To the Waters and the Wild - ch. 20
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A clash of blades, a weave, a dodge. I let my blade slide along his, seeking to feint a second strike but he held it steady, using his greater strength to force me backwards towards the farther wall. I scuffled back and to the side, trying to use his longer limbs to my advantage by closing. With a flash his blade struck down and slid across my leg. A minor flesh wound, more like a scratch, but it still drew blood.
“First blood” he smirked at me.
Shit. I hope he hadn’t poisoned this blade. He looked to much like the cat who caught the canary for it to be otherwise though.
This would have to be fast.
I know, I know; in a perfect world this would be the moment when some stray knight comes barreling in to save the day. In such a world I would swoon at his feet.
Well guess what. It’s not a perfect world. And I’m not a bleeding damsel in distress.
So. No knight.
I was limping a little now, the poison was acting quickly to numb my leg. The fight went on. Me barely dodging a number of strikes and desperately seeking to put Morgan off guard. He was obviously toying with me now. And the bastard was enjoying it.
I tried to spin out of one of his strikes and hit him on the side, but I was too slow. He got me in the back, sword sliding in through my rib cage.
But I wasn’t dead yet. He missed my vital organs by a few scant centimeters, the healers told me later.
I didn’t know this at the time of course. I was too preoccupied, I suppose.
While he was distracted glorying in his own apparent victory, I used my last bits of strength to stab him in the chest. Males, dying female tactic. Works every time.
He collapsed of course, I hadn’t missed after all.
I inched toward him carefully, clutching my wound to stop the blood flow.
You know what I said about enemies and killing them a couple of times just to be sure. Well, it’s especially true of fey princes. Even with the most mortal of wounds, they won’t die. They will draw on Underhill magic to cling to the strings of life, and will eventually pop back up again when you least expect it.
No. I couldn’t kill him, not even with an iron sword like with most fey. He was too powerful. But I could hold him.
“Lucifer’s pendant would come in handy after all” I thought as I looped the chain over his neck to rest the pendant over his wound.
“Now you’re some other poor sod’s problem” I muttered at him through the edges of my graying sight.
At that moment, somewhat belated, the royal guards burst through the door, and I allowed myself to sink to the floor.
The last thing I saw before darkness descended were his glowing reddish-green eyes glowering out at me.
I seem to spend a lot of time unconscious in Faerie. Surely not a good sign of it’s effect on my health.
When I woke I was no longer on the floors of the hallway. I was laid out in the healing halls of the castle and Puck was sitting besides me reading, of all things, a heavily bent copy of Much Ado About Nothing.
I knew it.
“Closet Shakespearean much, Puck?” I croaked at him.
He started, quickly trying to stuff the manuscript under his chair. Realizing the futility of it, he scowled down at me, bringing a cup to my lips.
“Drink,” he told me.
I sipped the water slowly. It tasted like heaven.
“How long?” I asked after drinking my fill.
“Two weeks” he answered worriedly.
I knew it had been longer than a couple days since I could barely feel pain from my wounds, but seriously, fourteen days! Even that was longer than my normal.
“We put you in a trance to force your body to accept our healing. Apparently you’re almost as powerful as yon prince” he gestured behind him.
I looked over to find Daren peacefully asleep.
“The poison has fully disappeared” he reassured, “now his body is just resting. He should be up and about any day now.” Then he became serious. “Now, why don’t you tell us all about being nearly as powerful as a fey royal. Hmm?”
Fortunately that was the moment Oberon entered the room, and he shooed Puck out. Puck pointed at me and then his eyes.
Crap. Now I had to deal with a hobgoblin stalking me.
Oberon stepped up to his son’s bedside and laid a hand on his forehead, brushing a stray lock away from his eyes. He looked so very tired.
“You knew, didn’t you?” I whispered softly.
He turned to me. There were more lines around his face and suddenly I was struck by the notion that he looked old.
“Yes,” he admitted, “but what could I do? He was my eldest, and he had a right to strive for the heirdom. After all, wasn’t he heir before Daren was born?”
He had a point. Not that I liked it.
“So. What has happened to Morgan?” I asked.
He sighed. “Morgan has been placed in the care of the Sleeping King. He will be punished and will learn under the care of Arthur’s dream magic.”
“For a year and a day?” I demanded sarcastically.
“No. For a century.”
I didn’t answer, and Oberon made his way out of the chamber, only stopping at the door.
“Lady” he called back, “you have fulfilled your oath, and we are grateful. The way back to the mortal world is open to you once more.”
Right then. An effective dismissal.
I threw back the blankets, not surprised to see that despite everything my fugly cloak had managed to hold together.
I looked over at Daren. A part of me wanted to stay by his side to be there when he woke up. But the other part of me, the more rational side, knew that it wasn’t yet time. There was still so much to do and I knew, that if I left now, sooner or later I would end up back in Faerie, so why make it easy. But he looked so innocent just lying there.
Tempting, but no.
I called a pen and parchment and scribbled something quickly on it and, placing it at his bedside, made my way out of the room towards the mirror hall.
The closing of the door created a faint breeze that fluttered the piece of folded paper open. A single line.
“Catch me if you can.”
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FIN
