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Authors: Laura Anne Gilman
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roses.
Neither of the two new sets of doors gave her a clue as to where to go.
“Any suggestions, my friend?” she asked, not expecting an answer, and therefore not disappointed when none came.
Merlin? she asked inside her head. Do you have any suggestions for me? Now would be a good time.
She hadn’t expected an answer from the enchanter, either. Not here inside Morgain’s own home. But the silence in her head felt lonely nonetheless.
“That one, then,” she decided, purely on impulse, and pushed through the carved doors.
“She’s a brave one, that’s for certain,” Morgain said to herself, watching the girl move on down the hallway. The griffin perked up, as though it had somehow heard her words, and seemed to look directly into the scrying crystal Morgain was using to observe her unwilling guest.
“Yes, all right,” Morgain said in response to the unspoken question posed by her pet. “Go on, then.”
Given permission, the beast got to its feet and, with an agility natural to its cat body, turned to follow Ailis through the doors.
“Interesting,” Morgain said to herself, a smile curving her bloodred lips, giving a softer cast to her face.
The sound of the door opening behind her caused her to curl her fingers over the crystal, blanking out the scene she had been watching. Only one person would dare intrude upon her, and she had no intention of sharing everything that went on in her home with that individual.
When she turned to greet the uninvited guest, the smile on her face had changed to a warmer but less sincere one.
“It is customary to knock,” she said lightly, nothing in her tone or posture showing her anger,“when entering your host’s private study.”
“We have gone beyond politeness, you and I,” the figure said. Wrapped in a heavy gray cloak, despite the warmth of the room, the speaker poured a glass of deep red wine from the bottle waiting on a small table, then sank into an ornately carved wooden chair and looked sideways at Morgain. “We have no time for your little games right now. There are more important things to deal with. Your brother has taken the bait we set for him.”
“As I knew he would,” Morgain said with satisfaction. “Using the Marcher Lords’ pride was a brilliant stroke. No king worth his salt dares ignore unrest along his borders.” She settled in her own seat and smoothed the fabric of her dress before looking up again, her eyes intent. “Tell me more.”
EIGHT
“O h. My. Lord.”
Newt was too busy throwing up to care about the misery in Sir Caedor’s voice. The moment they had trotted through Merlin’s gateway, he had slipped from Loyal’s back, landing on his hands and knees in the grass. He puked up the oatcakes and hot tea he’d had for breakfast.
“That’s…never happened before.” Like Gerard had been through so many portals, to be such an expert, Newt thought with what energy he could spare.
“Hush, pup,” Sir Caedor said, clearly echoing Newt’s own thoughts. The knight was leaning against his own mare, one hand curled around his stirrup-cup as though needing it to remain upright. Gerard alone remained on his horse’s back, but he was leaningforward against its neck, clenching the mane between his fingers, his complexion pale. Giving up, he slid with a groan down onto the grass behind Newt and rested his face against the cool earth.
Newt stopped heaving, set back on his heels, and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Water. He needed water to wash his mouth out. He got to his feet slowly, unsteadily, and turned to remove a waterskin from its tie-down on Loyal’s saddle. What he saw, over the horse’s withers, made him forget all about his recent incapacitation.
Black clouds scudded across the sky, ominous roiling shapes gathering over distant hilltops, moving far too fast to be anything other than a rainstorm—a very bad rainstorm.
“I think we’ve hit a patch of bad weather,” Newt said, trying to
Neither of the two new sets of doors gave her a clue as to where to go.
“Any suggestions, my friend?” she asked, not expecting an answer, and therefore not disappointed when none came.
Merlin? she asked inside her head. Do you have any suggestions for me? Now would be a good time.
She hadn’t expected an answer from the enchanter, either. Not here inside Morgain’s own home. But the silence in her head felt lonely nonetheless.
“That one, then,” she decided, purely on impulse, and pushed through the carved doors.
“She’s a brave one, that’s for certain,” Morgain said to herself, watching the girl move on down the hallway. The griffin perked up, as though it had somehow heard her words, and seemed to look directly into the scrying crystal Morgain was using to observe her unwilling guest.
“Yes, all right,” Morgain said in response to the unspoken question posed by her pet. “Go on, then.”
Given permission, the beast got to its feet and, with an agility natural to its cat body, turned to follow Ailis through the doors.
“Interesting,” Morgain said to herself, a smile curving her bloodred lips, giving a softer cast to her face.
The sound of the door opening behind her caused her to curl her fingers over the crystal, blanking out the scene she had been watching. Only one person would dare intrude upon her, and she had no intention of sharing everything that went on in her home with that individual.
When she turned to greet the uninvited guest, the smile on her face had changed to a warmer but less sincere one.
“It is customary to knock,” she said lightly, nothing in her tone or posture showing her anger,“when entering your host’s private study.”
“We have gone beyond politeness, you and I,” the figure said. Wrapped in a heavy gray cloak, despite the warmth of the room, the speaker poured a glass of deep red wine from the bottle waiting on a small table, then sank into an ornately carved wooden chair and looked sideways at Morgain. “We have no time for your little games right now. There are more important things to deal with. Your brother has taken the bait we set for him.”
“As I knew he would,” Morgain said with satisfaction. “Using the Marcher Lords’ pride was a brilliant stroke. No king worth his salt dares ignore unrest along his borders.” She settled in her own seat and smoothed the fabric of her dress before looking up again, her eyes intent. “Tell me more.”
EIGHT
“O h. My. Lord.”
Newt was too busy throwing up to care about the misery in Sir Caedor’s voice. The moment they had trotted through Merlin’s gateway, he had slipped from Loyal’s back, landing on his hands and knees in the grass. He puked up the oatcakes and hot tea he’d had for breakfast.
“That’s…never happened before.” Like Gerard had been through so many portals, to be such an expert, Newt thought with what energy he could spare.
“Hush, pup,” Sir Caedor said, clearly echoing Newt’s own thoughts. The knight was leaning against his own mare, one hand curled around his stirrup-cup as though needing it to remain upright. Gerard alone remained on his horse’s back, but he was leaningforward against its neck, clenching the mane between his fingers, his complexion pale. Giving up, he slid with a groan down onto the grass behind Newt and rested his face against the cool earth.
Newt stopped heaving, set back on his heels, and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Water. He needed water to wash his mouth out. He got to his feet slowly, unsteadily, and turned to remove a waterskin from its tie-down on Loyal’s saddle. What he saw, over the horse’s withers, made him forget all about his recent incapacitation.
Black clouds scudded across the sky, ominous roiling shapes gathering over distant hilltops, moving far too fast to be anything other than a rainstorm—a very bad rainstorm.
“I think we’ve hit a patch of bad weather,” Newt said, trying to
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