Page 19 of Lady of the Lake

“I do love when people try to tell me what I can or cannot do. Your bravery is adorable, really.” Talan raises my hand, and the ring is dazzling in the sunlight. “But I make my own choices, and today’s wedding is off. My true bride already wears my ring.”

The soldiers exchange uneasy glances. A chill ripples through the air, and clouds slide over the sun once more. One soldier steps forward, a knight, judging from his emblazoned shield and surcoat, and their commander. The knight’s mouth opens and closes twice before he finally manages to speak. “Your Highness, I beg your forgiveness, but the king was under the impression that your wedding to the countess, the Lady Arwenna, was to take place today. We were ordered not to allow your mistress back within the castle walls out of respect for the new princess, at her wishes.”

“The new princess rides with me,” Talan says sharply. “I am already married. Open the gates for my bride and me, and I will announce our union to the court.”

This is beginning to feel like an open rebellion.

Is Talan really capable of deposing his father?

The clouds overhead darken the sun, churning with ominous blue-gray shadows.

The knight goes pale. “Your Highness, my deepest apologies. His Majesty gave us strict orders?—”

Before the knight can finish, he collapses to his knees, his eyes wide and jaw slack.

Cold, dark magic ripples from Talan, a shadowy power that skims over my skin, sending a shiver through my bones. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

As the knight writhes in pain, the rest of the soldiers look on in dismay. Their commander is out of commission and unable to give them orders. As Talan weaves a nightmare in the knight’s mind, the poor man’s terrified cries echo off the stones. The knight is on his hands and knees now, shaking, and he looks likehe might vomit. Panic-stricken, the other soldiers glance from the knight to us, unsure what to do. Faces appear in the windows of the cottages along the road, and hands press against the glass in horror.

“Really, I was expecting more resistance from a knight. Nia, darling,” Talan murmurs, his voice buttery soft, “will you compel the nice knight to open the gate for Brocéliande’s new princess? Discreetly, of course.”

I take a deep breath and glance back at Nivene. She nods ever so subtly.

I turn back to the knight in charge. He’s begging for mercy now in a broken voice.

I lower my voice to a whisper. “I’m not going into that man’s mind until you pull the nightmares away. I really don’t want to see what you’ve created in there.” As I speak, I slide off the horse onto the cobbles and glance over my shoulder at him.

As I approach the knight, his terror begins to fade. Slowly, he stands, his breath hitching as he steadies himself.

“Are you all right?” I say softly. Reaching out, I touch his cheek, as if out of concern, and summon my powers. Tendrils of magic, crimson entwined with violet, flow from me, and I slip into his mind.

Fragments of the nightmare he escaped flash before me.

A valley of dried bones beneath the shadow of death…

I lay rotting among the beasts, the criminals, and the cursed…

My powers blend, Sentinel and telepathy fusing into a plum-hued force that sinks into the soil of his thoughts. He knows something is wrong, but after the horrors he just experienced, he can’t resist my magic or the promise of relief. What I give him is a balm from his torments.

I tighten my grip on the soldier’s mind. His fear is overwhelming—dark ink scribbles across his thoughts, blottingout sanity with terror. Slowly, I thread my thoughts into his, writing a story where Talan is the true king, the one man who can save him from his nightmares. Talan is his salvation.

For a few moments, the knight’s terror remains visceral. He can’t stop picturing himself being hurled from the city walls, plummeting hundreds of feet to rot among discarded carcasses. He’s terrified of the Pit of Hounds’ Bones, a place outside the city walls of noxious fumes, burning corpses, bleached skeletons, and above all, an ignominious, lonely death. He saw it once as a kid, a freshly broken knight’s body rotting among the filth. Punished by the king.

I keep a delicate grip on his mind, like fingers around a glass sphere. I can’t push too hard because he’s close to breaking completely.

“If you open the gate,” I whisper into his thoughts, “you won’t rot in the Pit of Hounds. You’ll live out your days as an Old Fey, safe in your home. Reading by the fire.”

My magic roots itself deeper into his mind, planting ideas like seeds. We are his saviors, the only escape from the Pit of Hounds. His eyes glaze over, and his shoulders slump. I sense the relief spreading through his thoughts as the fear seeps out of his body.

He turns to the other soldiers. “It’s best if we let them in. It’s really…it’s really best if we let them in,” he stammers.

“Sir…” The protest, made by one of the lower-ranking soldiers, dies on his tongue. I suspect he has quickly calculated that if he makes too much of a fuss, he’ll be the next to receive unwanted attention from the prince.

Without a word, the knight turns and pulls out a large set of skeleton keys, then unlocks the oak gatehouse door. It swings open, and he stumbles into a cramped room. He grips a rusted iron winch, grunting with exertion as he turns it. Slowly, the city gates groan open, metal scraping against metal.

I turn back toward Talan’s horse, Maponos. Talan reaches down, lifting me easily by the waist, his fingers lingering long enough to send heated shivers down my body. Settling into my place before him, I feel his arm slide protectively around my waist once more.

“Excellent work, dear wife,” he whispers.

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