Chapter 40
Agroup of white-faced men escorted the Faery Queen and her minion to the Hall.
Lamorna tensed the moment Medb strode inside, black mist billowing around her, her skirts shifting like they were alive.
Things moved in the shadows that trailed her across the floor.
A fey with green skin and cat-like eyes walked at her side, his tail flicking from side to side in feline annoyance.
Sleek, dark green fur coated his shoulders and neck and he had claws instead of fingers.
Inky shadows spread across the room, all its corners filled with darkness and the rustling of wings and the snapping of teeth.
Lamorna clenched her fingers into the fabric of her skirt, glad they were hidden by the tabletop.
Whatever she and Mordred had been discussing before Medb arrived had been forgotten.
Modred, sitting on his throne, one leg crossed over the other casually, shifted his position as Medb sketched a mocking bow.
‘False king on his throne, mother, maiden—’ she whispered.
Her face flickered, features shifting. Lamorna gasped, horrified to see her own face on Medb’s.
In the blink of an eye, Lamorna was staring at a version of what she may be as an old woman, wrinkled and withered with age.
‘And the crone,’ the faery crooned, before she switched back to her usual face.
Lamorna was shaken. Her mouth had gone dry, muscles pulled tight.
She wanted to get up and leave the room, but she would not leave Mordred with Medb, no matter how frightened of the faery she was.
And she was terrified of Medb. More than anything else in this new world so far, this fey with her terrible, powerful dark magic left Lamorna trembling.
She knew she should take her throne next to Mordred, but she wasn’t sure she could move.
Fear had paralysed her, crawled inside and frozen her muscles.
Her dead heart had stopped beating, her blood sluggish in her veins.
It was Elaine who moved first, the Red Sister making her way to Mordred’s side.
Lamorna swallowed and joined her, the eyes of every foul fey thing in that room watching her.
‘Enough games,’ Mordred said once she was seated next to him. ‘You promised me your men.’
‘Men they aren’t but men they could be if that is what you wish to see,’ Medb chanted.
The fey beside her hissed in displeasure before he transformed into the perfect replica of a human man with dark hair and a strikingly handsome face, so familiar that Lamorna frowned…
the eyes. She smothered a gasp, realising she was looking at a copy of Ordes.
This creature must have seen him to be able to steal his face.
Mordred grunted, the fey’s choice of face not lost on him either. ‘No glamours,’ he said eventually. ‘Why would I want them to hide their true faces?’
The fey with Ordes’ face grinned and became a green-skinned creature with a tail once more. He fixed Lamorna in his feral, cat-like stare and licked his lips. She shuddered.
‘Bargains fair and bargains need, will you pay with what you bleed?’ Medb asked. She withdrew a dagger from the folds of her dark skirt.
‘Mordred,’ Elaine cut in sharply.
He shot her a glare, then slowly shook his head.
‘Not yet,’ he told the faery.
Medb hissed.
He chuckled. ‘You’ve not told me what you want from all of this. Why are you here, Medb? You’re free. You could be anywhere in this world right now, but you’re here. Why?’
She bared her fangs as the creatures hiding in the pockets of darkness behind her gnashed their teeth.
‘Assurances,’ she whispered. ‘That’s what I desire.
Your word or this deal will soon expire.
’ She narrowed her midnight eyes at Mordred.
‘But wrong you smell, like rotten things. What have you done, false prophet, false king?’ Her eyes shifted to Lamorna.
‘This one smells of a little death, given life and renewed of breath.’ She sniffed the air dramatically.
Lamorna held her breath. She felt Mordred’s eyes, his curiosity, but would not look at him.
‘I need to know I can trust you, Medb,’ Mordred said. ‘I need my own assurances that you won’t turn on me at the last moment.’
The fey’s face contorted – she spat on the ground at Mordred’s feet. ‘Insult me not, fallacious one, my loyalty is not easily won. Bound in blood I’ll make my oath, but this spell requires part of us both.’
Mordred stood and descended from the dais.
Lamorna wanted to take hold of his hand, pull him back to her, shout at him, throw herself in front of him.
But she was not brave, so she did none of those things.
As he approached Medb, the faery’s smile grew wicked and wild.
He held out his hand to her without hesitation.
Caught in his pride, Lamorna thought. He won’t back out of this now.
Elaine was statue-still. Lamorna wished she’d do something to stop this madness. The Red Sister’s jaw was set firm, her mouth a thin, unimpressed line as Medb took hold of Mordred’s wrist. Her girlish fingers transformed into claws – they dug into Mordred’s skin.
Medb ran the blade of her dagger across Mordred’s palm.
As she did so, the air around them thickened with black smoke and shadows, and the tang of blood hung on the air.
Lamorna bit her lip, unable to look away.
Strange words were whispering in her ear, brushing against the back of her neck and sliding slick fingers beneath her clothes.
The smoke slowly cleared. Mordred was clutching his hand, blood dripping from his wound to the floor. Medb lifted her bleeding palm and studied it for a moment, before she licked it. When she smiled, her mouth was wet with black blood, her forked tongue flicking over her lips.
‘Advice you were given but did not heed, and now you play with things you misread,’ she said, turning to Mordred. ‘Writ in blood our oaths are sealed, only death shall see them yield.’
Those words sent a shiver down Lamorna’s spine. To her, they held a threat, but if Mordred heard it, he did not react. He returned to her side and took his seat. Droplets of sweat clung to his forehead.
‘Return when I need you,’ he said to Medb. ‘You’ll know when.’
The Faery Queen bowed again, lower this time, before she turned and stalked from the Hall, her cat-man and shadows following her. When she was gone, Elaine made an irritated sound.
‘You’re a fool,’ she said sharply. ‘Any opportunity you had to change the trajectory of your life is now gone, Mordred. You’ve bound yourself to that creature, even after you were warned not to, and now, you do not have a choice.’
Mordred stared at her, his expression flat. ‘Get out,’ he said. Before Lamorna could object, the Red Sister lifted her chin and strode from the room. The sound of the door closing echoed ominously through the Hall.
Lamorna made an exasperated sound.
‘You don’t approve?’ Mordred asked.
‘Of course I don’t,’ she said, standing and smoothing down the front of her skirt. ‘But it’s not like you’re going to listen to me.’
She met Mordred’s eyes, saw the anger simmering there and, spine straight, went after Elaine.
As soon as Calla’s face appeared between the door and its frame, Lamorna held up the bottle of wine.
Calla’s eyebrows lifted and she opened the door wide.
Lamorna sauntered in and plopped down on Calla’s bed.
She hadn’t been able to find Elaine and had gone to the kitchen before remembering Tamora was not there.
Feeling useless and completely out of place, she’d stood around wringing her hands, the kitchen staff edging around her.
That was when she’d spied the bottle and swiped it without thinking twice about it.
‘I’ve decided I’m drinking this whole bottle and you’re helping me,’ she announced.
‘I am, am I?’ Calla asked, but her lips curled into a sly smile as she joined Lamorna on the bed. ‘How very devious of us. Very ungodly. What would they all think?’
‘They,’ Lamorna said, pulling the cork free of the bottle, ‘can shut up.’
‘Has something happened?’ Calla asked, her brow furrowing.
‘Oh nothing,’ Lamorna said airily. ‘Only Mordred making blood deals with faeries and I forgot to bring glasses. Looks like we’re drinking from the bottle.’
Calla’s hand closed over Lamorna’s forearm. ‘Lamorna.’
‘And he was mean to Elaine, who has only been trying to help him, and I don’t know what to do,’ Lamorna said in a rush.
She sniffed, then wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve.
‘And he won’t listen to me. He’s as bad as my sister.
I told her, when she was here, that I’d get him to listen and I’m failing at that. ’
Calla hesitated. ‘I don’t think anything anyone says to him is going to convince him to change his plans. When all this is over, perhaps he’ll find some peace,’ she suggested.
‘I’m not sure he’s the sort of person who could be at peace,’ Lamorna said.
‘If Mordred’s body isn’t moving, his head is.
He is never still. Tranquillity is something I don’t think he will ever master.
It wouldn’t satisfy him, Calla. He needs action.
I’m afraid he couldn’t be happy without it.
’ She took a gulp of wine and swallowed, ignoring the bitterness of it, then passed the bottle to Calla, who drank before speaking and handed the bottle back.
‘Maybe you’re right. Or maybe he needs someone to show him how to be still.’
Lamorna frowned and took another mouthful of her wine.
The more she drank, the less horrid it tasted.
Calla shifted her position on the bed, turning to face Lamorna and taking the bottle precariously.
Lamorna wanted to tell her not to spill it on the bedspread but decided she didn’t care.
The world was about to possibly end. Bedspreads were not important.
‘Lamorna,’ Calla began. ‘Out of all of us at prayer circle, you were the one able to kneel or sit with your eyes closed and recite that blasted Word the longest. I’d sneak looks at you and it was like you were in a trance.’
‘It was?’
‘I bet you knelt for hours at home, didn’t you?’
Lamorna nodded, staring into her wine. ‘But I was a fool.’
‘No,’ Calla said. Lamorna looked up in surprise. ‘There is power in being able to do that. Strength. I couldn’t kneel for hours. I bet the Chif didn’t even do that.’
Lamorna giggled, then sobered. ‘I wonder what happened to him.’
Calla shrugged. ‘I don’t care to be honest. Do you?’
Lamorna thought about the last time she had seen the Chif of Kernou. Ulrian Tregarthen, on his knees for an hour, glass slicing his flesh, like it had hers. She had looked into his eyes, smiled at his pain, and refused to look away until she saw something break inside him.
She had another drink, then some more, and by the time Calla passed her the bottle, allowing her the last of the wine, her head was fuzzy and her body felt loose, every muscle unwound and strangely ironed out.
Calla sighed and lay back on the bed, and within moments, was snoring.
Lamorna turned the bottle around between fingers that didn’t feel like hers then got to her feet, alarmed to find the ground moving beneath her.
She left the empty bottle behind and made her way very slowly back to her room.
Mordred was waiting for her. He got to his feet when she came in, watching her as she staggered towards him. ‘Are you drunk?’
‘Maybe,’ Lamorna said, then giggled. ‘A little bit.’ She looked at him through blurry eyes. He was still pale and sickly looking, still sweating. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Do you care?’
‘Mordred, don’t say things like that,’ Lamorna whispered. ‘Things like that hurt, here,’ she added, placing her hand over her heart.
He caught her in his arms and pulled her close, mumbling an apology. They stayed that way for a while, the warmth of him sinking inside her flesh. ‘I wish… I wish things could stay like this,’ Lamorna murmured.
‘Like what?’
‘This,’ she repeated, meaning the two of them and that moment. ‘I don’t think we were meant to live like we are – violent and bloodthirsty.’
‘You may not wield a weapon, my love, but you are not innocent of violent and bloodthirsty thoughts,’ Mordred said.
‘I know,’ Lamorna said with a sigh. ‘And I am not proud of them. I believe we – human beings, that is – are better than this.’
Mordred was silent for a long time, his heartbeat pounding in Lamorna’s ear. ‘What would you have me do? Give up and let this world fall into ruin? I can’t do that, Lamorna. My honour will not let me.’
Your pride won’t let you, she thought but didn’t speak the words aloud. Male pride, she had come to understand, was so easily wounded.