PART 2: SIN
WE RIDE THROUGH THE NIGHT and well into the next afternoon, until I finally insist we stop. The Monk can barely stay upright, most of his weight leaning into my back, his chin pressing against the top of my head.
In a sheltered clearing, with towering trees all around, we come to a stop. There must be a stream nearby because I can hear running water. Mel and I jump off first and I reach up to help the Monk. He all but topples off Goliath's back, only just managing to land on his feet. My arm wrapped around him and supporting his weight, we move over to the base of a large tree and I gently help him down.
Mel starts taking Goliath's saddle off, unfastening the girth around his stomach.
"We should leave him tacked up," the Monk says, shifting back to lean against the tree. "In case we have to run quickly."
But my sister shakes her head. "He's exhausted from carrying all three of us. He needs a break and he needs to be cooled off."
The Monk eyes my sister curiously as I inspect the cuts on his face, crouched down beside him.
"What's your name, girl?" He asks her. She looks at me.
"Tell him," I say.
"Mel," comes her hesitant reply, her palm flat against Goliath's sweaty neck.
The Monk nods, tilting his head back to rest against the tree trunk.
"What's your name?" Mel asks, more confident this time. I look at her sharply, but the Monk doesn't seem upset or agitated at the question.
He thinks for a moment, almost like he's trying to recall it himself, like it's buried so deep that he has to dig to find it.
"Lancelot," he breathes out. "A long time ago, my name was Lancelot."
Lancelot. It is a far more comfortable moniker than the Weeping Monk.
"I think there's a stream just through there," I nod my head to the left. "I'm going to get us some water so I can clean these cuts."
"I'll go," Mel offers. "I'll take Goliath, he needs some water and I'll try and cool him off."
Mel and I have both always loved horses. We had a beautiful palomino mare before our village burned. I wonder where that mare is now. Did the Paladins kill her to spite us? Or take her and put her to use?
"There's a waterskin in the saddle bag," Lancelot says. "Take it and fill it."
"Please be careful," I tell Mel, even though the stream can't be far. "Come straight back."
"I will," she promises, leading Goliath away and through the trees. It looks almost comical, such a small girl with such a big steed, but he's gentle and pliant with her.
I turn back to Lancelot and undo his cloak, pulling it off him. It's strange to see him without it on, intimate in a way I can't explain. Like an unveiling. His hair is tied behind his head, but pieces have fallen out, coated in sweat.
"You're going to have to take your shirt off," I say, feeling awkward and avoiding looking at him. I instead focus on folding his cloak neatly.
He unfastens his belt and overcoat and takes them off, then pulls his dark shirt over his head.
My eyes dart up and then back down. He is all defined muscle and hard edges. His ribs are a patchwork of mottled brown and purple bruises. Scars run down his shoulders and across his strong arms, blood smeared around the various cuts and scrapes he has. He's a mess. But a shockingly enticing one.
He looks at me and I quickly duck my head. It's not like I've never seen someone topless before, but I was only with one boy back in my village and only a few times. And he was just that; a boy. Scrawny and fumbling and a little bit stupid.
Lancelot is a man, in every sense of the word.
I tear off a strip of fabric from the bottom of my shirt to help clean his wounds. Fiddling with it, I ask, "You're Ash Folk, aren't you?"
He nods slowly. I don't know much about Ash Folk. When I was little my father told me they were completely gone, killed out long ago. I suppose there must have been at least a few families left, perhaps far away from here.
"How old were you? When Carden took you?" I don't feel entitled to answers from him, but I am curious. He's an elusive, infamous figure and he just unexpectedly saved my life; I want to know more.
"Seven," he eventually replies. "It was a long time ago."
I can tell it is not something he wants to dwell on or is even capable of speaking about, so I don't push. Instead I inspect the scars on his arm more closely and see that they disappear behind him. I lean forward and put my hand on his warm shoulder to shift him forward so I can see his back.
My eyes widen, my breath catching. If I thought the front of him was a mess, the back is much, much worse. Dozens of deep cuts crisscross his back, all in various stages of healing. Some are fresh - from the past day or so - and others are years old, having created long, raised scars. His back tells a story of agony and pain and horrific abuse. I move back to look at his face, but he glares resolutely at the ground.
I'm not sure if Father Carden did this to him or...if he did it to himself. I'm not sure which option is worse.
The sound of Mel and Goliath returning has me straightening up and moving away.
"Goliath rolled in the water, so he's all cooled off," Mel smiles. Goliath's dark coat glistens with water and a bit of mud. She hands me the filled waterskin then takes Goliath over to a patch of grass to graze on.
I wet the strip of fabric in my hands and kneel closer to Lancelot. He watches me carefully, like I could turn on him at any moment. I start with his chest, cleaning the cuts there and move down to his firm stomach. There's one small wound, right above the band of his pants, but I leave that for him to clean himself. I instead move to his face and, with an especially gentle touch, wipe away the blood and grime along his forehead and cheek. We are close, so close that my breath moves some of the wisps of his loosened hair. He runs warmer than most and heats my body in an uncomfortable way.
I notice him looking at me like I'm crazy and at first, I don't understand. "What?" I ask defensively, hoping how I feel isn't written plainly on my face. He gives a small shake of his head, refusing to answer and I realise that it is the tenderness of my movements that have bewildered him. I wonder if he expected me to be rough, to dig into his wounds in an attempt to hurt him the way he's hurt me in the past or if perhaps he expected me to simply throw the cloth and water at him and tell him to do it all himself. Maybe that's more what he's accustomed to.
But I refuse to be cruel to him, even if there is a part of me that wants him to hurt in retribution for all the horrible things he's done. I won't give into that vicious, dark part of myself. If I do, then how am I any better than the Paladins?
I encourage him to lean forward and start working on his back. A few of the cuts are so deep they need stitches, but we don't have the materials for that.
Some Fey can heal faster than normal humans - hopefully the Monk is one of them. These woods are dangerous, crawling with Paladins, and we need him at full strength as soon as possible.
I tip some of the water down his back and he stiffens, but is utterly silent in his pain.
"Nearly finished," I murmur, wiping away as much blood as I can before sitting back and wringing the remaining water out of the strip of fabric, which has gone from a light green to a deep red.
Lancelot grabs his shirt and pulls it back on, his face tightening as he strains his various bruises and cuts.
"We need to eat," I say, worried for Mel. I wish we had a bow and arrow to hunt with but we don't. "I'll see if I can catch something." I reach down to grab the short blade from Lancelot's belt. He puts his hand on it to stop me.
"I'll go," he says, making a move to stand.
"You think I'm not capable?" My tone is biting. He pauses, looking up at me. I can feel Mel watching us and I'm sure she's uncomfortable. But the idea that he thinks I'm useless bothers me. After everything I've been through, haven't I proven myself?
He slowly shakes his head, like he isn't sure what the correct answer is.
Without another word, I swoop down, grab the blade and stalk off into the woods. It takes a long time for me to finally catch a rabbit; I'm not great at hunting and even less so without a bow and arrow to work with.
But I do it.
It's completely dark by the time I trudge back to our temporary camp. Lancelot is seated against the tree, but he must have gotten up at some point because there's a small fire going. Mel is curled up, asleep, right beside him.
I crouch down by the fire to start skinning the rabbit. Lancelot rises to his feet and comes over to me, utterly silent in every movement. The perfect predator, I instinctively think, then feel guilty. He isn't being quiet because he's trying to assassinate someone, he's doing it so my sister can continue to sleep peacefully. I see him glance back to check he hasn't woken her.
He has been my enemy for so long that I'm struggling to think of him as an ally. But that's what he is now and I want it to stay that way. I need him by my side right now.
He comes around to kneel beside me and holds out his hands for the rabbit. I hesitate, a stubborn part of me still wanting to prove that I can do this by myself. But the more rational part recognises this for what it is; him trying to help. Nothing more, nothing less. And I have always thought of myself as a rational person.
I hand the rabbit and the knife over to him and he begins skinning it far more efficiently than I was with quick, steady hand movements.
The sounds of the forest are all that can be heard besides the occasional snort or hoof-stomp from Goliath, who is tethered to a branch.
"I've never thought you incapable," Lancelot breaks the quiet, surprising me. I look at him, his face lit by the flickering fire. He stays focused on the rabbit, flipping it over.
"Never?" I question incredulously, remembering how he looked at me when we first started training, so many months ago. That look of dismissal and disinterest has stuck with me this whole time. Back then, he looked at me like I was nothing.
But now, when his eyes lift to meet mine, I see respect. I see reverence and something close to attachment.
"Never," he says.
~O~
"For you, my son, the only path to true redemption and freedom is through scripture, discipline and obedience."
Father Carden told Lancelot that many times over the years they spent together. Father's version of freedom was the freedom found in heaven, after death. There was no freedom to be had in life, because all were in servitude to God.
For so long, Lancelot had believed every single word that came out of the Father's mouth. Every word, without fail or pause. Now, he questions everything. Everything he was ever told, every belief he ever held.
"Demons come in every form. They can be deceitful, beautiful things with such evil hidden beneath."
Lancelot looks down at Eelie, who is curled up asleep around her little sister. Eelie's dark hair fans out around her, soft features relaxed and vulnerable in sleep. She is beautiful.
He once thought she was evil, that she deserved to die simply for existing. Guilt gnaws at him now but, beneath it, there is still disgust. He can't get rid of it so easily, can't cut it out like you might cut away a dead limb. It persists within him, disgust at her, even at little Mel, so small and innocent. But most of all, he's disgusted in himself. In what he is, in what he's become.
A monster.
He presses his back hard against the tree trunk and feels the burn of his gashes wash over him like an icy shower. The pain grounds him, keeps him in the moment. Over the years, hurt has become his mother tongue, as he spoke less and less and began to experience and inflict pain more and more.
He can see that Eelie is headed in a similar direction - or, at least, she was before they escaped the Paladin camp. He never wants her to become what he is today. He can't save his soul, one way or another, he is headed to hell. But maybe he can still save hers.
The fire has died down and a slight chill has set in. Eelie subconsciously curls tighter around Mel, searching for heat. He grabs his cloak and, careful not to wake them, gently lays it over the two girls, tucking it under Eelie's chin. His knuckles ghost along her jaw as he withdraws his hands.
He shuts his eyes and settles back. He won't sleep tonight, too wary of their surroundings, but he doesn't mind so much. The fresh air has never tasted clearer.
~O~
THE SKY HOLDS THE PROMISE OF RAIN. Dark clouds gather overhead as Lancelot covers their firepit with dirt and tacks Goliath up. He let the girls sleep later than he should have, well past dawn, and now he's regretting it. They need to get out of this forest before it starts to rain or the ground will turn muddy and they'll be too easy to track.
Eelie has disappeared down to the stream, so Lancelot ties Goliath up and turns to go in search of her.
"Stay here," he tells Mel, who is busy burying the remnants of the rabbit they ate.
"Where are you going?" She asks.
"To get your sister. We have to go," he pauses at the treeline. "Just...don't go anywhere."
If Mel went missing on his watch, he'd never forgive himself. And, worse, Eelie would never forgive him.
He silently works his way down the gentle slope and stops just before the bank of the stream. Eelie is a short ways down, in the water, her back to him.
Her clothes lie discarded on the flat surface of a rock.
He freezes, caught off guard. It is not often that something manages to surprise him. But this does.
The long line of her back arches as she reaches down and scoops a handful of water up her naked body. Her long hair is pulled over one shoulder, her smooth skin glistening in the filtered sunlight. Her shoulders and arms are strong with subtle muscle that must have developed while she was training.
He knows he needs to look away - this is sinful temptation in its purest form - but he just can't. Her body twists to the side slightly and he sees the curve of her breast. His breath hitches.
"What are you doing?"
He flinches and turns to see Mel frowning at him. No one has been able to sneak up on him in a very, very long time. It's disconcerting that Eelie can distract him so much that he forgets his surroundings.
"Nothing," he mutters, grabbing Mel's arm and marching them both back to the clearing where Goliath waits patiently.
Though the weather is not particularly warm, he feels hot and uncomfortable. He readjusts the straps on Goliath's bridle even though they don't need it.
He can sense when Eelie approaches and turns to see her making her way through the trees, fully dressed. Her wet hair drips down her shirt, darkening the green fabric.
"Ready to go?" she asks when she reaches them, wringing out her hair with her hands.
He doesn't reply, barely meeting her eye, instead focusing on lifting Mel onto Goliath's back and getting her situated. Spending the next few hours pressed closely against Eelie somehow sounds like both a torture from hell and a gift from God.
~O~
It starts to drizzle at noon, then turns to a downpour in the afternoon. I feel the chill settle in my bones as we ride through the forest. Lancelot wraps his cloak around Mel and I, pulling us back against him and trying to shield us from the rain, but that only helps so much.
Mel shivers in my arms and I'm afraid she's going to catch a cold.
"We need to find shelter," I turn my head further into Lancelot's hood to speak to him over the sound of the downpour. My cold nose bumps his warm cheek and though he doesn't visibly react, I feel his body tighten. I pull back an inch to give him more room, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. "We need to get out of the rain."
"We're nearly there," he says, staring straight ahead. There's a raindrop on his eyelash and I have the oddest desire to wipe it away. My hands tighten around Mel until she whines in protest and shakes me off.
"Nearly where?" I question, not realising we had a particular destination in mind.
He doesn't answer, always painfully vague, and I face forward once more, left with no choice but to trust him.
We veer out of the woods, losing the cover of the trees that shielded us, at least partially, from the rain. Lancelot urges Goliath into a canter as we pass fields of wheat. In the distance, I see a small, stone house. But Lancelot does not guide us toward it. Instead, we turn through one of the fields and arrive at a large barn. We quickly dismount and Lancelot pulls the heavy barn door open. We hurry inside and, blessedly, out of the rain. The door shuts with a thud behind us.
I look up at the high rafters of the barn, the smell of slightly musty straw enveloping us. There is some rusty farming equipment and chests of belongings scattered around.
"Is it safe for us to stay here?" I ask Lancelot.
"The man who owns this land is blind. He seldom leaves his house," comes his reply as he untacks Goliath. He runs his palm down the horse's neck tenderly. His fondness for the animal is apparent and it does not surprise me. Goliath has been his only constant companion for a long time - until Mel and I.
I turn to my sister, who is still shaking.
"We need to get you out of these wet clothes," I say, crouching in front of her. Lancelot lets Goliath loose to wander as he pleases, though the horse is so tired that he simply stands in one spot, mouthing at some of the straw.
I begin unlacing Mel's dress, frowning at how icy her skin is to the touch. A bang from behind me makes me turn to see Lancelot rummaging through one of the larger chests. He pulls out a blanket, an old shirt and pair of trousers, then brings them over to us.
Dust billows off the clothes and blanket, but at least they're dry. I shake out the men's white undershirt as much as I can before dressing my sister in it. It swallows her whole, the sleeves reaching well past her hands and the hem nearly touching her ankles. I turn our saddle on its side on the floor and, resting her head on it, Mel curls up in the soft straw. She drifts almost immediately to sleep, which worries me even more. The past few months - so much pain and stress, not enough rest or food - have taken a toll on her body. She's thin and pale, her cheeks gaunt.
"We can't keep living on the road," I say quietly, unlacing my saturated top as Lancelot begins to shed his clothes as well, a pair of dry trousers in his grasp. "Mel needs stability. We need...We need to find what remains of the Fey."
He shakes his head. "We can't go to the Fey."
I turn my back, pulling my top over my head and taking off the rest of my clothes. "Why? You think they want you dead?"
"They do," comes his quiet reply.
"They're angry at what you've done," I say, reaching down and picking up the blanket. I wrap it around me, left with nothing else to dress myself in. "But anger fades. We'll tell them the truth - that you're Fey as well - and they'll forgive you. Eventually."
"Forgive?" he questions, like it's a foreign word. I turn back around just as he's pulling the dry trousers up. His wet clothes are laid out on the floor neatly to dry and his top half is left bare. My eyes flick down his chest and stomach and I see his abrasions are healing quickly. Where deep bruises were set on his ribs, only light ones remain and his cuts are beginning to close. He definitely heals faster than most. A gift I envy. I try not to let my eyes linger on him too long.
"They'll be mad and maybe throw a punch or two, but if this Wolf-Blood Witch really has united them - and if she's half as smart as she sounds - then she'll know you're more useful to the Fey alive than dead," I point out, readjusting the blanket around me. I feel exposed, like I'm naked in front of him, even though I know he can only see from my collarbones and up.
"Last I heard, the Witch was turning herself over to Uther and Father Carden. She may not even still be alive," he says.
I hope she is. Our people need a leader right now and, if she truly wields the Sword of Power, then she is the perfect leader for us to have. "Either way, the Fey are our best option."
He wanders closer to me, impassive expression set in place that I am so used to. "I'm not the only one the Fey are going to want dead," he says, his voice holding a weary note.
I stiffen, my jaw tightening. "What is that supposed to mean?"
He pauses, barely a pace in front of me, and looks reticent to continue. I glare at him, both knowing and dreading what he's going to say next.
"The Tusk village you massacred," he speaks quiet and gentle, in a tone I have never heard him use before. Like he is cradling me with his voice.
My heart thunders in my chest at the mere mention of the Tusk village. It is like there are a hundred demons inside me trying to claw their way up my throat and out my mouth. I seal my lips tightly to stop them and back away from him. My legs wobble and give out, my bottom hitting the floor and sending a cloud of dust up around me. I stare straight ahead, wrapping my arms around my knees. "Anyone who knew about that is dead."
"Unless they aren't," he says. "If even one Tusk escaped and made it to the surviving Fey..."
Then they'll identify me as one of the people that murdered their village. I will be ostracised by my people, lauded as a murderer.
Which is exactly what I am.
My bottom lip trembles but I won't cry. It would be pointless and tasteless to weep for those I murdered.
Lancelot wearily sits down by my side. I feel his gaze resting on me, free of judgement. For so long I couldn't understand or comprehend how he could turn on his own kind. But I am beginning to realise that we are more alike than I perhaps want to admit. He killed to survive, to please Carden, because he was tricked into thinking it was right. I killed to save my sister. I'm not sure either of our reasons are justifiable. Maybe neither of us deserve forgiveness.
"At least we'll be damned together," I murmur and look at him. It is a small consolation, but a consolation nonetheless. Maybe the Fey will never take me back, but I am not alone. I rest my head on his shoulder, our bare arms touching. At first he is stiff, tense like he's prepared for war. I want him to realise that touch does not always have to be a painful battle or struggle. Sometimes it can just be...nice.
Slowly, he softens and I sink further into him, my head sliding onto his chest, his arm moving around me.
I fall asleep to the soft patter of rain and the steady beat of his heart.
~O~
We ride for much of the next day, through fields and fields of wheat and other crops. We pass the town of Kilton, which is not far from where my old village was. It helps me to get my bearings and situate myself. I've been largely lost the past few days. We see some peasants, hauling carts of goods with donkeys, but they pay us little mind. Lancelot makes sure to keep his hood up and his head down as we pass them.
Leaving Kilton behind, we go along a dirt road that is positioned between a dense forest and a large cliff.
Down below, the ocean crashes dangerously against rocks. I can see the forest ends up ahead, the dirt path opening up into wider grass fields. But Lancelot pulls Goliath to a stop, sitting up behind me.
"What's wrong?" I ask him, immediately alert.
"Why are we stopping?" Mel chimes in.
"We should double back," Lancelot replies, going to pull Goliath around with the reins. I put my hand on his to stop him.
"Why? What's going on?" I push. "Tell me."
He is hesitant to share but I refuse to let him turn Goliath around until he does. "There's a Paladin encampment up ahead."
"How do you know?"
"I can sense it...Not just Paladins. Fey, too," he says and I perk up.
"Aphid and Duna?" I demand and he reluctantly nods. "We have to go to them, we have to rescue them-"
He shakes his head. "No. It's too dangerous."
I look at Mel who stares back at me with wide eyes. I remember what she said, about not leaving Lancelot behind when we were running from the Trinity Guard and the other Paladins. I failed Duna and Aphid by leaving them then. I won't do that again. I can't leave them behind. But endangering Mel isn't a good option either.
I jump off Goliath, landing steadily on my feet. Lancelot immediately follows.
"Listen, take Mel into the woods. Keep her there and wait for me. I'll go and get Duna and Aphid and sneak them out of the camp-"
"No," he cuts me off. "No."
"Lancelot," I grab his hand and it is the first time I've spoken his name aloud, the first time it's let my lips. "I have to do this." Nothing more needs to be said; I know he understands what it feels like to want to make up for past mistakes.
"I'll go," he offers but I immediately shake my head.
"Aphid and Duna don't trust you. They'll think their loyalty is being tested or something and they won't follow you. Besides, you're too recognisable. I'll try and slip in and out without being seen."
He grips my hand back, tightly, strong fingers wrapping around my knuckles. "Don't do this."
"If I leave them, I will never forgive myself," I say. They have been my friends and kept me sane during our captivity. They're the only ones who know exactly what I've been through. And they're Fey. Fey don't abandon each other, even when it may be easier to do so. "I won't leave them, just like I couldn't leave you."
Acceptance washes over him, though I can only tell from the way his lips purse slightly and he straightens up. All his emotions are so small and muted, he guards them so closely. But I can see through him better now, better than anyone.
"Promise me you won't let Mel out of your sight, that you'll protect her while I'm gone," I say this with all the intensity and passion that I have for keeping my sister safe. I shake his arm with our conjoined hands. "Promise me."
"I promise," he whispers coarsely.
"Eelie," Mel says and I look up at her, still seated comfortably on Goliath. "I'll be ok." She is so brave and so beautiful.
I stand on my tiptoes, grab her head and pull it down, kissing her on the cheek. "Listen to everything Lancelot says, alright? Don't run off." Mel has never been an unruly child, but I tell her this regardless.
"I won't." She gives me a smile and mouths, 'I love you'. I kiss her cheek once more then step back.
"Here." Lancelot pulls out his blade and hands it to me. "Just in case."
I take it and our eyes meet. I can see it pains him to watch me go into danger whilst he stays back. And maybe there is some satisfaction in that, knowing I have at least a modicum of power over one of the most revered killers in all the land. There is fear as well, because I know he has just as much power over me.
I walk backwards for a few steps, savoring their faces, before turning and marching up the sloping green hill.
~O~
I WAIT TILL NIGHTFALL, then use the cover of darkness to sneak into the Paladin camp. I avoid crunchy leaves or sticks underfoot, taking each step forward with the utmost care. I have to be silent or risk being detected by the two dozen Paladins that mill around.
Some sit at fires, cooking meat, whilst others clean their weapons or brush their horses. There is a group praying on their knees, hands clutched together in front of them.
In the very middle of the camp is a tent, smaller than the others. That's probably where Duna and Aphid are sleeping. It's strategically placed in the middle so that it's harder for them to sneak away. Unfortunately, that also makes it harder for me to get to.
Crouched behind a wagon full of firewood, I wait till a group of Paladins wander away, then I sneak forward to the tent I think Duna and Aphid are in.
I duck inside and am relieved to find them sitting on their makeshift beds in silence.
They look up at me in shock, Duna shooting to her feet. "Eelie?"
"Shh!" I hush them, a finger to my lips. "We have to go," I whisper. "Now."
"What? Where have you been?" Aphid asks, still not speaking quietly enough.
"I'll explain everything, I promise. But we have to get out of here." I yank them forward but they don't budge.
"We can't just leave," Duna says.
"What? Why not?" I demand.
"There's a boy - a Fey boy. They've been holding him captive for days. We have to get him first," Duna explains.
Shit. That complicates things, but she's right. We can't leave him behind. "Do you know where he's being held?" I ask.
"He's under guard in a tent on the far side of the camp," Duna says. "We'll have to get past all the Paladins to get to him."
"It's going to be easier for one of us to get there. You two should meet me by the treeline and I'll go and get him-"
"No," Duna interrupts me. "We stick together. That way, if we do get caught, we'll have a way better chance of fighting our way out."
I reluctantly nod and they begin gathering their things, just what they can carry in a small shoulder bag. They're both unarmed - the Paladins would have taken their weapons. But hopefully we'll find some swords lying around in the camp.
Duna turns to me, a conflicted look on her face. "You know...there are only about two dozen of them. If we could find weapons, with the three of us...we might be able to take them."
"Slaughter them?" Aphid questions. She seems neither particularly for nor against the idea. More indifferent than I'd like.
"It's not worth the risk," I say. I have no love for Paladins - that's for sure - but I don't want to kill unnecessarily. Especially not with Mel so close by. I'd rather us get in and out of this camp undetected. "We haven't taken on that many opponents alone before. Better not to try today."
Duna reluctantly nods and we listen carefully for any movement outside the tent. Hearing nothing, I peak my head out. There is a cluster of Paladins close by, but their backs are all turned and they're talking loudly amongst themselves. We creep past, so silent it's like we're barely there at all.
Weaving our way through the camp is difficult. We run into one barrier after another; horses that may stir and whinny if we get too close, rows of tents that we have to go around and dispersed groups of Red Coats.
"The boy's in there," Duna mouths, pointing to a larger tent. Two Paladins stand guard outside it. We're going to have to kill them to get past. Duna signals with her hand for me to go around the tent and come up on the other side of them. I tiptoe around, drawing my blade silently and coming up behind the guard closest to me. The other Paladin's eyes widen and his mouth opens when he sees me behind his Brother, but before a sound can escape, Duna jumps out from the shadows and snaps his neck, just like Lancelot taught us to do months ago. I drive my blade straight through my Paladin's neck, twisting it slightly before pulling back in one fluid movement. I catch his body before it thumps heavily against the ground and instead lower it slowly.
We duck into the tent and find the boy tied to a chair, his chin touching his chest. There's a bruise blooming across his cheekbone and his lip is cut, but other than that he seems largely unharmed.
"Hey," I shake him lightly and his head snaps up to look at us, eyes wide. He studies Duna and quickly realises we're Fey. "Shh. Keep quiet." I crouch down and begin cutting off the ropes that bind him. "What's your name, boy?"
"Squirrel," he says.
"It's going to be ok, Squirrel. But we have to get out of here and we have to do it unnoticed. So stay silent and follow our lead. Ok?" I cut away the last of the rope and help him to his feet.
"Ok." He nods confidently and though he seems brave and unafraid, I think it's more of a front than anything.
I hold his hand tightly and all four of us creep past the two dead Paladins on the ground and toward the treeline.
Several voices grow louder and we stop. My heart pounding in my chest, I am ashamed to admit that I freeze, clutching Squirrel's hand, my eyes wide.
Luckily, Duna pulls us down behind a stack of wooden chests. We kneel there, barely daring to breathe. Aphid is utterly still, Duna and I peeking over the top of our hiding place to see a group of five Paladins come and sit on a nearby log.
Shit.
We're not going to be able to get past them undetected and we can't come back the way we came. Duna and I look at each other. What are we going to do?
~O~
This is taking too long, Lancelot thinks bitterly. He and Mel are deep in the woods with Goliath. They had to dismount not far in so that the horse could carefully pick his way through the tangled roots, vines and shrubbery. They found sanctuary beneath a large oak tree, where they now await Eelie's return. But it's been hours and she still hasn't shown. She's not close either; he'd be able to sense her through the forest floor or her scent on the breeze. He doesn't want to admit just how worried he is but if she doesn't return soon he's going to go after her.
"She'll be here," Mel says from her spot resting against Goliath's shoulder. "Eelie always comes through."
It's not that he doesn't have faith in her; he trained her himself. He knows what she is capable of. But there are a lot of Paladins in that camp. If she gets into trouble...
He wants to fidget - a habit that was quickly beaten out of him as a boy. When he was very young, he would always move around, play with his hands, a restless and energized child. But Father Carden demanded stillness and obedience and placidity. So the Monk became motionless, became a pillar of solitude and silence.
He knows he doesn't have to be that anymore, but it is a hard mould to break free from. Eelie makes him want to though, in so many ways. Right now, it's in frustration.
"If she isn't back soon, I'm going after her," he says quietly. "You'll stay here with Goliath."
"She'd be angry if she knew you left me alone," Mel points out.
He rubs a leaf gently between his forefinger and thumb, watches his hand turn green as it absorbs the leaf's texture. The sight doesn't bother him as much as it once did.
"I'd rather she be angry than dead," he says. Mel frowns, looking upset, and he immediately regrets his words. He should be the one reassuring her, not the other way around. He drops the leaf and comes closer to her and Goliath, putting his hand on his horse's neck. "It's...going to be fine." A poor attempt at reassurance and it doesn't really seem to work. Mel remains upset, crossing her arms over her chest.
What is he supposed to say? What's the right thing to say? If Eelie were here, she'd know. But she isn't. Only the Weeping Monk and a small girl, alone in the middle of a dark forest. In another life, that'd be the punchline to a terrible joke.
~O~
"We fight," Duna mouths to me, her lips forming silently around the words. We can't risk speaking, even quietly. The group of Paladins are too close.
I shake my head at her suggestion, looking at Squirrel. If we go to battle against all the Paladins in this camp, there's a good chance the boy will be caught in the crossfire and end up dead.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Aphid begin to creep backward. I reach out to try and grab her but she keeps going back, toward where three horses are tied up. Duna and I stare at her in shock as she moves into the Paladin's line of sight. If even one of them glances over our way, they'll be able to see her. I try to signal for her to come back behind the wall of wooden chests, but she won't even look at me. She gets closer to the horses who begin to move restlessly. I hold Squirrel against me tightly.
Aphid reaches up and unties one of the horse's lead ropes, letting him loose. The horse just stands there at first but, with a light whack on the rump, it takes off in a canter right toward the group of Paladins, who all look up and shout at the same time. In the chaos that the loose horse creates, as it runs through the camp with Paladins chasing after it, we race over to Aphid and jump on the remaining two horses.
Aphid and Duna climb onto the back of a larger mare whilst Squirrel and I mount a white horse. We race off into the night, away from the Paladin camp, to the shouts of the Brothers chasing around after the loose horse.
I only let out a breath of relief when we reach the edge of the woods and begin making our way through. It's hard in the dark and the horses stumble over the forest floor. But it is infinitely safer than being stuck in the Paladin camp.
Duna tilts her head back and breathes in the freedom. Aphid looks largely unmoved, but I'm sure she's secretly relieved.
"They should be just up ahead somewhere."
"Who?" Duna and Squirrel question me at the same time.
I hesitate. "I don't want you to freak out. I can explain everything-"
"Eelie!" I hear Mel's voice through the trees and strain my eyes to see through the darkness.
She, Lancelot and Goliath seem to materialise from the shadows, making their way toward us. We all dismount our horses and I catch Mel in my arms as she launches herself at me.
"I know you'd come back to us," she says into my neck. I lock eyes with Lancelot over Mel's shoulder and though he doesn't say anything and his hood is back up on his head, I can see he's glad to see me, as I am him. He lets out a breath that is the closest thing to a sigh of relief that I've seen from him.
"You?" Squirrel spits from beside me, glaring at Lancelot. Duna and Aphid both stiffen as well, with Duna looking ready to fight.
I put Mel back on her feet and grab Duna's arm, steadying her. "Wait. Let me explain."
"Explain?" Duna is angry, furious. "How could you possibly explain this? Working with him?" She glares at Lancelot. "After everything he did to us..."
"I know. But it's more complicated than you understand-"
Duna shakes me off her. "He beat us, made us kill our friends!"
"Not all of us," Aphid says quietly and we look at her. "He didn't make all of us fight each other. Eelie never had to. She was spared from that." There is a hint of bitterness in Aphid's gaze as she stares at me. "He favoured you."
I hate that she's right, but she is. Lancelot never made me kill one of the other Fey. I carry guilt over that, mixed in with all the other crap that I feel bad for. It's exhausting.
Duna's face twists with horror. "Were you in on this with him the entire time? Working with him?"
"What? No! I wasn't," I insist. "It wasn't like that."
"Then what was it like? What possible reason could you have for trust him after everything-"
"He's Fey," I interrupt and silence falls. I glance over to Lancelot who is already staring at me. His jaw is clenched but he puts up an inscrutable front, Goliath's reins clenched in his fist. I look back at Duna. "He's one of us. He always has been."
Duna looks shocked; Aphid less so.
"What?!" It is Squirrel that breaks the quiet that has fallen. He turns to glare at Lancelot with burning heat. "What's wrong with you? How could you murder your own people?"
"Alright enough," I cut in. "The Paladins have probably noticed that you're all missing by now. We need to keep moving and get as far away from here as possible. I risked my life going into that camp to save all three of you. So how about you just trust me? At least, for now."
Duna still looks hurt, like I betrayed her and...maybe on some level I did. When I found out Lancelot's secret, I didn't tell her. I didn't feel like I could trust her with it and now I'm asking her to trust me.
Still, she mounts her horse and helps Aphid up as well. Squirrel and I get back on our horse whilst Lancelot lifts Mel onto Goliath's back, then climbs up behind her.
We ride through the woods slowly, then break out to a wide green field and gallop across it. Coming to a dirt road that makes its way along the coastline, with the sea raging down below, we begin following it.
Hours and hours pass. We traipse in mostly silence, though Squirrel makes a snide comment now and again.
He's a snarky boy with a sharp tongue. "Did you just wake up one day and decide you didn't like Fey or something? I mean really, what kind of rotten coward turns on their own people?" He snaps at Lancelot, who doesn't even spare the boy a courtesy glance.
Mel turns back to Squirrel from her place in front of Lancelot. "You know, you shouldn't talk about things you don't know about," she says. "You sound silly and cruel."
Squirrel's eyes narrow at her. "And you sound stupid and-"
"Enough," I chide him. "Just be quiet, both of you."
They both sulk, throwing glares at each other. It's going to be miserable traveling together if they refuse to get along.
"You're Sky Folk, like me, aren't you?" I ask Squirrel in a low voice.
"I thought I wasn't allowed to speak," he mutters crossly.
"Don't be a brat."
"Fine. Yes, I'm Sky Folk and there are people who are going to be looking for me."
I shift behind him. "What people?"
"My people. Our people," he says exasperatedly. "I was with Nimue and the other surviving Fey, but-"
"Nimue?" Lancelot questions from in front of us, his head tilted in our direction.
Squirrel's voice goes hostile. "You call her the Wolf-Blood Witch. But she's just Nimue. And I have to get back to her and my other friends."
"Ok," I say, although it's not necessarily in agreement with him. Getting him back to the surviving Fey could be difficult. I suppose all of us will have to come up with some kind of plan in the morning.
The moon peaks in the sky and Lancelot slows Goliath down to walk beside my horse. "We should make camp somewhere," he mutters quietly to me. "In the trees." He nods toward the forest that persists to our right. Although he hasn't reacted to the myriad of insults thrown at him in the past hours, I know, on some level, they bother him. I want to comfort him, to touch his arm, to speak with him properly. But I don't dare with Duna and Aphid right behind us.
We tie our horses up and prepare to sleep beneath the trees, deciding against making a fire in case the smoke draws Paladin attention. We're far enough away that they aren't going to be able to find us, but best not to risk it.
Squirrel and Mel fall asleep first, both exhausted. Mel's head rests in Lancelot's lap whilst Squirrel stays close by my side.
Aphid appears to drift off as well, her head resting on her arms and Lancelot's eyes close, though I doubt he's actually asleep.
Duna and I are left wide awake, sitting side by side.
We listen to the horses snorting softly and pawing at the ground, to the birds in the branches and the light rustle of trees.
"I'm sorry," I breathe into the air before me.
There is a beat and then, "For what?"
"For all of it, I guess." My dark hair wisps out in front of my face and I watch it blow in the wind. "I didn't...I didn't want to leave you behind. when Mel and I escaped. But I had to get her out of there."
"I'm not mad about that," Duna shakes her head. "I never was, not for a second. You have no idea how relieved I was to realise you got away. I was glad that you didn't have to..." She trails off and the pain on her face is muted but excruciating.
She's glad I didn't have to kill Mel. My stomach twists.
"Did you...Did you kill Lucan?" I am hesitant to ask, but I want to know what became of him. The Faun man cared for Eelie for a long time when I couldn't.
Duna's hands clasp together and tears brim in her eyes. "I couldn't. I couldn't do it. I had to watch them tear him apart instead in Brother Salt's kitchen. Eelie, his screams..." Her voice cracks and I put my arm around her.
"I'm sorry. Duna, I'm so sorry."
We rest our heads together. I would never have survived till now without her. I want to thank her for helping me, for inspiring me to be brave and for always reminding me of the loyalty and strength between Fey, but my eyes are heavy. I drift to sleep. I can tell her in the morning.
~O~
Screams wake me.
It is so jarring and abrupt, my heart hammering like a rabbit's. Red Paladins surround us, invading our sleeping space. They drag Squirrel away from me and I scramble to get to him but am yanked back by a pair of hands. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lancelot fighting four of his Brothers. He cuts them down efficiently with a sword, shielding Mel, but more and more Brothers pour in from the trees.
Duna is grappling with one of them, having knocked his weapon to the ground. I manage to grab it and stab the Paladin that has hands on me, then turn to help Squirrel. With one stroke, another Paladin is dead, then another.
They aren't bad fighters necessarily - they have passion, that's for sure - but they haven't been trained like we have. Most are farm boys and peasants that have been given a sword and some righteous entitlement along with a free pass to cruelty.
When my weapon gets stuck in the chest of one Red Coat, I spin under the blade of the next and kick him from behind. I pick up a sharp stick from the floor and when he turns back to me, I jab it into his eye. He falls to the ground writhing.
We are inundated with Paladins and they just keep coming. How the hell did they even find us? Lancelot kills without slowing down, but he's stuck in one spot, trying to protect Mel with her backed against a tree.
I grab Squirrel by the collar and drag him over to me just as two more Paladins descend. They wrestle me to the ground, hands going around my throat. My fingers claw at their faces and one cowers back whilst I use my feet to shove away the other. Squirrel picks up a rock and chucks it at them, knocking a Paladin to the ground.
I look to my right and see Duna fighting off three enemies. She's faster and stronger than they are and they each drop like flies. But my attention is captured by something behind her.
Any breath in my chest puffs out in shock.
Aphid stands with her hands behind her back and watches us. She makes no move to help us or to fight by our side. She is impassive in our struggle and I know, somehow, I just know... she led the Paladins to us. She's betrayed us.
Duna seems to notice Aphid as I do and she yells, "What are you doing?! Aphid!"
A Paladin sneaks up behind Duna - I call out but it's too late - and he stabs her straight through.
I cry out, swooping down and grabbing the nearest sword I can find before charging forward. With a swift swing, I cut the Paladin's head clean off. It rolls to the forest floor and his body thumps down at the same time that Duna's does. I catch her head before it collides with the ground, tears streaming down my cheeks as she gurgles on blood.
"No, no," I shake my head. A set of hands grab my hair and yank me back violently. I scream and twist but I can't think clearly enough to figure out what the best tactical move would be. Instead I just struggle and thrash like I'm that scared girl all over again with no fighting experience.
A shadowy figure that can only be Lancelot appears above me and slits the throat of the Paladin holding me. I claw my way back over to Duna as Lancelot finishes off the last few Paladins still left alive. Their bodies litter our makeshift camp site, so many that the whole ground runs red between the blood and robes.
"Hey, hey," I cradle Duna's face in my hands, leaning over her. Her eyes are glassy and her breathing laboured. "Stay with me, ok? You're going to be alright." I move one of my hands to press onto her wound, as though I can keep the blood from spilling out. "Don't leave me." My tears splash onto her face. She reaches up with a shaky hand and holds my wrist. "Don't leave me," I whisper. She tries to say something, but can't. Her breathing slows, then stops altogether and her grip on my wrist loosens till her hand hits the ground.
My face crumples, but I don't let out a sound. It feels like my chest has been hollowed out. My forehead falls to rest on her shoulder and I can feel the life drain from her body. I thought that perhaps I would get used to emotional pain - between my village and parents dying, then the death of the other Fey I was held captive with, then having to massacre the Tusk village. Shouldn't I be used to it by now? Shouldn't I be used to this gut-punching hurt?
I'm not. It hurts just the same as it did the first time I felt it. Relentless and consuming.
Lancelot puts his hand on my shoulder but I shake him off. I don't want comfort and I don't want hurt. I want anger and violence.
I stand and march toward Aphid. "What did you do?" I demand and shove her back. "Why? How could you?"
She clearly didn't expect us to triumph over all those Paladins, thought we would be killed or apprehended.
"I did what I had to," she says calmly, showing no fear. "Like I always have."
I shake my head. I can't believe how stupid I've been. "You killed Karn without blinking. Massacred the Tusk village so easily. And then when Carden told you to, you turned on the person you loved and killed them too. And I told myself that you had no choice, just like the rest of us. But all this time..."
"After Jin died, I realised that we were all on our own. We had to do whatever it took to survive." She shrugs. "Being loyal to the Paladins was the smarter move."
"So even after I broke you out of their prison, risking my life, you went back and told them we were here?" I question incredulously, shaking with emotion.
She pauses and, maybe somewhere, I see a flicker of humanity, of guilt, of the girl she once was in her snake-like eyes. But it is quickly extinguished. "Like I said; I did what I had to."
I lunge at her and tackle her to the floor, smashing her head against a rock. She elbows me in the face and gets on top of me but I jab my hand hard into her windpipe and she rolls off. My fingers reach for a rock and I raise it above my head, ready to crush her skull.
Lancelot stops me with a hand on my wrist.
"Don't," he says and I look up at him.
"We can't let her live," I gasp out. "We can't... Not after what she's done." I look back at Duna's body.
"I know," he says quietly. "But you don't have to do it."
"I do. I do have to... I have to..."
But he shakes his head, takes the rock from me and helps me to my feet. Aphid is still wheezing and holding her throat.
Cradling my elbows, he says, "You don't want to do this. Let me do it."
I finally meet his eyes. I know he spared me from having to kill one of my fellow Fey all those months ago and I can see he wants to spare me from that pain again. He will take it upon himself, burden himself further, to protect me from it.
Hands warm and safe, he holds me up and there is more tenderness on his face than there has ever been before. "It's ok," he murmurs.
Exhaustion floods me from head to toe, like a towering ocean wave crashing into me. I nod slowly, accepting his help in this.
He jerks his head toward where the kids are. Squirrel is holding Mel close, watching this scene unfold with horror. I suppose nothing brings people close like a bit of trauma.
"Take them," Lancelot tells me and I step back from him, his hands sliding off me. Numbly, I move toward the kids and usher them into the woods. I glance back in time to see Lancelot draw his sword just as Aphid stumbles to her feet.
Squirrel, Mel and I move out of sight.
"Eelie?" Mel whimpers.
"It's alright," my voice sounds monotone, not reassuring at all. I pull them both close to me, holding their warm little bodies against mine.
Behind us, I hear the slice of Lancelot's sword cutting through flesh.
After my village was burned, I awoke in an enclosure with five other Fey. We became a small family, training together, supporting one another. One by one, they have each fallen.
Now, I'm the last one left.
~O~
"THEY WERE HERE," Lancelot says, crouched down and rubbing some sand between his fingers. "Recently."
"How do you know?" Squirrel demands, craning his neck like he might find some clues. But whatever Lancelot can sense is not something that Squirrel, Mel or I are ever going to be able to understand.
"He just does," I tell Squirrel. "Go wait with Mel and the horses." The boy reluctantly turns and bounds back to where Mel is standing with Goliath and the gray mare we stole from the Paladin camp. Mel and Squirrel named her Morning after extensive arguing.
Lancelot stands up and comes to my side on the long beach. Water crashes gently against the shore, only to be sucked back out into the abyss of the ocean.
At Squirrel's behest, we have been tracking the surviving Fey along the coastline for the past three days. He is insistent that he returns to his friends as soon as possible and I don't want to deny him of that. But Lancelot and I both still have reservations about meeting up with the rest of the Fey.
"We could just drop him off outside their camp and go," I suggest quietly, the warmth of Lancelot's arm pressing into mine. My heart twists at the idea of leaving the Fey boy behind. He and Mel have bonded quickly - despite their many arguments - and I don't want to deny her of child companionship, even if Squirrel is a few years older.
"Could you do that?" Lancelot questions, his blue eyes set on the rolling waves of the sea in the distance. He seems to know that I don't want to just abandon Squirrel and I think he feels similarly, though he won't admit it. Squirrel has been considerably more warm to Lancelot ever since the Paladin attack, where Lancelot killed many of his Brothers to save us all.
I exhale shakily, rubbing my face. "I don't know." I feel constantly emotionally drained. Lancelot lets me lean against him, our fingers touching. He has been a pillar of strength and support since Duna and Aphid died. I don't think I could have done any of this without him; looking after Squirrel and Mel, burying Duna and Aphid, continuing on this journey.
The night after we left that horrible scene behind, when Squirrel and Mel were fast asleep, I curled up in a ball and I just sobbed. For hours. And Lancelot held me the entire time, not uttering a word, never complaining. He just held me in his arms until eventually sleep took me.
I look at him now, the warm sun bathing his face, his hood off and his true identity bared to the world. To me.
"Thank you," I murmur, studying his sharp cheekbones, inky markings and pulled-back hair.
His lips purse in the way they do when he doesn't quite understand something. "For what?" His head moves toward me.
"For being here," I say. "Just for..." I shake my head and turn away. "I don't know."
"Can we go already?!" Squirrel shouts from his place on the rocky, steep path that leads up the cliff.
I blow out a breath. "C'mon, we better get moving before he gets bored and starts making trouble."
Lancelot tilts his face down to hide his small smile, but I see it all the same.
~O~
Camped in the mouth of a cave along the beach, Lancelot and I lie back and watch Squirrel chase Mel around in a game that I cannot understand for the life of me. Squirrel shouts things out and his voice echoes back to him from the cavern of the cave.
Mel laughs merrily, jumping over jutting rocks and running out onto the sand, near where the horses are tethered, then back in toward us. Her hair is getting longer, reaching down her back, a few shades lighter than mine. I'll have to cut it soon or it'll start to get too tangled.
"You're slower than a donkey on a bad day!" Squirrel shouts, chasing after the giggling Mel. She ducks away from him and they run into the cave, the darkness engulfing them.
"Don't go too far in!" I call out and they circle around and come back toward us.
Dashing toward the beach, Mel slips on some sand, her feet sliding out from beneath her. Luckily, Squirrel is close enough to grab her wrist and keep her from crashing to the ground.
"Alright, that's enough," Lancelot tells them from his spot beside me. "Sit down, both of you."
They've tired themselves out, so they don't complain, settling down by the fire and drawing things in the sand instead.
It's the nicest night I've had in so long.
The sound of the ocean lulling us, salt on the seabreeze and proper shelter from the elements.
Squirrel and Mel are happy and I have Lancelot by my side, someone I can truly depend on. I look at him and a feeling bubbles up inside me, the kind of feeling that makes you want to do something erratic, that makes you believe you could take on the world with no fear. It's an irrational feeling, one I would usually reject. But instead, I embrace it. Irrationality, like everything else, has its place in the world.
"Let me check the cuts on your back. I want to make sure none of them got infected," I say. It's been over a week since he fought the Trinity Guard and the wounds on his face are almost completely gone, smooth skin left in their place. But the ones on his back are deeper and nastier.
"They're fine," he says, rotating his shoulder slightly.
"Just let me look." I climb behind him and he sits up slightly so my legs can slot in on either side of his hips. He unbuckles his cloak and outershirt, taking them off and leaving him in his white undershirt. I pull the fabric of the shirt up to reveal the skin of his back.
Most of the cuts have healed, scarring over. He definitely has some enhanced healing abilities. Wounds like those would take the average person months to completely recover from.
I trail my fingers over the various scars marring his back. Some of them are so old that they're almost completely faded, others are pink and raised. The muscles in his back tense and shift as I move my fingers down from his shoulders to the bottom of his spine.
Mel and Squirrel are too busy playing a game with some stones and sand to look at us.
"Did you do this? Or did Carden?" I am hesitant to ask, but I want so badly to know. He has taken on so much of my pain and I want to do the same for him.
He hesitates, his head turned to the side so I can see his profile; the bridge of his nose, outline of his lips.
I watch his throat move as he swallows thickly. "I did."
My heart breaks for him, that he would do this to himself in some twisted attempt to atone, simply for being born Fey, is unthinkable.
"Pain, it...cleanses; it's cathartic, a release of evil," he explains quietly.
I shake my head, but don't know what to say to dissuade him of that particular belief.
"No one deserves pain simply for being," my voice is broken and choppy.
His head tilts down and I push myself closer to him. I rest my forehead in the crook of his neck, my front pressing against his partially exposed back, my knees knocking against his hips. I know he is strong and ruthless and a killer through and through. I know he has blood on his hands, that he is capable of worse horrors than I can even imagine. But in that moment, all I want to do is protect him, to shield him from the world. Seven years old, snatched from his village and forged into a weapon. I look over his shoulder at Mel and Squirrel. I can't even imagine them being put through that and they're both older than he was when he was taken.
The bare skin of his neck against my cheek is comfort and bliss. It makes my breathing deepen and my toes curl in my boots. His hand rests on my calf, his thumb slipping beneath the leg of my trousers to meet skin. My lips touch his shoulder blade first, then I drag them along to press against one of his scars. A tiny shiver runs through him, one that he tries to suppress, but that I feel anyway. It's easier to be this close to him when I don't have to see his face. It's less intimidating without his heavy eyes directly on me.
With my breaths getting shallower, I splay my fingers out across his lower back. I want...I want... I can't bring myself to even think it. But I want it desperately, like a man dying of thirst wants a sip of water.
He leans back into me further, our bodies so close that not even a sheet of parchment could fit between us. Craning his neck, I feel him look at me, though I keep my eyes shut tightly. Facing his disarming stare is not something I'm prepared for.
A squawking seagull flies overhead, causing me to flinch back. His hand slips off my leg and I lower his shirt back down, moving away from him.
My cheeks are warm with something akin to embarrassment, although I'm not sure why. We haven't done anything wrong. Still, I avoid looking at Lancelot as he quickly redresses with his outershirt and cloak.
I crawl over to Mel and Squirrel. "What game are you playing?" I ask, hugging Mel close.
They explain it to me in the most confusing way possible until I give up trying to join in and settle for just watching.
From across the fire, Lancelot watches too. The kids mostly, but me as well. I feel every look and, with it, relive every touch of his skin against mine.
~O~
We continue along the coastline, up on the grass fields above the beach, the whole next day. As the sun begins to set, we veer further inland, through some sparse trees.
We arrive at a wide, fast-flowing river and stop for some water.
Lancelot comes to my side as Mel and Squirrel lean over to have a drink. "We're getting close," Lancelot murmurs to me. "The Fey are less than a day's ride away."
"Do you think the Paladins know where they are?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "They'd have wiped them out by now and the scent wouldn't be this strong. Without me, they'll be struggling to track the Fey down."
"When we get there... what are we going to do?" We still haven't come to a conclusive decision.
He puts his hand on Goliath's neck, bracketing me in with his arm. His elbow rests on top of my shoulder.
"I'll go where you go," he says, like it's just that simple, like he'd follow me anywhere, even to the end of the world.
I open my mouth to reply but am cut off by a startled shriek and my head whips around just in time to see the bank give way beneath Mel's feet and for her to tumble into the depths of the river.
"Mel!" I shout.
Squirrel goes to jump in after her, but Lancelot scoops the boy up right before he can.
I dive into the water. It's cold and hits me like a tonne of bricks. The current is strong, immediately sweeping me under and for a moment I flail, remembering the time I lost Mel in the lake with my parents and the panic I felt. Gods, I feel it now.
My head breaks the surface and I heave in air. "Mel!" I call, looking around. I can't see her. My only consolation is knowing that she can hold her breath for inhuman amounts of time beneath water. She can't have drowned already. "Mel! Where are you?"
"Eelie!" Her terrified voice comes from downstream. She's being swept away. I swim as fast as I can toward her, losing sight of her momentarily as she's pulled under. But then she pops back up and I'm close, so close to her. I reach out and grab her arm, yanking her into me. She clings to me like a vine, wrapping herself around me. I struggle to keep us both afloat, the current throwing us around like rag dolls as it drags us downstream.
Fast approaching is a large branch, sticking out of the side of the bank and extending into the water. "Hold on to me," I tell Mel and she somehow clings tighter. As we are washed past, I grab onto the branch and haul us onto it. Lancelot and Squirrel race down the bank to us on foot, leaving the horses to graze.
I pull us along the branch, closer to land.
"Take her, take her," I gasp out when Lancelot and Squirrel get to us. Lancelot reaches out on steady feet and picks up Mel, holding her close. She immediately wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. He reaches out a hand and I take it, letting him pull me up out of the river and onto the bank. I collapse into him, panting heavily, my hair sticking to my face.
For a moment, I just breathe in relief; we're both alive. But I quickly turn my attention to Mel, who is trembling and freezing cold to the touch.
"We-we need to get her somewhere warm," I shiver and shake.
Mel rides with Lancelot, tucked against his chest with his cloak wrapped around her. Squirrel takes the reins from me and guides Morning. The chill seems to have seeped into my bones and though the sun is still peaking over the horizon, my clothes refuse to dry.
"Look," Lancelot says and I see, in the distance, a cottage sitting by the riverside. It's made of stone, with a chimney and fully-functional roof. As we near the small house, I spot human remains near a pile of firewood.
"Must've been the owner," Squirrel says, looking slightly disturbed at the sight of the skull and bones. If the owner is dead, then perhaps the cottage is empty.
"No one's inside," Lancelot confirms and I don't ask how he knows. He doesn't much like being questioned on his Fey abilities. We dismount and tie up the horses, then head up the steps leading to the cottage and through the wooden front door.
A sitting room greets us, with a cushioned couch and fireplace as well as a small kitchen area. Everything is a bit dusty, but still usable. Lancelot does a quick sweep of the whole cottage, going through the only other door and into the bedroom there. When he's confirmed it's empty, he lies Mel gently onto the couch. She curls up, still shaking uncontrollably.
"Squirrel, go see if there's any clothes I can change her into," I instruct the boy, who is eager to help. He runs into the bedroom to check.
"I'll start a fire," Lancelot says, disappearing briefly to get some firewood from outside. I pull Mel's sopping wet dress from her body, rubbing her bare arms and trying to warm her. Squirrel returns with a woman's night-slip and a thick blanket. I dress Mel in the slip dress, which falls well past her ankles, then wrap the blanket tightly around her as Lancelot works over the fireplace.
Soon, the cottage is lit and warm. But Mel's condition continues to deteriorate. The chill leaves her body and is quickly replaced by a fever that only worsens as the sun sets.
I sit on the ground by the couch, pressing a damp cloth to her forehead. Her eyes are clenched shut tightly, her hands curled into little fists.
Lancelot crouches down beside me, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You need to change clothes," he tells me. I shake my head, not wanting to leave her. "I'll stay with her," he offers.
It is only with that reassurance that I manage to pry myself away from Mel and go into the bedroom. I close the door behind me and look around.
There's a proper, big bed, with a wooden frame, a standing cupboard and a chest in the corner. Situated on the wall across from me is a window overlooking the river with some white curtains framing it.
I yank the clothes from my body, getting frustrated when they stick to my skin, and pull out a dress from the cupboard. It's a deep blue colour and laces up at the front, with long sleeves and a low neckline. It's prettier than anything I've ever worn before, but right now I don't care. I pull it on and hurry back out to Mel and Lancelot. I'm not sure where Squirrel is right now, but I trust that Lancelot knows.
"See if you can find some yarrow or elderflowers," I say, not taking my eyes off Mel as I sit back down beside her. "They should help her fever."
Lancelot leaves without a word and returns sometime later with yarrow flowers and roots, Squirrel following close behind him.
I make a yarrow tea and slowly feed it to Mel throughout the night. At some point I drift off on the couch and wake up with a blanket over me and the fire dying down. I rub my eyes and check on Mel. She hasn't gotten any better.
Lancelot comes over and hands me a plate with some meat on it - he must have gone hunting. I take it and pick at the food reluctantly.
"Squirrel?"
"Asleep in the bedroom." He sits on the floor in front of me as I take a small bite of the meat. "The yarrow tea - who taught you to make that?"
"My mother," I say softly. "She used to make it for Mel and I whenever we got sick." I remember my mother brushing back my hair, holding me in her arms and letting me sip on yarrow tea whenever I caught a cold. Even though I felt rotten at the time, they are fond memories now.
I take another bite of the food, but I can't stomach anymore. I place the plate down.
"She'll pull through," Lancelot whispers hoarsely, looking at Mel.
In a moment of vulnerability, my bottom lip trembles. "She has to," I manage to get out, my throat closing up. Lancelot's eyes flick to me and I shake my head. "She has to."
He rises and sits beside me, putting his arm around my shoulders. I immediately fall into his chest, clutching at him.
"Everything I've done to get her this far...she can't die now," my voice is muffled, my face pressed against him. He holds me tight and secure, so much safety to be found within his once threatening arms.
He has no soothing words or reassurances to offer me, but I don't mind. Him just being here, holding me, is enough.
~O~
A chesty cough rattles Mel's entire body. It sounds like she's going to cough up her insides.
I rub her back, her head resting on my lap. It's been over a day since she fell in the river and she's still sick, but at least her fever has broken and her eyes have opened.
"Do you want some more water?" I ask her.
She reaches out for the cup and I give it to her, watching her take small, halting sips.
"When you're better, I've got to show you this tree I found on the riverbank. It's hollowed out and you can climb inside," Squirrel explains to Mel enthusiastically, sitting on the floor by the couch. "You can see all the way up the tree."
Mel smiles weakly. "That sounds cool," she breathes.
"Please be careful near the river," I tell Squirrel. I'm nervous he's going to fall in next.
"I am," he is solemn in his answer. "Promise."
I move to grab Mel some more water from the kitchen and Squirrel follows behind me.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly, so Mel doesn't hear. I look at him sharply as I fill the cup with water from a bucket.
"For what?"
"Mel fell into the river while she was right beside me. I should've caught her. It was my job to protect her and I failed." He stares at his feet, his face twisted with pain. I crouch down and put my hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, look at me," I say and he does. "Mel is not your responsibility. She's mine. I love that you want to look out for her and I appreciate it. But none of this is on you." I want to tell him that he's a child, that he can't be responsible for another whole human being, but I also know he won't take kindly to that. He thinks he's a hundred times older, wiser and more capable than he is.
"I'll do better from now on," he vows, takes the water from me and bounds back over to Mel, helping her drink it.
Now that she's doing a bit better, I finally feel comfortable enough to leave Mel's side. I go out the front door and drink in the fresh air, tilting my head back and letting the sun warm my skin.
I hear the sound of shifting dirt and look around to see Lancelot digging a grave. He must want to bury the remains we found outside the cottage.
I go to him, watching him shovel away into the ground.
"Mel?"
"Better," I say, looking into the hole he's dug. "I think she just needs some more time."
His outer clothes have been discarded and he's left in just his white undershirt that clings to his skin with sweat. My eyes roam over the outline of his torso and his tight pants. I can see the defined muscle in his thighs and his strong arms, pieces of hair curling into his face and his eyes narrowed slightly from the direct sunlight. I turn to face the river, looking out over the rushing water. The same hot feeling from before, at the cave, returns. My cheeks burn and my stomach turns, twisting in on itself. I lock my knees together to keep them from shaking.
I hate feeling like this; my mind goes foggy and all I can think about is his fingers and what they feel like against my skin. It makes me lose the precarious grip I have on control and sanity.
"Eelie?"
I blink out of whatever reverie I have fallen into and turn to face him. He looks worried, a crease between his brows, his eyes attentive.
"I'm ok, just thinking."
He doesn't look convinced. I shake off the doubts and fears I have around my developing feelings for him.
"Really, I'm fine. Is there another shovel?"
~O~
By nighttime, Mel is sitting up and eating. My relief at her recovery is thorough and soul-deep. I don't know if the Gods I grew up worshipping are real or if the God Lancelot was taught to love is genuine, but I thank whatever deity exists that Mel has pulled through.
We eat around the fireplace and Squirrel tells us an animated - and possibly exaggerated - story of the time Nimue fought off a demon in the form of a bear when she was just a child. It is clear he admires and adores the Wolf-Blood Witch.
"If she was a child, then you wouldn't have even been born. How do you know any of it is true?" Mel questions, chewing.
"It is true! I got told, obviously," Squirrel rebuffs.
"I'm just saying, if you weren't there, then you don't really know-"
"Lots of people told me! Nimue said it herself-"
They continue to argue back and forth but I don't even mind. I'm just happy to see Mel have the strength to argue.
Eventually, their bickering must tire them out because they both fall asleep on the couch, snuggled under a blanket.
"We should get some sleep as well," Lancelot says. "If Mel's better, then...we could leave at first light." There is hesitation in his voice that piques my interest.
"You don't want to go?" I question and he looks around the cottage.
"Maybe," he murmurs, more to himself than me. He gets up, taking our plates over to the kitchen and putting them on the bench. He grabs a cloth and bucket of water and starts washing the visible areas of his body down.
I rub at my eyes, then stand and head into the bedroom. For the past two days, I've been sleeping in fits on the couch with Mel. I haven't even had the chance to lie on the bed yet. With timid hands, I reach out and touch the soft blanket on the bed, rubbing my fingertips along the fabric. Then I sit. Gods, it's so comfortable, sinking beneath me and supporting me at the same time.
Maybe we should stay here, I think to myself. We could be happy, the four of us. Living off the land, with steady shelter and a good water source.
But what about our people? What about the Fey? What about the ones who love and miss Squirrel? We would be sacrificing community and brotherhood and strength in numbers. We'd be left vulnerable to attack here. If the Paladins ever found us...
Lancelot comes into the bedroom and closes the door behind him. He lights a candle, casting flickering shadows across the walls, and starts removing his boots and outer clothes.
It only just dawns on me that we'll be sharing the bed, I suppose.
I lie back, resting my head on a feather-filled pillow and letting out a content sigh.
Stripped down to his pants and thin, white shirt, Lancelot stands on the other side of the bed, looking at me, like he's waiting for permission to lie down or something.
I crawl under the blanket and pull it back for him and he seems to get the hint. He lowers himself carefully onto the bed, sliding in beside me. Warmth radiates from him, like he's made of flames, and I naturally curl toward him.
Our hands touch and we both freeze.
We've slept side by side many times over the past few days, but this feels different, more intimate.
I can't meet his gaze - I just can't do it. I close my eyes tightly and try to feign sleep. Eventually, he sinks down further into the bed, moving closer to me. His breath stirs the hair across my forehead.
Everything is quiet and still; the world has stopped moving and we are all that's left, cocooned in this little bedroom, the last two people alive. Nothing matters except where his hand touches mine.
His fingers twitch ever so slightly, then move slowly up to my wrist, where they rest for a moment. I am sure he can feel my pulse thrumming hard. Next, he moves his hand to my elbow, cupping it in his palm. I inch closer to him, my eyes still closed like that makes it less real. My lips touch his shoulder, his lips touch the top of my head. He smells like ash and wood and leaves. He smells like home.
His other hand comes up and touches my chest, just below my throat. I tilt my head up ever so slightly to give him better access and his knuckles go down, down. He ceases his movements right above my breasts, but my heavy breathing - my chest expanding up and down deeply - inches his hand closer.
We could stop now. We could roll over, go to sleep and wake up tomorrow morning pretending this never happened. We haven't done anything, we haven't spoken or even made eye contact. This moment could be forgotten, lost in time.
But I don't want it to be. I want this to mean something, I want to mean something to him.
So I open my eyes and I look up at him. He's already looking at me, conflict rife on his face. He's fighting an internal battle, one that I can't fight for him. He has to make this decision on his own.
It takes a while, but he eventually seems to come to some kind of conclusion, sliding his hand up my throat and cupping my cheek. His fingers are calloused from years of holding weapons, but I lean into them all the same. My thighs are locked together, my body aching for his touch. His thumb brushes over my lips and I part them on a sigh.
"Lancelot," I breathe and he surges down, capturing my mouth with his in a kiss that sears my entire body, from head to toe. Urgency fills the space between us and I move closer, lying half on top of him, our legs tangling together. Tongues touch tentatively, noses bumping and hands roaming. I touch his jaw, then his shoulders, then his chest. Where am I supposed to put my hands?
His thigh moves up between my legs, presses against my heat and all thoughts or worries flee from my head. I gasp into his mouth, rocking down into him and he quickly recognises my pleasure, moving his leg up to press harder into me. It feels so good that I have to break away from his mouth to pant, my forehead resting against his shoulder.
Have I ever felt pleasure like this? Not that I can recall, although my memory has completely blanked at this point.
I grab his shirt and tug at it, trying to get it off him. He sits up slightly, reaches for the collar behind his head and yanks it off in one smooth motion. Gods, he's attractive. I fall back onto his lips, kissing him with a desperation that wasn't present before. He pulls me onto him, my legs going either side of his body, and I feel his hard length press into my heat, even through our layers of clothing.
We're both slightly unsure, neither particularly experienced in this department. I don't think he's ever touched a girl like this before and it makes me feel special, singular.
My hands move along the ridges and planes of his stomach and chest whilst he touches my lower back. He keeps his hands in respectful places, never venturing too low. I don't know how to tell him that I want his hands lower, that I want him to touch me everywhere.
The only other times I lay with a boy, back in my village, it felt more like he was doing something to me rather than us doing it together. I don't want that to be the case with Lancelot, so I decide to be bold and start unlacing the front of my dress. When he goes still, I falter, looking up at him.
He's staring at where my dress has fallen open to reveal the top of my breasts. His lips are parted and his pupils blown wide. I lay my hand atop his and move it up my body, past my waist and ribs, then slide it beneath the open neckline of my dress to cup my breast. A faint whimper leaves my mouth as his palm brushes over my nipple. His deep blue gaze meets my own and he - experimentally and with careful measure - squeezes my breast. I gasp and arch into him and this seems to be all the prompting he needs. He sits up closer to me and slips the dress completely off my shoulders, letting it pool around my hips and leaving my upper half exposed.
I feel conscious of my body only for a moment before he's mapping every inch of exposed skin with his mouth and hands. His tongue touches my nipple and I jerk forward. He's a fast learner, quickly realising what makes me gasp and squirm in pleasure and paying close attention to every one of my reactions.
"I need..." I breathe out, not even sure how to finish that sentence. I just need. He seems to understand enough, helping me out of my dress completely. Naked and exposed, I curl into his warm chest, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face in his skin. He lifts me and places my back to the bed, hovering on top of me. He reaches down between our bodies and then stops right above where I want him most.
My eyes go to his face as I wonder why he's stopped. He's staring at my neck and my chest, avoiding my gaze, breathing heavily.
I'm about to ask him what's wrong when he states, "We can stop now. We can stop, if you want to." It feels like a warning of some kind, a cautionary tale. But the last thing I want in the whole universe is to stop. I want him, all of him.
"Is that what you want?" I ask. He pauses and my heart stutters, then he shakes his head, swallowing thickly.
Elated with relief, I pull at his shoulders, wanting him closer. "Don't stop then. Never stop."
He kisses me deep and his fingers move down and start to touch me. A low cry flies past my lips and my hands press into his back. I'm careful not to scratch him though, not wanting to leave anymore marks on his skin than are already there.
As his fingers move, he notices what I like and what makes me really squirm. It feels like a house is being constructed inside me and Lancelot is laying each brick, building toward something beautiful.
Breaking away from my lips, he mouths at my neck, then my collarbones, brushes past my breasts and down my stomach till he is nestled between my legs. I lean up on my elbows, looking at him, unsure. This is something new.
He puts his mouth on me and I throw my head back, biting my lip to muffle any sounds. My elbows give out and I flop back onto the bed, arching up into him as he works me over with his tongue. The house in me is growing taller, winding up into the sky as pressure builds in my stomach.
Just when I think it's all going to come crashing down, he stops, pulling away and moving back up my body. I don't think he realises how close I was to the precipice of bliss.
I want to get back to that place and I want him to feel what I was feeling, so I undo his pants and start pushing them down his hips. He pulls them off his body, so graceful and fluid in all his movements, and I see him naked for the first time. It is a sight to behold. I reach down and wrap my fingers around him, watching in awe as his eyes slide shut and his shoulders and arms tense, muscles bulging. A rush of power emboldens me to stroke him and his hips jut forward into my hand.
He touches my arm, signalling for me to stop and I do. His hand hooks under my knee and he lines himself up at my entrance, pausing to look at me.
"Do it," I puff out and he pushes forward slowly.
I'm not sure what I believe anymore - in a higher power or creator of some kind - but if heaven exists, it is here, where his body meets mine, where flesh touches unclothed flesh. He fills me little by little in smooth but gentle movements. There is a single moment where it hurts, just a bit, but he seems to sense that and pauses, waiting for me to adjust. And then it is just pure pleasure, his expression filled with rapture. He is never rough or frantic, always controlled and careful. With long, deep strokes he builds up that house again inside me, quicker than before, like the foundations were already laid. It builds and grows as he pushes into me more steadily. I kiss him everywhere I can and bury my hand in his soft hair, pulling it from its bun to fall around his face. He is quiet at first, but as his hips move faster and mine push up to meet him, he starts to make deep noises in the back of his throat that drive me wild. I kiss him thoroughly, trying to taste those sounds, our tongues tangling without reserve.
His arms wrap around me and he holds me to his chest. We are pressed together entirely when the house finally explodes. It obliterates me, till blinding white bliss is all that's left. My body trembles and quivers and quakes in his arms and I feel his movements stutter and then cease as he grunts lowly in my ear.
In the rubble and aftermath of the explosion, we both are very still. His lips are against my forehead, our bodies still connected. Our breathing fills the room.
I hope desperately that the kids are still asleep out on the couch. I can't hear anything except Lancelot and I's panting, so it appears they are.
He slowly pulls back, out of me and then sits up on the side of the bed, his back to me. I'm not sure what comes next.
In the stories my friends and I would swap late at night in the village, this was the part where the two lovers confessed their undying love to one another and lived happily ever after.
Somehow, I don't think our story is going to go like that.
I grab a rag from the floor and clean between my legs quickly, then move across the bed to sit beside him, holding the blanket up to my chest. Unlike me, he shows no sign of shame at his nakedness, just sits and stares down at his hands.
My mouth opens, then closes again. Words are lost on me.
"What we did," he whispers roughly, "It's one of the worst sins."
I immediately frown, hating the idea that what we just did is inherently bad or evil.
"According to your Father, us existing is a sin," I point out. "Screw all of that."
He looks up at me, examining every small ounce of expression on my face. His hands come up and cup my cheeks and I lean into his touch.
"We aren't wrong for existing," I tell him hoarsely. I don't know if he believes it, but he leans forward and kisses me, so soft and tender, his thumb stroking my cheek. I reach up and trace the dark markings under his eyes, then kiss each inky tear. It is a show of full acceptance, a way of saying that he never has to hide or be ashamed of who he is with me. Assassin, soldier, monk, Fey; I welcome every piece of him, even the parts he hates.
We lie back down, shifting carefully around each other. I rest my head on his chest, my leg hoisted up over his hip. He traces all the way from the bottom of my spine to the top of my shoulder.
Exhausted physically and emotionally, with my eyes half closed and my speech slurred, I murmur, "Our story might not be perfect, but at least it's real," then drift to sleep.
~O~
THERE IS SOMETHING MAGICAL and serene about waking up beside the person you've spent the night with.
Of course, I wouldn't know that feeling because Lancelot is gone when my eyes open to the morning light. I dress quickly, glancing back at the bed and feeling flashes of warmth across my body, before going out to the main living area.
Mel is still asleep on the couch, but Squirrel and Lancelot are both nowhere to be found. I quickly check on Mel, feeling her forehead. The fever is gone and her breathing sounds much smoother. With a gentle kiss on her cheek, I venture out of the cottage to see if I can find my two boys.
They aren't by the river or pile of firewood so I go further into the trees and faintly hear clashing and grunting.
I see Squirrel with a dagger in his hand, lunging for Lancelot who easily sidesteps the boy, pushing him this way and that. Squirrel is persistent, never getting discouraged no matter how many times he trips or stumbles or misses.
"What are you doing?" I demand, walking forward. They look at me and Squirrel finally stills, resting his hands on his knees and panting, the dagger still clutched in his fingertips.
"Lancelot's going to train me to be the best fighter in the land!" Squirrel exclaims happily.
I suck in a deep breath, grinding my teeth. "Put that down," I look at the dagger. "Put it down, now."
Squirrel frowns. "Why?"
"Just put it down!" I momentarily lose my cool, quickly steadying myself. "Go and get the horses ready. We're leaving as soon as Mel wakes. Go."
Recognising that now is not the time to argue, Squirrel does as he's told and hands the dagger to Lancelot before hurrying back toward the cottage. He's fast as can be, disappearing within seconds.
I turn to Lancelot. "What are you doing?"
He avoids looking at me, sheathing the dagger in his belt. "He needs to learn to protect himself."
"He's a child," my voice is severe, biting. "We're supposed to protect him-"
"And if we're not around?" Lancelot questions, our gazes clashing together like swords. "We can't protect him forever. He needs to learn."
"Learn to defend himself? Or learn to kill?" I cross my arms over my chest.
Lancelot stares at me impassively, his face as cold as ice, as hard as stone. So far from the man who tenderly held me last night. This duality between Lancelot and the Weeping Monk frightens me more than I will ever tell him.
"Sometimes they're the same thing," he quietly says.
On some level, I know he's right. Squirrel will not escape this life unscathed. There will come a time when he has to pick up a sword and kill to save himself or to save others. But not yet. He's too young, it's too soon.
"So you train him to be a killer the way you trained me, the way Carden trained you? Is that what this is; a never-ending cycle?"
He looks away and my heart aches for him. He's only doing what he thinks is necessary, but we have to break the cycle, we have to do better for our children. We may not be their parents, but they're ours to protect and to love.
"No more training him," I tell Lancelot firmly. "I mean it."
He doesn't argue, brushing past me and heading to the cottage without so much as a glance back.
~O~
With some regret, we leave the cottage behind. It was a safe oasis for that short period of time and I will always remember it, but we need to move on.
Lancelot and I only speak when we have to, coordinating when to stop for food and water and not saying much else to each other.
What is there to say?
We spent a night together and now the night has ended. Maybe whatever we had is just gone or over. The thought saddens me greatly, causing me to glance over at where he rides on Goliath with Squirrel. His hood is up, shadowing his face.
"Stop," he says abruptly and I pull Morning to a halt, Mel grabbing onto the horse's mane tightly.
"What's wrong?" I ask him.
"We're here."
Anxiety running rampant in my stomach, we dismount the horses and creep through the trees. Mel stays right behind me, her hand gripping my shirt.
Hidden behind the long branches and leaves of a large willow tree is a steep incline that leads to a small valley. There, dozens and dozens of tents are set up and even more people mill around, busy at work, constructing things and making fires and skinning dead animals.
The Fey.
I see a group of young Moon Wings laughing together and another group, who must be Sky Folk, returning from a hunt.
"Intruders from the West!" A loud cry rips through the serene moment. Many eyes turn to look at us as six Faun warriors, with bows strung across their backs and swords in their hands, rush toward us.
"Who are you?" A Faun woman demands, drawing her bow and nocking an arrow. The group of warriors stand a few lengths down the incline, glaring up at us with distrust.
"That's him," a Faun man breathes, his eyes wide with terror. "It's the Weeping Monk."
Lancelot edges closer to Mel and I, standing in front of us.
Some of the Fey recoil in horror, others preparing more readily for a fight. The Faun woman aims her bow at Lancelot and prepares to fire.
"Wait!" I push past Lancelot who grabs my wrist to stop me from going too far from him. "Wait - we're Fey! We're here for sanctuary."
"If you're Fey, then why are you with that murderer?" the Faun woman demands, raising her bow to point straight at us.
"Because he's one of us. He's Fey as well."
They all scoff and shake their heads. "You're lying!"
Gods, this is going to be trickier than I thought.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of movement and Lancelot only just has time to push me out of the way before he is tackled to the ground by a Tusk man. They roll down into the valley, wrestling.
Gripping Squirrel and Mel's hands, I rush down after Lancelot as he smoothly gets to his feet and backs away. He is hit from behind by another Fey as more descend on him.
"Stop!" Squirrel and I both shout at the same time. I want to rush into the fray to help him fight them off, but I also don't want to leave Mel and Squirrel unprotected, in case the Fey turn on us as well. I know Lancelot would much rather me ensure their safety than his, but I can't just watch him be killed.
"Get off of him! Let us explain!" I yell desperately, but my voice is drowned out by jeers of anger.
Just as I get ready to let go of Mel and Squirrel and run in to help Lancelot, a loud, authoritative voice rings out across the whole valley, "Enough! Stand down, all of you."
A man appears from the trees with several others surrounding him, his hair falling to his shoulders and his posture exuding confidence.
The Fey listen to him, backing away from Lancelot who has a bleeding lip but otherwise seems unharmed.
"Gawain!" Squirrel exclaims happily beside me, breaking away from my hand to run to the man and embrace him tightly. "I thought you were dead," I hear Squirrel say.
"Not dead," Gawain says, hugging Squirrel momentarily before quickly setting him aside. The man approaches Lancelot, looking down at him. To keep from appearing as a threat, Lancelot stays on the ground. I know that's why he didn't fight back against the Fey as well; he doesn't want to give them yet another reason to distrust him.
For one breath-bating moment, I think that Gawain may draw the sword on his hip and kill Lancelot where he sits. But, to my surprise, Gawain instead extends his hand out to Lancelot. "I'm glad you've joined us, brother," is all Gawain says. Murmurs break out from the surrounding Fey as Lancelot hesitates, then takes Gawain's hand, standing up. Gawain clasps his shoulder momentarily, then turns to address his people. "Everyone standing in this valley has been a victim of the Red Paladins. Everyone." He glances at Lancelot with meaning. "If we let them drive us apart, if we let them sow mistrust and hatred between us, then we are letting them win. And I don't know about all of you, but there is no way that I will let those people win. So we will welcome our fellow Fey to our home, where they will be safe. Is that clear?"
Some nod, most glare with hatred, but none make another move to attack Lancelot. Two Fey take Goliath and Morning's reins, leading them over to several other tethered horses.
"Come, all of you," Gawain motions to us, stalking away. I reach out and grab Squirrel, holding him close to me no matter how much he squirms. We follow Gawain through the valley, ignoring the stares of hatred and disgust thrown our way, and go into a large tent. Gawain turns to face us, crossing his arms over his chest and most of the hospitality has melted from his face. In its place is fortified anger and scepticism. "So you've decided to join us," Gawain says, his eyes locked on Lancelot. "Why now?"
"He helped save us!" Squirrel pipes up before Lancelot can get a word out. "He fought the Paladins for us! He's on our side."
"I didn't ask you," Gawain says to Squirrel, but there's no real heat in his voice. It's clear he has a fondness for the boy.
"I don't even know how you're still alive. The last time I saw you, you couldn't move and..." Squirrel trails off, looking hurt and confused. "How are you here?"
With a sigh, Gawain comes forward and bends down a little. "Nimue," he says, like it's just that simple. "She healed me."
Squirrel's whole face lights up, his greenish blue eyes widening in hope. From the sad look that Gawain wears, I am afraid Squirrel's hope is going to be short lived.
"Is Nimue here? Where is she?" Squirrel demands.
Gawain shakes his head. "I'm sorry, little one...She didn't make it."
Tears fill Squirrel's eyes as he shakes his head, backing away. "No...No. She's Nimue. She always survives, somehow."
"Not this time, I'm afraid," Gawain says softly. "She's gone."
"No!" Squirrel yells then turns on his heel and runs out of the tent.
"Squirrel!" I move to go after him but Gawain stops me.
"Let him go. He's safe here and he needs time to grieve. We have to speak," he states, leaving no room for argument. I turn back to him, edging closer to Lancelot, Mel tucked between us. "You're Sky Folk?" He asks me.
I nod. "My sister and I...we were taken by the Paladins. Lancelot helped us escape."
Gawain's gaze flicks from me to Lancelot as he processes this.
"The Paladins don't usually take Fey prisoners. They just kill. Why did they kidnap you?" Gawain questions. I hesitate. Do I lie? Or tell the truth?
The decision is taken from me when Lancelot says, quiet in his whispering voice, "They were used as bait, briefly. That's the only reason they were kept alive."
Gawain pauses and I think for a moment he isn't going to believe the lie, but then he nods. "I am relieved that you're on our side now... Are you actually on our side?"
"I'm here, aren't I?"
Gawain shakes his head. "That doesn't prove anything."
"He's killed for us, to protect us," I pipe up. "Killed Paladins, members of the Trinity Guard. He's one of us."
The tent entrance flaps open and a woman with a menacing face walks inside. "You can't seriously be considering letting this filth stay with us," she hisses at Gawain, glaring at Lancelot with burning hate.
"Kaze, this isn't up for discussion. He's welcome here, just as any other Fey is," Gawain says, although his voice is laced with understanding for her anger.
"If Nimue were here, she'd have his head," Kaze sneers.
Gawain's eyes darken and he turns to her. "Well Nimue isn't here. I am. Which means I say what goes and I say he stays. I don't want to hear another word of it." With that, he stalks toward the entrance, pausing briefly to say, "Show them to a spare tent," then disappearing outside.
Kaze looks furious, her dark eyes glistening with barely contained hostility. She jerks her head for us to follow her and we do, out into the valley and through several groups of Fey. They stare and stare until I duck my head down close to my chest.
"Here," Kaze stops at a tent on the edge of the encampment. "Just so you know, Monk, you make one wrong move, even one...and I'll kill you myself."
Lancelot blinks at her, not reacting, and she pushes past us.
What a warm welcome.
"I want to find Squirrel," I tell Lancelot quietly. "I want to make sure he's ok."
"These are his people," he mutters. "He's not in danger here."
"They're our people," I remind him and he looks at me. "It's true," I insist. "Just...lay low for awhile. They'll come around." I'm trying to convince myself as much as I'm trying to convince him. Most of the Fey here want to see him killed. I feel like we've just walked into the enemy's camp rather than a safe haven. "Take Mel, I'm going to look for Squirrel." I transfer Mel's small hand from mine to Lancelot's and after he takes her into the tent, I go to search for Squirrel.
Everyone keeps their distance from me, turning in the opposite direction when I near. I ignore the rejection of it all - there are more important things to worry about.
I find Squirrel with a red-haired girl, embracing her tightly.
"Squirrel?" I question hesitantly and they both look at me. His face is streaked with tears and my heart aches for him.
"Who are you?" the girl demands, looking unimpressed.
"Pym, this is Eelie. She helped me escape the Paladins," Squirrel sniffles, wiping at his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt. He's mentioned Pym to me before, in stories from his village. A part of me is glad that he's found someone he's comfortable with, someone from his past who he cares about, but there is another part of me that is jealous, in a way. It's hard seeing him with someone who he's known and cared about for a long time.
"Right," Pym nods. "Thanks for that, I guess."
I clear my throat and look at Squirrel. "I'm sorry...about your friend."
Both Pym and Squirrel look hurt, their faces twisting in pain. I'm not sure what to say beyond that...I didn't know NImue and now, I suppose, I never will. My disappointment surrounding that fact is acute but irrelevant.
"Squirrel, why don't you come back to our tent and wash up and have something to eat? You need-"
"He's going to stay with me," Pym interrupts, putting a protective hand on Squirrel's shoulder. I look at the boy, waiting for him to protest, to say that he'll come with me, but he stays quiet and looks down.
My jaw tightens. "Ok. Fine...just make sure you get some rest as well."
"I'll come see Mel later," he offers half-heartedly. I nod and back away, the divide between us growing.
Walking back alone to my designated tent, with my people glaring at me and avoiding me like I'm infected, I can't help but wonder if we would have been better off staying at the cottage.
~O~
I DON'T SLEEP WELL THAT NIGHT. I lay on the floor of the tent, Mel huddled close to me, and I stare up into the darkness. Lancelot is a few feet away, resting back, though I doubt he's asleep either. I can barely hear him breathe.
Craning my neck, I try and see through the dark, try to make out his face. I don't know if he's looking at me but it feels like he is.
When morning comes, I take Mel out and we're given some bread to share. The Moon Wing who hands it to us is kind, smiling gently at Mel and stroking her hair.
I thank her, taking the bread and eyeing her snow-white skin and fluttering wings, her blonde hair braided intricately away from her delicate face.
Mel and I sit on a log and share the bread. A flood of laughter has us looking over to see a group of children playing some kind of game, skipping in a circle around one another. Squirrel is amongst them, smiling, although it isn't as bright as I've grown accustomed to. Mel gets a wistful look in her eye, seeing all the other children playing. Squirrel spots us and stops, then tries to wave Mel over.
She looks down at the remaining piece of bread in her hands.
"You can go play with them, it's ok," I tell her but she shakes her head and doesn't respond.
"I'm going to go check on Goliath and Morning," she tells me quietly, standing.
"Ok, be careful. Don't leave the valley," I say, making sure she agrees before she ventures off.
I finish my bread, then stand just as Kaze approaches. "You," she says, eyeing me. "We have many sick and injured. We need help treating their wounds."
I shake my head. "I'm not a healer, I can't-"
"You can. You will," she interrupts. "This way."
I reluctantly follow her through the camp and into a large, partially open tent. Makeshift cots are set up in rows, with bloodied and bandaged Fey lying on them.
A woman dressed in long black robes turns when she hears Kaze and I enter. My eyes widen.
"Sister Igraine?" I question. She is the last person I ever thought I would see again, after helping her smuggle the Fey child from Yvoire Abbey so long ago.
"Eelie," she breathes, then smiles and comes forward to hug me. "You're safe. You're here." She sounds just as surprised as I am. "I can't believe it."
I pull back, eyeing the way she's dressed, with a dark veil pulled behind her head, but she doesn't offer an explanation. Kaze leaves without another word, stalking away.
"Wait," Igraine's eyebrows furrow. "Did you come here with the Weeping Monk? I've been stuck in here, treating the sick, but I've heard rumors that he's here, that he's Fey."
"He's here," I confirm. "My sister and I arrived with him yesterday, along with another Fey boy."
"I'm not going to lie, I thought you were more likely to try and kill him than team up with him," she says. "But I'm glad you got away safe. I'm only sorry I couldn't help you before, at the Abbey."
I shake my head. "That wasn't your fault. You did everything you could for the Fey. We owe you for that."
She smiles softly, getting a sad look in her eye. "Nimue did more for these people than anyone. She's the real hero."
"You knew her?"
Igraine nods. "Well. She came to the Abbey not long after you did. She saved every single person here before she..."
I shift, feeling a little awkward. I don't know Igraine well enough to offer her any real comfort. "I'm sorry, Igraine."
She shakes off the sadness. "Morgana," she corrects. "You can call me Morgana. Now, I need your help redressing this bandage."
~O~
A Tusk warrior groans in agony as I clean a large gash over his chest. It's deep and long and I'm not sure he's going to survive the night.
"It's ok," I lie to him. "Everything's going to be alright."
Morgana told me to lie. She said if they're going to die regardless, better to let their final hours not be filled with fear. If I were dying, I think I'd want to hear the truth. But, she knows best.
I leave the Tusk to grab fresh cloth, meeting Morgana in the middle of the room where the supply table is.
"Can I ask you something?" I question, grabbing some white cloth.
"Sure," she nods, distracted with mixing some kind of poultice.
"What's with...?" I motion to the outfit she's wearing, the long, dark robes.
She looks down at herself, as though she's almost forgotten. "Oh...that's kind of complicated. There was this creature. This woman, who was sort of like a harbinger of death. I killed her and then..."
"And then?" I prompt.
"And then I became her," Morgana says.
"So you're a harbinger of death?" I'm not sure I even understand what that means.
"Something like that," she smiles a bit. "Hell if I know." I can see she takes some small thrill from using the word 'hell' like that. Growing up in a convent must have been terribly restricting, though I suppose that never stopped her from doing what she thought was right.
"Can I ask you one more thing?"
She looks slightly exasperated, but nods.
"What was she like? Nimue, I mean."
At this, Morgana pauses, sadness shadowing her face. "She was strong. Brave. But not fearless. She had doubts and weaknesses. In all the stories that are told about her, she's made out to be some undying saviour, but the truth is she was just... human. And she died, just like anyone else."
Beneath the sorrow of that tale - of a young girl having to sacrifice herself to save her people - I like the idea that she was just a person. She was special, sure, but she wasn't perfect. There is something beautiful about a flawed hero, a champion for the people who is still a part of the people.
I don't ask Morgana anymore questions, not wanting to upset her. I turn away to go back to tending to the Tusk, but become distracted when the tent flaps fly open and an unconscious man is hauled inside by two Fey.
"He passed out again," one of the Fey says, dropping the man onto a cot. "He's going to drink himself to death one of these days."
"Bloody hell, Merlin," Morgana huffs, crouching down beside the man. He has a smooth, bald head, a beard and wears a long, brown coat. An empty bottle hangs from his fingertips. He mumbles something unintelligible, tossing on the cot. I can smell the stench of wine radiating off him.
"I've got him from here," Morgana tells the two Fey and they make a quick exit.
The man briefly seems to wake, dropping the bottle from his hand and muttering, "Leave me be, you fools. Leave me be, to drink and die..."
"Merlin, stop it," Morgana chides. "You just need rest."
He falls back into sleep, snoring.
"Merlin the Magician?" I question her. "As in the one who advised the king?"
"The very one," she shakes her head. "Isn't he a disappointment?"
I don't know, I think. He might have the right idea.
~O~
With blood staining my hands and dress, I leave the tent and breathe in the fresh air, free from the cries of pain or scent of death. It is refreshing after hours spent tending to dying Fey.
I take a bucket filled with water back to my tent to start cleaning up. I'm rubbing at my arms, watching the water run red, when Lancelot comes in. He has a bow and arrow in his hands - he must have been hunting.
Immediately, his lips purse and concern floods his eyes as he takes me in.
"It's fine, I'm ok. The blood isn't mine," I assure him and he seems to relax, placing the bow and arrow down.
"Mel?" he asks.
"She was with the horses, last I checked. She'll be around here somewhere." It's disconcerting, not having her nearby at all times. But I don't want to smother her or make her feel unsafe here by keeping her next to me constantly. "Morgana got one of the Fey to leave us some clean clothes." I nod toward a pile of clothes in the corner of the tent. He looks at me questioningly as he unbuckles his cloak and takes it off. "Morgana was one of the sisters at Yvoire Abbey. She helped Fey get to Nemos, a sanctuary. Now she's here, with us."
Lancelot goes very still. "She used the Abbey to funnel Fey out?"
I nod. "She and I helped a boy escape, when we were there. She was going to help me but...didn't get the chance." I busy myself with rubbing water up to my elbows. That was a tumultuous time between Lancelot and I and neither of us are keen to relive it. I look up at him. "Does that upset you? Knowing that some were right there, under your nose, and they just slipped past you?" It's a cruel thing to say, I know that. But I have more anger and resentment still burning inside of me than I thought. Not just for all he did before, but for us sleeping together and then just brushing it under the rug. I wanted it to mean more than it did.
He stares at me cooly, not playing into my baiting statement. His control is absolute. That has always bothered me because it is control he was taught by Carden. I want to rid him of everything that man burnt into him, but I know that isn't possible. If I stripped all that Carden taught him away, what would be left? A shell of a man, I suspect. Even more of a shell than he is now.
With all the blood washed off my skin, I crouch down by the pile of clothes and sort through them. There's a pair of women's trousers and a silk, forest-green half-dress that is pretty but not so long or billowy that it will limit my movement. I touch the smooth fabric, then reach behind my back and begin unlacing my dirty, bloody dress. My fingers get caught in one of the knots, stumbling. I feel Lancelot approach me from behind and he takes over, deftly untying the knots and unlacing my dress, which falls forward, slipping down my shoulders. I hold it to my chest and turn to face him. He's close, not a foot between us. I can't meet his eyes, staring resolutely at his chest instead. His gaze is a weight on me, heavy and hot.
My eyes close and I remember the taste of his lips, the gentle trail of his fingertips up the inside of my thigh and the shiver they created. I feel the ghost of that shiver now, from the base of my spine. It hurts, because I'm not sure I'll ever feel that again. I was safe and satiated in his arms that night in the cottage. But how do we get back to that place?
"You were right," he whispers and I finally get the courage to meet his gaze. "About Squirrel. You were right. I don't want him to be..." He stops.
"Like you?" I ask and eventually he nods. I wish I could cure him of this self-loathing, but I can't, not when I have anger in my own heart that I've yet to deal with. Two parts of myself collide; the first, that wants to hold him and love him until the pain fades away, and the second, that wants to be the pain he feels, that wants to terrify him the way he once terrified me. How do I reconcile hating and loving him all at once?
My dress slips further down my arms, only just covering my breasts and Lancelot's eyes go down over my bare collarbones and shoulders. His pupils blow wide, his breathing becoming heavy. I know he wants to touch me and I want that as well. But right now, while those two parts of me are still at war, it isn't a good idea for us to be together, not in that way. So I step back and pull my dress up as much as I can to cover myself.
"I need to get changed," I say quietly. There's disappointment in his hard eyes but he doesn't need to be told twice; he turns and walks out of the tent, leaving me alone.
~O~
"LOOK, THE OTHER KIDS WANT you to play with them," I nudge Mel, pointing to a group of Fey children who try to motion her over. She shakes her head and shrinks into my side, making it harder for me to keep inspecting the Snake Clan man's wound that I'm working on.
We're outside of the infirmary tent because it's currently overflowing with injured Fey. Many were hurt from a battle that ensued on a beach when the Fey were supposed to be boarding ships to safety. They were attacked by Umber's viking army after he struck a deal with Carden. That battle took out a majority of the Fey's warriors, leaving us largely undefended. There are a few able-bodied fighters left, but not enough to protect us against a large-scale attack.
Hiding here, in the safety of the valley, is currently our only option.
"Why are you staying away from the other kids, Mel?" I ask her, cleaning the Snake Clan man's cut along his arm. It isn't too deep; he should recover quickly.
"I just don't want to play with them," she grumbles, her face partially turned into my dress.
"Why?" I push. I finish bandaging the Snake Clan man and send him on his way, nudging my sister back so I can look at her face as I wipe my hands with a rag. "Tell me."
"They're not my friends," she mutters. "They never will be."
Confusion etched on my face, I ask, "Why do you say that?"
"Because I'm not one of them. They say that Lancelot is evil, that he's the enemy. So if he's their enemy, then as far as I'm concerned, I am as well. And Squirrel..." her bottom lip wobbles but she doesn't cry. "I guess he's not on our side anymore either."
I grimace; I never wanted any of this hatred to blow back on her. "Look, Lancelot is..." I'm unsure how to explain it to her without crushing the adoration she holds for him, but I know that one day she'll find out the truth - the whole, bloody truth - and I don't want her to feel like I conned her. "He did some things that hurt some of the people here and it's ok that they're upset. They talk about it and their kids overhear and repeat it. But that doesn't make them our enemies. These are our people."
"Why do we have to stay here? Why can't it just be the four of us again? We don't need these people."
I let out a deep sigh and stroke her long hair. "Maybe they need us."
~O~
Away from the noise and constant, upheaving movement of camp, I sit in the forest and just breathe.
It's quiet and no one really ever comes out here, so I can have time to myself. Being with the other Fey is good and safe, but sometimes it is so exhausting, especially with the constant hatred thrown toward Lancelot and, by extension, me.
We've been with the Fey for days and days now, but this still doesn't really feel like home. It feels more like purgatory, an inbetween stop, only I have no idea where we're going. Where I'm going.
I lie back against the moss and leaves of the forest floor and stare up at the canopy of trees above me.
My hand rests on my stomach. Swallowing thickly, I slide it down, under my half-dress and into my trousers. My knees open, my boots knocking against some sticks.
Eyes shut, head pressed back, I touch myself. Softly, exploring, trying to recreate the feeling I had when Lancelot touched me.
I don't mean to, but suddenly I'm imagining that it's his hand instead of my own. He's gentle but sure, hovering above me, warm breath on my cheek. It's his finger sliding inside me, causing my back to arch, my toes to curl.
A gasp flies from my mouth and in my head, Lancelot covers it with his hand, his face so close to mine. Our eyes meet, smoldering and burning, his surrounded by dark black markings. His finger goes deeper and I squirm, my whole body an instrument that he's playing expertly.
His hand on my mouth moves down my chin and to my neck. At first, he just rests it there, his other hand continuing to move inside of me. But then his fingers close around my throat, slowly. My ability to breathe is shut off, but I don't feel fear like I should. Instead I lean into it, into him, I want more...more...
I topple over the edge into blinding pleasure, curling into myself as I shake. My cheek presses against some leaves, my breath huffing out and disturbing tendrils of hair that have fallen into my face.
When my eyes open, I'm alone. No Lancelot.
I sit up, wipe my hand on my dress and pull my legs up to my chest. I can't believe what I just fantasised about. Do I really want him to do that to me? To hurt me?
No. It's what I'm afraid of.
Then why did I imagine it when I was feeling pleasure?
Shouts and commotion coming from camp snap me out of my thoughts and I stumble to my feet - my legs still feeling unsteady - and rush back to the heart of the valley.
I find most of the Fey gathered around, watching as a man launches himself at Lancelot with a sword, trying to kill him.
Lancelot side steps and sends the man stumbling forward. Though he's unarmed, Lancelot doesn't seem worried in the slightest, staring at this newcomer impassively as he tries to kill him.
"Arthur stop!" Morgana calls out from the crowd. I push my way through the Fey, trying to get closer. "Arthur, listen to me!" I hear Morgana's voice again. I break through to see Gawain rushing forward and pulling this Arthur character away. Lancelot watches, his back as straight as a wall, but appearing unconcerned.
"He's a murderer! Get off me!" Arthur struggles against Gawain. "What is he even doing here?"
"Enough, enough," Gawain commands, holding Arthur still until the sword drops from his hands. Looking at it, the wide blade and intricate hilt, I realise it's the Sword of Power. The sun glints off it as it sits, as though harmless, in the grass. This is what so many rulers have been fighting over for so long? To me, it just looks like a nice sword.
"He should not be here," Arthur's voice breaks, emotion on his face. He rips away from Gawain and stalks into the woods. Morgana hurries after him. The two look strikingly similar, with dark hair and dark eyes, and I wonder if they're related.
Gawain picks up the Sword, keeping his composure. "Everyone back to work," he commands.
I hurry over to Lancelot, reaching up to cup his cheek and tilt his head down toward me. "Are you hurt?" I inspect every inch of visible skin.
"I'm fine," he mutters, pulling back from me. I let my hand drop to my side, feeling dozens of pairs of eyes on us from the surrounding Fey. I know Lancelot doesn't want me too closely associated with him to try and save me from some ridicule, but honestly it's a bit late for that. The Fey already know we came to camp together and we share a tent. There's no walking that back.
"You two." Gawain jerks his head at us. "Follow me." He leads us into his tent where Kaze and another woman stand, waiting. The new woman is dressed in black leather, her brown hair falling over one shoulder, with metal rings braided into it. Her intense expression is fierce enough to burn.
"Who are they?" This new woman demands, eyeing us suspiciously as though we have somehow already wronged her.
"Eelie, Lancelot, this is the Red Spear," Gawain introduces. He looks tired, deep circles under his eyes and he pinches the bridge of his nose momentarily, before addressing all of us. "What happened on the scouting mission?"
"Arthur and I saw Paladins and other members of the Church, not a six day ride from here. They're getting closer, scouting the woods. They're going to find this place eventually. Soon," the Red Spear explains, planting her hands firmly on the wooden table between us.
"Did you make contact with Pendragon?" Kaze questions her. Lancelot and I exchange a glance. They reached out to King Uther?
"We did, we spoke with one of his advisors. They said that Uther is open to the idea of an alliance between himself, the Fey and my crew against the Church and that liar, Cumber." The Red Spear's face burns with anger when she mentions the Viking ruler.
"Did he set terms?" Kaze asks.
"No. The advisor told us that Uther wants a representative to journey to the Pendragon castle to negotiate a treaty that would benefit everyone," the Red Spear says. "From the sounds of it, it's the kind of treaty that may take awhile to settle."
"We don't have awhile," Gawain says. "We have weeks, at best." He clears his throat and straightens up. "I'll go, speak with Uther and try and get him to provide some protection for the Fey."
But Kaze shakes her head. "You're needed here. Our people are afraid, they need their leader close by."
Gawain rubs at his eyes, his hair falling into his face. "Their leader is dead," he mutters.
I look down, feeling sympathy for him. He's in a tough position, trying to take over the role Nimue held in such a tumultuous time.
"Well, we have to do something," the Red Spear says. "Someone needs to go and represent us. I can't leave my crew, they're still waiting for me on the shore. We need to move the ship somewhere safer, where we're not exposed."
"There's a cove, not far from here. We passed it on our way in. I could show it to you on a map. It's hidden inland, would be harder for anyone to find," I offer to the Red Spear. She jerks her head slightly in acknowledgement while Gawain looks at me, thinking something over.
"You could go," he says and my eyebrows furrow.
"What?"
"To the Pendragon castle. You could go, negotiate terms for us."
Is he crazy? I stare at him like he is. I am many things but a representative of the Fey is not one of them.
"You can fight, you're strong, but not intimidating. From what I've heard, he's the kind of man who will lash out if he feels intimidated. You're Sky Folk, so you can blend in when need be in a way that other Fey, like the Tusks, can't. You should go."
I shake my head but before I can reply, Lancelot says, "No." His voice is firmer than usual and he's glaring at Gawain heatedly. No elaboration on his disapproval is given.
"I'm not asking you," Gawain says. "I'm asking her." He looks at me - they all do.
Refusing to show how uncomfortable I am, I clench my hands tightly and say, "I can't leave my sister unprotected."
"She won't be unprotected. We'd take care of her, keep her safe. Here." Gawain steps toward me. "If we don't secure this treaty with Uther, then she won't be safe anywhere."
Indecision burns my stomach. "Why don't you send Kaze? Or that...Arthur?"
"I'm no diplomat," Kaze says, her lips pulling back.
"And Arthur isn't...stable, right now," Gawain explains. "After losing Nimue..." He shakes his head. "Besides, he's human. He isn't Fey, not like us. Not like you."
"I'm not exactly a diplomat either," I refute. "I have no idea how to talk to a king or how to negotiate a treaty."
"No... but he does," Gawain's eyes go to Lancelot. "He could go with you, as your bodyguard."
Tension tightens the air as Lancelot straightens, wariness flaring in his eyes. Gawain's attention has shifted solely to focus on him.
"You were Carden's right hand man, you were present when he spoke to Uther, watched him negotiate with many allies over the years, I'm sure. And we want Uther to know that you've switched sides; it projects strength. You can't negotiate with Uther directly, he'll be intimidated by you, but you can counsel Eelie in private and, if need be, pull her out if things go sideways."
Lancelot doesn't say anything, just holds Gawain's eyes with steely composure.
Really, it's a plan that makes sense, the best one we've got. But still... "I can't leave my sister. I just...I'm sorry, I can't."
Gawain's mouth tightens in frustration. "You have a chance to make this world a better, safer place for her - for all of us. We need allies. If we don't make a deal with Uther, then she'll never be safe again."
I imagine a world where Fey don't face constant persecution, where Mel can live fear-free and happy. I want that for her, so badly that I would die for it. But can I bring myself to leave her behind to achieve it?
~O~
"No."
"This isn't just your decision to make."
"No."
"Stop just saying 'no'!" I glare at Lancelot, back in the relative comfort of our own tent. "This is something we have to consider."
He pauses, considers it a moment, then, "No."
"Gods." I turn away, shaking my head. He's impossible. "So what, then? We just sit around and wait for the Paladins to hunt us down and kill us? I can't do that. I won't."
"They can send someone else," his voice is even lower than usual and I think, beneath all that stoicism, he may actually be afraid. Not for himself - I still think he has little regard for his own life - but for me. There is a tenderness in there that I appreciate, but this is too important for us to be swayed by fear.
"There is no one else. Most of these people are either injured or in no position to speak on behalf of the Fey."
"And you are?"
I sit on the ground heavily, staring down at my hands clasped before me. "No. I don't know." A lump forms in my throat. "You think I'm not capable of getting the job done?" I flash back to when we were training at the Paladin camp and Lancelot would beat me down like I was nothing. The way he looked at me then, as though I was useless, haunts me even now, even when I know he doesn't see me that way anymore.
He crouches in front of me, his hands close to my own. "The moment Uther Pendragon senses things not going his way, he'll kill the Fey representative. He's volatile."
"If that happens, then I trust you to get me out." I have faith in him, even when he lacks it himself, even when no one else does.
His lips press together, breath puffing from his nose. "And what about Mel? Squirrel?"
Hesitation stops an immediate answer from me. Being parted from them is not something I want, but perhaps it's necessary. Besides, Squirrel has people who love him here and though Mel has only really spoken to Morgana and a few others since arriving at camp, I know the Fey will look after her. When it really comes down to it, despite our many differences, Fey are loyal to their own. I can trust them to protect her whilst I try and save us all.
I regard Lancelot forcefully, our eyes weapons in a silent war. "You once said that you'd go where I go. Is that still true? If I choose to go to the Pendragon castle then..."
"Then I'll be with you," he says, looking unhappy but sure in that answer. The tense muscles of my shoulders unwind, if only marginally. "I'm with you." His voice is a whisper in the wind, hardly audible, his lips barely moving.
But I hear him. I always do. And I know that when I ride to meet the king, Lancelot will be by my side.
~O~
