CHAPTER 22
aphael pulls a torch off one of the stone walls and leads me to a large painting. I frown at the image—another one of Mordred Kingslayer,R wearing his spiked crown over dark curls and a long black cape. In this image, he’s beheading a blonde woman who kneels at his feet. It’s about ten feet tall and gilt framed.
“Is it true that he had diametric magic, and that’s why he murdered everyone?” I ask.
He sighs. “Maybe, but I don’t think that’s why the massacre happened.
It’s the prophecy. The one about the House of Morgan.”
A chill skitters up my spine. “Auberon is descended from Queen Morgan.
And the Dream Stalker, too.”
“And that’s why they need to die. They were born with the same violence running through their veins. The moment they get the chance, they’ll break in here and slaughter everyone.”
He reaches for a book on the shelf to the left of the portrait. As he pulls it out, the portrait pops open like a door, creaking. He turns back to me with an arched eyebrow. “You’re not going to tell your friends about this
passageway, are you?”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
Holding the torch, he leads me into a dark corridor. Light and shadow dance over the stone walls, and the narrow hall stretches on.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask.
“To the Tower of Nimuë.”
I breathe in sharply. Tana had mentioned her name. The Lady of the Lake, like me, apparently. Tana had seen me in her tower. “Where is it?”
“It stands in the lake, with a bridge leading out to it. Nimuë was a powerful water Fey, back in the days of primal magic. As Lady of the Lake, she was an envoy between the Fey and humans. From her tower, Nimuë gave Arthur his sword, forged from Avalon Steel. And she gave Merlin and Arthur their torcs, too, from the same sacred metal.”
“So, her tower was a meeting point at one time?” I ask. “Between humans and Fey?”
“Exactly. Arthur met with the Court of Merlin at dawn and twilight. In the early days, Arthur and Merlin worshiped the gods together—gods of the rivers and oaks, and the earth itself. But the other Fey court plotted against that unity.”
“Queen Morgan,” I add. “But what happened to Merlin? Did Queen Morgan kill him?”
“No, but they say she persuaded Nimuë to do it. Merlin was in love with the Lady of the Lake. Some said they even had a child. But over time, Nimuë started to think Merlin was becoming too human, too English. Arthur’s court stopped worshiping the old gods, and Merlin went along with it. He abandoned the gods of the rivers and lake and the forest groves. Nimuë accused Merlin of giving away secrets of Fey magic to the humans who wanted their land. So, she used her magic to seal him in an oak tree, and he was never seen again. They say his ghost haunts the oak groves nearby.”
“It doesn’t seem like it helped the Fey of Avalon.” A shudder prickles over my skin. “They’re gone now. What happened to them?”
“After what Mordred Kingslayer did, the humans retaliated with a vengeance. The Fey lost the war. Utterly defeated. Queen Morgan was killed on the battlefield. Auberon was only a baby, so Mordred took him to France, and Mordred’s mages burned up their magic creating Brocéliande, the realm where the broken Fey empire could live in defeat. We think Mordred went mad after the loss and eventually ended his own life. He was already insane, of course, but it only got worse. That was all a long time ago. I imagine Auberon has probably been stewing on his revenge for ages. And the prophecy still lives.”
An old, mossy stone ceiling arches over us. Words are carved in the stones, though they are too faded for me to read. I’m enraptured by this place, my curiosity sparked. The hair rises on the back of my neck. I feel like I’m
walking into the past, and part of me never wants to go back.
“Does the prophecy worry you?”
“Not if we destroy the House of Morgan. I couldn’t keep my parents safe, but I can keep this place safe.” He glances at me, his eyes gleaming in the dark. “One day, I plan to end her bloodline.”
I want to ask him more, but we're already at the end of the passage. He slides the torch into a wall bracket, and the light wavers over a small red door. It’s tiny, almost like it's made for children. Raphael bends down and pushes through. The fresh air sweeps over me as he leads me out and onto a mossy stone bridge. We’re not far from the lake’s edge, and the bridge stretches out far above the water with low stone walls on either side. The air is thick with the scent of oaks and apple trees.
I glance back at the castle, and my breath catches as I stare at the sprawling walls. The dark, glassy lake spreads out into the night, a mirror to the stars. Lake Avalon always seems smooth and calm, and the moonlight gleams off its still surface. Tonight, everything is washed in silver. The hot summer air is sultry, fragrant with the scent of apple blossoms.
As my eyes adjust to the dark, I can see old runes carved in the stone of the bridge, worn by time. Camelot is a vast and beautiful place, thousands of years old. I can’t quite believe I’m living on the bones of so much history.
Raphael pushes himself up to sit on the bridge’s wide stone railing and pulls a silver flask out of his pocket. With a sly half-smile, he hands it to me.
“It’s very strong,” he warns.
“Is this part of our training?”
“It is.”
I take the flask and sit down next to him, stretching out my feet toward the ledge. I’m wearing the usual Fey attire, a sheer dress and almost nothing else. I’ve generally stopped feeling self-conscious in it—except for right now. Because sitting next to Raphael in the hot summer air, I feel acutely aware of my legs and cleavage on display.
A cascade of stars spreads out above us, and the night air kisses my skin.
“So, this is part of training?”
“In a way. You need to get in touch with the creative force, and it helps to be in awe of nature, where you see its work etched in the sky and on the land.
And from here, you can tune in to the history of the place. The mead is to help you relax.”
I take a sip of it. It’s drier than the mead in the dining hall, and the sting
of alcohol burns my throat. “This is strong.”
“Don’t have too much, or you’ll lose your inhibitions. And I know how Americans get when you lose control.”
“We’re not as bad as the English,” I mutter. Already the drink is warming my chest. I take another sip. “You think my problem is that I have too many
inhibitions?”
He nods. “You are a bit tightly wound.”
My jaw tightens. “Maybe I’m a bit disoriented. My life has been moving too fast for the past four months. One minute, I’m on vacation. The next, I’m on a boat, getting attacked by a sea monster. And—”
I stop myself short. I don’t want to talk about the deranged, scrawled letter I got from my mother today. She told me that if I didn’t return home, she would die. My mother is a master of the guilt trip. It’s not clear from the letter how she would die, but there are allusions to walking into the sea.
“What is it that you’re not saying?” He leans forward, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.
“What happened to your family?” I ask, deflecting.
He winces nearly imperceptibly. “My mother raised me. My father was never in the picture. Auberon considered my human mother an enemy of the crown, even though she hardly had any money. I don’t understand what he had against her, except that he blamed all his failures on humans. And she was human.” He leans back against the wall and stares out at the river.
Sensing he needs a drink, I hand him the flask.
He takes a sip. “We didn’t realize how far he was going to go. This was before the invasion of France, when our world was still secret. And we never imagined…my mom thought if she just kept quiet, he’d leave her alone. So, we kept to ourselves. But one day, Auberon’s soldiers raided our home.
There was no trial, no jury, no chance to repent. Dawn broke, and they slaughtered my mom in the garden.”
His jaw clenches, but he keeps talking, as if he’s forgotten I’m there.
“We’d all been in bed, then someone knocked on the door.” He takes another sip. “They wanted to kill everyone in the house. My sister screamed at me to run to the forest, that Mom was gone, and they were after us. I ran. I thought she was behind me.” A line forms between his eyebrows. “She wasn’t, and I ran back to find her, but I couldn’t find her anywhere.”
My chest aches. “How old were you?”
“Nine. My sister was sixteen.”
I swallow hard. “And you never found her?”
He hands me the mead. “I kept searching the forest, living off berries and water from the stream. She never came. I think I was half-dead when a demi- Fey family found me and took me with them to France. It was really amazing luck, I suppose. I was heartbroken, but they brought me to the château with them, and I started working, picking grapes.” He glances at me. “You know the rest. And now this is my home, and I will defend it with my life.”
This is a different side to Raphael, a softer side I’ve never seen. I don’t think he lets many people see the real Raphael. The thought sends warmth
spilling through my chest.
“Now you,” he says softly.
I take another sip of the mead and lick my lips. “I’m not sure my mother
is going to make it without me.”
“Why?”
“Because she needs me to look after her.”
“She’s convinced you of that.”
There’s a lump in my throat. “It’s also, unfortunately, true.”
“You get your own life. Demi-Fey live for a long time, but even we die someday. You have to die when it’s your time, and no one else can do it for you. That means you need to live for yourself, too.”
“So, is that who you’re living for? Just yourself?”
The wind toys with his hair. “No.”
“Ah, you don’t take your own advice.”
“We have different situations.”
I stare out across Lake Avalon. In the late summer night, the air is humid, and steam seems to rise off the lake. The air smells of earth and oaks.
The mead is supposed to loosen my inhibitions, but instead, it’s making me feel sad. Maybe it’s the old, bony claws of guilt clinging to my heart. A memory rises in my mind. After my disastrous birthday, when Walter kicked us out of the mansion. She wouldn’t get off the floor for weeks, wouldn’t eat or bathe. I remember washing her with soaked cloths.
Sadness carves through me. Sometimes, she said I was the only thing she did right, the only thing she could be proud of.
Raphael’s hand presses flat against my back. I glance at him and feel his magic spreading along my spine, heating my skin. His magic is like warm water spilling over me, making my pulse race. Something about it makes my breath catch.
My gaze slides to him. “Why are you using your healing magic on me?
I’m not broken.”
Lips parted, he leans in closer. “I can feel your sadness.”
His gaze is intense, almost as if he means it. Of course, the truth is, he’s a heartbreaker.
“So, you’re not only a magical healer, but you’re also a magical antidepressant, too,” I say, trying to sound flippant.
He pulls his hand from me. “You can’t tune into the creative force if
you’re too sad.”
“Oh.”
“Let your mind go blank,” he says softly. “Don’t think about what I want you to say. Don’t think about what anyone wants from you. You need to clear your mind.”
I stare at him, entranced by his full lips and sharp jawline. The wind toys with his black hair. I stare at the rings of blue at the edges of his silver eyes.
“Say the first thing that comes to your mind,” he murmurs.
“You’re beautiful.”
The silver in his eyes grows brighter. “So are you.” The faintest hint of a smile curls his lips, and the rich scent of apples floats on the wind. “I dare
you to jump in.”
“To the lake?”
“No, jump into the bridge.” He rolls his eyes. “Yes, the lake.” He stands
and kicks off his shoes.
“Is it deep enough?”
I stare at him as he unbuttons his white shirt, devouring the sight of him, the tattoos that sensuously coil around his muscles, the masculine power of his body.
He turns back to me with a wicked smile. “Are you coming, American?”
He climbs onto the low stone railing and jumps. I hear the splash and rush over to peer down. From far below, he grins up at me. “It’s lovely.”
It’s far. Twenty feet, maybe. Is this safe? Oh, fuck it. I slip my shoes off and climb onto the railing. My heart races. I told him he was beautiful, and he literally leapt off the bridge to get away from me. Am I surprised?
As I crouch on the bridge’s edge, the wind kisses my skin.
Fuck. It.
I push off, my gut tightening as I plummet through the night air. There’s a shock as I plunge into the cool, clear water. I drift down for a moment, then
kick my legs, swimming higher again. Raphael is waiting for me at the surface. He smiles at me. His dark hair is slicked back, and droplets of water bead on his skin. My pulse is racing, my breath shallow. That was fucking exhilarating. When was the last time I actually felt this alive?
We’re swimming close together, and his limbs brush against mine under
the water.
Heartbreaker.
I’m already growing breathless, and I start to swim toward the shore. I hear him swimming behind me. When I reach the part of the lake shallow enough to stand, I turn to look at him. He stands up in the water, his gaze searing me. Water spills down his bare skin in rivulets. The cool night air sweeps over my soaked dress.
Raphael’s gaze moves over me, and I glance down. My already thin dress has gone transparent, and my hard nipples are standing at attention. His fist clenches, and I see his jaw tighten. His heated gaze meets mine, and I think— for the first time—I’m seeing the real Raphael. The unguarded Raphael who forgot to manage his expression. My chest flushes.
“What made you decide to jump in?” I ask. “You’re not usually fun.”
He’s so close to me now, studying me intently. His expression looks almost desperate. “Because I wanted to kiss you, and I’m not supposed to.
And you make it hard for me to stay in control of myself. You destroy my self-control, Nia.” His eyes flick down to my lips.
My breath quickens. My heart is still pounding from the wild thrill of the jump, and his heated gaze makes my soul light on fire.
“I can look, but you know, I’m not allowed anymore,” he murmurs. But his lips are hovering over mine anyway. Nearly touching.
I lick my lower lip, and his eyes flash at the movement. Our breath mingles in the air. My heart thumps rhythmically.
He’ll break my heart again.
I’m about to force myself away from him when his lips press against mine. Liquid heat cascades through me. He slips his fingers into my hair, gently at first, then tightening. His tongue slides against mine, languid and sensual.
I want more of him. Here in the lake, his enormous, strong body presses against me. His tongue sweeps in, tasting me. I moan against his mouth, and his kiss grows deeper. I’m back in those sun-drenched fields with the summer heat gilding my skin.
Slowly, he nips at my lower lip. With an agonized sigh, he reaches for my hips and lifts me until my legs are wrapped around his waist and the hem of my dress hikes up to the top of my thighs.
I kiss him back, and he groans softly. Heat radiates from his body, and I slide my hands into his hair. His fingers flex on my ass. I roll my hips against him, and his kiss grows more desperate, hungry. Heat flows into me, trailing from my chest into my core. I want to rip our wet clothes off and pull him down on top of me, into me.
With excruciating slowness, he withdraws from the kiss. He stares into my eyes, the silver in his pupils almost glowing. He lets out a long, slow sigh, and his expression looks agonized. “I’m sorry, Nia.”
My heart twists. He’s about to ditch me again, isn’t he?
“I was trying to not kiss you, pixie,” he says softly.
I take a deep, aching breath and unhook my legs from his waist, standing on my own in the lake. Of course.
“Same. Well, it was the mead,” I say, my voice cracking a little.
He turns away from me with his hand on his forehead. “There are rules at Avalon Tower about relationships.” His voice sounds husky. “It’s strictly forbidden, and of course it is, because it can risk the success of our missions.
I can’t risk either of us getting kicked out. Especially not you, when I know how important you are.” He runs his hand through his hair and casts me one last look. “Next time, we meet in the daylight. I can’t let this happen again.”
He walks into the shadows, and I turn to stare out at the moonlit lake. I wonder which of these oaks was the one where Nimuë sealed up a heartbroken Merlin, trapping him in isolation for all time.
I brush my fingers over my lips. Was it just the mead that made him kiss me?
Heartbreaker. There’s the old Raphael again. I did warn myself, didn’t I?
I run my fingers over the clear, still lake water. I do truly feel at home here. Lady of the Lake. Could it be true?
Maybe Raphael should be careful, or he’ll find his tormented ghost haunting these apple groves.
