Knight of Pentacles (Knights of the Tarot Book 3) (19 page)

Jenna didn’t want to look—whatever was happening sounded too gruesome—but curiosity soon overrode her squeamishness. With effort and agony, she rolled onto her side. The scene that greeted her was nothing like the one she’d pictured. Her champion wasn’t Thor; it was Odin—Axel’s noble steed, stomping the bird into pulp with his front hooves.

When there was nothing left of the owl but a bloody clump of flesh and feathers, the horse reared up and pawed the air before coming back down. Jenna, still shaken from the attack, struggled to her feet and held out her hand to the horse. He shook his head, nickered softly, and nuzzled her palm.

“I’ll give you an apple if you’ll be good enough to carry me home,” she told him. “Make that a dozen apples.”

As if he understood her, Odin bent his front legs, lowering his back to her level. Taking hold of his mane, she pulled herself astride. As soon as she had her seat, the big horse set off at a pace suited to an inexperienced rider. Remarkably, she no longer felt any pain where the bird had wounded her.

When they arrived at the cottage, Odin lowered himself again to let her dismount. After regaining her feet, she patted the horse’s thick neck, looked him in the eye, and thanked him for coming to her rescue.

Inside the cottage, she grabbed an apple from the kitchen and returned to the horse. As he ate it, she rubbed his ears. Unsure what to do with him, she left him and returned indoors. She stripped off her ruined sweater and checked the damage to her back in the lavatory mirror. Amazingly, there was no sign of trauma. Whatever wounds the bird had inflicted had miraculously healed.

Drawing the ruby from the pocket of her jeans, she set the rune on the counter before removing the rest of her clothes. After a long, hot shower, she slipped on her nightgown and combed out her hair, thinking all the while of Axel.

Where could he be? Would he ever come back? The thought that he might be lost to her forever was too devastating to bear, so she pushed it away. Leaving the bathroom, she went into the bedroom and found the book he’d given her on runes.

She thumbed through the pages until she found the symbol on the ruby. The rune was called
Ehwaz
, horse, or
Ehwo
, the two horses. This made no sense unless Axel had somehow foreseen Odin would come to her aid. Sitting on the bed, she set her heels on the rail and read more.

“
Ehwaz
is the rune of Sleipnir, Odin’s eight-legged steed. Many runic talismans portray a man riding a horse as a symbol of integrated magical protection, under the rulership of Odin.”

The rune’s meaning still made no sense in terms of a message. Why would Axel leave her a rune representing a horse? Was his horse supposed to help in some way? She bit her lip. His horse
had
helped her escape the owl’s clutches, but how could Odin help her find his master?

Heaving a sigh, she bit back her tears and read on, forcing herself to concentrate. The next paragraph was more elucidating than the first. It spoke of trust and loyalty and the symbiotic relationship between horse and rider: two separate but equal forces working in harmony toward the same goal. Then, she read this sentence: “The e-rune is the symbol of the ideal man-woman relationship and thus is the mystery of lawful marriage.”

Confusion’s clouds parted. Finally, she understood what Axel meant to convey. Even though he loved her, he could not come back from wherever he’d gone without her help. Given his circumstances and the dream she’d had, it wasn’t hard to guess where he’d gone.

Avalon.

Queen Morgan had summoned him because the owl was a spy, which meant Morgan knew all about her and Axel’s secret betrothal.

Jenna called into her mind the dream she’d had where she was Brunhilde and Axel was Sigurd in the guise of Gunnar. Sigurd had been given a potion to make him forget his true love. The dream had to be a warning Queen Morgan had worked a similar spell on Axel.

Her knight, her handfasted husband, had forgotten her. That was why he’d failed to recognize her in the dream of the Wild Ride. Would his memory return once she freed him from Morgan’s enslavement? She could only hope that it would.

What she had to do was now clear. It made no sense to go into Avalon after him. It was too risky and, even if by some miracle she succeeded in bringing him back, Axel wouldn’t know who she was or be free of his bonds.

No, she had to wait until Halloween and pull him down off his horse before he could be tithed—and pray they could find sanctuary somewhere beyond the reach of Morgan and her vampires.

Chapter 14

Axel awoke to find himself lying naked atop an embroidered silk bedspread under a towering canopy. As his mind slowly shed the veil of sleep, the events of the night before seeped back in. The page escorting him into Avalon…Queen Morgan on the chaise in her bedchamber…the emerald cup filled with whisky. Clearly, there had been more than elven malt in that chalice.

Remembering his amulet, his hand flew to his chest.

Just as he feared, only his torque was there. Morgan had bested him, despite his precautions.

Twisting onto his side, he propped himself on one elbow and looked around the chamber. The richly furnished room was unfamiliar. There was no sign of the clothes he wore here, only a blue velvet robe hung over a high-backed chair in one corner.

Uncomfortable being so exposed, he got up and put the robe on before trying the door. As expected, it was bolted from the outside. Taking a breath, he shoulder-butted the blockade, hoping to break the jamb or hinges. After several futile attempts, he realized he was imprisoned by enchantments rather than actual locks.

Crossing to the room’s sole window, he pulled back the heavy brocade draperies and looked out through the iron bars. He was high up in the east tower. The gaps between the bars were too narrow for a gyrfalcon to squeeze through, but a sparrow or finch might manage—assuming Morgan had not stripped him of his ability to shift along with his tunic, trews, and amulet.

Closing his eyes, he imagined himself as the wee-est of birds and spoke the incantation. When nothing happened, he was disappointed, but hardly surprised. Heart withering, he looked out at the view. The loch surrounding the castle stretched like a mirror to a ridge of dark hills. Something beyond those hills called to his spirit; someone he longed to go to despite being unable to remember who.

Which one was he? Sigurd, who’d consumed the potion that made him forget his true love, or Brunhilde, trapped in a tower, waiting on someone who would never return?

Axel heaved a sigh and pulled on his beard. To be truthful, he could not say who he was at the moment. He only knew he was not himself. Or, at least, not wholly himself. Part of him had been extracted. The best part. And yet, he could not for the life of him recall what that part had been.

His hands fisted, ready to strike out. Once again, Queen Morgan had gotten the better of him, stealing something he valued highly in the bargain. Or, should he say
swindle
?

Uncurling his hands, Axel tore at his hair and shouted curses at the clear blue sky. A prison cell could be a sanctuary, but a comfortable room in a castle could also be a purgatory.

Heavy-limbed and lethargic, he returned to the bed, flopped down, and stared blindly at the canopy’s gathered fabric. He was not looking out, he was looking in, dredging his memory for any trace of the person he had forgotten.

After nearly an hour of fruitless probing, the door swung open and in waltzed Queen Morgan, so pregnant she looked to be hiding a medicine ball under her gold-satin dressing gown. The child she carried was not his. How he knew this, he could not say. He simply did.

“Good morning, my knight,” she purred. “How did you sleep? Well, I hope.”

He felt remarkably refreshed, all things considered; as if he had finally gotten a good night’s sleep after years of insomnia. Only, that was not the case. He always slept well, especially lately, though the cause of the change was hidden behind that frustrating curtain she had drawn across his mind.

“Aye. I did indeed, but seem to have grown forgetful in my sleep.”

She alighted on the blanket like a bee at a picnic. As much as she repelled him, her honey scent intoxicated him. His head began to swim and his cock to swell.

“You left me no other choice, my knight.” She batted her long dark lashes at him. “For you had fallen under the spell of a witch, and, as your queen, it is my duty to protect you from such malevolent magic.”

It was a lie. She only ever looked out for herself. But, vexingly, he still could not remember what she had made him forget. It was like a word he was sure he knew but could not retrieve, or a dream that had slipped away before he could write it down.

The reek of rotting flesh jolted Axel back to lucidity. While he had been trying to remember, someone else had come into the room—a corpulent vampire with a pale, jowly face and beady yellow eyes rimmed with purple shadows. He wore a powdered wig and the antiquated uniform of an English officer. Under his knee-length red coat, the buttons of his gold waistcoat strained to contain the sizeable girth of his midsection. A dandily knotted cravat and silver gorget encircled his thick neck.

Axel’s gaze slid to the queen. “Who is he?”

“This is the Duke of Cumberland,” she said, “the commander in chief of my Sangpagnese army.”

While the vampire’s title rang a bell, Axel could not immediately place it. His sixth sense, however, told him this particular walking corpse was even more contemptible than most.

“Why is he here?” Axel curled his lip, making no effort to hide his disgust. “What could he want with me?”

“I asked him to be here so he can brief you about what we’ve learned from our spy in the Borderlands.”

Though Axel had never been there, he knew the Borderlands to be the narrow strip of acreage just beyond the channel between Avalon and the druid forest. The Borderlands were inhabited by roving bands of warg-riding goblin mauraders who would steal anything they could sell on the magical black market—including bones, teeth, and hair. Needless to say, the area was hostile to travelers of all types, be they Seelie or Unseelie.

“You have a spy among the goblins?”

“I have spies everywhere.” She delivered the words pointedly, as if warning him not to step out of line.

Had he? If so, the infraction must have been extremely minor. Morgan punished even the smallest transgressions severely. He had seen drones drawn, quartered, and castrated in the village square just for talking back. If he had done worse, he would be locked in her dungeon right now awaiting execution, not sequestered in a comfortable bedchamber.

“With all due respect, what do your spies have to do with me?” he asked.

“Very little,” she said, “except that you will need their help to reach Brocaliande—the location of my enchanted chalice and the rebel basecamp.”

As the vampire commander stepped closer to the bed, Axel, skin crawling, nearly choked on the overpowering stench of decay radiating off his person. “We want you to go to Brocaliande, not only to bring back the Cup of Truth and the knight who stole it, but also to gather intelligence on what the rebels are up to.”

“You will have three days to complete your assignment,” the queen told Axel. “As you know, three weeks will pass in the Hitherworld during your absence, which will bring us close to Samhain. If you fail to return on the fourth day, you will suffer an agonizing death by way of a time-release potion you shall ingest beforehand. Only I know the recipe for the antidote, which I will give you if you return on the designated date. And, as I explained before, if you fail to achieve your objectives, you will be offered as the tithe in place of Sir Leith.”

A thousand questions crowded Axel’s mind as he struggled to take in all they were telling him. He had known about the vampire army, but not the rebels. Clearly, his assignment as portal guardian had taken him out of the loop.

All this talk about rebels and spies took him back to his glory days with Robert the Bruce. How he missed those days and longed for the thrill of combat. “What are the rebels fighting against?”

“You needn’t concern yourself with their objectives.” There was ice on the words. “All we need from you are the names of their leaders, the whereabouts of the prophesied drone, and when they plan to strike. To learn these secrets, you must infiltrate their ranks and gain their trust, of course, which shall not be easy, especially while they possess the Cup of Truth.”

That was an understatement if ever Axel had heard one. “Who is the prophesied drone?”

The vampire shifted his jaundiced gaze to Morgan. “Has he not been apprised of the prophecy?”

“I didn’t see the need before now,” she said. “When it comes to my knights, I find the less they know, the more I can trust them.”

Axel, keeping his expression serene, looked from the duke to the queen. “Well, which of you is going to do the honors?”

Cumberland cleared his throat and straightened his posture, indicating he had taken the role of herald upon himself. “There exists an ancient prophecy foretelling the overthrow of our good queen by a natural-born drone. That is the reason natural-born drones are not permitted to live beyond a few hours, and that all of her knights and pages have been, well, let us just say
conscripted
into service, for lack of a better word.”