Enchanted Warrior (24 page)

Shock scattered his thoughts, making it hard to reason. All he knew was that he could not be with her. He loved her too much to burden her with the anguish that consumed him.

“Is that it?” she cried. “The bargain's over and now you don't need me? You got what you want?”

For a heartbeat, the words barely penetrated. He was too caught by fury and disappointment at his own failure. But then Gawain drew a mighty breath as reality crashed through his heartbreak. He was hurting her. Tears were coursing down her face. That wasn't what Gawain meant to do at all, but his body and mind were both failing him. “No, Tamsin. Not what I want. It's all I can give you.”

“Don't do this!” she said in a low voice. “I deserve more from you.”

And he yearned to say more, to take her in his arms, but parts of him were going numb again. One limb, then another. Mordred's wound was taking pieces of him away.

“Leave him to me.” Another set of hands, hard ones this time, dragged him to his feet. “I've got you, old friend.”

The demon screamed above them as Gawain brought Arthur's face in to focus. The monster was signaling another attack. “My lord.” He tried to swallow the blood in his mouth, but his tongue felt thick and dry. “Run.”

“Agreed.” Arthur hauled him forward as the sky filled with the thunder of the demon's wings. Tamsin sprinted ahead, seeming to grow more and more distant with every step. It was an illusion bred by Gawain's mounting fever, but it was also truth. She was slipping away. He wanted to call her back, but he was losing consciousness.

Gawain's vision narrowed to a pinpoint. The last thing he remembered was the demon flapping upward, Mordred dangling limply from its claws. The Prince of Faery had become dinner.

Chapter 27

“I
'm a killer,” Gawain said to Beaumains.

“You are a knight,” Beaumains replied, sounding kindly if somewhat impatient. “Cousin or not, Mordred had it coming.”

They were sitting on the top row of benches that formed the spectator stands at Medievaland. Below were the tourney grounds, but no bouts were on and the stands were empty.

They'd returned just hours ago, after Hector and Tamsin had opened the portal back to Carlyle, landing just outside the theme park. About twenty-four hours had passed since Gawain and Tamsin had set foot in the Forest Sauvage.

But to Gawain, it seemed like months since Hector had left him at Medievaland and taken his daughter home. Both witches had been exhausted after reviving Arthur, healing Gawain and opening the path back to the mortal realms. The knights had elected to come here instead of crowding into Tamsin's tiny home. The king was off roaming the grounds, looking more or less like one more costumed player.

Beaumains leaned back on the bench. “When I got the call from Tamsin to come here and find you, Mordred's death was all I could think about—but in a good way. Praise the saints and devils, he's finally gone. Call me bloodthirsty if you like. I don't care how you did it.”

“I do,” said Gawain, his stomach like lead. “Not that I regret ending the threat of our cousin, but because of how it was done. Being a soldier, a knight is one thing. I understand honest steel and know when and how to use it.”

“But magic is different?”

“I don't need to remind you that it was my magic that killed our sister. I nearly killed you.”

Beaumains made a noise of understanding. “That was a tragic accident when you were a boy. Mordred goaded you into it. He was a menace even then.”

“But I fell into his trap out of pride.” Gawain studied his brother's ruined face. “I hurt you.”

“I know.” A sad smile softened the words. “But I also remember you pulling me from the fire. You were the greatest of heroes to me then, this warrior who walked through flames to rescue me. We all stumble, brother, sometimes terribly, but it is how we make amends that matters. And don't forget you were a child. You didn't have the wisdom of a man.”

Gawain bowed his head. “I tried to atone. I thought I had cut the rot of our mother's magic from my soul, but here it is again.”

“Does it need to be rot? I have to confess, I'd sooner have inherited mother's magic than her singing voice, but children don't get to pick.”

Bitterness twisted Gawain's lips. “You don't think I've been tempted by the glitter of untold power?”

Beaumains sat up and punched Gawain's arm hard enough to hurt. “You're worried that you'll turn bad. I'm not. No sooner would you come up with a wicked plot than you'd start apologizing for it. You think too much to enjoy the life of an evil witch.”

“I'm not a witch,” Gawain said automatically, but the words held no conviction. He had no more choice in the matter than in the color of his eyes or the curl of his hair. There was nothing he could do. Nothing.

Gawain leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He had fought for years to deny the truth, but that had availed him not at all. After all this time, he'd finally surrendered to his nature. Shame came like a blow to the gut.

But it
wasn't
surrender, not in the sense of giving up. Frustration clawed at Gawain, pulling apart all his assumptions. He'd used the talents he had to save the woman he loved, and he refused to believe that was wrong.

Beaumains had a point. With magic came responsibility. Merlin had forgotten that, but Gawain would not. He'd seen the consequences of misused power, from the temptations of Lady Bertilak to the tragedy of Angmar's people. Gawain was not perfect, but he knew deep in his soul that there were lines no one should ever cross.

He let out his breath. All at once the cold afternoon crowded in, clean and sharp and filled with the distant clamor of fairgoers. There was a purity to accepting what he was, much like the song of his magic flashing down his sword. That had been a perfect moment, intent and action in utter harmony. All he'd cared about was keeping Tamsin safe.

That act of love had forced Gawain to destroy his hard-won belief in who he was. He'd always been the boy who had transformed himself from killer to champion with the force of self-denial. He'd masked his magic, crushed it, but that had been a lie. His love had made him face the truth—and then he'd pushed her away.

“What are you thinking?” Beaumains asked uneasily. “There are no suicidal heroics in the works, right?”

“No. Nothing that simple, I'm afraid.” Gawain straightened as Arthur mounted the steps of the stands, a perplexed look on his face. Gawain knew the expression. It was the look of a medieval warrior seeing Medievaland for the first time. Forcing his pain deep out of sight, he gave a sympathetic smile as Arthur reached their bench.

“This place is very,” the king began, turning back for another look, “um, cheerful.”

“It grows on you,” Beaumains offered. “You should try the corn dogs.”

But Arthur turned back, serious now. “We have a future to plan. I understand from Hector that Angmar of Corin has been taken into hiding by his allies.”

Beaumains nodded. “They came and got him yesterday.”

Arthur gripped Excalibur's hilt. “The rebel fae have offered to provide for our needs until we gather our brothers. We must act quickly. Mordred may be gone, but Queen LaFaye will demand vengeance for his death.”

Gawain had barely finished one mission, and Arthur was already looking ahead. But that forward push was part of what made the king a great general. No one caught him napping.

“What about the witches?” Beaumains asked. “Should we not be winning them to our side? They could be powerful friends in this war.”

Arthur appeared to consider, and then shook his head. “Not after Merlin.”

“Sire,” said Gawain, opting for the formal title this time, “you saw what happened with Mordred? I used my power to kill him. I did not even need Excalibur.”

Arthur cast him an assessing glance. “Those were extreme circumstances.”

“I can't guarantee I won't do it again,” Gawain replied. “I carry witch's blood in my veins.”

Arthur folded his arms, his brows knit in concern. “Is this the effect of keeping company with Hector and his daughter?”

Gawain hid a flinch at the mention of Tamsin. “Consider what they've done for you.”

“I have. I'm certain that Hector has shown me more grace than I deserve, and we have repaired our friendship. I was a fool when I sent him from my side.”

Gawain seized that concession. Despite his own private struggles, he understood now that magic was a weapon the new Camelot would require. Arthur had to keep the witches safe in the coming war—and realize how badly he needed them. “Hector's daughter sacrificed her own interests to save us from Mordred's dungeon. She has healed our wounds, taken us to find you and shown more courage than half your knights. Hector and Tamsin are proof that with a good heart, magic can be turned to good ends.”

Beaumains gave him a look filled with curiosity, but said nothing.

Gawain was arguing for a better Camelot. He was saying what should have been said centuries ago, opening Arthur's mind even as he struggled to adapt to this new view himself. “We can't afford to divide ourselves because of our differences. We should unite because of what binds us together—friendship, justice and a safe place to love and raise children free of the horrors of conflict.”

The king shook his head. “Merlin believed all that, and yet he still failed us.”

“He proved that one man can't solve the world's problems by himself. He refused to allow anyone to point out the flaws in his thinking. If he'd taken the advice of the fae sorcerers, he would never have made the mistakes he did. Blame his pride, not what he was.”

For a long moment, Arthur turned away to survey the bright madness of Medievaland. “I suppose this is all because you're in love with the witch?”

Gawain rose and came to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder as he had done on a hundred battlefields. “I love her, but no. I'm saying this because I'm your friend as well as your loyal servant. I'm saying it for the fae, who need a cure for Merlin's blunder, and for the witches, who need to break free of their fear. You need new allies with a variety of strengths, including magic.”

Arthur's face creased in disbelief. “But you hate magic. You've hated it since the first time you came to my court.”

“That's the part you can blame Tamsin for. She made me rethink what I assumed to be true.” Gawain turned and nodded to Beaumains. “Though it took a wise brother to help me apply the same logic to myself.”

With a weary snort, Arthur clapped a hand to Gawain's shoulder. “They call you Silver Tongue for good cause.”

The three knights stood together, pondering the beginnings of the new Camelot. It would work, Gawain decided, because Arthur was willing to grow. In the end, the king wouldn't turn away valuable alliances, and he certainly wouldn't turn his back on his friends. He would lead them the way he had in that long-ago campaign to unite the petty kingdoms of Albion—by the hearts. That was why they would win again.

Gawain nodded. “I have always been your man, old world or new.”

“I know,” said the king. “I thank the saints and devils that you are at my side. Now go to your witch and thank her properly for healing you.”

“Healing me,” said Gawain. “Indeed, sire, truer words were never spoken.”

* * *

Hector slammed Waller into the wall of Tamsin's apartment. “Start explaining.”

The Chief Elder had arrived at Tamsin's door just hours after they'd arrived home. When Tamsin had opened the door, Waller's first words had been something about Tamsin's lack of good judgment and obedience. Word had reached him about the fight at the Henderson house.

That was before he'd noticed Hector in the room.

Now Waller was dangling from Hector's grip. He waved his hands as if to weave a spell, but then gave up and started clawing at the iron fist pinning him by the throat. The knight might have been barefoot and wearing Gawain's too-tall clothes, but he was clearly in control.

Tamsin viewed her erstwhile tormentor dangling against the wall. She couldn't summon much sympathy.

Waller gurgled, his lips turning blue.

Hector released his grip a fraction. “Talk.”

“Whatever you want, it's yours. Money. A better house. You can have your old job back,” Waller said between gasps. “I can make that happen.”

Hector made an incredulous noise. “Employment is the least of my concerns, you lickspittle weasel. Besides, my daughter seems to be doing just fine in her position. Unlike you.

“What do you want?” Waller cried, but his eyes shifted, as if seeking a weapon.

Tamsin shifted closer, readying a spell just in case. Waller wasn't known as an expert in fighting magic, but she didn't trust him one bit.

Hector tapped the tip of Waller's nose with his free hand. “I haven't been home long, but I've made a few calls to some old friends from the other covens. They were very interested to hear that you were aligning yourself with LaFaye's interests. They don't approve. They think Shadowring's council deserves a housecleaning.”

“Then they're fools,” Waller shot back. “The witches are too weak to battle the fae. Too much was lost after Merlin gave us a black name.”

“Ah, yes, it's Merlin's fault you're such a coward,” Hector mused. “A dead sorcerer is so easy to blame. Tell me, has LaFaye promised you a special treat if you deliver the covens to her control?”

At that, Waller began a frantic struggle. Hector put a hand on the man's chest. “Stop, unless you want me to crush you like the spider you are.”

Tamsin felt power building in the room and knew the Elder was summoning his magic. She moved in quickly, calling a fireball to her hand. A small one—she had her damage deposit to think of.

“He said stop!” She held up the coruscating ball of blue fire. “I've fought zombies. Fast ones. You don't want to mess with me.”

“Don't give yourself airs, girl,” he sneered, proving exactly how stupid he was.

Tamsin held the ball close enough for Waller to feel the heat. “Just try it.”

Waller stilled as quickly as if someone had flipped a switch. Fear glazed his eyes, but so did a vicious anger. He deliberately turned his attention to Hector. “What do you mean to do with me?”

“The Court of Covens has some questions for you,” her father said, serious now. “They've had an eye on you for some time. They knew you were coming this way and asked me to escort you to them once you arrived. Some fae friends of ours set up a portal to take you there.”

The look on Waller's face was too delicious to waste. Tamsin kept the ball of fire in one hand while she fished in her pocket with the other. She pulled out her smartphone and snapped a photo of the two men. Hector raised his eyebrows in question.

Tamsin texted the picture before she hit speed dial and put the phone to her ear. “Stacy would never believe any of this without evidence. Want to say hi before you go, Mr. Waller? Something tells me our paths may never cross again.”