Queen of Hearts (The Risen King) (16 page)

She walked forward once more and placed her hands on the table. “Do you know what I have been through, Tati? Do you know what wrongs I suffered, what terrible, horrible things I had to do to survive? Do you know what hell you threw me into when you kicked me out of the castle, when you forced me to flee, when you abandoned me?”

“Lealea,” Titania whispered. She tried to move her hands to brush Leanansidhe's fingers, but her wrists were bound tight. “I'm so sorry, Lea. I was young and I did the only thing I knew to do. They would have killed you.”

“
That would have been better.” Leanansidhe walked away to stare at the wall. “It would have been better than being tossed out into the wilds without anything, without help, without so much as an ally. I was a young girl, barely old enough to be on my own at all. I met people, awful people, people who took advantage of me, who took things from me that I did not want to give.”

“
Oh, Lealea.”

Leanansidhe huffed and turned back. “It doesn't matter now. That's all in the past. A life I can forget.” She raised her head and reached into the cabinet for another of her father's inventions. It was a long thin stick with two sharp points on the end.

“I have failed you. As a friend and a queen,” Titania said as Leanansidhe walked back to the side of the table.

Lea smiled down at her. “No, Tati. You didn't fail me. You helped me become who I am today. Without you, I would be dead. Or at best locked in a dungeon somewhere. You showed me that I can't trust anyone but myself.”

“L--“

Titania's screams rang through the room as Lea slammed the two points into her side. Arcs of fire danced down the stick and into Titania's body. The skin bubbled around the entry wounds and grew a bright orange as the flames raced through her veins.

Leanansidhe pulled stick back and left Titania panting on the table. “Interesting. My father was so creative.”

“
Your highness? We have a message for you.”

Leanansidhe turned toward the door. A pair of blond knights stood there, knights that had been loyal to her from the beginning. “And?”

“It's from Guinevere. She says the battle is over and Lancelot is hers once more.”

Leanansidhe tapped the stick on the palm on her hand. “Very well.” She waved them away and they left.

“Guinevere?” Titania's confusion was apparent.

Lea's grin returned. “Ah, yes. I forgot you didn't know. You see, that young woman you oh so kindly helped Arthur woo? Well, she was my daughter. Half faery, half human.”

“I don't--“

“
But of course you do, Tati. You understand completely. I know you tried to hide Arthur's true identity. I know you tried to help protect him, but you failed. I found out, and I used Guinevere to gain his trust, to seduce him and ruin him. It was just too easy.”

Titania straightened on the table as best she could. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Don't play with me, Titania. You're not good at this game. You're a terrible liar. You always have been. You protected him, and you used the other queens to help you. You kept him as a backup plan, waiting until the day you needed him.” Leanansidhe leaned over the table again. This time, her face was so close to Titania's that the queen could feel her hot breath. “I know why you brought him back. You think he can rule. You think he can beat me and him and that little bastard child of your son's will rule the South. You're a bigger fool than I thought.”

“
I--“

Leanansidhe slammed the stick into Titania's stomach and her screams ripped through the castle once more.

*~*~*

TWENTY

*~*~*

Lancelot rubbed his face as he descended the stairs into the servants' quarters. Sleep had been fitful and his brain simply would not clear. Every part of him felt sluggish, oppressed by some unseen weight. And deep in the back of his mind, he fought to uncover some truth that had been hidden, locked away from him. He felt it there, poking at the bars of the prison cell it was locked in, screaming to be released. He scratched his head and searched for the thought, but it skittered away once more.

He found himself standing in front of the door to Guinevere's small room and his lips twitched. He couldn't remember why he wanted to talk to her, he just knew he needed to. The hallway was deserted. No guards were about, which was strange.

“Maybe she's in the garden,” he mumbled to himself and turned to walk away.

A small whimper inside stopped him in his tracks. He tested the latch on the door and it popped open. “Guinevere?” he whispered as he poked his head into the dark room. Silence greeted him. He pushed the door open further to let the light from the hall highlight the shadows. “Guin?”

The whimper came again. He followed the sound to the corner of the room. A pile of rags lay there and he frowned. The rags moved. He reached over and pulled off the blanket on top of the bundle. Red hair spilled out across the floor.

“
Aiofe!“ he cried as he fell to his knees. He pulled her to him and cradled her head in his lap. A three-inch gap on her forehead seeped blood onto the stones and clothes around her. Her freckled skin was nearly translucent and her breathing was almost non-existent.

“
Aiofe,” he said again as he brushed a mat of hair from her face. “Aiofe, wake up. What happened?” The girl groaned in his arms, but she did not wake.

He grabbed one of the rags from the floor and pressed it to her head. Then he ripped another one into strips and bound the first in place.

“I have to find Arthur,” he told the unconscious woman in his arms.

Lancelot gripped Aiofe's body to him and forced himself to his feet. His head swam, but he blinked rapidly and fought through the haze. “Arthur,” he mumbled under his breath. “Have to find Arthur.” The fog in his brain swirled and balked, but he put one foot in front of the other and moved toward the door. He was almost there when a silhouette appeared before him.

“Lance?” Guinevere's perfect face appeared in the light from the hallway. “What are you doing, darling?” Her lips were pressed together and her eyes stared at him with accusation. The fog clamped down, gripping his head so hard it hurt.

“
I... uh... Aiofe. She's hurt,” he stuttered out.

“
I see.”

“
I need to find Arthur,” he said again and the fog began to lift, just a bit.

Guinevere crossed the short gap between them and brushed her fingers across his cheek. The fog returned in force. “You don't need to find Arthur, my dear. He doesn't care about Aiofe anymore. She's nothing to him. He wants her gone.”

Lancelot opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out and his jaw worked like a fish out of water. “I... I...”

“
I know you love Arthur, my darling. I know you would do anything for him.” Guinevere leaned in and kissed Lancelot on the cheek. “So why don't you help me take care of Aiofe for him? He would like that. Then he wouldn't have to decide anymore. You're doing him a favor. You're being his friend. His
best
friend.”

Lancelot's head nodded slowly. He couldn't nod fast or he was sure he would fall over. “Yes, his friend. What do I do?”

Guinevere smiled and leaned over Aiofe's body. She cupped Lancelot's head in her hands and pressed her lips to his. The fog in his head swirled and danced. Fingers of it slid into his brain like roots taking hold in the dirt.

“
You need to take Aiofe to the woods. Hide her, get rid of her so she can no longer hurt Arthur.”

Lance nodded again. “Yes, to the woods.”

Together, they wrapped Aiofe's body in a blanket, hiding her from the world.

“
Come, this way.” Guinevere looked out into the hall and found it still deserted. She moved in the direction opposite the stairs. Lancelot followed her like a lost puppy dog with nowhere else to go. The weight in his arms was heavy and he tried to remember why he was holding it.

“
Lancelot, this way.”

He looked up and found Guinevere standing at a door. She opened it and he followed her out into another hall. Through a series of twists and turns, they ended up at the back of the castle, very near the woods. The small village that served to house most of the servants who did not work in the castle was off to their right a good distance away.

“We will take her as far back as we can, away from everything. Where she won't be discovered for a very, very long time.”

Lancelot blinked at her. “Okay.” His tongue was thick in his mouth and his head pounded. That niggling thought kept trying to break out and he kept reaching for it, only to have it slip away at the last second. What was he supposed to remember? What did he need to tell Arthur?

“Lancelot.” Guinevere's harsh tone broke into his dazed thoughts. “Let's go.”

“
Yes, my queen.” He started plodding along into the woods as a smile grew across her face.

“
Good boy.”

They walked deeper and deeper into the woods. The trees seemed to crowd around them the further in they went and Lancelot was convinced someone was watching them.

“Are we being followed?” he asked as he glanced around.

Guinevere scoffed. “Of course not. I was very careful. No one saw us.”

Lancelot wanted to contradict her, but she was Guinevere and she was always right. He kept walking and the weight in his arms kept growing heavier and heavier.

His gaze fell to the red hair as it flowed from the bundle. He rebalanced the weight and pulled the blanket away from her face. She still had the rag wrapped around her head, but her skin was growing ever paler. “Aiofe,” he whispered.

“Hmm?” Guinevere asked from in front of him.

He looked up. “Nothing, my queen.”

Guin shot him a quick smile and continued walking. Lance looked back down at Aiofe's freckled face. Arthur loves that face, he thought. For the first time in centuries, his king had someone he truly cared about, someone who treated him well in return. They had fallen quickly, aided by the faery charm placed on the line of hunters, but Lancelot had no doubt that they would have fallen in love on their own eventually. He had hoped they could be happy together. He had hoped Arthur could build the life he should have had the first time around.

Arthur. Lancelot's lips pressed together and the fog in his head raged. The fingers that had slipped into his brain began to shrivel and withdraw, but they fought tooth and nail for a foothold. The small thought in the back of his head grew larger, growling and slashing at the tendrils that clouded his mind. He still couldn't see it, but it was there, right there.

The trees shifted around him. He was certain of it. As they moved ever deeper into the woods, the trees closed in behind them and around them. He could feel them, he could sense them.

Aiofe groaned. His eyes dropped once more to the woman in his arms and something inside him snapped. He felt the fog shift and the idea roared to life.

“Arthur,” he mumbled and his feet ground to a halt.

It took Guinevere several steps before she realized Lancelot no longer followed her. He stood a handful of feet away from her and blinked rapidly. The fog in his brain dissipated, chased away by the thought that had finally broken free.

“Lance...” Guinevere took a step toward him. Her hand was out and she eyed him with worry. “Lance, it's okay.”

He tore his gaze from Aiofe and stared at her. “You,” he said. “You witch.” His accusation soared through the trees. “You faery witch. You tried to kill her!“ His cry had turned to a roar. Birds screeched and scattered overhead. Squirrels hid in their holes.

“Lancelot, stop this at once,” she commanded and her hand reached out.

He didn't wait for her to finish. He turned and ran toward the edge of the woods. Tendrils of fog pulled at the edges of his brain again, but he focused on the one thing that really mattered to him. Arthur. He kept Arthur's image in the forefront of his mind and surged forward as fast as he could go.

“Arthur!“ His cries rang out over the grounds. “Arthur, I need you!“ He reached the edge of the woods and broke toward the front of the castle.

Zela was racing toward him. “Lancelot, what's wrong?” she shouted.

“Guinevere,” he cried. “She's a traitor.”

“
Stop!“ Guinevere's cry came from behind him, but it was much too late. She stood at the edge of the trees as he ground to a halt beside Zela. Her lips curled and she sneered at him. “You'll pay for that, Lancelot. I'll see to it that you suffer more than anyone.” She turned and ran back into the trees.

“
Stop her,” Zela commanded as she pointed toward the trees.

Branches snaked out from their trunks and snagged on Guinevere's clothes. A root grabbed at her boot and it jerked off. The branches tangled about her arms and torso. She screamed and screeched and fought against them, but they were more powerful than she was. They wrapped her arms and hands into wooden shackles. They twirled about her face until only her nose and eyes were visible. Her screams continued, but were muffled to a bearable level by the trees. She was in an immovable prison of living wood.