With My Last Breath (Page 12)

"Young pup," he laughed, "You must use your legs to anchor you. They’re stronger than your arms!"

Gareth growled and lunged again, errantly trying to use his forearms to hold off the King’s advances. He wasn’t strong enough and Arthur easily toppled him to the ground. Laughing again, Arthur reached a hand down to help him up.

Gareth shook his head good-naturedly as Arthur slapped him on the back. As they rough-housed and joked with the others, I turned my attention back to my mother. I found that she was watching me with a gentle expression.

"They’re beautiful, aren’t they?" she observed, shifting her gaze to the knights outside. I nodded in agreement.

"But we aren’t here to appreciate them, are we?" she asked, leveling her dark gaze at me. I shook my head with a sigh.

"We must find the sword," she needlessly reminded me. "And I know where it is.

But the problem will be… getting it."

I stared at her in confusion. "What do you mean? It’s right there." I gestured toward Arthur’s hand where Excalibur, his famous sword, gleamed. Guinevere stared at me with raised eyebrows.

"Harmonia, that isn’t the sword that he pulled from the stone. Think back."

And at her words, I did remember. The sword from the stone and Excalibur were two separate swords. And the king didn’t use the sword that he had pulled from the stone. Merlin had decreed that whoever pulled it from the stone would be the rightful king of Camelot and of course, Arthur had done so… all according to Fate’s plan.

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He kept that sacred sword safe. Excalibur had been a gift and was the sword that he used in battle and in practice. I sighed.

"So where is it?" I asked. "I don’t recall that part."

"I’m not certain," she admitted, "It’s not public knowledge, of course, and he hasn’t mentioned it to me. But I believe it to be at his parents’ home. He has spoken about a secret room where his father hid hundreds of books to protect them from invaders and looters. I would bet anything that he has hidden the sword there as well. No one would think to look there."

"So we will need to travel to his foster parents’ home and ransack it to find the sword?" I raised my eyebrows. "That doesn’t seem polite."

My mother rolled her eyes. "You know that no one is there. After his parents died, Arthur kept their home vacant… just another indication that I am correct. He doesn’t want to chance anyone disturbing his hidden things."

"Perhaps," I acknowledged, picking up my last piece of bread and chewing on it.

In every life, bread had been a comfort food for me. There was no need to change that now.

As I pondered my mother’s idea, I felt someone staring at me. I turned, scanning the busy dining hall. In the midst of the clamor surrounding us, a lone figure dressed in dark clothing was sitting a short distance from us, all alone. I would recognize his dark eyes anywhere. He was the stranger from the gardens.

He stared at me, a direct stare that wasn’t friendly, but neither was it unfriendly.

He lifted his hand in a subtle greeting, then let it drop. He knew that I recognized him.

I could see it on his face and somehow, I knew that that fact pleased him.

He wasn’t handsome nor was he ugly. He was of average height, his hair light brown. He wasn’t remarkable that I could see. I turned to point him out to my mother, but was interrupted by noise and clattering.

The knights were filing in from the courtyard, hungry for breakfast. Servants were already hurrying to fill heaping trenchers for them. Gawain grabbed one and made his way toward the queen and I. But he too was distracted by the stranger.

He stopped short in his tracks, then grinned. Clearly, the stranger wasn’t a stranger to him.

"Mordred!" he shouted joyfully. "You’ve come! At long last!"

He set his plate down beside me and rushed to embrace the man who had seen Guinevere and Lancelot together earlier this morning.

Clapping the man’s back, Gawain shouted to Arthur.

"Your highness, my youngest brother has finally arrived! We have found our final knight!"

Arthur smiled in welcome at the same moment that my knees turned weak and my heart seemed to still in my chest.

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Mordred. The youngest brother of Gawain and Gareth. I remembered him now, with sickening clarity. He would be the downfall of us all.

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With My Last Breath, Book Three

Chapter Six

Arthur made his way across the crowded hall to greet Mordred, his youngest nephew. Clasping Mordred’s hand, he grinned broadly, clearly happy to see him.

"Welcome, young nephew," he greeted him. "I trust your travels here were safe and uneventful? I expected you last week. Did you run into a complication?"

Mordred turned calm eyes toward his king and uncle, quietly deferent but not overly so. My hackles slightly rose, but no one else seemed bothered.

"Nothing that I could not handle, uncle," he replied. "Some minor issues along the road. I am blessed to have inherited your battle prowess and find myself delivered to you safe and sound this day."

"I don’t know," Arthur drawled thoughtfully. "You might be too modest to be my relation."

He stroked his chin and everyone around laughed. He could say what he wanted, but Arthur was fairly modest himself. He had single-handedly restored order to Camelot, yet he acted as though he was any other knight from his round table. Of course, part of the knight’s code was to practice humility. Arthur expected the same from himself as he did from his knights.

As everyone laughed, I saw that the humor in Mordred’s voice didn’t reach his eyes and a cold, unsettling feeling formed in my belly. The knowledge that he would eventually topple everything that Arthur worked for put me instantly on edge. And Lancelot and Guinevere had inadvertently given him even more ammunition.

Guinevere rose from her breakfast, crossing to Arthur’s side. Although my father was her soul mate, she did harbor true affection for King Arthur. It would be impossible not to. He was a decent man with a good heart. I felt a sense of regret for him. His life should have ended better. I brushed my melancholy aside. I couldn’t change it.

Guinevere nodded daintily to Mordred as she clasped Arthur’s arm. Out of my periphery, I noticed Lancelot’s eyes narrow. I hid a smile before returning my attention to Guinevere.