Chapter 52
Lamorna had never seen so much blood. She wished her aunt was here and then was glad she wasn’t.
Tamora was safe in Cruithea. Lamorna followed Calla’s lead, fetching water and cloth, mopping up wounds that refused to stop oozing blood.
They had no more milk of the poppy, so those with wounds that were too severe simply…
died. Some were quiet about it, closing their eyes as if they were going to sleep.
Others cried and moaned and Lamorna could not bear it.
The first death she witnessed was a man she was tending.
He’d been awake, gasping for air, blood dribbling from colourless lips.
Then his eyes glazed over and his chest ceased to rise.
Lamorna had sat beside him, unable to get up, staring at death.
Had she looked like that when she died? Would Mordred look like that?
The bodies began to pile up, and still, she did not see Mordred.
Each time those giant gates opened, her heart paused, but it was never him being carried inside, bathed in blood and pain.
She stopped asking those who came in if they’d seen him.
She stopped watching the gates. It was clear they were losing this fight.
She could see it on people’s faces, could hear it in the groans of pain.
Lamorna knew what she should do. She could sense Firestorm prowling beneath the castle. He was restless, and so was she. That silly prophecy played through her mind, the line about dragons repeating itself until the words throbbed in time with her heartbeat.
She ate, bathed and slept, waking to an empty bed.
On the third day of fighting – or was it the second?
The fourth? – Lamorna was hastily braiding her hair and preparing to join Calla, when Elaine strode into her room.
She had barely seen the Red Sister over the last few days either.
Elaine did not tend the wounded with them.
Lamorna wasn’t sure what she’d been doing.
She had not seen Mordred’s ghastly uncle either, but she knew he was here in the castle.
She could feel his presence like a slick of oil on water.
Before she could speak, Elaine said, ‘If you want to help him, truly help him, control the dragon.’
‘Will it change the outcome?’ Lamorna asked. Her heart stuttered. Firestorm growled in her mind and her blood burnt and ashes coated the back of her throat. She could smell sulphur.
‘No,’ Elaine said. ‘This has all happened before, Lamorna. A long time ago. A battle was fought on this very earth, and it was cursed because of it. The dragons fought then, and they must fight now, to complete the cycle.’
Lamorna stared at her. ‘I have no idea—’
‘The Red Dragon must lose, as Mordred must,’ Elaine said. ‘It has been foreseen and we cannot change it.’
Lamorna bit her lip, tasting blood. It sat on her tongue, sharp and bitter. ‘What do I do?’
‘You have to want it.’
‘I do want it.’
‘You don’t,’ Elaine said, not unkindly.
‘No,’ Lamorna said with a sigh. She didn’t want Firestorm to be hurt, and she didn’t want Mordred to die, but Elaine was right.
It would happen, one way or another. Lamorna could feel it, as she’d felt it for months, a creeping dread that had finally caught up to her.
She rubbed her eyes, dashing the tears away.
She would be strong. ‘How do I do this?’
‘The dragon is his own creature with his own thoughts, but your thoughts are linked with his. You have power over him as well. If you want him to do something, he must do it,’ Elaine explained.
‘But I wanted him to be friends with Mordred and he refused!’
‘Did you really want that?’ Elaine asked knowingly.
‘I…’ Lamorna paused. ‘I see. I was worried that Firestorm would forget about me,’ she admitted.
Elaine’s smile was kind, but her face was tight. In the distance, a dragon roared. ‘The White Dragon is here. He will be looking for Firestorm. He will remember him.’
‘Does someone control him as well?’ Lamorna asked.
‘It depends on how he was woken. Mordred used your blood to wake Firestorm. That is what binds the dragon to you. I do not know about the White Dragon.’
‘I don’t think Arthur knows blood magic,’ Lamorna said. ‘I have to do this, don’t I?’
‘No, you don’t,’ Elaine said. ‘But you will because you feel you must. Because this is something you can do. This will allow you to not feel helpless.’
‘Have you seen what will happen to me?’ She had never asked Elaine that so directly before. The Red Sister stared at her with her milky eyes.
‘No,’ she said at last, and Lamorna could not tell if it was the truth or a lie. It wouldn’t matter for much longer anyway, she decided. Everything was about to change, and it didn’t matter if she did or didn’t send a dragon onto the battlefield.
‘Alright,’ she told Elaine. ‘I’ll do it.’
The Red Sister frowned, then, soft, ‘I am sorry, for what I said to you.’
Lamorna nodded, throat tight.
Elaine said no more, and Lamorna followed her from the room.
Firestorm was waiting. Lamorna’s steps slowed as she approached the beast. His great liquid eyes fixed on her. He tossed his head and snorted.
He knew what she would ask.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But I need you to do this. For Mordred. I need you to help him.’
Firestorm growled.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘I’m not a warrior. I don’t know how to use a weapon.’ She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘You must be my weapon.’
The dragon gave her a long, strangely human look, before he spread his wings. Lamorna hadn’t given much thought to how Firestorm would get out of the cavern, but now he tipped his giant head towards the roof and she saw it – the sky. How had she never looked up before?
Firestorm had never left, even when freedom was open to him.
Throat tight, Lamorna whispered, ‘Go.’
The dragon shot upwards. Wind from his great wings slammed into her and Elaine. Lamorna kept her feet, pushing the hair from her face and watching her dragon disappear through the opening in the roof.
Without waiting for Elaine, Lamorna rushed from the cavern, hurrying through the castle. She would have a good view of the battlefield from the battlements. It was the last place she wanted to be, but it might be the last place she would ever be, and she needed to watch this ending unfold.