Air: Merlin's Chalice (The Children of Avalon Book 1) (31 page)

If only we knew where we were going. If we even had an inkling where these trees were. But Bridget was absolutely dead set against Dylan entering her dream and nothing I, Sir Dagonet, or Dylan could do would change her mind.

“I just don’t trust him, Scai,” Bridget said, without me even asking. She spoke so quietly so that neither Dylan nor Sir Dagonet, who were both riding a little ahead, could hear her. “I know you two are involved, but I just don’t trust him.”

“I understand that, Bridget, really I do.”

“No, you don’t,” Bridget said. “I know you like him—a lot, but I just…well, I just can’t.”

“You don’t even like him at all?” I asked, a little astounded at this admission.

“No. I mean, I do like him a little. But I can’t trust him. He hasn’t earned it.”

I was silent. I knew Dylan had done quite a few things that warranted suspicion, but somehow, I knew deep inside of me that he was a trustworthy person—a good man. I tried to convey this to Bridget, but to no avail. Nothing I said could convince her otherwise.

“But Bridget,” I said, finally after much debate back and forth, “if you don’t trust him, we may never find the chalice.”

“No. We’ll find it. I’m absolutely certain of that.”

As we traveled, I had the oddest feeling we were going in circles. Oh, I knew we were heading west, but every so often something would look familiar, like I’d seen it once before. I just couldn’t place where.

There still had to be something I could do to convince my sister to open up to Dylan and allow him into her dream.

I called him over to help me clean up after the evening meal one night. “Dylan, I wanted…”

“I know,” he said, interrupting me. He reached out and took my hand. “I’ve been wanting to be with you, too. It’s just awkward with Sir Dagonet and Bridget with us every moment.” He gave me a knowing smile and then turned to see if the others were watching us.

I turned, too, but Bridget and Sir Dagonet were involved in their own pursuits and not even looking toward where Dylan and I sat. As I began to turn my head back, Dylan’s lips caught my own, startling me. I pulled back, but only for a moment. It was so wonderful to kiss him. To be close to him, but I had more important things to discuss with him.

“Dylan,” I started again, continuing before I could be put off or distracted. “You’ve got to do something about Bridget. You’ve got to make her trust you.”

He stopped trying to kiss me, and instead, just looked at me. “And how do you propose I do that?”

I, too, sat back. “I don’t know. But it’s because she doesn’t trust you that she won’t allow you to enter her dream.”

He scowled at the knives we were supposed to be cleaning. “Well, I’m sorry about that, but there isn’t anything that I can do.”

“Please.” I put my hand onto his arm. “Can you try talking with her, at least?”

He took my hand and lifted it to his lips. Ever so gently, he pressed a kiss onto my knuckles. “I’ll see what I can do, but honestly, I don’t have great hopes that it will change anything.”

I made sure to leave Dylan and Bridget some space the following day so that they could have a private talk. Bridget wasn’t very helpful, though. Each time Dylan tried to get her apart, she moved away from him. Finally, with a strong look from me, she stopped avoiding him.

I didn’t know what they said to each other, but neither one looked particularly happy after their conversation. Once again that night, as he did each night, Dylan offered to go into her dreams, and Bridget flatly refused.

Chapter Forty

W
hat…?” Dagonet jumped, turning around. A startled “Oh!” popped out of his mouth when he caught sight of her.

Nimuë just stood there for a moment, watching all the color drain from his face. Within moments his rosy cheeks had turned a sour shade of white, not too different from the color of the old man’s beard.

“Good evening, Dagonet,” she said pleasantly.

“My, my lady,” the knight stammered, bowing to her. His eyes shifted to look around him but never moved very far, as if he were afraid to take them completely off her. Smart man.

“Where am I? Where have you taken me?”

Nimuë walked in a slow circle around the man. She had to admit that this was one of her better ideas. She had not taken Sir Dagonet anywhere—she could not, actually, and it was lovely he did not know that even after all this time. She, herself, could move like the wind, taking mere minutes to go someplace that would have taken days on horseback, but she could not move anyone else that way. No, she had simply surrounded them with a glamour that had blackened out everything around them, giving the impression they were someplace else—or nowhere at all.

Nimuë could not help but laugh at her own cleverness.

It had taken her over a full day of watching him and the children to figure out where they were—the river had helped a great deal. And then nearly another day to find Dagonet alone. But now, finally, she was going to find out what she needed to know.

“Tell me where you are taking these children, and I will return you.” Direct and to the point. There was no reason not to be.

Dagonet’s eyes widened for a moment, but his mouth stayed stubbornly closed.

“Oh, please,” Nimuë said, “just say it and we can both get on with our lives in no time.” She paused and then added, “Or you can make this difficult and make me force the information out of you. But truly, I would prefer if you would just tell me.”

The knight reached across his body, grasping at the empty space where his sword normally hung. But he had already taken it off for the day. Nimuë had, in fact, caught him just as he was getting himself washed and ready to go to sleep. He was clad only in his leggings and the plain rough cotton tunic he wore under his armor.

He let out a frustrated grunt as he realized he was unarmed.

“You
are
going to make this difficult,” Nimuë sighed. “It is really not very nice of you. Neither one of us is going to enjoy this. Will you not please reconsider? Note that I even said please.”

Honestly, torture was so unpleasant. She did not enjoy it at all, even though, she had to admit, she was remarkably good at it.

“I’ll
not
tell you!” Dagonet said, taking a wider stance and stretching to his full height, nearly a foot taller than herself.

Nimuë almost laughed at his bravado. But no, it was not funny, she told herself. It was sad.

She pointed at his head. “Let us see… your most terrifying experience,” she said, her voice laden with magic.

The old knight’s eyes widened and began to bulge from his head. He dropped to his knees and his hands gripped themselves behind his back. He threw his head back as blood began to seep from a shallow cut that had just appeared across his throat.

Shaking her head in wonderment, she just looked down at the knight at her feet. “Dagonet, let me stop it. Tell me where you are taking the children.”

Dagonet pursed his lips together. His eyes were wide with fear, but still he said nothing.

“Very well.” She closed her eyes for a moment and gathered together a small portion of her power. “We will add to this the saddest experience you have ever lived through.” She moved her fingers, directing her magical energy into his mind, forcing him to recall that heartrending moment in his life.

Tears began to slide down the old man’s cheeks. Nimuë watched his mouth working to keep himself from sobbing like a child.

“Tell me, for if you still refuse, we shall add to this your greatest fear. What is it, Dagonet? What do you fear more than anything else in this world? Your own death? Me?”

The old man interrupted her musings. “Avalon,” he whispered. “I am taking them to Avalon.”

Nimuë’s attention snapped back to the man at her feet and a slow burning began in the pit of her stomach. “Why? Is that where Merlin hid his chalice?”

Dagonet tried to shake his head, but it was as if someone was holding it steady. He could just barely move it from side to side. “No. The Lady…Lady Morgan called for them.”

The name exploded in her mind. Morgan! She should have known.

As fury engulfed her, she let go of Dagonet’s mind and watched him fall onto his face. The world faded back into existence a moment before she flew off on the wind.

<><><>

“How dare you!” Nimuë said a moment later, appearing just behind her sister.

Morgan spun around. She had been speaking with three of the priestesses of the isle on the green just outside of her own home. The evening, as always on Avalon, was perfect—crisp and clear with just a nip in the air to remind you of the oncoming winter.

“Nimuë!” she exclaimed.

She turned to the priestesses who had begun to back away from Nimuë the moment her name had been spoken. “We will continue this later,” Morgan said. The women nodded and bowed low to them both before walking away as quickly as they could.

Morgan indicated her home. “Please, let us go inside where it is warm.”

Her sister’s calm was almost more than Nimuë could bear, but she managed to hold on to her temper until they were alone in her sister’s sitting room.

“How could you?” Nimuë growled out once again.

“How could I what?” Morgan asked, feigning ignorance.

“You know very well what. You called to them. Had Dagonet bring them here. How dare you interfere.”

Morgan had the grace to stay quiet. She lowered her eyes to the ground. But then she turned and poured out a glass of wine from the decanter on the table next to her.

Holding it out to her sister, Morgan said, “Honestly, Nimuë, you need to calm down.”

Without a thought, Nimuë knocked the wine from her sister’s hand, sending the blood red liquid flying all over the low white cushioned chairs. “I do not want to calm down. You have explaining to do.” Nimuë did not take her eyes off her sister.

Morgan lifted her chin a touch. “Very well. I could not let you kill them. I told you when we spoke that I could not, but I knew you would try to do so anyway. So I called them here—where I can protect them.”

“Protect them? You think to protect these…”

“Yes, Nimuë. I am planning to do so. Not only that, but it is imperative that I do.” Morgan’s temper was beginning to flare as well. It was not a common occurrence, and Nimuë felt a brief shiver of pride at having provoked it.

“It is only imperative for you to take from me from everything I most want,” Nimuë said, feeling her old anger growing inside her. “You have always done so—two hundred years have not changed anything.”

Morgan let out an exasperated sigh. “You know that is not true. I have not interfered in your life for all this time, have I? I have let you play your little games with the king, and whoever else you have wanted to manipulate.”

“Then why are you bothering me now?” Nimuë cringed inwardly as she heard the plaintive childlike tone of her voice.

“Because this is important, Nimuë. The Children of Avalon are our future. I cannot simply allow you to kill them.”

“Our future? You mean
your
future. It is I who they are destined to kill, did you think about that? Do you even care if I die?”

“Of course I do. I care a great deal,” Morgan said, taking a step toward her.

“Then why do you want to protect them? If you truly cared about me—if you loved me—you wouldn’t be protecting them, but
helping
me to kill them. For if I do not kill them, they are going to kill
me
!”

“I know that, and it saddens me more than I can say…”

Nimuë scoffed at her sister’s false words. “Lies! What lies!”

Morgan’s face grew troubled. Why? Because she was telling the truth, or because Nimuë had seen through her false words?

“I am sorry you think so,” Morgan said quietly.

“Stay out of this, Morgan,” Nimuë warned her. “And stay away from those children.”

And with that she turned and left her sister’s home. Fury and hurt warred within Nimuë as she stalked down to her precious lake.

Her sister was doing what she always did—had always done. She was consolidating her own power and making sure Nimuë did not get any. It was so clear. And so painful.

Morgan wanted to have the powerful Children of Avalon under her sway. She would have control over them, their powers, and the chalice—and through them, Morgan Le Fey would once again be the most powerful being in the world.

In a fit of anger, Nimuë dove into the crystal clear water of the lake and turned it black. Wherever she swam, she left the ice–cold water surrounding her black and dead.

Dead. That was how she wanted those children. Before Morgan could get a hold of them and Merlin’s chalice.

Chapter Forty One

S
ir Dagonet stepped out of the woods and just stood at the edge of the camp. It was such an odd thing for him to do that I paused in my work.

And then I noticed he was shaking. I took a step closer and saw blood on his collar.

“My God! Sir Dagonet, what happened?” I cried, rushing over to him.

He just stood there, his cheeks completely drained of their color. Gently I guided him forward. His hands were like ice.

“Bridget!” I called out as I led Sir Dagonet closer to the fire. I needn’t have, because Bridget was right there. I just hadn’t seen her come up from behind.

“What is it, sir?” my sister asked, taking Sir Dagonet’s other hand.

Still he said nothing.

We seated him by the fire, and Dylan handed him a cup of wine to soothe his nerves. Dylan pulled me away and said quietly, “I’m going to take a look around. Don’t move away from here until I return, do you understand?”

I nodded, feeling my muscles tightening in fear. He pulled his sword from his pack and stepped into the wood from where Sir Dagonet had come.

Sir Dagonet had dropped his face into his hands while I had been speaking to Dylan. Bridget was holding his empty cup and kept a comforting hand on his back.

“I can find nothing wrong with him—physically, that is,” she said, clearly worried. “If there’s something that’s bothering his mind, I can’t tell, I’m…I’m not good at that.”