Temptress Unbound (12 page)

Ah. Perfect.

I pulled up my hem and guided his hand to my sex. He growled and bit my ear, his fingers digging into my soft flesh. But the moment he touched me there, I painted in his mind a vivid image of fungus, of the sort that grew as a shelf on the bark of trees. The fungus coated my sex, growing before his mind's eye into every fold and my passage, down my thighs, up my belly, and migrating to his fingers and covering them.

He wrenched his hand away, his throat making gagging sounds of revulsion, but I wasn't finished. The fungus grew up the crevice of my buttocks and leapt to his body, coating his cock and wedging itself in the flesh between balls and body. It grew so fast his skin vanished within the space of three breaths, and in his mind he felt his rod swelling with the invader, stretching painfully with white fungal matter, his balls expanding until the skin was ready to burst.

By then he was shoving at me, trying to dump me from the horse, but I clung to him as long as I could, spreading the vision over his body until he was suffocating in it. At last he succeeded in knocking me from his mount, and I fell into the bushes. He kicked his horse into a canter and thundered away, heedless of safety, knowing only that the worse danger was a small black-haired woman with spiral tattoos.

I got to my feet and ran back down the path to find the chalice.

9

D
awn found a silent crowd of us in Arthur's chamber, watching the rise and fall of his chest as if by doing so we could prevent Charon from ferrying him across the river Styx. Or to Hel's domain, or the Celtic realm of the dead, or whatever Underworld one chose to believe in.

Having twice touched upon the emptiness of death myself, I doubted there was any realm at all beyond the one we could see and feel with our senses. It made it all the worse to know that Arthur teetered on the brink of such an abyss.

The braziers and body heat had made the room unbearably fuggy, and Daella got up to throw back the shutters. The first pale pink light of the day touched upon the chalice, sitting on a table amid the paraphernalia of the physician with whom Daella apprenticed, and the surgeon who sewed together or cut off the body parts of soldiers damaged in battle. Only I could see the fine crack through its middle; to an unfamiliar eye it looked only like a facet of the quartz from which it was carved.

Did the crack matter? I didn't know. I kept seeing the vision in my head, of the cauldron splitting to reveal the green stone. Surely that meant that crack or no, Arthur and Britannia would be preserved.

I hadn't had the chance to find out. Nothing had come to me on how to use the chalice. I didn't know the chant. I had called for honey and wine, and I'd poured a pool of honey into the chalice and started to trace the route of the labyrinth with my fingertip, but I had known it to be an empty gesture, meaningless without the spell that had once saved me. There was no
knowing
in me, no power, to direct the chalice's use.

Nor in Maerlin.

Was it because Arthur was not Phanne?

I had tried laying my hand on Arthur and connecting with his mind, thinking that that might trigger a response in me, an awareness of what needed to be done, but all I had felt in him was a scattered, confused self, caused by the opium he had been given for his pain.

Or maybe the chalice only worked as death laid its hands firmly upon one, and Arthur had too much life in him yet. I had to place my faith in the chalice letting me know what I needed to know, when the time came.

That time
would
come, I tried to tell myself. The vision could mean nothing else. Could it?

Daella sat back down beside me. I took her hand. “Are you all right?” I asked softly.

Her lips tightened and a frown creased her young brow; she nodded, although there was a sheen of tears in her eyes. “Is it terrible that I only feel numb about Uern, and can only grieve for Grandmother?”

Daella's odious brother Uern had been with Mordred, and a few days ago had told her that their grandmother Mari had died during the winter. Then, when the chaos of last night had erupted, he'd tried to kidnap Daella, to return her to Tannet Fortress. Terix had been the one to save her, killing Uern in the process; I didn't know what effect that would have on Daella's long-standing crush on Terix. “Your grandmother taught you everything you know, and raised you with love. Your brother thought you a worthless piece of property. Of course you would mourn one, and not the other.”

“I'm not glad he's dead, but I'm not sorry, either. They say blood's thicker than water, but it's not always, is it? I feel more like a sister to you than I ever did to him.”

I put my arm around her waist and hugged her.

Uern's death had been the least important one of the night.

Druce, leader of that northern tribe of Britons between Corinium and Mona, had been killed by Maerlin. Druce had formed an allegiance with Mordred and Horsa, to undermine Ambrosius's plans for a peace pact that would encompass all of southwest Britannia.

Mordred himself had put the sword to Ambrosius. The old hero had died in his bed, dreaming of the morning and of seeing his lifelong ambition come to fruition.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and knew by the feel of his touch that it was Maerlin. “You should sleep,” he said.

I put my hand over his and looked up at him; his face was sunken, hollowed out with shadows. “No more than you.”

Everyone had been up all night. Everyone was still in shock over what had happened, so much happiness and hope turning in such a short time to despair and grief.

“Go, rest. Arthur may yet need all your energy and wits. I'll send someone to wake you if there's any change.”

I nodded, knowing he was right. On the way to my room Terix found me, and walked with me. We'd already talked about Brenn, and the atrocities of the night.

“Wynnetha has been captured alive,” Terix told me. “Una tracked her into the forest and took her prisoner.”

“Una! Then I'm surprised Wynnetha's still breathing.”

“She won't be for long. The Britons are calling for her head on a pike.”

“I can't think of a nicer place for it,” I said.

“You should have seen it when Una arrived with Wynnetha; for once, everyone saw her, and they acted like a four-headed basilisk had suddenly appeared in the middle of the dining table, between the stuffed figs and the roasted boar. Una had the sense scared out of Wynnetha, too—she jumped at every prod Una gave her, like she was being herded by Death himself. Everyone thinks of Death as a skeletal man cloaked in black, but I tell you, after seeing Una with her blue eyes glowing out of those crazy black tattoos on her face . . .” He shook his head. “I think a tiny girl with white hair is more frightening. She didn't look of this world.”

I smiled to myself, pleased for Una. “She must have been proud of herself, if she let everyone see her.” I took Terix's arm. “And you? Are you all right with what happened with Uern? You've never killed anyone before, much less someone you knew, and the brother of a friend.”

“And you've never smashed someone's head in with a mortar.”

“I wasn't thinking. All I saw was that he was killing Brenn.”

“All I saw was that Daella was screaming and fighting, and Uern was dragging her off. I didn't care who Uern was; all I knew was that he was taking one of
us
. I couldn't let him. And you know what's truly strange? I was terrified of what was happening, the fighting all around me, blood spraying and men falling. I'd trained with some of those men, but never felt like one of them; I was fighting beside them, all the while wondering what in Hades I thought I was doing and how long I could possibly last before getting cut down. Then I saw Daella and Uern, and all that fear . . . didn't
go away,
but it didn't matter anymore. All I cared about was killing—no,
destroying
that threat to one of our own. I hated battle, but I could have happily kept chopping at Uern until he looked more like chunks of meat in a butcher's stall than a human being.” He made a low, rueful sound. “I probably would have, too, except I finally remembered that Daella was watching. I know she didn't care for him, but still. It seemed like bad manners to keep chopping.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder, chuckling. “Oh, Terix. At least you didn't make a joke of it.”

“I thought of a few, but kept those to myself, too. See how wise I'm growing in my old age?”

“You're a veritable sage.”

“I should write a book of my wisdom. ‘Part One: When you've killed the brother of your friend, don't laughingly point out the corpse's look of surprise to her.' ”

“Very good advice,” I said.

“Hard to remember in the heat of the moment.”

“I have faith you'll master it. Given enough practice.”

“You don't have any brothers, do you? Since I need the practice.”

“If I find any spare ones lying around, I'll send them your way.”

We reached my room, and I wrapped my arms around Terix's waist and laid my head on his chest. He hugged me back, his cheek resting atop my head. We put a good face on it with our bantering, but we'd both been shaken by what had happened, and were shaking still.

“We can't leave yet, can we?” Terix asked softly.

I shook my head. “They need us.” I wouldn't mention the promise I'd made to Maerlin in the throes of passion, to stay with him for a year and a day. Time enough to debate that point, when the Briton world had settled back onto an even keel.

Neither did I want to think too closely about what that promise meant, now that the marriage of Wynnetha and Arthur was most definitely over. If Arthur survived . . .

I couldn't think about it.

We parted and I flopped down onto my old bed and pulled a fur over my fully clothed self. Dried blood crusted the hem and the sleeves of my gown, but I was too tired to do anything about it, and all my other clothes were up in Maerlin's workshop.

I shut my eyes and willed a dreamless sleep to come.

10

“W
ake up. He's asking for you.”

Someone had her hand on my shoulder, shaking me out of a dream whose details fragmented and floated away as I opened my eyes, though it left me with a single unsettling image in my mind.

A horrific image, and a
knowing
that it would come to pass. That it
must
come to pass.

“My lady Nimia, Arthur wants to talk to you,” a servant said.

I nodded and sat up, everything bleary and strange, the image still floating before me as if insisting I bring it into existence.

“There's fresh water, and someone is fetching a clean gown.”

I submitted to her quick, efficient help, and felt better for having a washed face, hair that had been combed, and then clothes free of sweat and gore. She made me eat a slice of cold meat and bread, and drink watered wine, and although I had no appetite I felt better for having something in my stomach.

I thanked her and made to leave, my thoughts all on Arthur, but she halted me.

“My lady?”

I paused in the doorway, anxious to be on my way. “Yes?”

“There are whispers that only you can save him. That only you have the power. Is it so?” She looked at me with a fear for the future in her eyes, the same fear that everyone in Corinium must be feeling with Ambrosius dead and their great war leader wounded. There was no obvious choice of who should lead this tribe if Arthur died. All that Ambrosius had built was in danger of crumbling—or worse, if there was a fight for who should lead.

“I . . . I'm not certain.”

“You'll try, though?”

“With everything I have.”

She nodded, and small as the hope was in her eyes, I felt its weight on me as I hurried through the villa. Her hope was the hope of the entire city, and of every tribe who had in good faith come to swear allegiance to Ambrosius's united Britannia.

At the door to Arthur's room I signaled to Maerlin, and when he joined me I told him in low tones the image from my dream. His face, already ashen, paled further.

“We can't let Arthur know,” he said.

I shook my head. “He'd never agree, despite everything.” I told Maerlin what I thought we'd need, and he promised to make all ready. I felt sick at the thought of what was to come . . . and had every intention of following through with it, anyway.

The crowd in Arthur's room had thinned to just the physician and a few of his men, their arms at the ready in case there should be a further attempt on his life. The physician gestured me toward the bed when I came in, then stood back at a discreet distance, as did the others. Arthur's eyes were closed, but opened as I sat on the stool near the head of the bed and took one of his damp, cold hands in my own.

“Nimia,” he said, his voice a weak echo of what it should be. “You were right.”

“Was I? I can't think about what, I'm wrong so often.”

A faint grin pulled at his lips. “Don't make me laugh; it hurts when I do. Not that there's been much to laugh about, with these grim faces staring down at me. They remind me of those carvings in that rotten Celtic temple I found you in, outside of Calleva. Remember?”

“I'm not likely to forget.”

“Nor shall I forget that afternoon on the bridge in the woods. You gave me the one pure moment of joy I'll be taking from this life of sorrows.”

“I'm not going to let you die.”

“I told you not to make me laugh! You and Maerlin, so certain you can think your way past the obstacles of this world. Maybe you can, in most cases—neither of you is like the rest of us sad mortals. But not in this case. She cut my innards, and the infection will have me in a day if I'm lucky, or two or three if I'm not. There's no stopping it.”

“I've survived worse.”

He brushed his thumb over the back of my hand in a light caress. “I see this fate as my punishment. I should have listened to you, that day in the woods. You said the highest duty was to love; you were right.”

“I was wrong! Look what Wynnetha did for love of Mordred. How could that have been good and right?”

“I knew she preferred him. Marriage is meant for the love between two people, not as a tool for politics. To use it in such a way, while claiming to be serving the greater love of one's tribe . . . You see what it has brought.”

“You wouldn't have felt so, if she had been of a stable mind and made an effort to be a decent wife. No sane woman does this.”

“But isn't love a form of insanity? I should have had the courage to be as deranged as her. If I had, it would have been you and I who had wed, and none of these evils would have come to pass.”

“You couldn't have known. None of us could have known,” I said, though I felt in my bones that I
should
have known. Maerlin and I both, it should have been clear to us. We'd had a vision of Wynnetha walking over blood and bones to take Arthur's hand. How much clearer did we need it?

Even if we'd understood what we'd seen, though, would we have been able to change it?

I went on, “And you don't know how you would have liked being wed to me. It may have been worse than this.”

He did chuckle at that, the laugh quickly dying in a grimace of pain.

I squeezed his hand. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean that as a joke. You know better now what I am, what I do. What it is for me to be Phanne.” I swallowed, gathering my courage. If I couldn't say any of this now, then when could I? “You saw me with Maerlin. You couldn't be happy with such a wife. It would injure you, every time I touched another man.”

“I know why you did it now. I don't wholly understand it, but I know it was not a common lust, or a faithlessness on your part. It was to call the magic. Maerlin tried to explain it to me, what you both are; he said I would never be able to accept you. He said I couldn't claim to love you when I truly didn't know you. I thought that my love was neither so ignorant nor so small-hearted. When he challenged me to watch you call the wind with him, I thought to prove him wrong. I thought to see and accept. But when I saw the two of you . . .”

A ringing had started in my ears, growing louder and louder, my senses flooding with a heat I dimly recognized as rage. I could barely hear what Arthur was saying, barely see his lips moving.

Maerlin dared him to watch us in the tree. Maerlin had
wanted
Arthur to see us together, and to reject me for it. It had been deliberate.

Why? Why?

For the good of Arthur's future happiness?

No. Maerlin never understood others' happiness.

He'd wanted me. He'd said that he didn't always know how he felt until his actions revealed it. No action could be clearer than arranging for his brother to see him fucking me, laying his claim in the most primitive way man knew how.

I forced myself back to the present, blinking back the sting of tears. “So much that could have been . . .” I said softly, my gut aching at all that had gone wrong, and at the future so narrowly missed. Aching, too, at what I could only see as Maerlin's betrayal of me, and his selfish lies.

Arthur was tiring and didn't seem to have heard me, although his gaze was fixed upon me. His voice was so soft that I had to lean forward to hear it, and he sounded as if he were talking as much to himself as to me. “When I saw you as the Lady of the Lake, when I saw the water glow, and then when I felt Skalibur land in my palm . . . The world shifted around me, and I could see as if through new eyes.” He paused to breathe, the air rattling in his chest. “My blindness fell away, and with it the anger that had persuaded me I married for duty, when in truth it was for revenge against you.” He rolled his head against the pillow, a slight movement that drained his strength and spoke of his distress. “So wrong, to treat love so cheaply. It wasn't too late, even then . . . but I didn't think you'd have me, and I hadn't the courage to ask for you, after all I'd done.”

“You'd already given your promise to another. You could not have lived with yourself if you'd done otherwise.”

“She would have released me from it.” He grimaced in pain, and his eyes drifted shut. “She
has
released me from it. May Mordred have joy of her . . .” He trailed off.

My lips parted and I flicked my gaze to the men in the room. They were too far away to have heard the softly spoken words, but their meaning was clear enough. Arthur didn't know Wynnetha had been captured; they hadn't told him. Nor had Maerlin, the one person that people might be looking to for some hint of authority.

I could guess at their reasons. Murderess Wynnetha might be, but she was still his wife. They must fear that his sense of duty would have him be merciful toward her, while they wanted to be anything but. The last thing they wanted to hear was Arthur saying to spare her.

I stood, still holding Arthur's hand. Reaching within him, I could feel the encroaching death. Half a day? A day? It was moving quickly, filling him with its nothingness, devouring the life in him bite by bite.

Wynnetha
had done this. Arthur's men needn't fear: I would see to it that she wouldn't be spared.

Arthur had thought to trade his life for the good of his people.

I would trade Wynnetha's life for his. His people would have their vengeance, and their leader would rise again.