Page 27

Chapter Sixteen

T amsin got little sleep that night. She propped herself in a chair, refusing to do more than doze until it was time to check on her patients. But if her nursing duties kept her from true rest, so did her confusion over Gawain.

He’d held her when she’d become lost in Mordred’s spell.

They’d spent the night in each other’s arms after finding Beaumains.

She’d begun to believe Gawain would have a special place in her future—certainly as a lover, and possibly something deeper.

How could she have misread the situation so badly?

Because she’d wanted to? Tamsin had to be honest—he’d made no promises. She’d taken him to her bed with her eyes wide open. The fact that he had brought up their bargain put everything back to a simple handshake deal with no strings attached.

A tight knot of bitter unhappiness cramped Tamsin’s core. It wasn’t fair. Being with him was like whisky after a lifetime of weak tea. But she was just a witch with a history degree, not a miracle worker. Whatever Gawain had experienced was more than she could cure with a kiss.

When Tamsin shook herself awake at dawn, her bones ached with weariness. Gawain was sitting by the wall, his sword balanced across his bent knees. He looked up, the early light showing his pallor. He said nothing as she bent over Beaumains, pressing the younger knight’s wrist to check his pulse.

“The fever is down,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Pulse is slow and steady. He should be fine.”

Gawain exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”

“Magic has its uses.” Tamsin resisted the urge to give in to fatigue and frustration and say more. Instead, she crossed to the bed and touched Angmar’s forehead. A sweep of her healer’s magic said he was stable, but there was a long, long way to go. Mordred had done a lot of damage to the fae.

Angmar’s eyes fluttered open. One was swollen and badly bloodshot, but the other was the clear, cool green of forest glades. The fae regarded her with open curiosity. “You saved me, little witch.” His voice was hoarse but stronger than she’d expected.

“Hush,” she replied, checking his bandages. Though the bleeding had stopped, she wanted to change the dressing on the worst of his injuries. “You need to rest.”

But Angmar caught her hand, stopping her before she set to work. “Where is Sir Gawain? I have a tale he needs to hear.”

“I am here.” Gawain held out a glass of water to Tamsin. “I will hold him if you help him drink.”

Gawain held Angmar’s head as Tamsin raised the glass to his lips. The fae drank greedily and then lay back for a long moment, wearied from even that much exertion. But finally he opened his eyes again, lifting his gaze to Gawain. “I know where your king lies.”

Tamsin froze where she was. The only sound was the ticking of her old-fashioned alarm clock. Gawain’s jaw worked until he forced out a single word. “Where?”

Angmar seemed to drift for a moment before going on. “Mordred’s dungeon is full of fae rebels. I recognized many faces, or what was left of them. Mordred hates those he cannot control. He is afraid even of what they might whisper.”

Gawain shifted impatiently. “They whisper of the king?”

“Some of the prisoners have been there since LaFaye first began plotting to seize the throne of Faery. Pain and privation eventually take their toll. Their silence breaks.” Angmar grimaced.

“They talk among themselves, a word here, a snippet there. I put together enough of a story from these scraps to understand what has happened.”

“What did you hear?” Gawain demanded, his voice urgent.

“There was a contingency plan, a safety measure to hide Arthur’s tomb—and Excalibur—if need be. A decade ago, that plan was put into action. LaFaye was too close to finding the sword.”

“Who were those conspirators?” Gawain asked.

“The old Queen of the Faeries, Gloriana, kept the circle small. It survives even though Gloriana lost her throne to LaFaye’s treachery.”

Angmar stopped to drink more water, resting again before he went on. “There was one knight of Camelot who did not go into the stone sleep, but watched over the tomb. Gloriana placed him under the protection of her magic, making him all but immortal.”

Tamsin listened, but her first concern was tending to the fae’s wounds. She began unwinding the bandage around Angmar’s injured forearm. The wound wasn’t infected, but she would apply more healing ointment to be certain.

“This knight was a witch but loyal to a fault, for he had raised King Arthur as his own son,” Angmar added, his face turning ashen with pain as she worked.

“Do you mean Sir Hector of the Green?” Gawain asked.

Tamsin’s fingers froze in their work. Witchcraft.

Medieval magic. A knight named Hector and a plot that had gone into action ten years ago.

Shock jolted through Tamsin and she dropped the lid of the jar she was holding.

It fell with a clatter, drawing everyone’s attention.

“A-are you talking about my father? Hector Greene?”

The moment Tamsin said it, she knew it was crazy. “Never mind. My father was no knight.”

Angmar narrowed his eyes. “You are Sir Hector’s daughter? He was the very best of the Round Table.”

Tamsin ducked her head, embarrassed. “I am Tamsin Greene. My father is dead.”

“Sir Hector did not die,” the fae said gently. “He lived in the mortal realms until it was time to resume his mission to the king.”

Tamsin felt a sudden, hard rush of anger.

“He left our family without telling us he was alive?” The sudden fury faded to the hurt of an abandoned child.

She folded her hands to hide their trembling.

But he is alive. There is a chance I will see him again .

Joy warred with pain, leaving her utterly confused.

“If he hid his tracks so completely, he knew it was a desperate move.” Gawain had gone almost as pale as Angmar. The concern in his eyes said he understood every one of Tamsin’s thoughts. “Do we know where Hector went?”

“The Forest Sauvage,” Angmar replied, his voice low with tension.

He turned to Tamsin. “It is a place all but forgotten, a wood beyond the mortal world that was made to beguile and confuse. It looks like our land, with the same towns and castles, but it is only a mirror image filled with hidden dangers.”

“How did my father get there?” Needing something to keep her hands busy, Tamsin wrapped a fresh bandage over Angmar’s wound. The familiar task steadied her. Better yet, it let her hide the depth of her distress.

“A portal, much like the one you used to escape the dungeon. The king’s effigy is hidden in the forest.”

“How is this even possible?” she whispered.

Her fingers automatically fastened the bandage, but she had no more strength.

She sank to the end of the bed, overwhelmed.

“How can my father be a knight of Camelot? He was a witch, and he certainly wasn’t—I mean—I would have noticed, right?

He taught me to love history, but I had no idea he’d lived it. ”

The thought of her father—so completely loving—having lived all those years brought an ache to her throat. Who had he left behind along the way? Had he been happy in this far-flung future? Had he longed to return to Camelot the whole time?

“Gloriana was fae, but she had the good of all the races in her heart. She wanted to ensure the success of Arthur’s plan to safeguard future peace.

” Angmar smiled at Tamsin, though his injuries made it crooked.

“For that, she required a knight with impeccable character—and one with magical talents of his own.”

Tamsin heard the words but barely understood their meaning. Angmar’s story changed too much of her world at once. She clung to the one thing she knew. “I have to find my father.”

Gawain touched Angmar’s shoulder, his fingers gentle. “Do you know of any portal to the Forest Sauvage?”

Tamsin was eager. “I could open it, just as I did from the dungeon.”

“That was a small portal. The one you need is much more powerful, much more difficult even for a fae. You are strong, child, but not strong enough for that.” Angmar closed his eyes.

“Merlin knew. The spell for the portal to the Forest Sauvage is...” He trailed off, succumbing to his body’s need for rest.

Tamsin barely resisted the urge to shake him awake again. “Is what?”

Angmar was asleep. Tamsin stepped back from the bed, an idea already forming in her mind. “The secret to the portal is in Merlin’s books! That’s why my father had to study them.”

Gawain’s hand closed on her shoulder. “Mordred is on guard now. It will not be simple to return.”

“I know. That was our best chance to find the library.” Tamsin stopped, stricken with a sudden, desperate urge to weep—and for privacy.

She’d finished with Angmar’s bandages. There was nothing more she could do for her patients right then.

“I’m going next door for an hour. I need some real rest.” And then she would think about how to get the books.

Finding them had already been vitally important, but now Merlin’s tomes also held the key to a reunion with her father.

Swiftly, she picked clean clothes out of her drawers and made her way to the door of her tiny apartment. She thanked the Fates that had left the apartment next door vacant—it was her best chance to get some space. “Come get me if I’m needed.”

Gawain nodded, watching her go. Perhaps it was wrong to demand time alone, but she had too much to think about.

Her body ached with tension as she unlocked the suite next door and dropped her bundle of fresh clothes on the blessedly empty expanse of carpet.

For the first time in hours, she had room to breathe.