Chapter 5
Ordes found Jenyfer outside a nondescript cottage on the edge of the town.
She was sitting on the ground, her knees pulled up to her chest, facing the building.
Her body was rigid, every muscle pulled tight.
When he touched her shoulder, she jolted.
Her lips were a thin line, her face frozen.
He crouched by her side, reaching for her hand, squeezing gently.
‘Did something happen with Denny’s mother? ’
Jenyfer didn’t speak.
Ordes looked at her in concern. ‘Jen?’
‘I used to come here when everything got too much. When my magic was too much and I was exhausted from hiding it. Lamorna and the One God – too much.’ Jenyfer’s voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. ‘I was safe here, protected.’ She paused and swallowed. ‘Until I wasn’t.’
‘Who lived here?’ Ordes asked, but he had a dreadful feeling he knew.
‘Bryn.’
‘He isn’t here,’ Ordes said gently, pushing aside the dreadful anger that flowed through him. It wasn’t what Jenyfer needed, not now.
Jenyfer nodded. ‘I know. He went with Mordred and I know he can’t hurt me, but I needed to see this place again.
’ She pulled a ragged breath into her lungs.
‘I lived here, after I was forced to marry him. He was my friend, once, and that made everything he did worse. I honestly don’t know when he became something else.
I missed it, so caught up in my own troubles. I shouldn’t have missed it, but I did.’
‘Jen, it’s not your fault. What Bryn did, what he became, isn’t—’ Ordes began, but she got to her feet and strode towards the door of the cottage, flinging it open.
Jenyfer stood on the threshold, shoulders shaking, before she marched inside.
Ordes followed her, waiting in the doorway, there if she needed him.
She walked slowly around the bleak cottage.
Dust coated the bench in the kitchen. It had settled on the table and the stovetop, the kettle left behind.
The basket of split wood waiting by the hearth.
The cottage smelt of must and memory. Sunlight crept in through the window, dust motes stirred to life as Jenyfer yanked back the curtains that surrounded the bed.
She took a hasty step back. Ordes could feel her heart, the terribly fast rhythm of it as she stared at that bed.
He wished that Bryn was here, so he could thrash the life out of him, like he should have when they saw him all those months ago in Port Leore.
Ordes had had a chance then, and he hadn’t taken it because it wasn’t what Jenyfer had wanted.
‘How many times?’ he asked. His voice broke and he hated that he couldn’t be strong for her at this moment, but his blood was still boiling, the heartfire surging through him, anger bitter and ripe on his tongue.
‘I don’t know,’ Jen whispered, not moving. ‘I lost count. The first time was as soon as we were married, and then… I don’t know. I was trapped here until Lamorna was left for the sea and… then you…’ Jenyfer wiped at her face furiously. ‘He doesn’t deserve my tears.’
‘No,’ Ordes agreed, coming further into the cottage. He calmed himself with a deep breath. ‘But you’re allowed to cry. You’re allowed to scream and rage, Jen.’ He slipped his arms around her middle, held her against his chest. ‘You’re allowed to break’
‘I don’t want to break,’ she mumbled. ‘Because then, he’s won. They’ve all won, the men who sent me here, who allowed this to happen. They’re all dead now, except for the Chif, and I thought I’d be pleased about that, but it doesn’t change anything. I still hate them.’
‘What do you want to do?’ Ordes asked.
Jenyfer pulled away a little, taking a deep breath, her hands curling into fists by her sides.
When she screamed, the hair stood up on the back of Ordes’ neck, magic threading the guttural roar that left her lips.
The sound went on and on, never faltering.
Her rage, her pain, the despair – it was all there, so raw and broken that Ordes’ heart hurt and his eyes filled with tears.
The roof groaned. Ordes glanced up in wonder, before the cottage shuddered and then heaved as the windows shattered inwards.
Glass shot towards them. Ordes flung his hands out, conjuring a sphere of magic around them; glass tinkled against it, suspended a moment before falling to the rough stone floor.
Behind them, the bench top in the kitchen gave way with a crack.
The door to the tiny bathing room followed soon after.
The window frames lifted free, the table and chairs shook and fell apart, and the air was filled with splinters and glass, pieces of crockery and shredded fabric.
In the distance, the waves thundered against the shore.
Jenyfer did not stop until the headboard on the bed split down the centre and the mattress vomited its stuffing.
She dropped to her knees, sobbing. Ordes let the shield dissolve but before he could think about helping her, she got up and hurried to the fireplace, grabbing the flintstones from the mantle and leaning over the kindling.
Her shoulders shook, her breath ragged and watery as she tried over and over to draw a spark from the flint.
Ordes knelt beside her. Her hair hung like a curtain, hiding her face from him.
It broke him to see her in such pain. The heartfire raged in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if it was his anger or Jenyfer’s despair that burnt so hotly.
He swallowed, gently pushing the hair from her face, draping it over her shoulder. ‘Can I help?’
She shook her head and brushed the tears from her cheeks. ‘I want…’ She tried again to light the fire; tiny sparks landed uselessly on the kindling, but the flames didn’t take. She kept trying, until Ordes placed his hands over hers.
‘Jen, stop.’
‘It won’t light,’ she whispered, and he thought he understood.
You want to burn it?
She nodded, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Yes. Yes. I want there to be nothing left.
‘Nothing but ashes,’ she managed, chest heaving, eyes wet. ‘Maybe then…’
‘Let me do this for you,’ Ordes whispered, pressing his lips to her hair. He helped her to stand, then took her by the hand and led her outside.
Fire wasn’t Ordes’ element. It had never come easily; he’d had to coax it free before, but this time an inferno rushed through his blood, powerful and potent.
Fire slicked his fingers, curling around his palm.
Jenyfer held his other hand tightly as he placed his burning palm against the door of Bryn’s cottage.
Flames licked at the wood, and for a moment, Ordes didn’t think they would take, but in a whoosh, those orange tongues spread out to gorge on the cottage.
He took a step back, pulling Jen with him.
Thank you.
Ordes closed his arms around her, and they stayed and watched until there was nothing left but smouldering rubble and ashes, like she wanted.
They were taking Ulrian Tregarthen back to The Excalibur with them.
Arthur’s face left no room for argument as he led his father down the beach towards the rowboat, but Ordes had no words, and even though Katarin ground her teeth, she said nothing either.
As Arthur was helping his father into the boat, Denny came rushing down the beach.
‘You’re leaving already?’
Arthur looked back at the town, so still and silent and broken, and nodded. ‘Denny, I want you to do something for me. The people that are left here, they will need someone to watch out for them. To care for them.’
‘But—’ Denny began.
‘Not like the Chif or the Konsel did,’ Arthur said. ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen from here on. Just look out for each other, alright?’
Denny nodded and remained on the beach as Halymere rowed the others away, the Chif sat between Arthur and a scowling Katarin. Ordes waited until the boat was clear of the breakers before he took hold of Jenyfer’s hand and drew her close. She gave him a smile, then turned back to Denny.
‘Look after your mother,’ she said before she raced into the waves and vanished. Denny’s eyes shifted to Ordes.
‘I don’t know your name,’ he mumbled.
‘Ordes.’
‘Are you like her?’ Denny asked, nodding at the water.
‘Not really,’ Ordes replied. His wings exploded from his back.
Denny stumbled back in fright, his mouth dropping open.
‘I’m something else.’ As Ordes took to the air, the White Dragon launched itself from the rocks and followed, its giant leathery wings drawing it high into the sky.
It circled the ship as Ordes touched down on the deck.
He stared at the dragon for a moment before leaning on the railing and waiting for the others to arrive.
Jenyfer had not appeared yet. He tried not to be worried.
He could feel her heartbeat, steady and strong.
Calm. She was always calm when she was in the water.
Ordes watched Arthur closely as Halymere guided the rowboat closer to The Excalibur.
Any other man would have left Ulrian Tregarthen in the shell of that town to let madness starve him of what was left of his life.
Instead, Arthur held his father’s hand, spoke to him in a calm, soft voice, coaxed Ulrian up the ladder and onto the deck of the ship, and guided him across the deck with one hand wrapped around Ulrian’s elbow.
To Ordes, this was further proof that Merlin had chosen the right man to be king of this new world – anyone else would have taken their chance at revenge.
Arthur’s care for the man who had tormented him, who had kept him prisoner, proved that it was possible to rise above the wrongs that had been done.
As Ulrian was taken below deck, Katarin sighed and shook her head.
‘Are you alright?’ Ordes asked her.
‘I hate him, but he’s Arthur’s father and…
family is complicated.’ She stalked away, joining Kayrus on the quarterdeck as Jenyfer climbed over the railing.
She squeezed the water out of her hair, gave Ordes a smile and disappeared below deck, leaving pieces of the ocean behind her. He followed her to their cabin.
Jenyfer had barely said a word since Bryn’s cottage.
She ran her fingers gently over Ordes’ cheek as she moved to the porthole and pushed it open, sucking in a deep breath of sea air.
He sat on the armchair and watched her, looking for any signs that she wasn’t alright, but her heart was steady and calm, and when she glanced at him, she gave him a smile.
He held out his hand. She took it and let him pull her into his lap.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
He nodded, even though it didn’t feel like it was enough.