Knight of Pentacles (Knights of the Tarot Book 3) (27 page)

Within moments, something appeared out to sea—some sort of disturbance on the surface of the channel. As the swirling mass drew nearer, he saw a chariot drawn by two horses that were part of the waves. Holding the reins of their kelp harnesses was a man with a greenish-gray complexion and billowing seaweed hair.

He was a sea god, surely. But which one? Being raised in the Highlands by the descendants of Vikings, Axel was acquainted with the pantheons of both Celts and Norsemen, so there were numerous options.

The chariot might be driven by Aegir, a fierce god who destroyed ships and took their crews down to his watery kingdom. Viking captains, his father told him, used to give a coin to each of their crewmen to offer to Aegir if they should meet him on their voyage.

Axel squinted to get a better look at the approaching deity. He was not Aegir, who had claws like a crab, because this god had fingers on his hands.

Perhaps he was Njord, the leader of the Vanir, who, with the giantess Skadi, fathered Freyr, the sun god, and Freya, the goddess who later became Odin’s wife.

Or perhaps he was the Celtic sea god who controlled the mists, owned a cloak of invisibility, and had used his magic to help the druids defend themselves against the Christians.

Sadly, even with divine aid, the druids lost the war between old and new religions. The few that survived escaped into the Thitherworld, just as the Tuatha de Danann, now the Fae, had done after being driven out of Ireland by invaders.

All Axel knew for certain was the helper Odin had sent in response to his plea was not Ran, the wife of Aegir, who used her net to drag seafaring men to their deaths in the depths. And for that, he was grateful.

The god brought his water chariot to a stop a few feet off shore. “Do you require assistance?”

“I do indeed.” Axel bowed. “For I must get back to Avalon before the queen’s death spell takes effect.”

“You are a knight of Avalon?”

“I am, sir.” He did not add, “Though not for much longer, if all goes according to plan.”

“What business had you with the druids?”

“I went to Brocaliande on an errand for the queen.” Axel could see no reason to lie to the god. “She asked that I retrieve the Cup of Truth, which was stolen from her several weeks back by another knight and his lady.”

“The cup does not rightfully belong to your queen.” The god’s watery eyes narrowed. “I made a gift of that vessel to King Cormac, but it was stolen after his death by his faery lover, who gave it to Morgan.”

“In that case, you’ll be glad to know the cup remains in Brocaliande, in the care of Cathbad the druid, who refused to honor the queen’s claim.”

“I am indeed glad to hear it, as the cup is capable of potent magic—and I shall sleep better knowing it is in the hands of one who will use it for good instead of ill.”

“As will I,” Axel said.

“Come aboard.” The god extended an arm in welcome. “I shall carry you across to Avalon before her magic destroys you.”

Heedless of his boots and stockings, Axel waded out to the chariot and hopped onto the translucent deck, which, to his surprise, was made of glass and afforded an excellent view of the sea below.

As the chariot set off toward the island, the god held out his hand. “Welcome aboard, Sir Axel. You are looked upon with favor in Asgard. Few men still keep the old ways with the vigilance that you do, and Odin was sorry not to have you among his
einherjars
in the Hall of the Fallen.”

Asgard was both the home of the Norse gods and the location of Valhalla—the Hall of the Fallen to which he had referred. “He sent a Valkyrie to retrieve you from the battlefield at Bannock Burn, but she arrived too late,” the god went on. “Queen Morgan had already claimed you as a drone.”

“I would much rather have been an
einherjar
.” Axel felt bitter about his near-miss until he remembered he would not have met Jenna if he had been taken to Valhalla. Jenna could save him from his unfortunate circumstances and give him the happiness he had not known he was without until she came into his life.

Axel’s gut coiled tighter as they advanced toward Avalon. The craggy cliffs protecting the island grew ever closer, ever higher, and ever more threatening. As the outlying basaltic sea cave came into view, so did something else that caused his chest to constrict: the golden beehive-shaped royal carriage was parked on the shore. Morgan had come out to greet him upon his return, and had brought with her a platoon of red-coated Sangpagnese soldiers.

The god must have sensed Axel’s tension, because he clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Fear not, my friend. Neither your queen nor her vampires can see us coming. For I have called upon the mists to conceal us from their gazes.”

Axel looked from the island to the god. “Then, you must be Manannan mac Lir.”

Wearing a thoughtful expression, the god nodded. “I am called by many names, including the one you have spoken.”

Chapter 19

“You have come back, my knight, which pleases your queen,” Morgan said to Axel through the circular window of her carriage, looking every bit the queen bee in her hive. “But why did you return without my cup or my tithe?”

Axel’s gut clenched as he bowed at the waist. “I did my best, my queen—but was unable to secure either for you.”

Anger flashed in her emerald eyes as she pressed her lips together in displeasure. “Did you at least do away with the baroness and her unborn child?”

He was done for. “No, my queen.”

“What about news of the rebels? Surely, after being among them a few days, you must have some intelligence to share on that front.”

“I spent the whole of my time in Brocaliande in a cell, my queen. Only by escaping was I able to return within the proscribed time—albeit in failure, regrettably.”

“You saw nothing?” Her eyes darkened and narrowed to slits. “Overheard nothing?”

The noose tightened around his throat. “All I can tell you, my queen, is that Cathbad keeps his secrets well.”

She regarded Axel for a long moment. “I do not need the Cup of Truth to reveal such an obvious lie. You have failed me, my knight—utterly and completely—and worse, you have betrayed me. For I expected deceit from the others, but never from you—my once good and faithful favorite.”

“I am sorry, my queen. I truly did my best.”

For a moment, he imagined what he would do to her if he still had the Glaive of Light in his possession. While what he pictured was far from chivalrous, he found it extremely satisfying.

“Your best isn’t good enough by half, my knight—and you will pay dearly for your incompetence—and your treachery.” Her eyes shone ominously. “But first, I must keep you alive for the tithe.”

She offered him a cup he presumed contained the antidote to the time-release potion. Getting to his feet, he took the vessel from her hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, drank it down.

As he returned the cup to her, she said, “Now, I shall grant the Duke of Cumberland leave to extract all the information he can by any means necessary—so long as he leaves you in a condition favorable to ritual sacrifice.”

When she spoke the duke’s name, the corpulent commander leaned forward in the carriage, making his presence known. Axel cringed at the prospect of being turned over to such an unfeeling fiend. On his last few visits to Castle Le Fay, he had heard the agonized screams of the duke’s prisoners rising from the dungeon.

The queen turned to Cumberland with a look of concern. “Do be careful not to get carried away. As much as I want to learn what he is concealing from us, we mustn’t risk invoking the Dark Lord’s wrath by offering him damaged goods—or less than was promised. And I have already committed to offering a knight as our tithe and cannot go back on my word.”

“You may rely on me, my queen,” the duke returned in his haughty English accent. “He will look as fit as a fiddle by the time you ride out.”

And, at that, the fat vampire poked his bewigged head out the carriage window, turned to the guards posted nearest, and pointed at Axel. “Seize him at once, take him to the dungeon, and secure him to the rack. When he is ready for the interrogation to commence, come and find me in my quarters.”

* * * *

Cumberland’s soldiers hauled Axel, handcuffed and bleeding from the severe beating they’d inflicted, across the rickety bridge leading to Castle Le Fay. Once inside the palace, they dragged him through a maze of corridors and down a staircase chiseled from the bedrock. From behind the iron doors lining the long passageway at the bottom, the muffled sobs, moans, and wails of other prisoners heightened his dread.

They stopped before one of the iron doors. The larger of the vampires held onto Axel while the smaller retrieved a ring of keys from a row of pegs on the wall behind them. When the door was open, the guard still holding Axel shoved him into the dark, cramped cell within. Both laughed as he landed hard on the stone floor on his hands and knees.

“Don’t get too comfortable, you filthy turn-coat,” one of them said, chuckling. “We’ll be back for your sorry arse as soon as we’ve prepared the machine that’s going to pull your worthless limbs from their sockets.”

At that, they slammed the door with a thunderous clang, leaving Axel in total darkness. He stayed where he was until his preternatural vision adjusted to the lack of light. Then, he looked around at his new quarters. The cell was no more than seven square feet. From the rusty iron walls hung various chains and shackles. A sparse layer of straw covered the cold floor.

He shuddered at the thought of what tortures he was doomed to suffer at the duke’s hands. If the horror stories Leith had imparted about “Butcher Cumberland” were to be believed—and he had no reason to doubt them—the rack would be the least of his torments.

Axel got up on his knees, closed his eyes, and began to pray—to Thor for strength and to Tyr for courage. When the door groaned open, he turned around. There, grinning at him from the doorway, were the same two guards who’d brought him in.

“Get up, arsehole,” the bigger one growled.

Hindered by the handcuffs, Axel struggled to get up. As soon as he had gained his footing, the guards grabbed him under the arms, hauled him out of the cell, and roughly escorted him down the hall to another room. This one had stone walls leeched through with crusty veins of white lime. The guards set him on his feet in the middle of the floor, removed his handcuffs, and ordered him to strip.

As he pulled off his clothes, he looked about with mounting disquiet. The room was filled with the torture devices commonly used in his day. Not only the rack, but also the bed of nails, the breaking wheel, and the iron maiden. A nearby table displayed thumbscrews and the boot, along with various scourges, whips, pliers, and hammers.

Axel swallowed his rising bile, but could not stop his cods from trying to crawl back inside his body. Odin, help him. Clearly, he was in the lair of a monster who enjoyed inflicting pain.

The largest owl Axel had ever beheld flew into the room and alighted on a raised slab on the floor. Within seconds, the owl morphed into the fat and flabby figure of the Duke of Cumberland.

One of the guards dashed away and soon returned with a lavishly embroidered red-velvet banyan, which he draped around his commander’s sallow sloping shoulders.

“Thank you, private.” Cumberland shoved his saggy arms into the robe’s bell-shaped sleeves.

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Grace.” The arse-kissing guard bowed.

Cumberland looked Axel up and down, lingering a wee bit longer on his manly bits than was appropriate. As the former royal prince stepped off the platform, the guards drew in closer in a way Axel understood to mean he would pay dearly for any evasive maneuvers. Cumberland’s pudgy fingers came to rest on Axel’s chest before lecherously exploring the terrain of his body.

“You’re so delightfully firm,” the duke observed as he took liberties that made Axel cringe.

Leith had told him how the duke had once slit the throat of a man who caught him in bed with his valet—and later imprisoned and tortured the journalist who tried to report the story.

While stroking Axel’s cock, Cumberland moved in and whispered, “If you give me what I want, I can make your last hours pleasant ones.”

“I would rather be drawn and quartered,” Axel ground out.

“Much as I’d like to oblige you, the queen made it clear I’m to keep you in one piece,” the duke returned with a leer. “Therefore, I thought I might start with something that won’t leave any marks—but will almost certainly compel a full confession.”

“Oh, aye?” Dread had him in a stranglehold that made it hard to speak. “And what would that be?”

“This.” The duke held up what looked like a thick black sewing needle threaded with a piece of fishing line. “It’s pure iron. Would you like to guess where it goes, faery boy?”

Axel swallowed hard and bit his tongue. The sick bastard was threatening to catheterize him with a piece of iron that would burn like fire.

“I thought you were going to stretch me on the rack.”

An evil grin elevated the vampire’s jowls. “The two devices are not mutually exclusive.”