Chapter 19
Arthur followed a woman with a crown of leaves on her head.
Some broke away and floated down as she walked, catching in the hem of her skirt.
Her hair was a black ink stain trickling down her back, and her gown was the colour of the sand on the beach in Kernou.
Arthur trailed her through dark corridors, torches throwing halos of red-gold light against the stone walls.
When she came to a simple door, she glanced over her shoulder and Arthur sucked in a breath.
Eseld, as she once was, young and full of life, with plump red lips and sparkling eyes.
He watched her take a key from her pocket, and when she eased open the door, he peered over her shoulder at the roughly cut stairs descending into the darkness.
She flicked her fingers and conjured a ball of light to float above her head.
Arthur blinked. He’d forgotten Eseld and her brother had magic in their veins.
It was strange to see her use it, to see her as she used to be.
He wondered if she knew he was there, but she gave no indication she was aware of his presence.
The stairs led them deep beneath the earth, twisting like the body of a serpent, until they reached an archway engraved with pictures of dragons.
Arthur was transfixed. While he stared, Eseld stepped into the great cavern beyond.
She walked with purpose through the dark, as if her path was familiar to her, until she reached the far side of the cavern.
Water dripped. The chilled air carried the scent of damp earth and stone – and beneath it, the ancient tang of sulphur and burning.
Eseld had stopped in front of what appeared to be a stack of large rocks, but Arthur knew what it truly was. He could make out the snout and the graceful curve of a spine.
Eseld’s magical light seemed to stroke the sleeping dragon’s body.
Gently, she reached out to touch the dragon’s snout, in much the same way Arthur had.
‘You will live again,’ she whispered to the slumbering beast, before hurrying from the cavern. Arthur followed her. Eseld slowed as she reached a set of great oak doors. The Queen paused for a moment, and Arthur saw her shoulder lift as she took a deep breath.
She pushed open the doors, revealing a hall filled with life.
People sat at long tables, and Arthur could smell the roasted meat and the ale.
Music drifted from the players set up in the corner of the room.
Decorative banners hung down the walls, raked ceiling to floor, and light blazed from the great chandeliers as hundreds of candles burned in sconces on the tables.
Conversation and laughter floated over him as he followed Eseld down the soft red carpet.
A man sat in a throne on a raised platform.
He was handsome, with chiselled features and deep black hair tumbling over his shoulder.
A simple circlet of gold rested on his head and his clothes were made of the finest cloth, his jacket deep red and decorated with golden thread.
As Eseld took her place in the throne beside his – smaller, less ornately carved – Enyon acknowledged his sister with a tight smile.
Arthur could see the tension in the King’s face, but Eseld’s expression gave away nothing.
She lifted her chin proudly and when she looked out at the crowd, it was to stare straight into Arthur’s eyes.
He stumbled back in fright, but before he could do or say anything, she shifted her gaze to the windows in the hall.
Arthur’s heart stuttered – there, in intricate stained glass, was the very image in his father’s copy of the Word.
A dark-haired man, white wings spread behind him, held the Grail between his hands.
Arthur turned back to Enyon and Eseld, to the rulers of this once fertile and celebrated place, and as Eseld’s eyes met his once more, every light in the room extinguished as one.
A chilled breeze raced through the hall, lifting Arthur’s hair from his shoulders as all the colour bled out of the banners and the carpet beneath his feet.
The scent of food and drink was sucked away.
Eseld and her brother were gone. In Enyon’s place, sitting alone at the end of a room devoid of life and light, was Mordred.
His gaze locked with Arthur’s.
The vision faded and Arthur was back in his bed, staring at the roof of his cabin and no matter how many times he blinked and tried to settle his thoughts, he could not shake Mordred’s face from his mind.
His cousin was sick.