Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

ARTHUR

My new wings twitched against my back as I woke the next day, still unfamiliar but already feeling like an integral part of me. Cold air rushed over my exposed skin where they’d torn the back of my tunic to make room.

I sat up slowly, my muscles protesting the movement. They were heavy, and I could already tell that my body was going to be off balance for a while. I needed to learn how to put them away.

Near the center of our camp, I could see my knights and Merlin gathered around the magical fire that still burned without smoke. Tristan was kneeling beside it, his graceful hands moving with practice ease as he prepared tea.

I heard every word they spoke last night when they thought I was sleeping. Every. Single. Word. My belly flipped over at the memory of each of their declarations. Nerves skittered down my spine. All six men were in love with me. Five ancient fae warriors and a powerful druid sorcerer. How the hell did this happen?

I’d never experienced real love from anyone before, except perhaps from Merlin. But I never thought he felt that way about me. Not until the night he snuck into my chambers in the palace. From the moment he saved me after the fire in our old village, I knew I loved him. Every day, every hour, every second, my love for him only grew stronger.

And my knights…what I felt for them transcended logic. It was insane to fall in love with six men at once, wasn’t it?

Gawain caught my attention and grinned, his steel-gray eyes crinkling at the corners. "Good morning, sleepy faerie. Care to join us for some tea?"

I nodded, pushing myself to my feet. My wings unfurled instinctively, catching the breeze and sending a shiver down my spine that went everywhere. It was like trying to balance with a second set of arms attached.

Merlin's eyes met mine, his expression unreadable beneath his hood. "How are you feeling?”

"Like a herd of wild horses trampled me. But I'll live."

Tristan handed me a steaming cup of tea, his fingers brushing mine. The contact sent a jolt of desire through me, and I was suddenly aware of his emotions coming through our bond. Concern, love, and a fierce protectiveness that made me feel calm inside.

I sipped the tea, letting its warmth spread through me. The grove around us was breathtaking in the soft morning light. Dew glistened on the midnight-blue leaves, making them shimmer like sapphires.

"Galahad," I said, setting down my cup, "Could you get the box from my satchel? I think it's time we see what our next clue is."

Galahad nodded, his red hair catching the sunlight as he moved to retrieve the clue. When he returned, the wooden box was pulsing with power still. He tried to open it, his brow furrowing in concentration, but the lid remained stubbornly shut.

"Here," he said, passing it to me. "I think it only responds to you."

As soon as the box touched my hands, I felt a click. The lid sprang open, revealing a small scroll nestled inside. With trembling fingers, I unrolled it, my heart racing as I read the final riddle aloud:

“In shadows deep where whispers weave, Through ancient boughs, the lost believe. Seek the wandering wood where secrets sigh, Beneath the watchful moonlit eye. Follow the path where the shadows bend, To a stone temple where the echoes blend. There lies the chalice, pure and bright, Guarded by kings who fell to night. To claim the Grail, your courage must swell, Face the restless dead, break their spell. With heart ablaze and spirit unbroken, Speak true your worth, let not silence be spoken. In the realm where the past and present meet, Only the brave shall find their seat.”

As I finished reading the riddle aloud, the sky, which had been in its perpetual state of twilight, began rapidly darkening. Inky shadows raced across the heavens, blotting out the soft glow we'd grown accustomed to. In its place, a massive moon rose up, impossibly fast and unnaturally large. Its surface was a swirling mix of deep blues and silvers, casting an eerie, ethereal light over the grove.

My knights leapt to their feet, weapons materializing in their hands as they formed a protective circle around me. Merlin's hands crackled with barely contained magic, his blue eyes glowing with an inner fire as he scanned our surroundings. Even the Elhorns stirred.

"This isn't right," Galahad muttered. "Avalon doesn't have a moon cycle. It's always twilight here."

As if in response to his words, the trees around us began to shift and groan. Their leaves rustled ominously, the sound amplified in the sudden, unnatural stillness that had fallen over the grove. Before our eyes, the trunks began to bend and twist.

A gap appeared in the wall of trees, revealing an archway of branches over a winding path that hadn't been there moments before. Thick, blue-tinged fog began to roll in. It swirled around our feet, bringing with it the scent of damp earth and dead things. The fog slowly rose and rose until it was over our heads.

"The Wandering Wood," I breathed, realization dawning. "It's calling us."

As if in response, a haunting melody drifted through the air. It was unlike anything I'd ever heard before—part mournful cry, part seductive whisper. The sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, weaving through the fog and wrapping around us like an invisible thread.

"We need to follow it," I said, my voice sounding strange and distant to my own ears. "The final trial is at the end of this path."

We left the Elhorns behind, their restless whinnies fading into the fog as we set off down the winding path. The moon loomed before us, impossibly large and ever-present no matter how the path twisted and turned.

As we ventured deeper, the trees grew more twisted and gnarled. Their bark was black as pitch, scored with deep furrows that oozed a luminescent sap. The sap pulsed with a faint, sickly green light, as if the very lifeblood of the forest was poisoned.

After what felt like an hour of walking nowhere, though time seemed to have little meaning in this place, we emerged into a large clearing. As the riddle said, a stone temple loomed before us. Its weathered walls were covered in twisting vines and glowing moss. Crumbling statues of forgotten kings lined the path leading to a towering set of obsidian steps.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself to ascend. But before I could take a step, cruel laughter echoed through the trees. A swarm of inky black crows burst from the shadows.

I drew Excalibur; the blade flared to life with golden power. My knights surrounded me, Gawain’s frost licking up his arms, Lancelot’s fire crackling, Percy’s shadows writhing. Galahad and Gawain had drawn their blades and Merlin wound a whip of golden magic around his wrists, ready to strike the moment my life was in danger.

The crows circled, spiraling down towards the ground, coalescing into a familiar shape. I wasn’t surprised to see my sister. In fact, I’d been waiting for her to show herself, knowing she’d be coming for the Grail the moment the path to the temple was revealed. I just thought she’d be sneakier about it.

Her blood-red hair whipped around her face as she raised her arms. Dark tendrils of magic shot from her fingertips into the surrounding trees. The branches creaked and groaned, suddenly animated. They lashed out like grasping hands.

“Fuck!” someone shouted as the trees converged.

I watched in horror as my men were lifted off their feet, struggling against the branches that wrapped tightly around their bodies. Mordred's laughter rang out again as she turned her emerald gaze on me, a wicked smile twisting her lips.

I raised Excalibur. The sword felt alive in my grip, eager for blood. "I won't let you have it, Mordred," I growled, my wings flaring out behind me. "The Grail doesn't belong to you."

She laughed, the sound sharp and cruel. "And it belongs to you ? A gutter rat playing at being queen? Give me Excalibur before I gut your soldiers like little piggies."

I didn’t move an inch. I didn’t respond to her barbs. She was trying to goad me. She must have seen it on my face, because her smile dropped.

With a snarl, Mordred launched herself at me, tendrils of inky darkness lashing out like whips. I barely managed to dodge them, feeling the air crackle where they struck the ground. Excalibur sang as I swung it in a wide arc, golden light blazing from its edge.

Mordred hissed as the sword's light seared her arm, just barely making contact, leaving an angry red welt. Her eyes narrowed, and her shadows writhed and twisted, coalescing into nightmarish shapes with razor-sharp claws.

I beat my wings, lifting off the ground as the shadow creatures lunged for me. Excalibur flashed, its light dispelling the darkness wherever it touched.

Their claws raked across my skin. I cried out in pain but kept swinging Excalibur, its golden light blazing through the darkness. My wings beat furiously, carrying me just out of reach of the writhing mass of nightmares below.

"You can't run forever, little sister," Mordred taunted, her voice echoing unnaturally through the twisted wood. “I’ll make your death painless if you hand over the sword. You don’t have to suffer the way our father did.”

I gritted my teeth, pushing back the fear. Because I was afraid. Mordred chilled the blood in my veins. Excalibur pulsed in my grip, its warmth spreading up my arm. Its ancient magic mingled with my own, filling me with a strength I didn't know I possessed.

“Arthur!” someone shouted, and idly, I knew it was Lancelot. My men were shouting and cursing as they fought against the dark magic that held them hostage. Galahad’s magic was no match for Mordred’s grip on the tree branches. Not here. Not in this wood soaked in darkness.

With a battle cry that surprised even me, I dove towards Mordred. Excalibur cleaved through her shadow creatures, dispelling them in bursts of golden light. Her eyes widened in shock as I barreled towards her.

Our magic clashed in a thunderous explosion of light and darkness. The force of it sent us both tumbling across the forest floor. I rolled to my feet, wincing as pain lanced through my side. A quick glance showed a deep gash where one of her shadow claws had found its mark.

Mordred stood as well, her red hair wild and her green eyes blazing with fury. Blood trickled from a cut on her cheek where Excalibur grazed her. She snarled, baring teeth that seemed unnaturally sharp in the moonlight.

“Druid blood runs through my veins too, little girl! My mother taught me everything. How to kill. How to feed off of blood magic. She taught me how to be a fucking god. What did your mother teach you?” She laughed, and the sound made me feel ill. “Oh yes, she taught you how to roll over and take it like a good little bitch.”

Dark energy crackled around her hands, morphing into wicked-looking blades of shadow. She lunged at me, moving with inhuman speed. I barely managed to bring Excalibur up in time to parry her strike. The clash of our weapons sent shockwaves through the clearing, causing the twisted trees to groan and shudder.

A vicious slash caught me across the shoulder, and I cried out in pain. The wound burned with an unnatural cold, as if Mordred's darkness was trying to seep into my very being. I stumbled back, my wings flaring instinctively to keep me balanced.

Distantly, I heard Merlin calling my name.

My shoulder burned with icy fire where Mordred's shadow blade had struck. Each beat of my wings sent fresh waves of agony through my body, but I refused to yield.

My sister circled me like a predator, enjoying every moment of my pain. My eyes flicked to the door of the stone temple. I’d managed to turn us around, and I was now much closer to the threshold than Mordred was. She hadn’t even bothered to notice the maneuver.

She was still talking, but I’d tuned out her voice, knowing her words were venomous lies. She’d say anything to make me falter. I just needed her to keep talking.

I patted my pocket, feeling a familiar shape growing warmer under my fingertips. I kept my eyes locked on Mordred, feigning exhaustion as I stumbled back another step. My wings drooped, as if I could barely keep them aloft. Inside, my heart raced. Just a few more feet...

She raised her shadow blades; the darkness writhed around her like a living thing. The moon loomed behind her, its swirling surface casting an eerie, otherworldly glow across her pale as death skin. In that light, Mordred looked less human and more like some ancient, malevolent entity.

"I am the true heir of Camelot," she hissed as I backed slowly up the obsidian staircase.

As she spoke, I felt my back press against something solid.

The temple door.

My hand snuck into my pocket, fingers closing around the cool metal of the golden key I'd retrieved from the first riddle box in the Boneyard. Its weight was reassuring in my palm.

As Mordred lunged forward, her shadow blades raised for a killing blow, I ducked and thrust the key into the lock. The moment it clicked, a blinding flash of golden light erupted from the temple doors.

Mordred stumbled back with a pained cry, shielding her eyes. I straightened and squinted against the radiance, watching in awe as intricate runes carved into the stone began to glow. They pulsed with power, each symbol igniting in a cascading wave that spread across the entire facade of the temple.

The light grew more intense, revealing patterns I hadn't noticed before. Spiraling fractals and ancient sigils danced across the surface, a language older than time itself. I could almost understand it, the meaning hovering just at the edge of my mind.

A deep rumble shook the ground beneath as the temple doors began to swing inward. The sound of grinding stone filled the air, punctuated by the snapping and creaking of ancient mechanisms that were sitting long dormant. Stale air rushed out, carrying with it the scent of dust, forgotten magic, and something other .

The golden light spilling out beckoned to me, promising answers. Promising the end to this godsforsaken quest. But as I moved to cross the threshold, some latent instinct made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

In that split second, I spun around, Excalibur blazing to life in my grip. The sword moved as if it had a will of its own, guiding my movements as I thrust the glowing blade forward.

Time seemed to slow as I watched Excalibur's point pierce Mordred's chest. Her eyes widened in shock and pain, her mouth opening in a silent scream. The shadow blades she'd been about to plunge into my back dissipated like smoke.

The force of the blow sent Mordred stumbling backward. She clutched at the wound, dark blood seeping between her fingers. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed to her knees on the obsidian steps.

"No," she gasped, her voice a ragged whisper. "It can't end like this. I was meant to rule?—"

My knights were released from the writhing tree branches, dropping safely to the ground. They rushed towards me, their own magic flaring to life. They were shouting and scrambling, but I could barely hear them. All I could do was stare down at my sister.

Then the ground beneath us began to shake violently. Deep, resonant rumbles echoed through the twisted forest as fissures opened in the earth. The unnatural moon overhead seemed to pulse in time with the tremors.

"Arthur, we need to get inside the temple!" Merlin shouted over the din.

I nodded, turning back towards the glowing doorway. But before I could take a step, an agonized scream pierced the air. We all whirled to see Mordred's body contorting unnaturally. Dark tendrils of magic erupted from the wound in her chest.

We rushed into the temple, the ground still shaking beneath our feet. The doors swung shut behind us, cutting off Mordred's agonized screams. Golden light pulsed from intricate runes carved into the walls, illuminating a vast circular chamber.

At the center stood a stone altar, its surface etched with symbols that seemed to shift and change as I looked at them. And there, nestled in a depression at the altar's heart, was the Holy Grail.

It was both more and less than I imagined. A simple golden cup, unadorned save for a band of swirling patterns around its rim. Yet it radiated power.

I trembled as I took a step towards it. This was it. The end of our quest, the key to saving Camelot. My fingers tingled with anticipation as I reached out.

A deafening crack split the air. The stone floor shuddered and split, fissures racing across its surface like lightning. I stumbled back, wings flaring for balance, as skeletal hands burst through the cracks.

“Holy gods!” Gawain shouted, cursing as he kicked away a hand that tried to grab his ankle.

They clawed their way up, bony fingers scrabbling against stone. The skeletons that emerged were unlike anything I'd ever seen. Their bones were stained with age, yet draped in rotting finery. Tattered silks clung to ribcages, while tarnished crowns sat askew on their heads.

“There lies the chalice, pure and bright, guarded by kings who fell to night,” Merlin whispered, recounting that final riddle. His eyes met mine in horror. “The bones of the kings who made it this far and failed.”

My knights sprang into action, their own magic flaring to life. Gawain's frost coated the floor, causing several skeletons to slip and shatter. But like those hit by Merlin's magic, they simply pulled themselves back together.

Lancelot's flames engulfed a group of the undead kings, reducing them to ash. For a moment, I thought we'd found a way to stop them. Until the ash swirled and coalesced, reforming into their skeletal shapes.

"Fuck," Galahad cursed, his earthen magic entangling several of the creatures with the vines that jutted from the walls. "How do we stop something that's already dead?"

I gritted my teeth, my mind racing. The riddle echoed in my head. To claim the Grail, your courage must swell, face the restless dead, break their spell…

My grip tightened on Excalibur as I racked my brain. How could I break a spell cast by the gods themselves? A spell that managed to ensnare ancient, long-dead kings? What power did I have that they didn't?

As if in answer, the circlet on my brow flared hot against my skin. My entire body began to glow as I looked down at my arms. Twisting light swirled under my skin like climbing vines. My wings beat rapidly, scattering motes of light that danced in the air like fireflies.

“Arthur!” Merlin shouted.

I felt my feet leave the ground as the power lifted me, suspending me in midair. The glow emanating from my skin intensified until I was a miniature sun. My knights stumbled back, shielding their eyes from the radiance. I could see the awe and terror on their faces, mouths agape.

“Arthur!” someone shouted again. Maybe multiple someones, I couldn’t tell. There was a ringing in my head that drowned out everything else.

Then, in an instant, everything changed. It was as if the floodgates of the universe had opened, pouring ancient, primal magic into my very being. I was no longer just Arthur Pendragon.

I was a vessel.