“Wait!”
Merlin turned his head to see Angmar, Laren and those of the rebel fae who had survived the battle approaching the scene.
“She is our queen,” said Laren. “We must have a voice in deciding a fit punishment.”
Merlin nodded, but he did not take his hand from LaFaye’s wrists. “She used your people. She kept the fae from healing and turned their hunger into a weapon. What would you have me do?”
“Return her to us.”
Merlin stiffened. “What?”
“You were my lover,” LaFaye whispered to Laren. “Surely you recall the pleasure we shared?”
Laren’s face cleared of emotion, and it took a moment for Merlin to identify the expression as blackest shame. “I remember,” he said, his voice as strained as the look in his eyes. “The fae do not forget.”
“Then do not be foolish. Not all of our people are here,” said the faery queen. “There are others who are still mine to command.”
Laren came closer, but not so close that his feet touched LaFaye’s skirts. The dark blue velvet pooled on the trampled ground, the hem richly embroidered, but he recoiled as if she were rotting with the plague. “We will help the others. Your power over us is broken and time will heal the afflicted.”
LaFaye said nothing, but Merlin felt the tension cording her every muscle. His shoulders tightened in response, wondering what she might do.
Laren looked up into the sky, his lips forming a bittersweet smile. “What a difference there is when I look around me now. Without my soul, I saw the world, but I could not see the beauty in it. I knew I was blind, but I could not perceive what I missed. It was as if the universe had drained of all color.”
LaFaye and Merlin both went utterly still. They shared the guilt for the fae’s pain, and though neither said it, that guilt was the thing that bound their fates together.
“The nightmare we’ve lived will never leave altogether,” Laren added, “but it is dawn at last.”
As if on cue, the haunting note of Gawain’s horn sounded over the trampled fields. The king was coming. Laren drew his sword, lowering the point to the Queen of Faery’s throat. Angmar did the same, and then another fae joined in. Cautiously, Merlin released his grip and stood. LaFaye was trembling, the agony of her binding no doubt profound, but he doubted it cut her as deeply as her failure. All around, her army lay senseless in the mud, though here and there one of the fallen warriors was stirring. Above, the dragons circled with majestic grace, having cleared every last demon from the skies. Then the castle gates opened and the knights rode out, Arthur mounted on his charger and Dulac at his side. The king was upright, but even at a distance Merlin could see he was in pain.
But though Arthur would always be his king and his friend, Merlin’s heart belonged to Clary. Now that LaFaye was no longer a threat, he turned to gather her in his arms. She was soft and warm, and he understood Laren’s smile when he looked into the blue and lovely sky. In many ways Clary had restored his soul the way she’d healed Laren. She was everything.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I have many questions about what happened on the battlefield. Vivian—”
“Don’t ask,” she said, tears glittering in her lashes. “Please don’t ask.”
He wanted to, and in many ways had to, but he bowed to the plea in her eyes. Besides, she was free of the demon taint now, wasn’t she? How could Vivian have survived such a spell? “Yes, it’s over. Nothing else matters but that we are both safe.”
Merlin pulled Clary close, content to breathe in the scent of her hair. Somewhere behind them, Gwen and Arthur were playing out a parallel scene, happy to be alive and embracing the one they loved. They had come through their personal version of the Abyss and were safe on the other side. What more could anyone ask?
Then LaFaye burst free, giving a mindless shriek of fury. She launched forward, heedless of the fae’s swords even though they slashed her flesh without mercy. Like a dark arrow, she flew toward Guinevere, her hands outstretched like claws. LaFaye had one last way to hurt Arthur and Camelot, and she meant to take it.
“Stay here!” Merlin ordered Clary, and bolted after the faery queen. He had bound her power, but that didn’t mean she was harmless. With a wordless shout of warning, he saw LaFaye launch herself through the air. Gwen tried to dodge, but she was weary and heavy with child and only managed to fall.
Excalibur flashed as Arthur drew it. There was a sudden silence as if the whole of the Forest Sauvage froze in shock—except for the graceful arc of the blade. It whistled through the air, somehow anticipating where LaFaye would be when she spun, black hair flying, to face the king. Her expression had hardened to lines of malice, only her eyes widening as she realized what was about to happen. The blade found its mark, beheading her as she lunged.
The impact was not merely physical, for Excalibur was an enchanted sword. The Queen of Faery’s magic ignited as the blade sliced through it, sending a rush of flame into the air. Heedless of his injuries, Arthur swept his wife to safety. Merlin stopped his forward rush, the fire’s hot draft against his face so intense it nearly burned him. The smell reminded him of acid and ash.
This was how Morgan LaFaye met her end. She had been the greatest threat Camelot had known—cruel, ambitious and half-mad with jealousy, and yet Merlin couldn’t stop a twist of regret. She could have lived a life that was brighter than this fire. Instead, she had chosen a path that left no conclusion but this.
“She knew the fae would do far worse to her than a clean death,” Laren said. He’d suddenly appeared at Merlin’s elbow, his face painted by the hues of the dying fire. His eyes held more anger than pity for his queen, but there was still compassion in his words. “She chose her end on her own terms.”
“By attacking a woman heavy with child,” Merlin said drily.
“She was never kind or wise, only certain of what she wanted.”
They both fell silent. As if LaFaye’s death had broken the last chains that held the fae, more and more of the fallen warriors were coming to their senses. Some seemed transfixed by joy, others overwhelmed with sorrow. Many sobbed. Laren excused himself and joined the other rebel fae who walked among them, comforting where they could.
The scene, already chaotic, was unraveling as the armies realized the war was over. The goblins were calling for beer. Still reeling from the sudden change of fortunes, Merlin turned from the smoldering patch of earth that had been one of the greatest enchantresses of all time. There could be peace now, rebuilding and time enough to plan a future. Merlin could afford to be happy now, couldn’t he?
Then Clary gave a yelp of terror. Merlin snapped to attention to see Tenebrius stepping through a ragged portal to seize her by both arms. The demon towered over her by a full head and more. He pulled her back to his chest, bracing one thick arm under her chin.
“You!” Merlin roared, summoning his power. “How dare you show your face here?”
“I am here for justice!” Tenebrius bellowed, making Clary wince. “I demand retribution for what you did to us, Merlin Ambrosius—to the witches and fae and demons. None of what happened here today would have come to pass if it had not been for your deceptions.”
Merlin’s hands fisted at his sides. His eyes locked with Clary’s, doing his best to exude confidence while he scrambled for a way to snatch her from the demon’s arms. “You don’t care for anyone but yourself, Tenebrius. You were counting on LaFaye’s promises to free you from exile. Now that she can’t keep them, you’re playing your last card.”
“And if that card is a long-overdue reckoning?” Tenebrius shrugged, making Clary clutch at the arm pressed against her windpipe. “You didn’t think you could walk away a free man, did you, wizard?”
“Why should Camelot bow to your threats?”
“I have the hostage. Besides, Camelot claims justice should be for all. Why not for the demons, too? What about the wrongs done to our kind?”
Arthur approached, Dulac at his side. The king walked slowly and stiffly, his surcoat streaked with fresh blood as if the fight with LaFaye had reopened his wound.
“Tenebrius,” said Arthur. “I wish I could say it was a pleasure to see you once more. We last parted on much better terms than this.” There had been a tourney in the Forest Sauvage, Arthur’s knights on one side and LaFaye’s on the other.
“It seems you’ve won against the Faery Queen once more,” said the demon.
“Release Clary,” said Arthur in frigid tones that signaled all pleasantries were over.
“No. While I have her I also have your attention,” said the demon.
“You always have my attention, though not in the best way,” Arthur replied. “The demons were banished because they tried to conquer and enslave everybody else. I have to protect my people from your kind.”
Clary closed her eyes, her face strained with fear. Merlin strategized five different rescues, but each plan ended with her neck broken or all of them blown to bits. Force was not the answer.
“We need to conquer, that is true,” the demon answered. “We have lost the path to our homeland and have no place of our own to rule. What would you have us do?” He looked directly at Merlin as he asked the question.
“That is not my decision to make,” Merlin replied, nodding to Arthur. “It is the king’s. However, I will trade my life for Clary’s. Take me hostage, not her, and we will give you an answer.”
Tenebrius gave a mocking smile. “Are you certain that is a trade you wish to make? I know how you regard demonkind.”
Clary made a strangled noise and tried to twist from his grasp. Tenebrius gave a soft, bitter laugh. “The violent combination of magics in the field today fused what was left of Vivian into Clary’s being. One soul, one body, one mind, one consciousness. Your snow-white witchling is tainted by the wild essence of my kin.”
Clary shrieked. It was not shrill and filled with rage, but plaintive with fright and confusion. If she’d known something was different inside her, she hadn’t understood.
Merlin surged forward, just as bewildered but knowing she needed him. Tenebrius held out a hand. “Wait, enchanter, do not approach. Let me consider your offer.”
A beat passed, and a thousand thoughts crashed through his mind. Clary must have kept the truth about Vivian from him all the way along—or at least since the last time he’d knocked Vivian out. Clary had hated that, and no doubt sheltered the demoness from any more of his efforts to get rid of her. In return, he suspected Vivian had protected Clary.
And just as well. In the end, Vivian had saved them all because Clary had taught her what kindness meant. Vertigo swept through him as the truth became plain, and he took a long, steadying breath. There would be almost nothing left of Vivian now, but the effect on Clary would still be profound. She would be much more than a witch—she would be immortal, powerful, an enchantress in her own right.
But at the moment, she was staring at him with round, terror-stricken eyes. A complicated pain inside Merlin rose to all but strangle him as he held her gaze. He knew what it was like to be told he carried demon blood. But was it the same for her? Did she have Vivian’s memories? Did she recoil as he had and believe herself corrupted?
But then, Clary had joined with a demon who had grown and changed and sacrificed herself for love. Perhaps Clary would make her own choices about who she would become, just like she always had.
Merlin took a deep breath and released it, making up his mind.
He loved her. Nothing else mattered. “What is there to consider, Tenebrius? My life for hers.”
Clary’s eyes went wide with shock. She hadn’t expected that. He tried not to look as the surprise faded to a confusion of grief and hope. This moment could still go wrong.
Tenebrius gave a fang-tipped grin. “You are a poor bargain, wizard. She is a tasty treat.”
Merlin reached into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew the ruby amulet he had used to locate Clary. “Then I will add this to your compensation. It belonged to LaFaye.”
He held it up, letting it spin on the long, gold chain. The ruby flashed in the sunlight, dazzling with the promise of power. The demon’s goat eyes glowed with greed.
“I recognize the amulet and know its worth,” said Tenebrius. “I will accept it as part of the bargain, but there is one thing more I want, and it is not gold nor is it an object of power.”
“Name it,” said Merlin.
“Truth.” The word hung like doom over the battlefield, with its confusion of bodies and sobbing fae and the wounded king leaning on Excalibur.
“Tell your friends the truth about yourself.” Tenebrius swept a hand across the scene. “Tell the truth of who you are and how you came by the spell that cast us into the Abyss. The fae deserve to know why they suffered, and your king should know the real nature of the man he calls his friend and protector.”
Arthur’s look was puzzled and angry. “What is this monster implying?”
“That I am equally a monster,” Merlin said softly. He felt as if he was falling down, down a well and would not stop until he drowned. “Vivian cursed the spell I stole from her—that is why it caused such great damage.”
“Who is this Vivian?” Arthur asked, looking from Merlin to Clary to the demon.
“A teacher of mine. And more.”
So much more. Merlin closed his eyes, wishing one of the dragons circling far above would snatch him up and carry him far away. This was too private, too great a flaw to expose. Shame ate through him as if it would turn his bones to powder. From the day he’d discovered who his father was, he’d tried to scour away every hint of association with the hellspawn.
“Merlin?” Arthur asked in a voice that edged toward command.
He met Clary’s eyes again, but quickly looked away. He’d told her she would not want to know him if she found out his true nature. After what she’d seen in the past few days, she would understand why. He hated demons because he was as much one of them as he was a part of the mortal world. As Tenebrius had pointed out, he had caused monumental devastation. Agoricus the Great would be proud.
The only thing good he could do was save Clary. No doubt it would be the last gift she would ever accept from him.
“I have my father’s eyes,” he said. Then he told them the rest.
Merlin talked, and he talked. After LaFaye’s brutal end, Guinevere had been taken to the castle to rest, but Arthur and the knights remained, as did many of the fae. He was aware of them, but his gaze strayed most often to Clary, who listened with a fixed expression he could not read. He tried with all his might to guess what she was thinking, but she kept her thoughts completely guarded. The only movement she made was to swat the demon’s claw away when he tried to stroke her cheek.
When Merlin had finished, he expected Excalibur’s edge against his throat, or a fae blade or even the kiss of dragon breath. Instead, there was a soft murmur that died almost as soon as it began. The afternoon was fading, the shadows deepening to a dusky purple.
“I have no more to say,” Merlin concluded. “I have upheld my side of the deal.”
Tenebrius held out a clawed hand. “The amulet?”
Merlin tossed it to him and walked slowly forward. Tenebrius kept his word and pushed Clary away.
To Merlin’s intense relief, she paused slightly as their paths crossed. Now her eyes were wide and thoughtful as if seeing him for the first time. For an instant he fell into their green depths. He expected to see elements of both Clary and Vivian there, but it was not so simple. She was neither and both, and yet someone new and stronger than before. He silently took Clary’s hand and raised it to his lips, savoring the scent of her skin before letting her pass.
“Hello,” he said.
The corners of her mouth turned up, the expression both fond and challenging. “Hello.”
He desperately needed more, but urged her away to the safety of Camelot’s knights. Then he turned to the demon. “I am your prisoner.”
“And now,” said Tenebrius, digging his claws into Merlin’s shoulder, “you shall pay for your crimes, Merlin Ambrosius.”