Chapter 6 #2
He smiled, and she thought it was a cruel smile, knowing and powerful, and then she was back in the castle with the sunlight pouring through the window. With the Red Sister standing behind her, her strange magic inside Lamorna’s skull.
Lamorna gasped and clutched at her throat as Elaine removed her hands from Lamorna’s face.
‘I was dead,’ she whispered. ‘I drowned.’ She closed her eyes.
She could feel the rope that bound her to the stake.
She could feel its rough fibres wrapped tight around her wrists.
She could hear screaming – Jenyfer – and then she could feel the sea closing over her feet, lips pressed against hers, the cool embrace of the ocean, her lungs burning, her blood on fire, saltwater inside her, the cold and the music that never ended.
‘I remember.’ A sob clawed free of her throat. ‘What does it mean?’ she asked Elaine desperately. ‘What am I? I need to know.’
‘That will be up to you to decide. Melodias may have snatched you from death, snatched you from Ankou, but the God of the Otherworld let you go, so that tells me there is a role for you to play,’ Elaine said, returning to her seat.
Lamorna swallowed. Her eyes were wet. She wiped them on her sleeve. ‘Does Mordred know that I… died?’
Elaine shook her head.
‘How can he not? This is his world. Magic, gods… this is his world,’ Lamorna repeated.
‘Then he does not truly know it,’ Elaine replied. Her voice was low.
‘You said you’ve seen what he will become,’ Lamorna said. ‘What have you seen?’
What have you seen about me?
‘A possibility,’ Elaine told her. ‘The path he has begun walking will not lead him where he thinks it will.’
‘Can’t you convince him to stop?’ Lamorna asked. She wasn’t wholly certain what Elaine was talking about, but the words the strange woman spoke made the hair stand up on the back of Lamorna’s neck.
‘Can you?’ Elaine asked.
‘No,’ Lamorna said after a moment. ‘I don’t think I could.’
As if conjured by memories of the past, Andromache arrived the following morning.
The syhren appeared outside the castle gates, water dripping from her elegant ocean-blue gown.
The men Mordred had set as guards refused to let her in, so she opened her mouth and sang her way through.
Lamorna heard the music from the corridor outside her room.
By the time she reached the hall, Andromache was reclined in a seat, silvery hair shifting around her shoulders like a living thing, a puddle of water on the stones beneath her.
Mordred sat opposite her and for a moment, Lamorna was terrified the syhren had bewitched him as she had the rest of the men in Dinas Emrys – every man she had seen on her way here wore a vacant expression, their mouths hanging open – but Mordred’s eyes were clear.
It seemed Andromache did not turn the weapon of her voice on her master’s allies.
The look she gave Lamorna was scathing. ‘I wanted to open you up and see what was inside you, but Melodias would not grant me the pleasure. Pity,’ she said, examining her fingernails.
Delicate scales flecked her temples. They shimmered silver and blue and mother of pearl, much like the ones Lamorna had seen on Jenyfer. Andromache’s scaled arms were bare.
Lamorna seated herself beside Mordred, who glared at Andromache in open dislike. ‘You’ll need to change out of that gown,’ she said simply. ‘I will find you something more suitable.’
Andromache raised delicate brows. ‘Excuse me?’ She raked her eyes over Lamorna’s plain dark woollen dress. ‘You can’t expect me to wear something like that?’
‘I do,’ Lamorna said. ‘And you will.’
‘You don’t get to tell me what to do,’ Andromache snarled.
‘You’re here because your master needs me,’ Mordred cut in. The syhren scoffed and busied herself arranging her long hair over one shoulder, glaring daggers at Lamorna from beneath heavy lids, but Mordred was not dissuaded. ‘It would be wise to remember that.’
Andromache trailed the tip of her finger over the tabletop – beads of water were left behind, glistening like tiny jewels.
‘I see,’ she said. ‘If it were up to me, Melodias would never have come here. But, it isn’t up to me anymore than it’s up to you, no matter what you think, Mordred, so here we are. Both of us are puppets in our own way.’
‘I am nobody’s puppet,’ Mordred growled.
‘Whatever you need to tell yourself.’ She stood, turning her liquid gaze on Lamorna. ‘Well, I’m waiting. I am assuming you have a room prepared for me.’
‘No,’ Lamorna told her delightedly. ‘We had forgotten you were coming.’
Andromache pursed her lips.
‘But,’ Lamorna stood, smoothing her hands over her skirt, ‘I will see what I can find for you. Follow me.’ She marched from the hall, not bothering to check if the syhren was behind her or not, and did not turn to check until she had made her way down a flight of stairs and through several corridors, stopping outside a plain door.
Lamorna pushed the door open and went in, the syhren trailing her. The room was small and plain, with a narrow bed and a dresser in the sleeping area and an armchair arranged to face the single window. Lamorna bit her lip to hide her smile as Andromache’s lips curled down at the corners.
‘It isn’t very big,’ Lamorna said, ‘but it is enough. The sheets are clean and you have a view,’ she added, gesturing at the window.
Andromache grumbled under her breath and stalked across the room to glare out the window.
Lamorna watched her gleefully, standing behind the armchair and resting her hands on the back of it.
‘Why are you here?’ Andromache asked, folding her arms as she turned from the window.
‘Me?’ Lamorna asked.
‘Yes, you. Do you see anyone else in this ridiculous room?’ the syhren demanded. ‘You, Lamorna Astolat. Why are you here, in this wretched place? Is this what my master sent you back for? To die of thirst and starvation in this castle surrounded by cursed earth?’
A chill stroked its way down Lamorna’s spine. ‘Of course not. I am here to help Mordred.’
‘To be a slave to him?’
Lamorna’s fingers tightened on the back of the chair. ‘I don’t think you’re in any position to lecture me about serving men, Andromache.’
Every line of the syhren’s body stiffened with anger.
‘Merlin is still alive,’ Andromache pointed out. ‘What a ‘help’ you have been.’
Lamorna laughed. ‘Did you think it would be so easy to kill the Prophet of the Gods?’
‘The gods,’ Andromache murmured. ‘I didn’t think you believed in the Old Ones.’
‘I don’t. I believe only in the One God. Just because the others exist does not mean I owe them anything.’
Andromache reached over and gripped Lamorna’s chin between strong, damp fingers. ‘You owe my master your miserable life,’ she hissed, her nails digging into Lamorna’s flesh. ‘Don’t forget it.’
‘Get off me.’ Lamorna sounded much braver than she felt.
Andromache was dangerous. She had forgotten that.
Just because the syhren could not harm Lamorna with her voice didn’t mean a thing.
Andromache smirked, released Lamorna’s face and stepped away, going to perch on the end of the bed.
‘If there is nothing else you need, I’ll be going.
I will send someone with clothes for you. ’
‘I need water,’ the syhren said.
‘Water?’ Lamorna repeated. ‘Where do you propose I get this water?’
‘And salt,’ Andromache said.
Lamorna put her hands on her hips.
‘I’m a faery of the sea!’ the syhren’s voice rose. ‘I need water and salt, Lamorna. I don’t care where you find them, but you will get them for me.’
‘What happens if I don’t?’ Lamorna challenged.
Andromache’s expression was like cold death. ‘Something you need to know about syhrens – we are all connected, to each other and to our master. If I suffer at your hands, in this place, he will know about it. How do you think he would feel? Are you that eager to see him again?’
Lamorna wanted to say she didn’t care about Melodias and what he felt or wanted, but she bit her lip instead. The God of the Seas was Mordred’s ally. It would be wise to keep him on side. She nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can find for you.’