get his hair in a somewhat decent bun at the back of his head.
“There,” I said, stepping back to admire my work. “Much better.”
Turning around, Arthur curiously touched his hair and smirked. A few wisps tickled his face, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Thank you.”
“Yeah,” I said, licking my suddenly dry lips. “No problem.”
Arthur’s gaze tracked my tongue, and for a moment, both of us didn’t move. The sounds of gulls crying on the wind drifted around us, and goose bumps formed over my skin. Reaching out, Arthur tugged on my shirt, fingering a tiny rip toward the hem.
“You should have brought a jacket,” he commented mildly. “Even your ears look cold.”
I brushed a hand over the shorter hairs on the side of my head, admittedly a little distracted with the way he was touching me right now. “Well, not all of us can pull off long hair.”
“Should I cut my hair?” he asked lightly, still playing with the hole.
“ Don’t. ”
His brows rose at my outburst, and my cheeks warmed despite the cool wind. “I think you look good. With your hair like this.”
His lips slid into a slow, impish grin. “Yeah?”
Cheeks still burning, I nodded. “Yeah.”
Those fingers continued to play with the hole in my shirt, and I shivered when they whispered over the skin beneath. Because holy fuck. What the hell was happening right now? And how could I make sure it didn’t end?
“I guess I’ll keep it long then,” he said finally, and much to my dismay, his hand dropped away.
But I didn’t have long to be disappointed before something wet splattered over my head.
Arthur’s eyes widened. Mine narrowed toward the birds in the sky.
Yanking a bottle of water out of my satchel, I leaned over and proceeded to rinse the fucking bird poop out of my hair.
With wet, yet semiclean hair, we headed back down to the path, no longer able to see the others. But I didn’t mind the chance to be alone with Arthur. He didn’t seem to mind either, keeping close as a shadow as we crossed over the bridge that led to the castle ruins. Waves crashed over the rocks below, creating sea-foam, and ocean spray splattered the island’s steep shores. A few folks trekked on a path beneath the bridge, taking pictures. Several groups of people wandered around the beach below that led to Merlin’s Cave, another spot on our list of places to check for Treasures.
Just as we were about to step off the bridge, Arthur hesitated, seeming to reconsider whether he wanted to continue.
A few people moved around us, not giving us a second thought. If only they knew who they passed.
“Arthur?”
He breathed in and out slowly, his eyes—glinting with red—roved over the remains of a wall up ahead. “I’m all right. I just need a moment.”
“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you need.”
“Will you tell me a story?”
“A story? Yeah, I can do that. What kind of story?”
“Anything. I think I just need to be... distracted.”
I could do that. I had plenty of stories, though most were embarrassing. “Um, well, one time, I needed to catch the bus downtown. I was texting, so I wasn’t paying attention to the sidewalk and accidentally walked right across wet concrete.” Though I wasn’t sure if Arthur knew what I was talking about, his lips tipped up with the hint of a smile, so I continued. “I was so embarrassed and rushed off while some construction workers shouted curses after me. When I got to the bus stop, I sat down on a bench, only to notice a sign beside me warning people not to sit there because of wet paint.”
Arthur laughed warmly, all remnants of red gone from him now. “What happened next?”
I grinned. “I called it a day and simply went home. You can still see the imprint of my butt in the paint on that bench to this day.”
He chuckled, eyes bright. “I’d like to see it someday.”
“I’ll take you then,” I promised. “When this is all over.”
“Thank you,” he said, and I could tell he meant it. Not just for distracting him here, but for everything I and my family had done for him so far.
I grinned, taking his hand in mine and relishing in the rush of tingles up my arm. “Ready?” At his nod, I tugged him after me. “Then let’s go.”
We wandered down the path, passing through what remained of the castle. Residual magic emanated from the site, making my ears buzz.
“What did the castle look like?” I asked as we paused to stare out at the vast ocean beyond. I tried to picture what living here would have been like. While I bet it was beautiful, being on the coast also would have made it prone to harsh winds and storms.
“It wasn’t really a castle during my time. It was simply a fortress. I’m guessing they built this castle upon the fortress’s remains.”
I was about to ask him something else when a pulse of magic registered. I stilled as I wondered if I’d imagined it. Because the air around us was thick with magic as it was, so it was definitely possible I’d simply—
Another pulse left me gasping. Arthur was there gripping my elbow, worry etched into his face.
“What’s wrong?” But when another pulse echoed, making me grunt, his nostrils flared. “You can sense it.”
It wasn’t a question, but still, I nodded. Wetting my lips, I stood straighter, gazing out across the ruins. “Yes. There’s something here.”
“Which one? Or ones?”
I thought back to my paintings. There had been several Treasures that seemed to be tucked away in dark, stony places. But if I were to guess...
“It could be the Horn or the Cauldron, but... I think it’s your Mantle.”
He looked excited at that. “Really?”
“I guess we’re about to find out.”
Hurrying to catch up with the others, while paying attention to the subtle pulses radiating from this place, we finally found them standing before an oxidized sculpture of a hooded man holding a sword.
“Is this supposed to be me?” he asked, frowning at the statue. “I’m not that old.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
“One thousand and five hundred years old.”
I rolled my eyes. “Really?”
He shrugged. “Am I wrong?”
“But how old were you when”—Otto waved his phone at Arthur—“you know?”
One of Arthur’s brows lifted. “Was turned to stone?”
“Yes.”
“I was 33.”
“Then you’re actually”—dad squinted, mouthing some words—“one thousand, five hundred, and twenty-one years old!”
I snorted. “I don’t think those extra years count.”
“They should,” Arthur said thoughtfully. “I had to live each one.”
Mulling that over, I decided he was right. “Touché.”
“What?”
“Oh, it’s a French word. It means I concede. You win.”
“Hmm, I think I might like this new word. Touché.”
Smirking, I bumped his shoulder. “Whatever, dude.” Arthur frowned at that word choice, and I quickly tacked on, “King. Dude king .”
Otto, Dad, and Gerry all stared at me. Arthur grinned. “Dude king?”
“Oh, shut up.”
Otto shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he had to put up with. Then he held out his phone for us to see. “Back to your original question, no, it’s not you. Not technically, though some people say it is. It’s called the Gallos statue. It means power in Cornish.”
But I stopped listening, turning around as that pulsing grew stronger. Arthur noticed, following my gaze to where several people ducked into a low tunnel.
My dad, Otto, and Gerry didn’t realize I’d moved until I stood just before the entrance, feeling that pulsing radiating through my bones. Arthur came up behind me, and the others finally quieted when they realized something was going on.
Ducking into the tunnel, I trailed my fingers along the stones, feeling for where that pulse originated.
About midway, I paused as warmth radiated from one of the stones on my left. Stooping before it, I stared at the inconspicuous rock. And when I pressed my palm flat against it, that heat flared once again, nearly scorching my skin.
The grinding of stone on stone ricocheted in the passage, and Arthur and I watched as the rock I touched lit with those three interconnected swirls.
Merlin’s mark.
The stone shifted outward before dropping to the tunnel’s floor with a clatter.
The other three joined us then, watching with excitement as I reached into the crevice left behind, feeling something soft and... furry?
When I yanked the fabric out, Arthur’s green eyes gleamed with joy. “You were right, Will. It was my Mantle.”
“What’s a mantle again? And what is this Treasure supposed to do?” Gerry asked, cocking his head as Arthur took the Mantle from me, running his fingers over the material.
One side of the Mantle was a rich blue, feeling like velvet. The other side was made from thick, white fur with the occasional patch of black.
“It’s a cloak,” Otto reminded him just as some people outside the tunnel started grumbling about us blocking the way through. “And supposedly, it can make the wearer invisible.”
After making sure there wasn’t anything else, I stuffed the stone back into place. Though, I didn’t do anything to seal it.
Wasn’t my problem.
Arthur hugged his Mantle in his arms as we continued through the rest of the passageway, much to the irritated relief of those behind us. When we stepped out onto the pathway once more, and continued on back toward the mainland, Gerry kept stealing glances at the cloak.
After maybe the eighth time, Arthur finally grunted at him. “Did you want to ask something?”
Gerry chewed on the inside of his cheek. “What material is that made of?”
Arthur grinned proudly, and with a flourish, he draped the Mantle over his shoulders with the sleek blue material on the exterior. “This,” he said, gesturing to the blue fabric, “is velvet. Taken from my mother’s wedding dress.”
“And the fur?” Gerry growled.
“From the Cath Palug after my brother Kay slew it.”
Gerry hissed, looking more feline than human as he sent a dangerous glare Arthur’s way, making me wary. I wasn’t the only one who seemed concerned, either. Both my dad and Otto watched Gerry carefully, their hands twitching at their sides. I didn’t know if we could take Gerry on, but if he tried to attack Arthur...
“Relax, mortals,” Gerry said, still eyeing Arthur. “I’m not going to kill your king.”
The way he said king was full of mockery, and Arthur stiffened, and his beast peeked through his gaze. “Is there a problem, kitten?”
Lip curled back to reveal his sharp teeth, Gerry said, “You proudly wear the skin of my kin on your back. That is my problem, My King.”
All red fled from Arthur as his anger left him, and he looked down at the Mantle with something akin to horror. “Your kin?”
At Arthur’s look, Gerry’s brows inched together in confusion. “Yes. The Cath Palug was Hen Wen’s offspring.”
“Hen Wen?” my dad asked. “Like from The Black Cauldron .”
Both Arthur and Gerry sent him puzzled looks at that before Gerry responded. “Hen Wen is a sow demon from Hell and the mother of the Cath Palug.”
“Is?” I asked.
He met my eyes. “Yes, she still lives.”
Adam’s apple bobbing, Arthur shifted the Mantle off his shoulders. He stared down at it with a frown. “The Cath Palug was a creature of unfathomable strength and size who slaughtered ninescore of innocent men. When Kay slew it, the lands rejoiced because it meant we could sleep safely. For me, wearing the Cath’s fur was a reminder to my people that my knights and I would put their protection above all else.” He met Gerry’s gaze. “I’m sorry if you thought I wore its hide as an insult or to demean the creature. Not once did I think to consider where it might have hailed from, that there might have been those who cared for it. And I’m sorry for that. But I’m not sorry that its life ended.”
Gerry dropped his gaze. “There are many Caths in Hell, and even the other demons fear their strength and appetite. So while I wish you had found a way to spare it, maybe send it home, I understand the need to protect your people. I’m sorry for judging you when there are demons who keep trophies for far less noble reasons.”
Arthur nodded, and something seemed to settle between the two of them. Not friendship, no. But perhaps respect.