Page 25 of Enchanted Warrior

“Thanks. That’s helpful.” She stopped, picking up a set of car keys from the floor. She remembered Nimueh holding them. The fae must have dropped them during the fight. Tamsin shoved them in her pocket and went into her office, Gawain on her heels.

Beyond the office door, visitors were drifting in again. Tamsin heard an exclamation of dismay that said the ruined gargoyle had been found. At any moment, she’d have to start answering questions. Tamsin closed her eyes and stifled a groan. Then she remembered what she’d been doing before Nimueh ruined her day.

Tamsin picked up the invoice from her desk. “I might have found one of the tombs.”

Gawain snatched the page, his features tight. As he frowned at the faded writing, his nostrils flared, the lines bracketing his mouth growing deeper. He looked like a man afraid to hope.

“I don’t understand all of it,” she said. “There’s writing at the bottom of the page that looks like it might be something out of heraldry, but it’s so faded I can’t read it all.”

“‘Purpure, a two-headed eagle displayed or, beaked and membered gules, over all a bendlet gules,’” Gawain said, apparently having no trouble with the strange words. “It’s a blazon, and I know it well.”

A blazon was the formal description a herald used when recording a coat of arms. This one described a golden two-headed eagle with red beak and talons, wings spread against a purple background and crossed by a red diagonal stripe.

“What’s the significance of it?” asked Tamsin.

Gawain lowered the page, swallowing hard. His gaze was guarded, almost terrified. “It means you found my youngest brother, Gareth Beaumains.”

ChapterNine

They had a tomb to find.

By the time Tamsin and Gawain escaped Medievaland and gargoyle-related paperwork, it was dark and rush hour traffic had eased. As a result, the drive into Seattle took only about forty minutes. Gawain amused himself with the Camry’s car radio, pushing buttons until he found a station that played heavy metal.

“That is proper battle music,” he declared with satisfaction. “It sounds of hoofbeats and the clash of weapons.”

“I had no idea ancient warfare and retro rockers had so much in common. Maybe it’s all the long hair and sweaty leather.”

Gawain raised an eyebrow. “Yo

“Maybe.” Tamsin bestowed an innocent smile, though her nerves were still jangling. “It gives me something to do besides worrying about Mordred.”

“You surprised him,” Gawain cast her an approving glance. “He has forgotten how strong witches can be.”

“The covens keep to themselves.”

“Will your coven Elders approve of you helping me?” Gawain asked.

“I don’t know. As I say, they’re not crazy about getting involved with other people’s conflicts.” Tamsin shrugged. “But if I bring them Merlin’s books, the Elders will forgive anything.” They wouldn’t be able to resist the knowledge—and power—such ancient lore could bring.

“And if you don’t bring them the books? Will they forgive an indiscretion then?”

Tamsin bit her lip, anger and determination bubbling up in her. The car sped up, and she had to force herself to relax and slow down. “If I really made the Elders angry, my powers would be stripped for disobedience. I would be made a servant of the Elders so they could watch me. That’s a lot like being their live-in secretary, nanny and housekeeper until I find a husband who can afford to pay them enough to let me go. If they never find out what I’m up to but I fail to find the books, I lose this job and go home. There won’t be a second chance at a life outside our town.”

Gawain watched her carefully. “You don’t want to go home. Not like that.”

“Everybody prefers choice. The only reason I play by the rules is because I love my family and don’t want to leave them forever. This job—and these books—are my one chance to have everything I want. A little risk is worth it if I can get the job done.”

Gawain folded his arms. “We made a bargain. You help me, and I help you. We will find your books.”

They parked at the edge of the university’s campus and walked toward the Humanities Center. It was a sprawling new building, all concrete and glass with little architectural imagination. Tamsin searched the web on her phone as they neared the entrance, the cold wind numbing her fingers.

“What are you looking for?” Gawain asked.

She slowed to a stop, reading the tiny screen. “There’s an arts center in the lower level of this building,and I’m guessing that’s where the tomb is housed.”

Tamsin paused again, reconsidering her words. “Gawain, there’s no guarantee the tomb is here. That invoice was from decades ago. Anything might have happened since then.”

After a moment’s pause, he turned and strode for the doors. “A chance to find him is better than nothing.”

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