Page 48 of The Road to Avalon
Like Arthur’s two sisters, she had her long dark hair confined in a single thick braid, pulled back from a face so perfectly formed it might have been taken from a Renaissance portrait by an Old Master. Long, thick lashes fringed her eyes, her nose was elegantly proportioned, and her lips formed a perfect pink bow, parted slightly to reveal even, white teeth.
But Morgana had never looked like this. Her beauty had been marred by the underlying current of coldness she possessed that this girl didn’t have. I smiled at her and her own smile widened in return.
“Good day to you all,” I said, remembering my manners. “As you might have guessed, we’re not here by chance. We have a reason for our visit.”
Merlin took a step forward. “It’s Morgana we’re here for.”
Morgana raised her thin black brows. Did she pluck them? “What is your business with me? I’m sure I can’t be of any interest to such powerful people as you.”
If you’re not innocent, it’s hard to inject that notion into your speech. Her words came out stilted and guilty, her “poor little innocent me” wasted. Or was that just because I was biased and already convinced of her involvement?
Merlin’s eyes flicked to his daughter then back to Morgana. Did we need to tell Nimuë who he was? No, she possessed a kind of magic of her own, so she must know. Surely.
His brows lowered. “You have been blocking my Sight. I’m here to put a stop to it.”
Morgana’s cruel mouth curved in a smile. “Whatever makes you think I might do that?” she asked. “Firstly, that I would take the trouble to block your paltry party trick, and secondly that you might be able to stop me if I were?” She curled her upper lip in a scornful sneer that made me want to punch her on the nose. My fists balled in preparation, but I restrained myself. With difficulty.
Archfedd bristled as well. She, at least, had the benefit of never having met her aunt before, and had none of my preconceived ideas or fears. “You’re stopping Merlin from seeing who killed Llacheu,” she blurted out. “My father’s searching for Amhar because he thinks he did it. We have to be certain he didn’t. And find out whodiddo it.Andstop my father punishing my brother. Merlin needs to be able to use his Sight. You’re blocking it. I don’t know why, but youhaveto stop.”
“What?” Morgawse’s single word hissed out on a gasp and her hand went to her mouth. “Llacheu isdead? Arthur thinksAmharkilled him? How? Why?”
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell her what had happened. Everything was still too raw. I didn’t want to revisit the images locked away inside my head.
Llawfrodedd stepped into the breach. “Amhar and Llacheu argued– fought. Then, two days later, Llacheu was found with his throat cut, thrown onto a midden. Amhar fled during the funeral rites. The King has gone after him.” He cast a glance at me. “The Queen needs to find out who really did this foul murder before the King finds Amhar and blames him for something he didn’t do.”
My stomach roiled as I lost the fight to keep those images hidden. I’d been trying so hard to keep what had brought us on this journey out of the forefront of my mind, but now it came rolling back like the waves on the beach as the tide comes in, only much faster.
“And you thinkIhave had something to do with this?” Morgana said, the smile broadening as though she found the whole thing satisfying and possibly even funny. “That I’m stopping you from discovering the truth?” She laughed. “I’m flattered you think I have the power to do that.” Her long lashes swept her cheeks as she lowered her eyes in fake humility. No way was she fooling me with this act.
Merlin seemed to grow larger, taking up more of the room. Morgana was a tall woman, but he towered over her as though she were tiny. The air around him vibrated, and the room darkened as if a heavy cloud had hidden the sun. “I know it is you,” he said. “I see what you have done. I see what you keep hidden in your heart.”
Nimuë, who’d been staring at Merlin the whole while, at last turned to her mother. “Mother? What does he mean?” Her eyes widened with fear, and her hand went out to touch her mother’s skirts.
Morgana shook her daughter off like an irritating fly. “I think youdon’t,” she said, with another laugh. “Your pathetic conjurors’ tricks are not enough to eventouchmy powers. You cannot know what’s in my mind.”
“You think?” Merlin spat, and I pulled Archfedd to my side, my arm going around her, as the room grew darker still and fear welled up inside me. Merlin’s eyes flashed. “You think your women’s magic is enough to lock horns with me and my powers? You think you can hide your secrets? From Merlin?”
Morgawse had fallen back a step, her hand clutching the back of one of the chairs as though for support, her face white with the same fear rising in me. Not Nimuë though. She got to her feet and stepped almost between her father and mother as though to keep them apart, her wide, anxious eyes going from one face to the other.
Llawfrodedd crossed himself then made the sign against the evil eye– hedging his bets. Archfedd’s hand caught mine and held on tight, the warmth of her touch like a beacon in the descending darkness.
“I do not think,” Morgana stormed, pushing her daughter to one side. Her eyes flashed as much as Merlin’s. “I know. You don’t understand with what you interfere. This is the hand of fate, Merlin, writing the path of history. I am the hand that guides that fate, and you may not stay me.” Her voice rose higher and louder as she got into her stride.
Merlin snorted in derision. “You’re mad, woman. I thought you crazed before, but now I know it’s true. You can’t write history to suit yourself.” His hand went to his sword hilt. “I’m here to make sure you don’t.”
I took another step back, and Archfedd came with me. I came up against the closed doors, the handle knobbly in my back. Nowhere further to flee to.
Nimuë held up her hand, palm toward Merlin, fingers splayed. “Father? What are you doing?”
His head swung around at the sound of her voice. “Nimuë?” All the pain of his years of lost love filled that one word: the longing, the anguish, the desperation. How wonderful it must be for him to hear her call him “father.”
She took a wary step closer to her mother, her eyes fixed on his sword hand. “Do not make me choose sides. I am my mother’s child.”
Merlin released his hold on his sword hilt and held up his right hand, his fingers outstretched as though grabbing for something. “Out of the way, Nimuë. Your mother will answer my questions. Now.”
Nimuë’s anxious eyes darted between her parents’ set faces. “What has she done?” But she stepped back a pace, perhaps reassured by his abandonment of his sword, perhaps from the knowledge that her mother had indeed done something wicked.
Merlin ignored her, his gaze fixed on her mother’s face. “Who killed Llacheu?” he asked, his voice deep and commanding. “I know you know. Tell me, Morgana. Unbind my Sight that I might see the truth.”
