Once Upon A Midnight (2/3)
The children were inconsolable that night. Finnian finally had relief from his troublesome teeth, but it was his aching heart that kept him crying. They finally fell asleep curled up together between Morgana and Morgause in the Queen’s bed. Morgana, exhausted from crying, slipped into sleep not long after, but Morgause stayed awake, watching over them all night. She did not want to miss a single minute’s worth of gazing on them. She did not want to forget a single detail of their perfect faces, or the way their chests rose and fell as they breathed, or the colour of their hair in the dying firelight. It was with a heavy heart and thousand kisses that she left them at daybreak to make another trip to meet with Amina and see what she thought of their plan.
“It has… some merit,” Amina said hesitantly. She sat in Emiline’s kitchen surrounded by books - any one of which would mean a death sentence should Uther find out about them. Not that any more than one or two men in Camelot could read them, even if they did get their hands on them.
“Some?” Morgause asked hopefully, taking the bench opposite and running her eyes over the many and varied tomes lain out before them. She had not expected Amina to give them even that much encouragement.
“I fear that Gaius will expect you to turn to magic. You will not get close enough to him to hit him with this potion - if it existed, which it does not - and he will not stand still for you to lay an enchantment on him,” Amina expounded. “I know that there has been no practice of offensive or defensive magic in these parts in your lifetime, so sending you in with an incantation is not going to work. In battle, it is perfectly possible - common even - to use a stored spell, without utterance, in half a moment. But whatever power you have, it is locked away inside of you and you have no skill to wield it. And you, Morgana tells me, were regarded as the most promising young sorceress in Camelot in your youth. I have to send you in prepared.”
Morgause nodded, fear prickling up her spine. “Morgana’s opinion of me is-”
“Grander than reality?” Amina chucked. “I imagine it is. She loves you as if you were a Knight from a singer’s grand tale. The funny thing is, I do not actually think that you are far from being that fairytale figure. Better even, perhaps, for you are human and make human mistakes and enjoy human rewards. That is why I am helping you.”
Morgause smiled. “And because Morgana has charmed you as she charms everyone who meets her.”
Amina matched her smile. “Yes, that too.”
“And you have a plan to save her?” Morgause pleaded.
“I do.”
When Amina pulled back the sack cloth from the bundle on the floor, what Morgause saw there made her run to the sink and wretch.
“I…” She choked and wretched again. “What is that? Surely it cannot be-”
“It is a pig’s head,” Amina interrupted. “It would certainly not be my animal of choice but its colouring and size made my job easier.”
Morgause could not turn around. “But it looks… it looks…”
“Like my severed head,” Amina said calmly. “Yes. This is one aspect of my work that I will be keeping my daughter from. You can turn around now. I have covered it back over.”
“You… You did that with magic?” Morgause asked as she turned. Amina had lied. Her stomach turned.
“Yes. Take a good look. You need to get used to it if you are going to present it to Gaius.”
Morgause’s eyes were fixed firmly on the ceiling.
“If I had killed you and taken your head, I would not be able to hold my stomach, let alone my nerve. If you want this to look real then put back the sack,” Morgause said unsteadily, her hands shaking.
“Your performance will not matter much as long as you can get him to take the head. When he touches it, he will lose his memories and become like a child again.” Amina held out her hand. “Did you bring what I asked?”
Morgause pulled a satchel bag onto the table and took out something flat and wrapped in cloth. “Morgana took it. She said that is was face down on his workbench so it did not capture her image. She took it when his back was turned, made him close the door or something of the like. I still do not know how she managed to swipe it.”
It was a mirror.
“Women are endlessly resourceful,” Amina commented. “And their dresses endlessly accepting of things needing to be ferreted away. Now, as the mirror, to prepare any directed enchantment, one needs a mirror or another reflective surface such as glass or crystal or water or obsidian. The list goes on, but you get my meaning. The mirror needs to have captured your intended target as its last image. And your target alone,” Amina warned. “If any other living soul, man or beast, was in the image then the enchantment will not take.”
Fear flared once more across Morgause’s skin. “I understand. Morgana assures me that is not the case. Gaius was alone in his chambers and always is.”
Amina nodded. “Would you like to watch me set the enchantment?” She closed the book in front of her and retrieved a scrap of parchment covered in the same strange script as the books. “Usually I prefer to practice alone, but I know that if it were me, I would want to see. I would want to make sure it was done right.”
Wordlessly, Morgause nodded. She would not be able to tell if what Amina said and did were only nonsense and gestures, but she could not admit that. And besides, Amina surely already knew that. The Wildes might once have been mighty and powerful, but now they were nothing more than figureheads for a community driven underground and kept there for so long they had lost their sight. It was true that they honoured the Old Religion and kept its ways. But no prayer to the Gods was worth half of the worship that even the smallest of magics gave unto them. If it was true that Gods required love and devotion to survive and smile upon their people, then the people of the Old Religion in Camelot were surely forsaken.
Yet… Yet she had been brought to Morgana’s side and they had been blessed a thousand times, had they not? Perhaps the Gods were not as fickle as Priestesses and Elders would have her believe.
“Please, I would be honoured,” Morgause murmured, bowing her head in respect. The room suddenly felt like those kitchens and cellars that her people had gathered in when she was a girl - where they had blessed babes and worshipped the Gods. It felt like the island.
With a silence of movement that Morgause could never hope to imitate, Amina stood and took from amongst the books the scarf she had been wearing when Morgause met her on the plains. She covered her head with fluid, practiced movements and gestured for Morgause to kneel. When the Knight complied, Amina put the pig’s head between them and knelt on a roll of finely embroidered turquoise silk. For a moment, she studied to parchment in her hands, before nodding and taking a deep breath.
“Please,” she said simply, holding out the scrap of parchment to Morgause.
Morgause took it and gazed in wonder at the ornate script inked upon it. It read:
परमेश्वर प्रिय, मैं पूछना है कि आप इस स्वार्थी और लालची आदमी से रहस्य और यादों को लेने के लिए वह अपने कर्मचारियों के खिलाफ प्रयोग करेंगे.उसे एक बच्चे के रूप में फिर से मुक्त और इसलिए हमें उसकी बुराई योजनाओं की बनाओ.
For a woman, Morgause was well educated. She could read and speak Latin and could even read a bit of some of the Greek tongues, as well as a little of languages used by some of the surrounding kingdoms. Of all of those languages, the script before her reminded her most of Greek. Not for any similarity in the lettering, but because it was different. Whereas with written Latin she could easily read the words and hazard a guess at their pronunciation, Greek pronunciation and writing had always been utterly divorced in her mind. She could not make from the Greek letters the sounds her schoolmistress had made whilst speaking them. Similarly, with this script she could hazard no guess at how the words would sound from Amina’s lips. She did not have to wait long to find out.
From under the table, Amina brought out a pot of oil and took a taper from it.
“Calo vahā͂ prakāś ho,” Amina whispered, and the taper flickered alight.
Sweet smelling smoke billowed from the splinter of wood and curled up towards the ceiling like bubbles racing to break the surface of a pool of water.
In a voice that was barely a whisper, Amina bid, “Close your eyes.”
Enthralled, Morgause obeyed.
“Parameśvar priy,” Amina invoked, the sweet smell of the smoke blossoming anew in the air, “mai͂ pūchanā hai ki āp is svārthī aur lālacī ādamī se rahasy aur yādo͂ ko lene ke lie vah apane karmacāriyo͂ ke khilāph prayog kareṅge. Use ek bacce ke rūp me͂ phir se mukt aur isalie hame͂ usakī burāī yojanāo͂ kī banāo.”
The taper blazed for a moment brighter than the sun and then went out.
Amina’s breath came heavy in the silence. “It is done.”
~*~
The journey back to the castle was the scariest of Morgause’s life. Every bend in the road, every alley and side road - all of them revealed a new guard, a new knight or even a Knight. Sir Gwaine joined her as she reached the drawbridge, running up to fall into step beside her and regale her of his latest adventures in something that Morgause did not have it in her to listen to. She thanked the Gods that he did not seem to notice and did not follow her into the castle proper. But most of all, she thanked them that he did not ask what she carried in a sack in her swordhand. That she would not have been able to explain.
“Come in,” came Gaius’ rusty voice, hitting Morgause with almost crippling déjà vu. She had decided to come straight to him. Morgana did not need to see the horror with which they would buy their freedom.
With a shiver, she grasped the handle and let herself in.
“Ah,” said Gaius. “You are early.” He nodded at the sack. “That her?”
His casual tone turned her stomach. She shut the door.
“Let’s take a look then.”
Silently, Morgause put the sack at his feet. She could not tip it out. She could not even be sure that the face Gaius would see inside would not be swine.
“No backbone,” he muttered, snatching up the sack and emptying its contents onto the sawdust covered floor. He stared at the head for a moment, prodded it with his foot and then looked back up at Morgause. “Well, that was unexpected.”
Panicked, Morgause looked down at the thing, but Amina’s magic had held and it was still resolutely human.
“I did not think you had it in you,” Gaius said. “Well, I suppose that concludes our little problem.” He smiled at her like none of it had ever happened. “Do give the Queen my regards.”
~*~
“But the enchantment only works if he touches it?” Morgana asked, her eyes pale and wide with worry.
“He will touch it,” Morgause assured her. “He cannot just leave it there in the middle of his floor.”
She took Morgana’s hand and kissed her palm and then her wrist.
Morgana bit her lip, suppressing a smile. “Does that… Does that mean… Is it over?”
“I…” Morgause shrugged. “I do not know, my love. I would feel better if he had touched it whilst I was there.” She dropped Morgause’s gaze. “It is wrong, and I should not have felt it, let alone tell it to you, but I wanted to see it. I wanted to see everything he had ever known drain away from him for what he did.” She did not look up. “You must think badly of me.”
Morgana’s hand raised her chin. “I could never think badly of you. Not ever. You taught me to be a good and just Queen by teaching me what it means to love. You were the first person to ever touch our children. You soothe them when they wake from sleep, when they cry. You are their mother just as much as I am and anyone who sees how you are with them in the safety of our chambers cannot deny that.” She smiled radiantly, making Morgause’s heart skip a beat. “Every day I could cry for joy at how much of you I see in them. I thank the Gods for it every night. How could I ever think badly of you after all of that?”
Unable to resist, Morgause darted forward, her lips damp from where she had been worrying at them with her teeth. Morgana gasped, taking in Morgause’s exhaled breath and revelling in the warmth of it flaring in her lungs. Her eyes fluttered closed and her world spun. Tingles raced over her skin, exploding when Morgause’s tongue slipped warm and wet into her mouth. They had done it a thousand times since that night in the forest by the fire, but every single one felt as good as the first. Every touch of Morgause’s lips felt like flying, rising weightless into the air, spiralling.
But one thing had changed since then. Something that neither of them would change for the world.
“Ma,” Isolde warbled, tugging on Morgana’s dress. “Ma.”
Morgana broke the kiss with a laugh, dropping her forehead to rest against her love’s. She bit her lip.
“Speaking of,” she teased, lingering for one more moment before reaching down to scoop Isolde onto her knee.
Isolde giggled and reached out both hands to Morgause.
“Oh, I see,” Morgana laughed. “I am just a step on your way to who you really want a cuddle from.”
Again Isolde giggled. She could not yet understand Morgana’s words but her tone was light and warm and it made Isolde wiggle with delight. She leapt into Morgause’s arms and hugged her around her neck, stamping her little feet up and down on Morgause’s thighs.
“GWUHH!” Finnian shouted, frowning at the mountain of Morgause’s legs before grasping at her knee and lifting his foot up to scale her calf.
“Oh no,” Morgause laughed, effortlessly lifting him up beside his sister. The twins gave identical giggles and showered Morgause’s face with kisses.
Morgana smiled, perfectly content with her beautiful family and achingly aware of how close she had come to losing it all. But something in the back of her mind told her that the danger was not yet over, and that worried her more than words from Morgause could console.
~*~
The sun could not have been brighter when Morgause strolled through the charming streets of the master’s quarter. It was not exactly warm, but it was wonderful. It was crisp and bright and perfect. It was the sort of day that should be spent chasing the twins through piles of golden red leaves and patches of snowdrops. It was the day of their salvation. A day she would never forget.
When Morgause turned to corner of Emiline’s street, the redheaded beauty was waiting for her. And when she saw the glimmer in Morgause’s eyes, the hug that she wrapped her in almost knocked her off of her feet.
“You won,” she said, her voice light and silvery. “Whatever it was, you won!”
“Yes,” Morgause beamed, squeezing her and lifting her around in a circle. “We won.”
Taking her by the hand, Emiline led her inside, a delighted laugh on her lips.
“I wanted to thank you for keeping Amina for us. Where is she? I needed to talk to her about something,” Morgause asked, looking around the windowless kitchen and peering into the dark sitting room.
“They’re here somewhere,” Emiline dismissed. “I think Sophia wanted to show them the garden. Not that it is much of a garden but… The girls like it. We never had one in Worcester. Just a little herb box on the window. Tristan and Ellie would never have taken a chance on any of my girls if you had not encouraged them. And without them, I would never have thought of planting a garden. And that is all thanks to you.”
Morgause closed her eyes and hummed pleasantly. Emiline was so close beside her that she could feel her warmth through her fine cotton shirt.
“Emy,” she breathed, struggling to override the desire to pull her closer.
“Hush,” Emiline soothed, her hands hovering over Morgause’s hips and finally settling on her sides. “I know that I hurt you. Badly. I was young and I did not know what love was.”
“I do not blame you,” Morgause said steadily. “Your family had the titles but no money to fall back on. Leon could become a Knight, but you needed to marry if you were going to have any place in the world.”
“My husband… I did love him. Eventually, I did. He gave me three beautiful daughters and I will always love him for that. But I was not happy with him, not the way I should have been. When we were betrothed he promised me silks and riches and all of the fine things that I had never had. But when we moved to Worcester it turned out that it was not a job as a master trader that he had secured, but as an apprentice, and even that he did not stick to for even as long as it took for me to bear him a daughter.” The song of Emiline’s voice turned sorrowful, like a lover’s lament. “But that did not matter, because he gave me the girls and taught me to be a wife. And I could be that for you. I could make you a fine wife - the kind of devoted wife that a strong and gentle Knight like you deserves. Please, Morgause. I was not ready for it when we were young, but I am now. If they call you Knight then you can take a wife. Let it be me and I promise that I will give you everything you ask for and everything that you would never dare to.”
“I…” Morgause’s head was swimming. She felt like she was eighteen again, when Emiline had last sent her heart thundering in her chest. She remembered the kiss they had shared in the crofter’s hay barn and the night beneath the rose bushes.
“Please, take me. I know that you want to,” Emiline pleaded, moving to face her. She was shorter than Morgause by a good couple of inches. Just enough to make it romantic. Enough that she had to stand on the tips of her toes to bring them eye to eye, and even then Morgause had to tilt her head down. “Just think of how proud Leon would be to see his little sister on the arm of his most gallant Knight. Think about the life I can give you. I am good at this. Let me be good at it for you.”
Her case pleaded, Emiline leant up and brushed their lips together as soft and fleeting as the touch of a butterfly’s wing. It was the kind of kiss that begged to be deepened. The kind of kiss that asked to be kissed back. It was the kiss of a woman who wanted to be a wife.
But Morgause would not oblige.
“Emy, I… I cannot do this,” Morgause protested. She felt as though the Gods were testing her. How could they put this bewitching woman before her and have her beg to be her wife? How could they do that when they knew that Morgause must refuse, regardless of how much it stirred her.
“Tell me that you did not enjoy that,” Emiline dared. “Tell me that you do not want me.”
She took Morgause’s hand and guided it to the deep square neckline of her gown and slipped it inside, letting her calloused fingers feel smooth warm skin. Before Morgause could pull her hand away, she slid it down to cup her full breast, to feel the stiffness of her nipple.
“I know what you want, Morgause. I know what you like and how to give it to you - I always have.”
“No,” Morgause said tightly, pulling her hand away. She saw now that the lush purple gown had been worn for her benefit. It was her colour and the neckline was meant to show off Emiline’s breasts as fully as she could whilst staying the right side of decent. And it had worked. Gods, how it had worked. She could not tear her eyes away. “I cannot do this.”
“Why not?” Emiline asked, stepping into her and resting the flat palms of her hands on Morgause’s toned stomach. “I see that you look and that you want.”
“I cannot do this because I am bound to another and I love her more than I desire you,” Morgause admitted, her voice as soft as she could keep it. She did not want to hurt Emiline. Not when she had done nothing wrong. She did not know about Morgana. All she wanted was to be loved again, and if it had been a couple of years earlier, Morgause would jumped at the chance. But now… “I have a wife and she is good to me, more so than I deserve. She loves me more than I could ever wish for. And by everything that is good in this world, I love her too.”
“Is she beautiful?” Emiline asked, not jealous but curious.
“Yes,” Morgause assured her. “And kind and dutiful and intelligent and wilful and strong and perfect.”
“She must be one hell of a woman,” Emiline said sadly.
“Yes, that she is.”
~*~
Morgause could not bring herself to tell Morgana of what had happened with Emiline. Not when Morgana was so blissfully happy. It was late afternoon by the time Morgause returned from talking with Amina, so the babes were sleeping. Morgana was waiting for her in a violet robe that laid her bare before her Knight when Morgause pulled at the silken ties. They made love in the afternoon light and when Morgana came, she looked more beautiful - gasping and shuddering and flushed all over - than Morgause had ever seen her.
They kissed languidly in the failing light until the babes cried for their dinner. It was the perfect end to the perfect day and Morgause was counting down the hours until she could make Morgana her wife before the Gods and make everything she said to Emiline come true.
Chapter 5, Day 5
The sharp banging on the door woke them with a start.
As happy as they were, Morgause could not escape the feeling that all was not right. She slept alone that night, leaving the bed for Morgana and the children. They still missed their Guinevere and her bedtime stories, and Morgana could not bear not to have them close. It seemed that the little ones’ feeling of unease was justified.
Pulling on her breeches, Morgause ran for the door, a chorus of tired wails biting at her ears.
Through the door came a thrown pig’s head followed by an irate Gaius. His face was red with anger and Morgause was half afraid he might strike her. Mindful of the guards on their patrols, Morgause pushed the door shut and hurried to place herself between the fuming physician and Morgana and the children.
“You had better have a good explanation for this!” Gaius growled, kicking at the pig’s head to make a chunk of spoiling meat fall off the bone. “Like perhaps the foreign whore was a pig all along and you had about as much idea about it as I did!?”
Morgause gulped. Her fear had been that Gaius would not touch the thing, not that enchantment would wane and the human face become once again swine. But even so, he had touched it. It should not matter if the head had changed back. But when she looked, she saw that covering his pale, wrinkled hands were light grey kid-skin gloves. He may have touched the thing, but not with his skin.
She felt foolish and weak and incompetent. Of course a man such as Gaius would have refrained from touching it. She should have made him - should have waited and seen it with her own eyes.
“I… I…” All she could do was stutter.
“Did you really think that your foul magic could fool me? I could smell it coming off the thing in waves from the moment you brought it to me.”
That, Morgause knew, was a lie. He had believed her well enough when she had left. It was only when he found that he had been made a fool of that he recounted his acceptance.
“Bring me Amina’s real head or I’ll have yours.” He turned to Morgana who was clutching her children to her chest. “And yours. And both of theirs too.”
“Never,” the Queen growled.
“No? Then bring me the head. You have until midnight tomorrow before I tell the King.” He paused and looked at Morgause with malice in his eyes. “Trick me again, witch, and I will make sure that they rip you to pieces before they take your life. And I’ll make sure those bastard children are watching.”
~*~
Morgana was crying when Leon got there. It was the quiet kind of crying that men feared. It was the kind of crying that women did when something was seriously wrong. It was the crying of someone who did not even have the fight left to sob. It made his hair stand on end.
“Ask no questions, Leon.” Morgause’s voice was tight and thin, and Leon could not find it in himself to argue with her.
“One question,” he bargained. “Are they in danger, the Prince and Princess?”
“Imminently,” Morgause confirmed, her voice took on a pleading tone and then cracked, “and mortally.”
Leon’s jaw tightened and he nodded. He knew too much. There was only one thing that could possibly make Morgana part from her children. Only one thing that could see her send them to safety outside of the castle walls and into the anonymity of the town and beyond. Only the chance that forfeiting her own life would sate the King’s anger and make him forget the children would ever lead her to part from them. He could not let that happen. The two hundred year old charter that the Knights of Camelot lived by bid that the sworn Knights must shield the heirs of Camelot - the kingdom’s future - from any and all threats. He could not keep from extending that promise to Morgana too - to beg her to leave with them.
“Do you…” Leon hesitated, tearing his eyes away from Morgana and back to Morgause. “The Queen… Surely she should not be parted from her children.”
“She will not hear of it,” Morgause whispered. “Her hope springs eternal and her faith is strong. She believes that every problem has a solution, but not enough to put Finnian and Isolde’s lives at risk. She hopes that if the worst comes to pass that the price of her own life will be enough to cover what is demanded of us.”
Leon’s face laid his troubled thoughts plain for Morgause to see. “As commendable as hope and faith are, they do not conquer all. If anyone were to question it then… As Commander of the Knights of Camelot, it is my duty to protect Her Highness and what she represents.” He turned to Morgana. “My Queen, your children are but babes. They need you. What if you are with child again and are yet to know of it? Let me take you and the children.” He gestured to Morgause. “Let me take the four of you. You have informed me of a danger and it is my duty to protect you from it. Please do not ask me not to do my duty to you. Please.”
Morgana ignored him. Sniffling back her tears, she looked at her two little miracles. When she spoke, her voice was all brittle and broken and wet from tears. “Gods be good, you will be back with me soon, but if you are not… If you are not, then I need you to know that I will always love you. I love you more than anything else in this world and that is why I have to send you away. Know that you are precious and that the day you were born to me was the greatest of my life.” She choked, her tears overflowing as she realised that they had no inkling of what she was saying to them.
“I love you,” she repeated, kissing them over and over until Morgause crouched down at her side.
“I cannot do this,” she cried, burying her head in Morgause’s shoulder, despair and anger all throwing themselves at the only person who could even come close to understanding. “I cannot say goodbye to them! They are a part of me as vital as my heart or my soul. I… I cannot…”
Morgause took her face in her hands, the children between them. “You must. For them, you must.”
Morgana bit her trembling lip and nodded, before standing up and turning away, leaving the children in Morgause’s arms. Goodbye was a word that she could never say. Not to them.
Morgause lingered there on the floor, breathing in their scent. They smelt like Morgana and milk and the honey they bathed in. With a lungful of that heady scent, Morgause pressed kisses to their heads and nodded to Sir Leon.
With gentle hands, she lifted them into the wooden chest he bore and shushed them with her finger. With whispered prayers, she hushed the words in their throats, ensuring their cries would not give them away, before closing the lid and turning the key in the lock.
“I will guard them with my life,” Sir Leon promised, towering above her. “And if I do not hear from you by midnight tomorrow, I take them to the Wildes myself and go with them to the furthest corner of the earth and never come back, if I have to. I will never let anyone hurt them. Not ever, I promise you that.”
Morgause threw her arms around his neck and held on tight. “I know,” she whispered. “I know.”
“Take care of yourself,” he bid, trying his hardest not to cry. “And if it comes to it…”
“I will die protecting her,” Morgause vowed, knowing that he would understand. He would do the same.
When she stood back, he put a hand on her shoulder. “Do not let them take you without a sword in your hand; you are a Knight - the finest I have ever seen - and I would feast with you at the warrior’s table when both of our lives are done.”
She laughed at his mention of the old folk tale, her tears streaming down her cheeks. “I promise, brother. I promise.”
~*~
Gaius straightened his tunic and snorted in annoyance. The little bitches thought that they could outsmart him - the most exalted physician in all of Camelot. He would show them what it meant to cross an intelligent man. He would teach them how brutal a King’s justice could be.
His jaw set, he turned into his chambers and made straight for the cup of red wine he had left to warm on the mantel piece. It was an old vintage. Strong and dark. It was solace and a reward for outsmarting them. It was the taste of Amina’s blood, just waiting to be spilt.
“Good evening, Gaius,” a voice greeted curtly from the darkness. To his credit, Gaius did not jump.
“Ah,” he said, squinting. The voice was familiar but he could not put a name to it, nor a face. It was female, though, that much was plain. “Who is that I have the pleasure of addressing at this late hour?”
“That is not important,” the woman said. She moved far enough out of the darkness that light flashed off the blade in her hand, but did not illuminate her face. “What is important is who you are and who you have dared to threaten.”
Gaius’ expression hardened. “And you have come here to threaten me with that dagger, is that it?”
“No,” the mysterious woman said. “I will make no threats.”
It was a kitchen knife Gaius saw now. Not a dagger.
“If you are not here to make threats then why bring a knife? And why hide your identity?” Gaius questioned, sipping at his wine to show that he was not rattled. He was.
“The knife is insurance. You might do something stupid. And as for my identity, you do not deserve to know. It is frightening you more that I could be anyone and capable of anything,” the woman answered honestly. “I do not worry about you finding out who I am. Why should I? You will not live to leave the room.”
Gaius paused. “Then you lied. You said that you had no intention of using the knife.”
“I don’t,” the woman said. “I do hope that you are enjoying your dying drink. A Roman vintage. I cannot even begin to imagine what it is worth. Do you have any idea?”
Gaius’ blood ran cold. He turned and looked at the shelves where he kept his poisons. There was a bottle missing. The black bottle with the red stopper. Belladonna. He did not have long then. Not long at all. It was only a moment before he felt his heart quickening. The low light of the room was suddenly blinding and the sharpness of the world fled to blurriness and confusion.
He was dead before he hit the floor.
“You should not have threatened her,” the woman said and she walked calmly from the room.
~*~
Without the children, the Queen’s chambers were cold and empty, and the night’s shadows had taken on a maleficent air. Morgana stood and watched by the window, a ghost against the black sky. A new moon picked out the tears on her cheeks, silver against a fearful flush. It seemed to Morgause the strangest thing to do, to turn to cold, dead stone and a vision of the city for comfort. Morgause herself was gazing into the fire, numb to its warmth but needing to feel it anyway. The heat of the fire was like the Gods’ caress and nothing could bring a daughter of the Old Religion more comfort than the heat of fire or another’s skin. But Morgana’s skin was cold and forbidden, so fire it was.
“I thought that, perhaps, it might all be rather more spectacular,” Morgana bemoaned, her voice high and thin as the wind. “I thought there might be…” She shook her head, words escaping her.
“Our children have been ferried away in a chest in the dead of night,” Morgause deadpanned. “I think that drama enough.”
There was a soft sigh and Morgause heard the silk of Morgana’s slippers as she crossed the floor. A cool hand tangled in her hair, tipping back her head.
“I cannot stand and wait to die,” Morgana whispered fiercely. “If I am to die tonight, then it will be in your arms, where I belong, doing what I am damned for.”
With that she withdrew, pulling on the laces at the front of her nightgown, loosening them. With no regard for the cold, she shrugged her shoulders and let white cotton and lace pool like milk around her ankles.
Scrabbling to her feet, Morgause vaulted over the bench and beheld the woman that was to be her ruin. She had changed so much since Morgause had first laid her eyes on her. She had grown fuller with Isolde and Finnian and though her belly was again near as flat as when Morgause had first pressed her lips to it, it was softer now than before and above it her breasts were as full as when the babes had nursed six times a day. To Morgause, she was at her most beautiful and grew only more so every day.
Morgana was right, if they did not have the children to take comfort in, why not spend their last night together, enjoying what time they had left. It was a strangely freeing thought. All the weight of fear left Morgause’s shoulders and suddenly all she could feel was want and desire.
“You are a sight for sore eyes,” Morgause said lustily, desire making her eyes dilate and her skin tingle.
Morgana smiled and blushed, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks. She was playing at being coy, knowing exactly how much it fuelled Morgause’s passions.
“Then come to me,” she bid, slowly and provocatively raising her eyes.
When Morgause moved she was as quick as an adder, taking Morgana about the waist and pulling her close. Their lips met with all the heat that the fire had failed to ignite. Morgana’s hands went to the hem of Morgause’s shirt, pulling it up and over her head, before loosening the laces of her breeches and slipping her hand inside.
If the night would be their last, it would be a sweet one. Of that she was determined.
rls. When she was carrying me, she travelled all the way to the Isle of the Blessed to have the High Priestess there ink a tree of life on her belly to make me strong and powerful. Flor had the same when she carried Tristan.”
Morgana smiled and stood up to take Morgause’s hand.
“After the Purge, any ink other than that which denoted your house or military rank was banned. People still wear it, but only where it cannot be seen.” Morgause’s recollection turned into sorrow. “For you, though, no place is unseen by the King.”
“No,” Morgana frowned. “I am sorry.”
Shaking the melancholy away, Morgause continued, “I had heard a rumour that there was an enchantment to shroud ink from anyone who did not have it already on their skin. It was used, I think, to mark those who belonged to a plot to overthrow the High Priestesses back when there power was new. I searched every book I knew of to find it after you told me that you were with child. I wanted you to wear a tree of life on your belly so that you could see it and know that I meant to love the babes you carried as if they were my own. But the enchantment was nowhere to be found. I had given up, but when I saw all of the wisdom in the strange script that Amina reads, I asked if an enchantment of the like was known to her people.” She nodded to the inkpot in Morgana’s hands. “It seems it is. Just in time to make you a Wilde.”
Morgana’s stomach fluttered. “Your mark, the sigil?”
Morgause pulled her shirt off her shoulder for Morgana to trace the ebony black symbol with her fingers.
“If you want it,” Morgause offered, oddly afraid that Morgana would say no. She knew that Morgana wanted the symbol. She traced it every time they lay together and, on the few occasions that she had caught sight of Flor’s, she had eyed it enviously. “It will hurt.”
“Of course I want it.” Morgana was not surprised when she felt the familiar stinging of tears in her eyes. It was something that she had longed for and never thought that she would be able to have. Much like Morgause herself once upon a time. “Pain be damned. I want to look in the mirror and see that I am a Wilde, your wife. I want to take on your debt and thank the Gods for everything they have done for me.”
The smile that bloomed on Morgause’s face was the most beautiful smile that Morgana had ever seen.
In the act itself, Morgana proved a little less brave than her words. At the first prick of the needle, she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.
“How old were you when you had this done?” she asked, tears streaming from her scrunched closed eyes.
Morgause, who could not see her tears, chuckled and kissed the back of her neck. “When I stopped growing.”
“So, young then,” Morgana quipped.
“Ha ha,” Morgause deadpanned. “But yes, I was fourteen. It was just before my parents died. My father did it for me. I cried the whole way through, but I sat as still as a statue. I wanted it to be perfect.”
“It is perfect,” Morgana said wistfully. “I want mine to look as perfect as yours.”
“It will,” Morgause promised. “I made Flor’s perfect, did I not?”
“You did Flor’s mark?!” Morgana exclaimed.
“Aye. I am quite good, am I not?”
Morgana did not answer. More tears were slipping down her cheek. Too many for Morgause not to notice.
“I would have thought that after Finnian and Isolde, this pain would be nothing,” Morgause said, worried. She would share her magic with Morgana if she could, to take away the pain, but that would destroy the point of the ink in the first place. “I wish it did not, but it has to hurt to remind you of the debt you are taking on. With every Wilde the debt is lessened. You pay with your pain, but it will never be enough. You do not have to have the mark. I will think no less of you. We can stop if you-”
“No! No. Please, I want it,” Morgana exclaimed loud enough that for a moment they sat in perfect silence waiting for cries that did not come. “And the pain too,” Morgana said quieter. “I want to feel it and understand.”
When it was done, Morgause whispered a prayer and the pain was gone and forgotten. She led Morgana to the mirror and turned her so that she could see the black picked out sharp against her pink-flushed skin.
“It is beautiful,” Morgana breathed, wonderstruck. “Thank you.”
Morgause tipped up her chin and kissed her. Seeing Morgana wear the mark stirred something inside her. “Not as beautiful as you.”
Morgana laughed. “My charmer.”
“Always.”
“Will you give me more when I get with child again? I want you to ink my belly like your mother had. But it has to be you. I only want it if you do it. And more ink too. I would have you cover me in it, if it would please you.”
“Not so much ink as that, I think. I like your skin the way the Gods made it, pale and pure. A little ink makes it sweeter, but not so much as its beauty is lost.” She trailed her hand up Morgana’s bare stomach, making her shiver. “But a tree of life all done in fine knots would look damn fine on your belly, should it grow again.”
Morgana chucked. “You do not want me to patterned in black and blue for you?”
Now Morgause touched her cheek, still damp from tears. “I do not want to see you cry in pain for something you think that I want. Or that you think that Gods want. You do not need ink to make you a child of the Old Religion nor to make you my wife.” She kissed the mark on Morgana’s shoulder that she had set and sapped of pain with a prayer.
“I just… I want there to be parts of me that I only share with you,” Morgana admitted. “I cannot promise you alone my body, as I wish that I could.”
“As magnificent as it is, you share something far greater and more beautiful than your body with me that Uther Pendragon can never have - your heart.”
Morgana leant in and kissed her then, her palms flat against Morgause’s collar bones.
“And I will not let anyone take your heart from me,” Morgause promised, a rare hint of possessiveness entering her voice. “They would have to kill me first.”
And when Morgana’s knees went weak at her Knight’s words, Morgause’s arms were there to catch her.
PART 3