The captain hesitated, then his face disappeared from the peephole, and a moment later, the guards threw both gates wide open, abandoned their post, and ran.
Morgan strode down the main street into the city. Reaching deep for the earth magic, he caused the ground to shake. Terrified people raced past him, clutching babies, children, and random household goods. Buildings began to collapse around him.
When he reached the outside steps of the palace, more guards appeared.
These were higher in seniority than the guards at the gate, and a few were proficient magic users. Looking doomed, they threw spells at him—fiery morningstars and other offensive spells.
But Morgan wore his hate like a carapace, and he had forged it with magic. Their spells sizzled harmlessly against his shield. Conserving his personal energy, he used his array of weaponized jewels in return, throwing them in swift succession.
Spells of blindness hit the palace guard, along with death curses, flesh corrosion, morningstars, charms of confusion, and incantations of havoc that made them fight each other, until they were soon overcome.
Catching sight of a palace captain, Morgan cast a whip of magic around the other man’s throat and forced him to his knees. He asked, “Where is she?”
The man’s eyes bulged as he clawed uselessly at his own throat. “My lord, I don’t know. I swear it.”
“Oh, let him go,” Modred said from the top of the palace steps. “You were never one to take your anger out on battle fodder, anyway.”
Morgan looked up. Modred descended the steps at a leisurely pace. He wore his ensorcelled battle armor that shone bright silver in the sun. He looked heroic, handsome, and he held his drawn sword relaxed at his side.
Morgan’s entire focus narrowed. He had waited centuries, hoping he might get the chance for this one moment.
Releasing his hold on the palace captain’s throat, he told the man, “I will give you the same chance I gave the others. Go tell the palace servants and guard to run while they can.”
Coughing, the captain scrambled to his feet and raced up the stairs past Modred, who never bothered to watch him go.
As Modred reached the bottom of the steps, Morgan turned to face him. “Where is she?”
“Gone to a hiding place you know nothing about,” Modred replied. “She used you like a tool, but she never trusted you. She always knew better than that. She left me behind just in case.”
“Foolish of you not to go with her.” Morgan began to circle around the other man, leisurely stalking his prey.
“Well, what can you do.” Modred looked ironic, while he turned to keep facing Morgan. “When we heard rumors circulating that people had seen you leave the castle alive, neither of us believed it. She was, after all, the one who had stuck the knife in your heart, and I had watched her do it. The Hounds had deserted, but that was no surprise, since you weren’t around to keep them in control. So here we are. It’s been a long road getting here, hasn’t it?”
“You killed my boy.” The raw words burned Morgan’s mouth. “My good, kind, just king.”
“Of course I did, you fool,” Modred said. “What else did you expect? For Isabeau to truly solidify her hold on her new kingdom, she had to eradicate the humans who lived here in Avalon. As short-lived as you were, you multiplied like vermin. Besides, he wasn’t good enough to vanquish me. I was the better swordsman.”
“You’re not better than me.” Morgan drew the sword from its scabbard.
Modred’s gaze fixed on the blade and widened. He whispered, “Now, that’s a sight I had not expected to see again in my life.”
“No?” He strode forward. “Come take a closer look. I promise you, it will be the last thing you see.”
Modred sprang to meet him, raising his sword to parry Morgan’s attack, and the clash of blades rang out over the empty square. The Light Fae noble was fast and lethally efficient.
With every blow Modred struck, and every maneuver, Morgan imagined him using the same tactics in that final battle centuries ago, the flawless footwork, the elegant pivot.
Morgan had watched him closely ever since and had learned it all.
When Modred effortlessly switched the sword from his right hand to the left, Morgan was ready and smoothly adapted to the change. With a quick lunge, Modred sought to drive him back, and he accommodated the attack, deflecting while he retreated.
Two things he had learned—how to hate, and how to wait. He didn’t have to rush to completion, or extend himself needlessly.
Instead, he let the other male work, until gradually, the sweat stood out on Modred’s forehead and he began to tire, and Morgan could see in the other man’s gaze that Modred was beginning to realize he had been playing with him all along.
“Gods damn you.” Modred’s handsome lips pulled into a snarl. He exploded in a furious attack, raining a rapid series of blows on Morgan’s guard. “Don’t fucking dance around. Fight me!”
Now it was Morgan’s turn to give him an ironic smile. “As you wish.”
He drove forward, smashing with the force of a sledgehammer at Modred’s defense. His attack had nothing to do with technique, elegance, or footwork. It was pure, murderous intent.
At long last, Modred faltered. His back foot slipped, the one bearing his weight, and when he staggered, Morgan found the slip in his guard and slid his sword through it.
While both men wore magical protections, Modred’s ensorcelled armor could not withstand a direct blow from the sword Morgan carried.
The tip of Morgan’s blade sliced through the metal like it was mere leather. He felt the sword grate against the bone of a rib, and then it went all the way through. Morgan stepped closer, pushing it farther in until the hilt grated against armor, and he stood face-to-face with Modred, looking into his eyes as the crisis in his body began to take over.
“When you struck him down, did you really believe you weren’t going to be mine?” Morgan whispered, watching unblinkingly as Modred’s gaze began to darken. “Did you relax over the years? Did you think I might have given in or broken? I never did. You killed my boy. I watched you every day. I resent every breath you’ve taken, begrudge you every meal you’ve eaten, every smile, every laugh. I wish I could kill you twice.”
A ghost of a laugh left Modred’s pale lips, along with a gush of crimson blood. He gasped, “Once will be quite sufficient.”
Modred’s knees buckled, and as he went down, Morgan pulled the sword out, making the rest of it go quicker. When Modred’s eyelids closed for the last time, Morgan laid his hand over the dead man’s face. It was the only area of his body unprotected by the armor.
Whispering a firespell, he released it quickly and stood over Modred’s body until it had burned to ash.
Finally it was done. Breathing evenly and flexing his shoulders back, Morgan sheathed the sword as he dug deeper and reached harder for more Earth magic.
He had never let his Power flow in such an ungoverned flood before. It poured out of him, as relentless as a tidal wave.
He didn’t rein it in again until the summer palace had broken apart completely and the very last of the ruins had slid into the foaming, turbulent sea.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jamael took Sid to Scarborough in North Yorkshire, of all places.
When she found out the name of the English town, she had to cough out a laugh. Life could sure have a dark sense of humor at times.
With remarkable efficiency, Jamael consulted the local tourist office and found a furnished farmhouse to rent located outside town, an easy walk from the coastline.
With four bedrooms, the house was rather too large for one person, and the massive kitchen hadn’t been updated since the 1960s. It also wasn’t much to look at. Built of stone and brick, it sat squarely on its patch of land and looked like it had weathered many years and would see many more.
But it had fireplaces in almost every room, and from the end of the long, narrow drive, one could see the ruins of Scarborough Castle sitting high on a rocky promontory, standing sentinel over the sea.
“I’m curious,” she asked as Jamael unlocked the door and they walked inside for the first time. “Why did you choose Scarborough of all places?”