Chapter 54
Jenyfer wasn’t a warrior. She was a fighter and she’d spent her life fighting in one way or another.
But these past few days had only reinforced what she had already known – that power, in the wrong hands, was a poison.
It chewed its way through people and twisted them until they had become something else.
Her hands ached from clutching her weapons.
Her arms ached, her thighs… her heart. Death and destruction were supposed to be part of who she was – it was the thing that she had feared the most about her syhren heritage, ever since she’d read that book in the library in Avalon.
But now she knew that wasn’t her. Her father had said her humanity was her weakness, but Jenyfer considered it her strength.
That horrible moment on the beach in Kernou came back to her.
She would have drowned everyone left in that miserable place if it had not been for Ordes, and she would have had to live with that for the rest of her life.
She was ashamed she’d not considered those people and their innocence. They were victims as much as she was.
It was not weak to be compassionate, caring and empathetic. It wasn’t a weakness to want a better life for herself and those she cared about. It wasn’t a weakness for mourning the loss of lives on this decimated ground.
Camlann Plain truly was cursed.
A man wearing a red robe rushed at her – a Witchfinder.
She experienced a moment of pure panic before realising that he couldn’t use his power against her, unless she was using hers.
Before Jenyfer could cut him down, an arrow thudded into his back.
She glanced around wildly – Melhala gave her a nod, then hurried off, Ethinne on her heels.
The Priestess’ arms were bare, each glyph carved into her skin glowing and pulsing with magic.
The heartfire flamed and Jenyfer clutched her chest. Ordes had shut her out before, but now she could feel the anger and despair running through him.
It almost forced her to her knees. She looked up as a shadow passed overhead, expecting to see a dragon, but it was Ordes.
He didn’t acknowledge her, hitting the ground at a run, wings folding away, the Bow of Mists in his hands.
Black smoke shot towards him and Jenyfer’s throat filled with ash.
Medb. The faery’s mocking laughter seemed to vibrate through the ground as Ordes fired arrow after arrow into the smoke.
Another laugh then, the smoke circling Ordes. He spun around, and Jenyfer froze.
The look on his face – she’d seen that expression only once before, when they’d arrived on the ship as Marsh was executing the crew.
As Ophine and Ankou’s army swept through Mordred’s ranks, bodies falling to the ground like discarded toys, Jenyfer kept her eyes on Ordes.
She jolted as that black smoke curled around him tighter, Medb’s girlish laughter ringing in her ears.
Ordes reached into that cloud of black, shadows creeping over his arm.
Laughter turned into a garbled scream and when the smoke faded, Ordes had his hand around Medb’s throat.
His eyes were glowing, blazing with molten silver.
Medb scrabbled and fought, useless and… afraid.
The faery continued to claw at him, hissing and spitting, eyes feral, teeth bared. A silver rope coiled from the end of the Bow of Mists and wound around Medb, pinning her arms to her sides. When it reached her shoulders, Ordes released her and the rope secured itself around her neck.
Medb bared her teeth as Ordes took hold of the rope and they vanished.
Ordes still hadn’t returned when the retreat was sounded. Numb, Jenyfer wandered from the battlefield, wondering how much longer they were going to fight this ridiculous war as part of this prophecy that had stolen their lives.
If they defeated Mordred, what then? Would that be enough, or would they need to find the Grail and…
She pushed that thought away ruthlessly, fingers tightening on her dagger. That wouldn’t need to happen. Jenyfer wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Smoke swirled around her like ribbons. There was nothing to burn out here but bodies. Her stomach heaved and she vomited.
Jenyfer needed a moment to herself, away from his carnage and the scent of blood and death.
Her song was sorrowful, but the Stone was loving every moment of this war.
Several times today, Jenyfer had sung men to their death.
She’d done it first by accident, and then the Stone had taken over when the enemy got too close.
All it took was a few bars to stop a heart.
She could aim her voice, control where it went, who it targeted.
It was the weapon she’d been told it was, and it horrified her as much as it lifted her up.
But now, she didn’t feel like singing. The Stone whispered to her in her father’s voice.
Jenyfer was snarling at it to shut up when someone stumbled through the smoky haze.
She froze, trying to determine whether it was fey or human. Human, she decided, and injured. She had no way of telling if the person was one of theirs or one of Mordred’s forces.
She couldn’t leave them. If she could help one person – one person out of everyone who had suffered – it would mean something. She headed after them. If it was too late for them, she’d sing to them – sleep, then death. Gentle, unlike what she’d done today.
The figure collapsed. Jenyfer hurried over. She could barely see. A man, she thought, by the size. ‘Are you—’
A dirty face lifted from the ground, hair hanging wild, and the eyes that peered at her were hungry. Jenyfer gasped and scurried away, heart plummeting as Bryn stood. He didn’t approach her.
Ordes, she thought desperately. Where are you?
His mental voice was tight as he felt her distress. Jen, what’s wrong?
‘I can’t say I’m surprised to find you wandering alone in the middle of a war zone,’ Bryn said. ‘Some habits never die, do they, Jen?’
Jenyfer?
Hurry, she pleaded.
Byrn took a step towards her. She stepped back.
‘Where is he?’
‘Not far away.’
‘That’s a lie,’ Bryn said. ‘I can smell it on you. But lies are your common tongue, aren’t they, Jenyfer? Lies and wickedness.’
‘Me?’ Anger washed through her as the Stone tried to take control. She tightened her grip on the dagger, wondering where her sword was. ‘You were content to go along with it, Byrn, until it didn’t suit you anymore.’
‘You used me,’ he said.
‘We were friends!’ Jenyfer shouted. ‘At least, I thought we were. I shared my secrets with you—’
‘I kept them,’ he snarled. ‘All of them, even until the end. I didn’t tell them anything.’
She scoffed.
‘You don’t believe me?’ he asked, then strode forward so quickly Jenyfer didn’t have a chance to get away.
He grabbed her wrist, yanking her closer.
The dagger trembled in her other hand as Bryn placed her fingers on his bare chest. She struggled, pulling back.
‘Feel them, Jenyfer. Count them. Count how many times I lied for you, even after we were married.’
Trembling, she ran her fingers over his flesh. Scars, dozens of them. Thin, ragged scars. She’d seen his back, but she hadn’t seen him without a shirt since they were children, not even when they were married.
‘I would have lied for you as many times as I needed to,’ Bryn whispered. ‘Even when they had run out of flesh to slice.’
Jenyfer ripped her hand away and stepped out of his reach. It changed nothing. It didn’t alter what he did, what had happened between them. What he’d enjoyed doing. That had been his choice.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she managed. ‘It’s too late, Bryn. I’m sorry they hurt you, but it’s too late.’
He laughed, dark and bitter, making her flinch. He seized her again, swifter than should be possible, hands wrapped around her upper arms. ‘It’s always going to be too late, isn’t it?’
‘Let go of me,’ she commanded.
‘Part of me loves what happened to me, Jenyfer,’ he breathed. His fingers dug into her arms. ‘Maybe this was me all along. An animal. Nothing but an animal.’
She snarled and pushed him away.
Bryn laughed again and spread his arms wide. ‘It’s like now I have permission to be what I always was.’
Jenyfer shook her head. ‘Bryn, this was not who you were.’
‘Isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘They hurt me. I hurt you and part of me enjoyed that, Jen. I enjoyed being the powerful one for once. You were always stronger than me in so many ways, but I got to be stronger than you, in the end.’
His whole body twitched, pitching forward, spine arching, hands clawing at the cold earth. The eyes he turned on her were desperate. ‘You need to run. It’s a full moon – it doesn’t matter that it’s not night. You need to run!’
‘Bryn—’
‘Run, because when I change fully, I won’t be able to control it.’ A gust of wind blew dust and smoke into Jenyfer’s eyes. She blinked furiously, and when she could see again, Bryn had gone. Her grip on her dagger faltered as her hand shook. She couldn’t see him!
‘Bryn?’
His voice, close to her – too close. ‘I’ll kill you because that is what he commanded me to do. I can feel it, Jen – those words, burrowing beneath my skin like an insect, infesting every part of me.’
Ordes, where are you? She practically shouted it.
Medb… I can’t…
‘You need to run,’ Bryn gasped.
Jenyfer planted her feet and adjusted her grip on her dagger. She wouldn’t get away quickly enough. Her song rushed up her throat, but she knew it was useless as well.
Bryn was more fey than human now.
His face twitched and he launched at her, knocking her to the ground and straddling her.
Jenyfer screamed as his hands clawed at her throat.
She thrashed beneath him, trying not to cry.
She hadn’t fought him then, but she would fight him now.
She sank her teeth into his arm, raked her nails down his chest, drawing blood.
He growled, pinned her arms, knocking her dagger away, then bared his teeth, canines elongating.
She writhed desperately as Bryn lowered his head towards her.
‘I wonder what your blood tastes like,’ he murmured, releasing one of her arms so he could trail his fingers down the length of her cheek. ‘I wonder what the rest of you tastes like. I wonder, Jenyfer. Should we find out?’
He licked her cheek. She grit her teeth, pulled her head away from him, and saw her dagger. She stretched her arm out, fingers scrabbling as Bryn’s teeth brushed her throat. With a cry, Jenyfer closed her fingers around the dagger and rammed the blade between his ribs.
His eyes widened. He sat back, stunned. She twisted the blade, shoved it down to the hilt, the warmth of his blood coating her hand.
Jenyfer shoved him and he tumbled off her.
Trying not to cry, she scrambled to her feet.
Bryn’s face froze, as if he couldn’t believe it.
He growled, stepped towards her, then stopped.
His body shook and suddenly he seemed much smaller, more like the man she used to know.
When he looked at her, it was with the eyes she recognised.
She didn’t move, didn’t let herself relax.
Bryn clutched his side. ‘You got me good, Jen.’
She didn’t say anything. Her mouth was filled with sand, her heart on fire, broken and bruised and about to fall apart.
He laughed sadly. ‘Do it,’ he whispered.
Blood seeped from his wound as he removed his hand, spreading his arms wide, crimson palms turned to the sky.
‘Do it, Jenyfer. Finish me off. I hurt you – you, who I had promised to protect. Do you remember that day? When we made that silly vow? We were children.’
‘I remember,’ she whispered.
‘I deserve to die, for breaking my word. For becoming what I became.’
If she did nothing, he’d bleed out, slowly. It would be painful, and he was right – he deserved to die. But looking at him now, all she saw was the boy she used to know. He had vowed to protect her, and he’d failed. ‘You were a good person once,’ she managed.
‘I was,’ he agreed. He dropped to his knees, looking up at her. ‘Please.’
She wanted it to be over.
‘Goodbye, Bryn,’ Jenyfer whispered, and then opened her mouth and sang.
Ordes found her sitting by Bryn’s body. He landed in a blaze of wings and magic.
She didn’t turn to face him, still singing softly.
A feather brushed her cheek. ‘Jen? Oh Jen, I’m sorry,’ Ordes whispered.
‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. Are you hurt?
’ He dropped to the ground behind her, his arms folding around her. ‘I could feel… your heart was on fire.’
Jenyfer let the last notes of Bryn’s death song fade away. She almost expected his eyes to open. He looked like he was sleeping. Her eyes blurred and she dashed the tears away, leaning back against Ordes’ chest – relieved, terrified, broken. ‘Medb?’
‘Gone.’
‘I don’t know what to do with Bryn’s body.’
‘Do you want me…’
She shook her head. ‘Bryn didn’t really like fire. He was a fisherman, before he became… what he became. He loved the water and was one of the only people who understood why I loved it as well. Can we bury him at sea?’
Ordes hesitated, then nodded.