Chapter 29 #2
Lamorna sighed. ‘I… Elaine, the Red Sister… we were talking about Ereshki, about the Witchfinders and the Sacellum. There are so many things I need to know. She had a vision and she told me…’ Lamorna paused.
She took a deep breath. ‘She told me we would not win. Mordred would not win. That he would die at the hands of his family, and all of this would be for nothing. Elaine said Dinas Emrys would be lost to us and filled with darkness, and I don’t want you to be here for any of that! ’
‘Oh Lamorna,’ Tamora breathed. ‘You are carrying a terrible burden, my girl. Can no one convince him to give this up?’
‘No. What Elaine saw will happen – I can feel that it will happen. I want you to be safe and it will not be safe here. But it will be safe for you in Cruithea, with Keraine.’
Tamora reached for Lamorna’s hands. ‘I don’t think—’
‘Please go,’ Lamorna said. ‘I don’t want you to leave, but this isn’t about what I want. It’s about what’s best – for you. When it’s all over, I will come and find you,’ she added. If I’m still here, she thought.
Tamora kissed her forehead and sighed. ‘I was wrong about you,’ she said. ‘I think we all were.’
The following day passed in a blur. Lamorna’s mind kept returning to Elaine’s vision, and if it wasn’t that, it was what Elaine had said about the power of words.
She knew it was true – she’d lived it in Kernou – and she also knew Mordred understood how words could be used as a weapon.
She was still in awe at how, with some carefully chosen words, he had torn Ulrian Tregarthen’s world to nothing.
Lamorna thought about the Chif as she had last seen him – kneeling in a pile of shattered glass that sparkled like gems. With a dagger not at his throat but resting casually between Mordred’s hand, the Chif had simply…
given up. He’d stopped pleading, stopped fighting, and knelt.
Lamorna had not looked away. She’d watched as his stubborn pride slowly gave way to pain, then, agony.
She remembered the feeling well. Sometimes her knees still hurt.
With everything that had happened since they left Kernou, Lamorna hadn’t given the Chif another thought. Until now.
Her mind swam through years and years of words, everything he had ever preached to the townspeople from beneath the cross of the One God.
Every word the Konsel had weaponised against people whose behaviour deviated even slightly from their corrupt rules.
She wondered what the true Word said and if she’d ever get to read it.
She wanted to and she didn’t at the same time.
Part of her felt she owed it to herself to know the whole truth but could not decide whether it was so she could punish herself for being blinded by lies or whether it was to learn.
She went to the kitchens before forgetting her aunt was no longer there.
No one spoke to her as she swept through the room, passing the large oven with its radiant heat, the bags of flour and baskets of vegetables.
No one stopped her from entering her workshop.
Lamorna stood near the heavy work bench and stared out the window until her eyes blurred.
She would not cry. She had done the right thing.
It seemed Tamora had taken only a few things with her – she had left a lot behind, probably for the old apothecarist. Lamorna picked up a bottle of fennel seeds – digestion and sore throats.
Lavender for headaches. Dogsbane for fevers and heart issues.
She moved along the row of bottles, touching each one gently. Her fingers paused on the belladonna.
Lamorna scooped up the bottle and peered at it, trying to count the tiny, dried purple-black berries. They seemed to stare back at her. She set the bottle down and left, closing the door firmly behind her. She didn’t want the apothecarist to go in there, not yet.
In the laundry, Arwen was bossing people around. She gave Lamorna a little nod when she noticed her, but they didn’t speak. Lamorna wasn’t sure she could call Arwen a friend. Sometimes, she wondered whether Arwen regretted coming, whether any of the people from Kernou regretted their decision.
If they did, no one spoke about it. At least, not where she could hear them.
Mordred was in the hall with Alden and a group of men he’d started calling his council. Some of the men used to be members of the Red Hand, and instinct caused her stomach to clench momentarily, before she lifted her chin and approached the table where they sat.
‘It’s almost dinner,’ she told them.
‘And?’ one of the men challenged.
She narrowed her eyes. She remembered him in her kitchen back in Kernou, lounging at her table like he owned it. ‘And the kitchen staff are not going to wait around all evening until you decide you’re ready to eat.’
‘I thought someone might bring us a meal,’ the man said.
‘They’re not your servants,’ Lamorna reminded him. ‘If you want food, go and fetch it yourself. And only take what you’re entitled to – we have more people to feed now.’
Mordred signalled the meeting was over. The men all left, except for Alden.
Pursing her lips, Lamorna took a seat beside Mordred. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘Will you get me something to eat if I said I was?’ he asked, a smile tugging at his mouth.
‘I thought we might eat together tonight – in our room,’ she added. Before Mordred could respond, there was a commotion outside the doors. Lamorna gasped as the doors were flung open dramatically to reveal a slender figure draped in shadows.
For a moment, no one moved, and then the black-clad figure approached them. As they approached and the lantern light fell on her face, Lamorna gasped and shrunk back.
‘Medb,’ Mordred said. ‘I didn’t send for you.’
‘Wait for your word, I do not,’ the faery said, pale skin glowing in the dim light. ‘Seek to command me and you will rot.’ She sauntered over to the table. Her eyes shifted to the stained-glass windows. ‘Familiar face, now I see. Thing with wings and the syhren she.’
‘Syhren,’ Lamorna mumbled. ‘Jenyfer? Have you seen my sister?’
The faery nodded and smiled, revealing her pointed teeth.
She ran the tip of her finger over the surface of the table, watching Lamorna through her strange sloe-eyed stare.
Lamorna waited, hoping the creature would say more about Jenyfer.
Instead, Medb sauntered away, skipping up the dais, the hem of her black gown trailing behind her.
With deliberate slowness, she turned and sat herself in Mordred’s throne, crossing one leg over the other.
Her feet were bare, her toes slightly webbed.
Lamorna repressed a shudder as those dark eyes met hers.
Medb smiled; her forked tongue darted out to wet her lips.
‘He who sits in Enyon’s chair, listen close and be aware,’ the faery sang. Mordred tensed. A muscle feathered in his jaw. ‘A crown of coral, chipped and old, a fire that blazes with the cold.’
Mordred rose from his seat and approached Medb. ‘What else?’
‘A cave of darkness, a bowl that sings. Dreams that walk and little kings.’ Medb tapped her claws on the arm of the throne. ‘Her words are truth, her words are lies. In the shadow of wings, his power will rise.’
‘You’re talking about Arthur?’ Mordred demanded. ‘Or about me?’
‘That creature in the space below, does not belong to you, you know. Wings of red and wings of white, tangled jaws and bloodied flight,’ Medb whispered.
Lamorna sucked in a terrified breath. Firestorm! The faery was talking about Firestorm. Her fingers curled in the fabric of her skirt.
The faery’s lips did not move, but Lamorna heard her voice clearly in the depths of her mind. ‘Dead heart beats when it should rot, puppet with strings you are not.’
She shuddered and clamped her lips closed, sneaking a glance at Mordred. A small frown rested there as he thought over the things Medb had said.
‘I need more men,’ he said at last. ‘What can you bring me?’
A chill ran down Lamorna’s spine at the cunning on the faery’s face.
‘Seek them where the hills are high and the shadows slick,’ Medb said. ‘Where the granite runs and magic is thick.’
Lamorna had no idea what the faery was talking about.
‘You mean the Highlands?’ Mordred stated.
Medb nodded, her grin wide and malicious.
She climbed from the throne and glided down the steps, pausing when she reached Mordred.
She was so small and almost child-like, but radiated danger and darkness.
Lamorna swallowed as Medb smiled at her, flashing those dagger-like teeth, before she vanished in a plume of black smoke.
‘What lives in the Highlands?’ Lamorna whispered.
‘Wights,’ Mordred replied. ‘Creatures of darkness. Some humans, or what were once human. Men who have been banished from their homes and their lands. Thugs and thieves.’
Lamorna shivered. ‘And you want these… things… to be your allies?’
He nodded.
‘When will you go there?’
‘Soon.’ He flashed her a smile. ‘Don’t worry about me, Lamorna.’
‘I’m not,’ she lied. When he went, she was going to follow him.