Clary woke with a start, unaware that she had even fallen asleep. She pushed off a thick blanket that had been spread over her. She didn’t remember it from when she’d first entered the room, so she guessed Merlin had checked on her at some point. The thought brought heat to her cheeks. For months all he’d done was scold or challenge her, or teach her in that strangely terse but patient way he had. Tenderness still wasn’t something she was used to from him. As she sat up, she realized he’d also pulled off her shoes. The sight of them lined up neatly beside the bed made her stomach do an odd flip. They’d stripped when they’d made love, but caring for her as she slept seemed twice as intimate.
Light streamed through the open shutters of the window, telling her that the day was far advanced. There was a bathing room adjacent to the bedchamber with a round wooden tub that was filled with water scented with rose petals. A minor spell heated it enough that Clary was able to wash thoroughly and dry herself with the soft linen towels folded beside the tub. A change of clothes was laid out on a nearby trunk. Merlin again? Clary guessed the hip-length tunic and loose pants were made for a page or squire. They were far from flattering, but they sort of fit and they were clean.
She pulled on her shoes and went back downstairs, looking for Merlin and breakfast. She would have called his name, but the formality of Camelot’s castle, with its intricate sconces and miles of embroidered tapestries, awed her. For all that she loved Medievaland, she was a hamburger and binge-TV kind of girl. Besides, she had no guarantee what might show up if she began shouting at the top of her lungs.
She wandered outside the huge front doors, vaguely remembering from history class that castle kitchens were in a separate building so that they couldn’t burn everything down. She began a circuit of the yard, pausing to say hello to the horses and finding a smithy and a carpenter’s workspace before finally locating the kitchen.
It was there she found Merlin sitting at a large trestle table and frowning into a cup of smelly herbal tea. The familiarity of the image struck her. The wood, brick and sparse furnishings were a lot like his apartment. His decorating choices, not to mention his fondness for weird beverages, weren’t fashion forward, as she’d assumed. They were what he was used to.
When she sat on the bench across from him, he pushed a platter of cheese, fruit and nuts her way. “Sorry it’s a bit primitive, but this is what was in the kitchen stores,” he said. “Breakfast cereal hasn’t been invented yet.”
She fell on the food while Merlin poured her a cup of the tea, which turned out to taste better than she expected. In fact, everything did. It might have been a function of her hunger, but she didn’t think so. This was food as it was meant to be, pure, raw and grown as nature intended. She had to force herself to chew slowly before she inhaled it and gave herself a stomachache.
Merlin watched her with something like amusement in his amber eyes. “I trust you slept well?”
“Like a rock,” she said around a bite of the soft, creamy, white cheese. “What about you?”
He looked into his tea. “I caught a nap. I had things to do.”
It must have been a short nap, judging by the circles under his eyes. Grim lines framed his mouth. She reached out and put a hand to his cheek, feeling the brush of his stubble. “Talk to me.” It was a demand, not a plea.
His glance was sharp, but she saw his defensiveness wane and she caught his gaze and held it. “I sent a message to Arthur, telling him where we were and what we’d seen,” he said. “I expect he’ll join us here. This castle is defensible.”
“Won’t we be sitting ducks? LaFaye will know exactly where we are.”
Merlin’s smile was sharp. “There are some advantages to that.”
Like gathering all the fae in one place so that they could cure them. That led to another question. “Where’s the egg?”
“I put it in a safe place and, to borrow your slang, warded the hell out of it.”
“Do you know how we’re going to use it when the time comes?”
“I have some ideas.” He’d put a hand over hers where it touched his face. He pressed his lips into her palm, sending tingles up her arm and into her core. When he looked up, his eyes were hot with an emotion she couldn’t quite read. “I don’t know what will happen in the next twenty-four hours, but parts of it will be ugly.”
Her breath stopped for a moment, but she deliberately calmed herself. “I know.”
She felt Vivian stir. The demoness had been unusually quiet that morning, but now her presence reminded Clary of just how much she was hiding from Merlin. She had no illusions that they’d make it through an entire battle without Vivian showing up.
If you are going to destroy LaFaye and her demon allies, Vivian said in something close to a growl, you will indeed need my help. I have knowledge only a demon can provide. Together we shall crush them to ash.
Which was great for Camelot, but would probably kill her. Even if it didn’t, there was the whole demon-ex-girlfriend-in-my-brain issue. Clary’s relationship with Merlin would be toast.
Merlin was studying her expression. Whatever he saw there did nothing to lighten his mood.
“Come.” He held out a hand. “There’s something I want to show you while we have a little time.”
“How much time?”
“Enough. The fae are still hours away, and I have prepared everything that I can.”
She rose from the table and grasped his fingers. His skin was warm from the earthenware cup he’d been holding, and the sun caressed her shoulders as they stepped back into the courtyard.
All the same, his words sent a chill through her. Whatever was going to happen was not far off now. The happiness they had in that moment, in the sun and quiet of Camelot, was measured in scant hours.
She moved close to him, wanting to lean into him like an affectionate cat. On a primitive level, she recognized his physical strength and skill as a warrior. He was also the greatest enchanter in the mortal realms. It was natural that she would turn to him for protection, but there was more to her need than that. He understood her. He saw Clary Greene for herself.
The whole time she’d been his student, from the first lesson to their adventures in the demon’s castle, he’d watched over her but never stifled her. He’d let her take her share of danger and learn from her mistakes. No one had ever shown that much confidence in her. No one had cared enough to give her that much space while still catching her every time she fell. For that reason, she was as prepared as she could be for whatever job she’d be asked to do in this war.
He was ever thus, Vivian said, startling Clary. Some lovers try to grant one’s every wish. He will teach you to grant your own wishes. Sadly, fools mistake that for lack of passion. They don’t see the genuine care in his actions.
For a demon, thought Clary, that was deep insight.
I’ve learned much from you, said Vivian. One cannot be a teacher without having the curiosity of a student.
Clary couldn’t help wondering what on earth her demon visitor was finding in the chaos of her brain.
That mortal relationships are as complicated as a painting. So many colors. So many layers, one atop the other until it is the combined effect that we see. A demon’s existence is far simpler in that regard, but I am grateful to understand another point of view.
With that, Clary sensed Vivian fading into the background once more, no doubt to dig up some new and juicy contradictions from her subconscious. Or plot some suicidal revenge fantasy against her demon buddies. Yup, there was nothing but good times ahead.
Merlin led her to a garden behind the keep, set out in neat squares like a checkerboard. Clary recognized many of the herbs from her studies. Some were for cooking, some for dyeing cloth and others for medicine. The combination of scents made an intoxicating aroma in the warm sun. Bees swarmed the plants, the low buzzing an instant invitation to a nap. Merlin drew her to an arbor festooned in a red and white climbing rose. Clary paused to sniff the striped petals.
“This variety of rose has disappeared from modern gardens,” said Merlin, touching a cluster of blossoms with something like affection. “But that’s not what I brought you here to see. Go through the archway.”
Clary did, and stepped from day to night. She spun around, looking up into a sky crowded with stars. Beneath her feet was an endless stretch of pale sand. “What is this?”
“It’s from your book,” he said with a lopsided smile. “An oasis in the wide desert, alone with the midnight stars.”
She spun around to see the same unlikely purple tent as on the cover of her favorite romance. Gold fringe festooned the sides, and lamps of pierced metalwork hung from poles staked in the sand. The lamps threw elaborate patterns of light on the sides of the purple silk, tiny cousins to the stars above. A slight distance away, she saw the lumpy silhouette of a sleeping camel. Beyond the tent was a dark pool surrounded by palms that waved languidly in the breeze.
“Awesome,” she whispered, unable to find her voice.
He came up behind her and his hands slid around her waist. “It is a fantasy, nothing more.”
But it was her fantasy, her favorite one, and he’d remembered it. She closed her eyes and leaned back against his chest where the steady beat of his heart reassured her. “I always came here in my mind when I needed to escape. You made it real.”
She understood why he’d done it. With demons and fae and war, anything could happen. They might never have another chance to be together. This might be farewell.
“Come inside the tent,” he said, distracting Clary from her dark thoughts.
The tent flaps were already drawn up, showing a spacious interior. A scatter of Oriental carpets covered the floor, creating a thick, springy surface. An ornate couch—or bed, she couldn’t tell which—occupied one end of the space. The other held a table covered in golden dishes. Clary looked closer, lifting a cover to release a cloud of spiced steam. Clary identified saffron rice, almonds and a medley of pears, squash and roast lamb in a peppery sauce.
“There are figs in honey,” Merlin pointed out, “spiced wine, and shaved ice with quince and lemon.”
Clary knew without asking that these were his weaknesses. A pang of uncertainty assailed her until she saw yogurt pretzels, pumpkin pie and a golden platter laden with neat rows of seafood tacos. Her weaknesses.
“You know what I like.” She shouldn’t have felt so astonished, but she was. “You know what we both like.”
“There is fantasy enough for us all,” he said softly and turned her in his arms. She slid against him, her body fitting perfectly in his embrace. “There is enough to please every part of you, which is what I want to do right now.”
Merlin was seducing her. He’d built an entire world to do it. Clary tried to swallow, but her tongue was thick and unruly. “You don’t need fantasy,” she said. “You had me the moment you remembered the oasis. That was the real you, not any daydream.”
He gave a slight shrug. “If you’ve got the magic...”
She kissed him then, taking his mouth with all the frank hunger that rose in her like a drug. He tasted of tea and of himself. She gripped his shoulders, rising on her toes to balance as she drank him in. When the kiss finally broke, she drew a deep breath. “You built this place for my dreams. Where are yours? What do you want?”
* * *
Merlin hesitated. “I want you to be happy.” Every last, delicious inch of her.
The scene he’d created was born of the same skills the demons used to create their pockets of comfort in the wastelands of the Abyss. Once in a rare while, he appreciated the beauty their power could weave. Was it possible that their legacy was capable of good or ill, and the outcome dependent on the one who wielded it? Some people said that of guns. Others said guns were a temptation to do wrong.
Merlin wanted to believe he could make things come out right. He knew better than to think one woman’s love could change him—he had to do the work himself—but she could make the journey so much better.
He slid his hands beneath the neckline of her tunic, finding the wing of her collarbone. He bent and kissed it, smooth skin scented by the rose petals in her bath. He groaned, kissing his way to the cool flesh of her shoulder. Clary was a delicacy more delicious than any food and more intoxicating than the rarest wine. “You’re everything I need.”
She pouted, and it was adorable. “Still, you must have more vices than naiad ice cream and spicy rice.”
“My favorite flavor is Clary.” He cupped her face in his hands. “We fight well side by side. Do you know how long it’s been since I could say that?”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t think that’s in any magazine quiz about finding the ideal life partner.”
“I’m not ideal. I’m not even particularly good. If you knew me, I doubt you’d remain in the same room.”
“That’s not true,” Clary said in a low voice.
But it was.
* * *
He finally found out the truth after living with Vivian for years. They had shared a long day of labor, conjuring a spell that strengthened the borders of demon territory against encroachment by trolls. Demons regarded the monstrous creatures the way gardeners viewed slugs—a nuisance, but one possible to contain.
That night Merlin lay on the furs at Vivian’s feet, drowsing as she read to him from a tome of history. Books were how they spent their hours, reading or being read to, for not even Vivian ever stopped studying magic. As subjects went, it had a learning curve that stretched to infinity.
“This passage was written by Agoricus the Great,” she said.
Merlin knew the name of that demon. It had taken all the druids of his island homeland to destroy him. “Do I want to hear what he has to say?”
Drunk with relaxation, Merlin rolled to his back, staring up at Vivian’s beautiful, feline figure. The firelight played with her form, kissing the curves and shadows of her face. Her violet eyes were intent, regarding him with speculation.
“You should. He was the mightiest of the demon princes of his time, and it is significant that he was slain by your mother and her friends.”
“He was an arrogant fool?”
Vivian’s smile had teeth. “Didn’t you ever wonder why I took an interest in you?”
Something in her tone was different, and cold foreboding made Merlin sit up. “Tell me.”
“Didn’t you ever wonder why demon magic came to you far more easily than any other kind?”
But now Merlin was mute with apprehension. By this time, he had seen what Tenebrius had done in the Hebrides, and a thousand other cruelties. The only thing that kept him with the demons was the gratitude he felt for Vivian.
“Agoricus the Great was your father,” Vivian said almost smugly.
“What?” He was on his feet.
“Your mother conjured the strongest warrior to sire her babe. She neglected to specify what species.” Vivian shrugged. “When I learned that you existed, I wanted you for myself. Half-demon, half-druid witch. What a fascinating specimen you would be.”
She leaned forward, caressing him with her gaze. “What a weapon to hide among the mortals.”
Revulsion hit him, and not just because Vivian had withheld that truth. He was half a demon. His mother had slain his father in order to protect her tribes from the demon’s devastation. Worse, Merlin had sworn to protect his people and yet here he was, fawning at the feet of his demon mistress. He disgusted himself.
He grabbed the book from Vivian and flung it into the fire, letting his father’s words burn to ash. “How did you know?” he roared.
Vivian raised a single brow. “Agoricus bragged of bedding the great druidess, Brida, and of siring a son. He knew you would be a power in the world. When he fell at your mother’s hands, I searched for you and coaxed your steps my way. When you arrived in that olive grove, you all but knocked on my front door.”
Merlin sank to the floor, his head in his hands. Where did he belong? He was too much a mortal for the demons, seeing their cruelties for what they were. But if the humans discovered his father’s name, they would do their best to kill him on sight.
He hated Vivian for plucking him from his penniless ignorance.
He hated himself for being her tool.
He hated himself for being stuck between worlds.
He had returned to the human kingdoms that night, and did not return again until he came back to steal her accursed spell. If Vivian had done her best to turn Merlin into a weapon to use against mortals, he would thwart her and be a weapon for the mortals. He’d banished her kind to the Abyss, freeing the world from demon evil.
And he’d broken Camelot, and the fae, the witches and, yes, the demons doing it. If he’d needed proof of his father’s blood in his veins, it went far beyond his unusual amber eyes. He’d inherited a demonic talent for destruction.
Merlin deserved whatever doom befell him.