“Not with those arms,” the kitchen maid said, looking at me critically. “Don’t they feed you where you’re from?”
She grabbed my pathetic excuse for biceps, but before I could say anything, the cook had turned around. He was a kind-looking older man, but was clearly tired of repeating himself. “Why does everything have to be an argument with you?”
“I’m not arguing,” she argued. “But my feet are killing me.”
“You’re arguing while the food’s getting cold. Now take it up—”
“But I must have been up and down those stairs fifty times today.”
“The fey take you, girl! If I have to tell you again—”
“Fey don’t want her,” a young man said, looking up from chopping something. “Too lazy, and whines too much.”
“I’ll show you lazy—” she said, and started for him.
“’Pona!” The cook was looking genuinely angry now. “The princess isn’t feeling well, and she’s waiting for her food!”
“All right, all right, I’ll take it,” the girl said sullenly, and reached for the tray.
I pulled it back. “I’ll take it,” I said, giving the cook what I hoped was a winning smile. “Where is she, again?”
The stairs turned out to be every bit as much of a bitch as the girl had claimed, stone, steep, and slippery. And packed. I kept being buffeted to one side or the other, but Pritkin couldn’t help much. He was carrying a pitcher of ale on one shoulder and a heavy roll of painted canvas on the other, where they could help to hide his face.
“We lost him . . . remember?” I panted. “You could probably ditch the disguise.”
“You just want help carrying that tray.”
“Which doesn’t . . . make it any less true.”
“You don’t lose a fey lord that easily,” he informed me. “He’ll be back, and it would be well for both of us if we have the staff when he does. Speaking of which—”
“Later.”
Pritkin glanced around at all the people, many of whom were shooting us annoyed looks for blocking half the stairs. “Soon.”
The main hall was like the rest of the castle: utility combined with plundered beauty. There were numerous long tables and benches, simple, sturdy things, without adornment. Like the iron sconces on the walls, which a prop department would have sent back for being too plain. But the big gray blocks of the floor were intercut with areas of intricate tile work, some featuring vines, others with geometric shapes, none of them matching. Like someone had dug them out of other floors and brought them here, plunking them down like so many area rugs.
They gave a weird, funky vibe to the place, colorful and eclectic.
Likewise, the walls weren’t bare stone, as the movies had taught me to expect. Red plaster with a green border circled three sides of the large room, decorated with banners embroidered with red dragons. The fourth wall was white, but not plain. A faded mural of a woman inside a silver circle looked down at us benevolently, metallic paint still glinting in spots, here and there.
“Arianrhod, Lady of the Silver Wheel,” Pritkin told me. “The king’s father had it brought here, block by block, from the old bathhouse. Said she had a kind face.”
And a familiar one, I thought, staring upward.
“She’s also known as the goddess of the moon,” he added.
“I know.”
We went through an archway and up a flight of curving stairs, to a wide hallway with a skinny guard. He was slumped against an arched door, looking bored. But he straightened up quickly enough when we approached.
“Dye your hair, then, Myrddin?” he asked while checking us for weapons.
Pritkin sighed. “I’d be obliged if you didn’t mention to any fey that you saw me.”
“In trouble again, are you?” the guard asked, amused, and peered under the cover of the tray Pritkin was carrying, since we’d switched loads after the hall.
“Roast pork with sage, lamb and nettle stew, blackberries and cream, ale,” Pritkin told him.
The guard looked wistful. “When’s our dinner, then?”
“I was told sundown,” I said.
“Aye, but we won’t eat then, will we? What with the hall packed with guests.” He looked at the pork, which did smell heavenly. “Probably should check that for poison—”
I slapped his hand.
It was unthinking, and could have been a big mistake, but he just sighed. “Worth a try.”
And with that, we swept in.
As the king’s half sister, Morgaine was housed in the royal apartments, which looked like a fey had designed them, since they followed each other like cars on a train. And I guessed this was the station, where several trains met, what we’d have called a study. I walked slowly forward, trying not to stare like a fangirl, and probably failing spectacularly. Because it was exactly like I’d imagined. Exactly.
There were parts I recognized from the shard of mirror I’d found at Nimue’s: the thick oak slab Arthur was using for a desk, the great stone fireplace, the mural I’d glimpsed a tiny piece of, which turned out to be a cavalry charge done in hasty sketches and vibrant with life. And something that had been out of view of the mirror, something over the mantel, something that looked like . . .
I stopped dead in the middle of the room, my heart pounding. “Is . . . is that—”
“The king’s great sword,” Pritkin confirmed. “A gift from the Lady upon his accession.”
“You mean . . . Excalibur?” I whispered.
Pritkin looked confused. And said something that the spell didn’t translate, but which sounded like he was clearing his throat. I glanced at him. “What?”
He repeated the sound, which I guessed hadn’t been a mistake, after all. “It means Hard Lightning in the old tongue,” he told me. “You see the chimeras, on the hilt?”
I nodded. What looked like two lions, if lions had birds’ wings and snakes for tails, twined together to form the grip. They were cast in bronze, and so finely wrought that I could see the individual scales on the serpents, the feathers on the wings, and the ripples in the lion’s muscles. It was breathtaking.
“They’re nothing compared to the blade,” Pritkin said softly. “A wondrous thing, like no other, bright as flame.”
I glanced around at the empty room. “Could . . .” I licked my lips. “Do you think we could see it?”
He chuckled. “Not according to legend.”
“What?”
“It is said that the wielder is protected, but for everyone else, the blade is dreadful to look upon, a sword of fire that blinds an enemy—or a whole host—before it cuts them down.”
“Blinds them,” I repeated, and suddenly, that searing brightness I’d experienced in Nimue’s rooms made more sense. Arthur must have returned during the attack and unsheathed the blade in front of the mirror. Half blinding me, and forcing Jo to run off because she could no longer see to fight.
I blinked, realizing that my life had been saved by King Arthur, wielding Excalibur. And Billy Joe’s words came back to me. Yeah, you gave up a lot for this job, but sometimes . . . it was almost worth it.
Pritkin was looking at me. “Don’t you think it’s time you told me what this is all about?”