With My Last Breath

Until that day, Arthur had had no inkling that he was the son of a king. He left his foster parents and traveled to Camelot with Merlin and Kay. And he was meant to change history. But he was meant to change history with his compassion and grace, not by becoming heartless and cruel.

I shook my head. I couldn’t focus on the travesty of it all right now. I needed to find the sword. The balance of the world hinged upon it.

Riding through the short wrought-iron gates, I glanced around. The yard in front of the house was crunchy and dead. Withered flower beds lined the front of the house, although the home itself was immaculately kept. Clearly, Arthur was paying someone to care for it and the grounds. It was neat and clean, although it was stark and clearly empty. There was nothing for miles around us, no signs of life. It was completely desolate.

"No one appears to be home," Lucan observed as he drew up next to me.

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"That’s good," I smiled. "The inhabitants are dead, so I certainly prefer it that way."

He shot me an amused look, but stayed silent and urged his horse ahead, before dropping to the ground and looking around. Hecate sidled up next to me and we lifted Raquel down from her horse before tying the horses to a hitching post.

My body was screaming, my arms aching, but there was no time to rest. For all we knew, Arthur had sent a party of knights to follow us. We just couldn’t take that chance. Leaving our army standing behind us, we moved toward the house.

Walking softly up the front porch steps, I tested the door. It was locked. Quickly, I crushed the brass door handle in my hand. It fell to the ground in bits and pieces. The door opened easily now.

Walking inside, I stopped in the foyer and spun in a slow circle. The house was as neat as a pin. With the land outside reduced to rubble, it seemed strange to find this house still in perfect condition. It made me believe that somewhere, deep down, Arthur retained some of his true characteristics. Why else would he care so much for his deceased parents’ home?

The silence was chilling. Walking through a dining room, I observed a long table with crystal centerpieces and a long bench on each side. There was space for at least twelve. It seemed strange to find a place that I was sure once bustled with life and laughter, so empty now. Every footstep echoed loudly throughout the house as I made my way upstairs.

It didn’t seem plausible that Arthur would have hidden the sword in the house where anyone could find it, but I had to look. It made no sense not to. So, I combed quickly through every room. And in every room, I turned up nothing but everyday household items. There was no sword here.

As I entered the last room at the end of a narrow hall, I felt an even eerier stillness descend upon me and I stopped moving and glanced around.

It was simply a bedroom. A large bedroom, one that might once have been airy and light, back when the sun still shone brightly. Now, however, it was dismal and cold.

The heavy draperies were pulled tightly closed and the dark red velvet bedclothes sucked any semblance of light from the room.

Sliding my fingers along a long armoire, I found that there was not a trace of dust.

Someone was caring for this farm house. I picked up a silver hairbrush. It was polished to a gleam, no sign of tarnish. Yet no one lived here. It was so curious that Arthur would go to this trouble.

I glanced into the heavy, ornate mirror that hung above the armoire. I looked tired.

My face was pale and dark circles lined my green eyes. I lifted a hand and brushed my hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear with a sigh. I was certainly not at my best.

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And suddenly, I was not alone.

In the mirror, Morgan appeared behind me, her face stark and white. Her dark eyes seemed sunken and severe and I spun around quickly. She wasn’t behind me. I slowly turned back around, facing her once more. She was in the mirror.

"What is this?" I hissed, backing away from it. "What are you doing?"

She smiled, not maliciously, but not a friendly grin, either. She was simply amused.

Her dark gowns only emphasized her severe look, making her face seem even paler. It occurred to me that she didn’t look well, either. Exhaustion was apparent on her face.

"Did I frighten you?" she asked. "That was not my intention. I cast a wide spell…

so that the next time you looked into a mirror, I could find you. I did not mean to frighten you."

"Of course you did," I snapped. "You know you did."

"Oh, Harmonia," she sighed. "So many things have changed and you don’t even realize it."

"What?" I unconsciously lifted my hand to my throat. "You called me Harmonia."

"Of course I did," she sniffed. "Isn’t that your name? What do you take me for?"

"Morgan le Fey, sister of the king," I answered uncertainly. Did she also know who she was? She answered my question with her next breath.

"That is who I appear as, true," she acknowledged. "But you and I both know the truth, don’t we? We are not mortals, you and I. Is Hecate with you?"

"What is going on?" I asked uncertainly. "How do you know these things?"

And further troubling, she was not herself. Eris was not being malicious. And that was unusual and frightening in itself.

"Ahmose came to me," she explained finally. "He showed me who I am and what the Fates did to me in the future. I am of a mind to work with you, for the time being."

"Work with me?" My eyebrow shot up. "Really?" I couldn’t keep the doubt from my voice and she smiled again.

"Yes, really," she confirmed and with that, she stepped from the mirror onto the armoire and then jumped lightly to stand next to me. I didn’t even flinch. "Apparently, you are the chosen one of some sort and if I have any hopes of surviving this intact, I will work with you, not against you."

"What do you propose?" I asked suspiciously. There was no way I was trusting this woman, even if Ahmose did. No way in hell.

She narrowed her eyes. "First, I propose that we find the sword. You’re not having much luck on your own, are you? Let us find Hecate and together, we shall summon it."

I stared at her blankly as she gripped my elbow and led me toward the door. My feet stubbornly lagged behind because old habits died hard. I didn’t want to go anywhere with her, but I reluctantly accompanied her to the main floor where we found Courtney Cole 113

With My Last Breath, Book Three