“I—” I began, and then stopped, at the sound of raised voices from somewhere nearby.
We left the tray on the desk and moved into the next room. It was a sitting type with a loom in a corner, which I assumed wasn’t Arthur’s. And another door, which was partially open.
But it was enough to show me the king, striding up and down, still in the armor he’d ridden out in. It was bronze, and shone redly in the setting sun through a bank of long, tiny windows. The reddish light glazed his blond hair as well, and flashed in his eyes when he suddenly turned—to face Morgaine, sitting on the edge of a divan.
I quickly retreated slightly.
“It’s not a matter of what I want,” he said harshly. “I cannot hold this country without help! The Saxons are too many, and their weapons are too good. And many of them also had family in service of the empire. They’re not like the local chiefs; our tactics don’t surprise them—”
“I understand—”
“Do you? Then why ask this of me? Why ask for what I cannot give?”
“I’m asking for time only,” Morgaine said, her voice calming. “Grandmother will come around. She has no choice. Be patient—”
I felt Pritkin tug on my arm, and glanced up, to see him looking troubled. I guess he hadn’t signed on to eavesdrop on his king. I had no such problem, but if Arthur unexpectedly stormed out, we were going to be in trouble. I looked around and then moved to the darker shadows behind the door, the only real choice. It meant I couldn’t see inside anymore, but I could hear just fine.
What are you doing? Pritkin mouthed.
“Then you care for us so little?” Morgaine was saying. “That you would sell us to our enemies?”
“You chose the fey side of our heritage. I chose the human,” Arthur replied. “But I am hardly so cruel. I care for both; I am working for both. You must trust me—”
Pritkin was still looking pointedly at me, waiting for an answer I couldn’t give. So I gestured at the next room, where Arthur had just done it for me.
“How can I trust you when you will tell me nothing?” Morgaine demanded. “You ask me for trust, yet you will give none?”
It was Pritkin’s turn to point.
Arthur and I sighed.
There was a lull in the conversation, accompanied by the sound of a stool being dragged across stone. When the king’s voice came again, it was lower, both in tone and position. “I will tell you this. The Svarestri came to me, after Grandmother’s latest demands, and offered to exchange her protection for theirs. They said they wanted food for their people—”
“That isn’t all they want,” Morgaine said, her voice sharpening. “They want to weaken us, to divide our family—”
“More than that.” The king’s voice dropped, to the point that I was straining to hear him, even this close. “They want to make a weapon, one with which to seize all Faerie. They want to steal from me, to make this weapon possible. But instead, I will steal from them—and make a protection for our people such as the world has never seen. A protection even the combined armies of Faerie could not undo. And let them make slaves of us then!”
“What?” Morgaine sounded as confused as I was. “Arthur . . . I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I,” he said. “But their ambassador made a mistake. He slipped up and called the staff they stole from Caedmon a spear. He only did it once, and only because he was surprised I had heard of the theft. Worried, lest I realize they planned to follow up one with another. But I played it off. They think us so foolish, it was easy to make him believe—”
“Believe what? Arthur, what are you talking about?”
“A story, one I heard as a child. Of a great set of armor, made by a god and worn by a hero. It was damaged in battle, some pieces beyond repair, but four remained: a helm, a shield, a sword . . . and a spear.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered, and then clapped a hand over my mouth.
But no one inside seemed to notice, maybe because Arthur’s voice had risen again in excitement.
“The pieces were lost after a great battle, and scattered, until rescued by the gods and gifted to the great fey houses for their protection, for no human could wield them without going mad. It was said they had been imbued with the power of the gods themselves—”
“Arthur, what are you saying?”
“That I’ve finally found a way for both our people. Think of it, Morgan! Your name means Bright Sea, but how often are you there? Your people spend half their lives in the woods, constantly fighting. But if the Svarestri lost their helm, the one that gives their king so much of his power—what then? Would you still be fighting then? Or would the Dark Fey push him back to his own lands, to wither on those damn cold rocks? Would he not have to offer accommodation then, cede lands then, make peace then?”
Pritkin and I stared at each other. He looked as shocked as I was. It looked like Arthur had been playing his cards pretty close to his chest.
“Why shake your head at me?” his voice came again, after a brief moment. “Isn’t this what you’ve wanted, too? Why you’ve trained the covens? There will be no need for slaves if there is not constant war! It brings surcease for all—”
“It brings war for all,” Morgaine said, her voice trembling with some emotion I couldn’t name, because I couldn’t see her. “Arthur, do you really think Aeslinn will lie down and just allow you to take his helm from him? If you fail, he’ll kill you. If you succeed, he’ll come for you. And you will not be able to withstand him, for you cannot wield it! Recreate this armor if you like, but there is none to wear it anymore!”
“There doesn’t need to be.” Arthur didn’t sound even slightly abashed. “The Svarestri plan to pour all the power of the different pieces into one, to combine their strength—and so do I. But instead of choosing a weapon, as they would, I will make another choice, Grandmother’s choice—”
“Grandmother’s? You mean—” Her voice broke off. And when it came again, there was wonder in it. “You plan to expand it, don’t you? Her shield. To increase its size—”
“Until none may touch us!” he agreed eagerly. “Let the Saxons come, with all their men. Let the fey, let the gods themselves! We will be safe, Faerie pacified, and Aeslinn toothless. We can do this, Morgan. We can bring about all that my father wished, and more than he dared to dream. Now do you understand?”
Yeah, I thought, feeling dizzy. Yeah, I kind of thought I did.
Chapter Fifty-one
Pritkin gripped my arm, because apparently he’d decided it was time for that chat, like right freaking now. But my head was swimming too much to care. I let him pull me back into the outer room, unprotesting.
“Is that why you want the staff?” he asked softly. Well, the tone was soft. The hand on my arm was another matter. “To make a weapon?”
“No—”
“Who are you working for?” he whispered harshly. “It can’t be the Svarestri—they tried to kill you. And the same is true for the Blue Fey—and the Green!”