Chapter 19 #3
“I never questioned the Druid girl’s intellect, nor her power,” Mordred replied, as if Nyneve were not even in the chamber. “I only feel it is an unsteady time to be making allies with strangers who appeared out of the woods. Not to mention that Merlin is a dangerous task.”
“We have no choice. Join together or die,” the queen informed Mordred, her tone sharp.
“I’m the foreign queen who can’t bear the sorcerer’s chosen king any fruit, and you’re the bastard he prophesied would end everything.
” She looked at Nyneve then, her features firm.
“And if he rejects the old ways and its goddesses in favor of the new Resurrected God, it is only a matter of time before Druids are driven even further into the margins. Or worse.”
A memory crept suddenly into Nyneve’s mind.
Her father’s line had carried on with the Roman faith, despite intermarrying with the island’s native people enough that their surname was lost to a Cymraeg one—a Cymraeg one by way of a nickname given by the Fair Folk, at that.
Her mother had run the household, so Nyneve had been taught the old ways while also attending morning mass in the keep’s tiny chapel every day.
As a child, she had thought the beliefs co-existed without issue.
Until her father had a woman burned for what he called “witchcraft,” something he claimed was decried in his god’s writings.
For a long moment, the queen’s chambers faded away as she was transported back to that horrible afternoon, the scent of burnt hair filling her nostrils.
Geraint had commanded her mother to bring her to the burning so Nyneve would understand “the true way of the world and its consequences.” She could almost hear his voice in the crackle of the fire.
With no small effort, Nyneve pulled herself back to the present, sitting up straighter.
“I did not realize it was all quite so dire,” she admitted, not looking at either one of them.
She’d agreed to Guinevere’s proposition because she wanted power beyond what the Elders held over her head.
She had agreed because she wanted more control.
She had not agreed because she thought her survival hung in the balance.
“It is not,” Guinevere replied with a sigh, suddenly looking exhausted. “Not yet. But we would be fools to sit around and simply watch as Merlin gathers the kindling to set us all ablaze.”
Nyneve flinched at the words, almost choking on the phantom scent of burning hair.
Across from her, Mordred folded his hands together on the table and drew a deep breath. “I do not seek to escalate into further alarm . . .” the knight said in a low, even tone. He looked toward the queen, his head inclined in question.
“Might as well,” Guinevere said. “I prefer all my bad news at once.” She took another bite of the jam roll, less delicately now, her teeth tearing at the pastry.
Mordred nodded and then said bluntly, “There are whispers of the Kronos cult becoming active again.” He paused, a genuine look of dread ghosting his features.
“And I fear I do not understand how that blade Merlin gifted Arthur can be anything but sainted iron.” Looking between Guinevere and Nyneve, he added, “Sainted iron is blessed by Kronos himself, imbued with a number of terrible powers.”
A cold spike of terror slid between Nyneve’s ribs.
She’d heard of Kronos, of course, an ancient god locked beneath the Isles thanks to a scheme between the Fair Folk and two goddesses.
But it had always felt more like a fairy tale, or maybe something that happened so long ago it was immutable, written in stone, unable to reach into the present with grasping, greedy hands.
She glanced toward Guinevere, and when she saw the queen’s face go pale with something that might have been fear, red-hot prickles of panic pierced her skin.
“Kronos?” the queen demanded, her tone steady. Then she let out a harsh bark of dry, arch laughter. “The mad god with unimaginable power who lies imprisoned beneath these Isles by the Fair Folk? That Kronos?”
Mordred nodded. He paused then, looking between Guinevere and Nyneve. She got the sense that he was choosing his words carefully—that he always chose his words carefully, every decision artfully calculated with the utmost precision.
“I’m afraid so,” the knight said with a shrug that almost looked casual. “His devotees come and go. At this moment, they are more active. I fear Merlin has harnessed them, somehow, and I imagine he will use the resurgence of the Roman religion for his own means, too.”
The fire crackled, a log dropping in the hearth, and Nyneve nearly jumped out of her seat. Across the table, Mordred didn’t even react.
“But Merlin seems fixated on Christianity,” Guinevere said after a long silence. “The Grail. You heard him in the hall.”
Mordred snorted, looking up at the ceiling. “The Grail.” A pause, and then his gaze slid to Nyneve. “Are you in agreement that no such object exists?”
She was startled at the idea that cold, arrogant Mordred would turn to her for an opinion.
She was even more startled that she liked it.
“The Romans often renamed our sacred sites to honor their holy people,” she replied, looking at the queen.
“Saints, they call them. Bestowing a Christian identity on Cerridwen’s famed Cauldron follows the same logic.
” Nyneve considered for a moment and then shrugged.
“Whether such an object exists or not, they’ll likely never find it. Neither the Cauldron nor the Grail.”
“Better to keep Merlin focused on the Grail, then, and not the mad god beneath our feet,” Guinevere said with a nod, looking toward Nyneve. “You can do that, yes?”
The Druid girl nodded, her face heating when she heard Mordred scoff.
“That is a bit outside her purview, is it not?” the knight asked, crossing his arms in a way that drew Nyneve’s attention to his muscular chest, very much against her will. “How much influence do you truly expect the court physician’s assistant to garner with Merlin, Guin?”
Nyneve grinned despite herself, gleefully turning to Guinevere. The queen, stately as always, took a long drink of her mead, setting the goblet down onto the table without a single sound. Mordred’s brow creased as he looked between the two women, clearly aware that something had shifted.
“Nyneve isn’t just the court physician’s assistant any longer,” Guinevere said, lifting her chin to gaze imperiously at him. “She is also the Queen’s Sorceress.”