Midnight End

21

I did as he told me, eyes still shut, and gasped as the cool fabric touched my skin. “Sorry about that. It’s not totally dry, but it’s better than it was. You’ll need to wear something tonight as it gets cooler and the fire dies.” He carefully wove the shirt over my head, then directed my arms into the sleeves. As soon as the shirt was in place, I rested my head down on my pack and curled into myself for warmth. The welcoming embrace of sleep wrapped itself around me, but just before I was swept into unconsciousness, I imagined the gentle sweep of a hand across my forehead and the warm press of lips against my flushed cheek. The darkness sucked me under into a place I knew to be a dream but refused to acknowledge as such because I wished so desperately for it to be real. I was in a garden outside the city walls, one I knew well as it had been my favorite place to be after the loss of my mother. She had been gone for a number of years, and my life had moved on, even though it pained me to admit. Every detail of the dream was crisp and clear because it derived from a memory. The vibrant rows of herbs and flowers swayed gently in the warm summer breeze. The garden was a large shared project, tended by a number of us who lived inside the Seelie city of Avalon. When I had time, I would bring my basket and collect herbs while I trimmed dead buds and battled the incessant onslaught of weeds. I loved the peacefulness of working in the garden. I felt alive with my hands in the cool, moist soil and the warm sunshine pressing against my back. The queen had scoffed at me any number of times for the dirt that stained the underside of my nails, but I didn’t care what she thought. My mother had instilled in me at an early age how important the natural world was, and I wasn’t about to forget the lesson now that she was gone. Gardening made me feel good, and that was all that mattered. I had gone out that particular day to help assuage the ache that had resided in my chest ever since my half-brother, Arthur, had been killed a week earlier. We had shared a father, but Arthur was much older than me, and we hadn’t met until I arrived at court. He had welcomed me graciously, and I had been happy to form a relationship with him. He had essentially been the only family I had left. After I was told my mother had been killed, it had taken years to recover. The foundations of everything I held dear had been fundamentally shaken. In spite of my young age, I lost my remaining vestiges of innocence. I gradually recovered, but my anger at Merlin never subsided. As soon as I became an adult, I went out on my own. I embraced that freedom and began to feel like a new woman, which was precisely when Arthur had been killed by the traitor Mordred. I felt like the world had plotted against me to keep me on my knees, half broken. I walked through the routines of my daily life, entombed in a cocoon of numbness, unsure life was worth living. When I ventured out to the garden where the sun could warm my bones, it was the first glimpse of hope I’d seen in a week. I found a particularly overgrown section, kneeled down, and began to devote all my attention to the plants. I sat back to assess my progress after what felt like mere minutes to find the suns low in the evening sky. Shaking off the clippings and dirt from my skirt, I stood and stretched my cramped legs. When I turned, I discovered with a start that I wasn’t alone. A man stood leaning against a large fruit tree, not far from where I had been working. Not just any man—this man was familiar. Lancelot du Lac. He had been Arthur’s second in command of the Wild Hunt, which Arthur had formed after having a falling out with Guin and leaving the Seelie Court. When the men who served under Arthur pledged their continued allegiance to him, they formed an autonomous brotherhood and asserted their independence from the court. Since that time, Lancelot had been Arthur’s emissary inside the palace. I had seen him a number of times with the queen, looking noticeably … intimate. They were rather striking together. Her red hair and ethereal beauty was the perfect complement to his thick, dark hair and deep brown eyes. He had always caught my eye even before I was of an age to notice such things. Now that I was grown, my gaze was drawn to him even more frequently. I didn’t recall him ever noticing me, but at that moment, there could be no mistaking his attention. “Can I help you with something?” I asked awkwardly, unsure what to make of the situation. “You’re Morgan, Arthur’s half-sister, is that correct?” he inquired from his perch against the tree. At my brother’s mention, my head lowered, and my shoulders curved in a fraction as the gnawing ache made itself known again. “Yes,” I offered softly. He pushed off the tree and began to saunter toward me. “There are rumors you were responsible for Arthur’s death.” His voice was hard as chiseled stone, his accusation unapologetic. The combined effect of his words and merciless tone sent a flood of panic racing through my veins. “What are you talking about? Who would say such a thing?” My words rushed out as I dropped my basket at my feet. He paused, eyes narrowing as he assessed every aspect of my being for deception. Eventually, his lips thinned, and he cast his gaze sideways toward the garden. “I was afraid of that,” he mumbled under his breath. “Afraid of what? What’s going on here? You’re frightening me,” I called out anxiously as my hands waved about. Lancelot’s eyes slid back to mine, and he prowled closer until he was standing directly before me. “The claims have come directly from the queen. Have you given her reason to harm you?” My jaw dropped in disbelief, and my eyes flitted about, trying to discern a reasonable explanation for his words. “I don’t … why would she … I don’t even know…” I rambled incoherently, unable to finish a single thought. Claiming my attention, Lancelot placed his warm hands against my dirty cheeks and lifted my gaze to his. “I believe you. It’s why I severed ties with Guin. This is not the first deception she has committed, but I had to speak with you to determine for myself whether the words bore any truth.” “I swear to you, I had nothing to do with Arthur’s death. He was my brother—he was all the family I had left. I’ve been heartbroken over his death.” A tear slid down my cheek, and he gently swiped the moisture away with his thumb, then lowered his hands, filling me with an unsettling sense of loss. “He was the best of men. His loss has pained me as well.” His eyes then roved over my face and wandered lower, down the length of my body. “He spoke of you often—his baby sister. But you are not a child anymore, are you?”