Spear of Destiny (Misadventures of Loren Book 1) Read online

I saw my mother's face smiling at me. I felt her lean over me, the light brush of her lips on my forehead. On my tongue, I tasted the earthy scent that always stayed behind in the room after she'd left.

  "Your mother used to sit at that table in that very spot. I think that was her favorite meal."

  "I don't understand why she didn't tell me about this place? Or any of her family? Or that she was a witch."

  "Magda was a restless spirit just like you. Always looking for greener pastures. She was more interested in history and engineering and art. And she had a science mind, like Morgan."

  Behind Igraine, pots stirred themselves without ladles. Sharp knives dashed vegetables on an array of cutting boards. The diced and julienne pieces scooped themselves neatly into mise en place bowls. Igraine, turned to face me as her magic continued to single-handedly prepare the meal that would feed the entire town.

  "Magda's magic wasn't very potent, not like her sister's. Gwenfar and Magda had different goals. Gwenfar wanted her daughters to marry the heirs of Camelot, to have high places in magical society. She didn't spend her days dreaming of far-off lands, like her younger sister. Gwenfar spent her days plotting how to capture the attention of the heirs."

  And it had worked. Mostly. Gwin had married Merlin. If Auntie Gwenfar had wanted Morgan for Arthur, she must've been disappointed as the two were like oil and water. Ultrafem Morgan swatted away any of Arthur's, or the knights', attempts to suffocate her with their chivalric overprotectiveness.

  And now Arthur was preparing to ask for Gwin's hand with his brother turned a crazed fugitive. Gwin would accept. Both of those idiots were so consumed by doing the right thing for their people. Neither thought of themselves.

  "I like to believe Magda would've come back when you were a bit older," said Igraine, turning back to check on the progress of one of the pots.

  I set my mouth to ask the question I dreaded. "Did she die because of me?"

  Igraine stopped what she was doing and turned to face me. I didn't think it was possible to catch a clairvoyant off guard, but I had.

  "Because she left the ley line?" I clarified. "Did her years catch up to her because she wanted to stay with me and my father?"

  Humans couldn't live on the ley lines. At least not for long. The potent energy could give them cancer. Most places where the lines converged were sites of holy temples and churches where people visited sporadically or a few times a week at most.

  Just as humans couldn't spend a prolonged amount of time on the ley line, a witch couldn't survive more than a few decades off the grid. At least not unless they began siphoning off other witches' powers, like Merlin had begun doing when he'd left.

  "Whatever Magda did, it was out of love. She never cast you aside, not like Viviane's parents."

  My chest constricted from talking about my mom so I grabbed for a change in topic. "What happened to Viviane? Why is she the way she is?"

  "She was born to a human father and a witch. The village brought in priests and priestesses. They burned her mother at the stake when they saw Viviane's deformity. Once they finished with her mother, her father tossed her into the Usk River. She survived because she's a witch, and because those waters are filled with magic. Her body adapted to her environment as she grew."

  "She thinks she's cursed."

  Igraine sighed. "It's not a curse. It's who she is. You can't change who you are at your core. You can only adapt to what's going on around you."

  I saw that penetrating gaze of Igraine's. I knew she often saw things others didn't want her to see. I directed her attention away from myself and onto someone else.

  "What does that say about Merlin?"

  Igraine smiled sadly. I wasn't sure if it was at my redirect or at the man she once cared for.

  "Merlin wasn't born evil, neither was Viviane. Viviane had something done to her by those who were supposed to love her. She decided to make the best of it. Merlin was born ill, but he was loved and cared for. He decided that love wasn't enough. He made a series of choices that led him down a treacherous path."

  I'd been lucky enough to have been born into love. The only environment that I'd ever felt that I belonged in was standing between my parents. There was no place like that any longer. Every place I'd been in since their deaths didn't feel right.

  Camelot, Tintagel castle, hanging with Gwin and Morgan, sitting at this table with Igraine all felt good. But not quite right.

  "Oh, I know you're leaving us soon, dear girl."

  I looked up to Igraine and her penetrating gaze. I opened my mouth to deny it, but nothing came out. I realized at that moment that I'd already made my decision. What she said was the truth.

  "But unlike your mother, I know you'll be back. You belong here. You just don't know it yet. Here, dear girl."

  She handed me a brown paper bag.

  "What's this for?" I asked.

  "For your journey. I have a feeling you're going to miss tonight's last meal and I don't want you to get hungry."

  I stood to take the bag and Igraine enveloped me in a hug. My fingers dug into the flesh at her back. I held on a second longer after her grip loosened. Then I jerked back at my clinginess. I took the bag of food and headed out of the kitchen.

  I was a sucker for taking the easy way out, the path of least resistance, the cheat sheet. I didn't want to do months, years, or decades of squiring when I knew I had the chops to be a knight. I'd already saved the world three times in the last year. So yeah, I was going on a solo tour.

  Once I was out of the kitchen, I wasn't sure which way to go? Out of the castle to the waters to meet Viviane? Or down to the armory to check on my duties before heading out. I couldn't bring myself to just cross the drawbridge with unfinished business. I didn't want Yuric and Maurice to have to do more than their fair share of work because I took off without telling them.

  "You're still here?"

  I looked up and nearly collided with the massive frame of Geraint.

  "I thought you'd have gone by now," he said. "You're not the kind to stick around."

  "What exactly do you have against me?" I placed the to-go bag behind my back and squared off against him. I didn't want to show my hand that his assumption was right. That would set a dangerous precedence. "Do you secretly want to sleep with me? Go on. Proposition me, see what I say."

  "I wouldn't lower myself."

  "Well, then you miss the whole point of sex."

  Geraint's jaw clenched so hard I heard it creak as he wrenched it open. "You don't belong here. You're not one of us."

  "So open the door and kick me out."

  "No. You need to leave on your own. Which I'm sure you will do sooner rather than later. I'll just be there to be sure and check your pockets on the way out."

  "You're an asshole."

  "You're a thief and an impostor. I looked you up. We do have WIFI here. Loren Van Ah…Alst, tomb raider, and art forger. Though never convicted. Unlike your father. Something about a dragon bone?"

  None of this was as it seemed. But I wasn't about to satisfy this asshat with any explanations.

  "I remember Magda from when I was a boy," he continued. "She was a good witch. I cringe to think of how your father duped her. You won't do the same with any of the good people here. I won't allow it. And you'll never become a knight. You don't have the temperament for it. You know it's true."

  I didn't have a comeback for his words. Because there were some that I feared might be true. Geraint leaned into me. His cruel beauty made me look away.

  "This little talk was just to let you know that I see you. I don't have to do anything to ensure you leave, I know it will happen. Just don't think you can take anything with you. And that includes Wain."

  He had that much wrong. Gawain didn't even want me.

  "We'll figure out how to get Lady Mary's magic back from you. You won't be allowed to leave with that either. You'll leave here as you came; a thief with no family and no honor."

  I wanted to lash out. But I al
so didn't want him to know that he'd affected me in any way. It was no matter. He turned on his heel and stormed down the hall.

  He had a few things right there. I would never be a proper knight. I was barely a proper lady. And I was going to leave. But not under the circumstances he'd just accused me of.

  I was going to get the spear, heal Viviane, and then throw it in all the knights' faces. I didn't need to be knighted to be a hero. Once I was done saving the day, I'd leave this place and go back with Nia, where I was wanted.

  Chapter Eleven

  I marched up to my room after the run in with Geraint. Perched in the high-backed chair in the corner of the room was my satchel. It was well worn from ill use, but I always handled it with care. It had been my father's.

  Most kids knew their dad was home from work because they saw his car in the driveway. We'd never had a driveway. We'd never had a house that we called our own. We were always on the road or a ship or out in the middle of a desert.

  So when I saw that satchel on the tarp of our tent, or in a chair of a rental flat, or on the bed of our hotel room, I knew that my dad was home from work.

  He may have been gone for only a few hours, or a few days, or weeks. But seeing that satchel always kicked up my heart rate. I'd race around the campgrounds or from room to room to find him and jump into his arms.

  He'd always hold his arms open for me and swing me up and twirl me around, just like in the movies. I'd have his full attention for however long he was back with us. Then he'd always be gone again.

  I'm not sure if my mother minded my father's absences or not. She was always as happy as I was to see him. After she died, and it was just my father and me, I didn't let him leave me behind any longer. I latched onto that satchel and would scream if ever he tried to take it away without taking me too.

  I placed it over my shoulder now. I'd had the strap repaired twice since the bag had become mine. The zipper stuck. The leather was worn. But still, wherever I went, it came with me.

  I stuffed a change of clothes inside. Though I loved my fashions, I was used to living sparsely and out of a bag, traveling on my own, and having my own back. The bag wasn't the only trait I'd inherited from my father.

  I'd never been one to fall in for a group hug or make a plan by committee or follow the rules. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced this Knights of the Round Table thing wasn't for me.

  I wasn't going to wait for the other knights to get back to tell them what Viviane had shared. They'd likely try and talk out what to do. Then, in the end, it would likely be that Viviane and I would be left out of the adventure and neither of us would be able to reap the rewards.

  I had all the information I needed to give this quest a go. I'd simply go where Viviane took me, get the spear, capture the bad guy, and save the day. Easy.

  Then with Merlin captured and the spear out of his hands, there was no reason to stay here in Camelot and face any further rejection.

  I wasn't worried about Merlin's magic. He'd already been weakened when Gwin had pierced him with the spear back in Sarras. There had been no reports of missing witches. Arthur had either corralled everyone within the city boundaries or had them protected with squires. So Merlin hadn't replenished his stores of magic.

  But still, I stuffed the magically enhanced chain mail in my bag. Technically, it was mine since it had been given to me. A gift. Not a theft.

  With my plan in place, I stuffed my grandfather's sword into my bag. Yuric had fitted it with a cross guard and handle after my magic had melted the cane off. I folded the weapon. It was magical and it bent to my will.

  I fussed with the zipper of my dad's bag as it stuck. Usually, I just had to wiggle it until it fell in line. It was being a bit stubborn today, which was fine. In the end, I pulled the teeth as far as they would close and left a small hole open. I pulled the bedroom door quietly shut as I headed out and ran right smack dab into Morgan.

  Morgan took one look at my bag. Then her gaze traveled to my guilty expression. Her face transformed from friendly to furious. "You're leaving?"

  I shifted the straps of my father's bag on my shoulder and averted my gaze.

  Morgan planted her feet in my path and glared at me.

  I wasn't used to people checking for me. My first instinct was a flippant remark. But the genuine hurt on her face called me up short.

  Morgan was my actual blood family. She and Gwin were all that was left of the Galahad line. I owed her an explanation.

  "I'm not running away," I said. "I'm going on a quest. Viviane says she knows where Merlin and the Spear are. She's going to take me there and I'm going to get it back."

  "I get it." Morgan's face softened. She reached out a hand and laid it on my shoulder. "You want to prove yourself to the knights."

  "Well…"

  "And you're sneaking out because you know they'll try and stop you from doing something so foolhardy as seeking Merlin on your own."

  "Um…"

  Morgan nodded her head as though I'd answered her in the affirmative. "But you're certain, even though your control over your magic skills are a little less than elementary, that with your combat skills you can take him."

  "See…" All of a sudden, I wasn't sure if she was making a case for my actions or laying out the flaws in my plan. I got my answer when I looked again at her blue gaze. Her eyes were dark with fury.

  "And you were going to do all of this without me?" she demanded.

  Now I winced.

  "I'm coming with you." Her eyes were ablaze and her jaw was set.

  "Morgan, I can't let you do that."

  "Why not? Because I'm a woman? Because I'm a witch?"

  Morgan balled her fists at her sides. I felt like a husband whose wife asked if she looked fat in these jeans. There was no safe answer.

  "Because…" I began and faltered. "Because you have responsibilities here. You have to hold up the protective shield with your sister."

  "Gwin leaves all the time."

  "True…"

  "I might be anchored to this place, but I'm not handcuffed."

  "But…"

  Morgan held up her hand, palm thrust forward and her head rolled the entire circumference of her shoulders as she spoke. "If you dare tell me it's too dangerous, or I'm a delicate freakin' witch, or any other chauvinist, chivalric BS, I will reach up and yank out your ovaries."

  I grinned. Morgan looked like a fierce Amazonian princess in that moment. All she needed was the headdress and the gold wrist bangles.

  "Besides," she said, "that bastard hurt my sister. There's no way I'm being left out of his ass-kicking."

  And with that, there was no way I could deny her. Looks like I was about to have a sidekick of my own on my maiden heroine journey. I jerked my head to indicate that she should follow along. Morgan kicked her feet up in a jig, making me wonder if there was any leprechaun blood in our family line. And then I wondered if leprechauns were real?

  We headed down the winding stairwell that led to the Great Hall of the castle. I'd learned on my first stay here that this castle was more than a luxurious living space. It was built as a fortress, built to protect the inhabitants. For example, the stairwell we now descended was narrow and uneven so that any assailants coming up the stairs would have their sword arm against the wall and the heroes coming down had their sword arms free. That battle tactic left the villains at an impotent disadvantage.

  Coming up the stairs was Geraint, followed by Gawain. Neither knight had a sword in his hand. Geraint held a half-eaten sandwich while Gawain swung the long neck bottle of a beer between his second and third fingers.

  Geraint frowned when he saw us. "Exactly where do you think you're going?"

  "Just on a stroll before dinner," I said. The problem was that I smiled when I said it. I had the habit of smiling when I lied. Geraint knew I didn't like him. So the moment I flashed my teeth he knew something was up.

  Gawain took one look at my satchel. Then he shut his eyes, shakin
g his head. An amused smile played at his lips when he focused on me.

  I wanted to call foul. He couldn't smile at me like that after rejecting me. His intelligent eyes read my face, like they saw the flicker of hurt. His lips parted as though he wanted to explain. I turned away from him in time for Geraint to take a step towards us.

  "You two need to get back to your rooms," he said.

  "I'm sorry?" Morgan's tone was anything but apologetic. "Exactly who died and made you king of the castle?"

  Geraint ignored her and jabbed at me. I stepped back, up one stair rung, to avoid his advance. Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough. A tomato from his sandwich landed on my shirt, right on the boob. Everyone stared at my chest for a moment.

  "Do you know how hard it is to remove tomato stains?" I said.

  "No," Geraint said. "But you can report back to me how it goes after laundry duty tomorrow."

  I saw red. Not on my shirt. I saw red trickling down to his mouth after I punched him in his aquiline nose.

  I didn't actually punch him in the nose. Oh, no. I drew my sword instead.

  "Come at me, bruh."

  Geraint sneered. "I'm not your brother."

  Gawain stepped up until he was on the stair rung beside us. But he was smart enough not to actually step between us. "Calm down both of you. If I'm the voice of reason in this situation, you know there's a problem."

  Geraint's eyes narrowed on me. Mine narrowed on him. A dust mote floated in the setting sunlight between us. Instead of a rustle of wind blowing through the standoff, I heard Gawain sigh in defeat.

  Geraint reached up to the wall. He grabbed a torch sconce, ripping the metallic shaft off its mount. The torch was still lit as he brought it in front of his body to defend himself. I felt the flame heat the tomato on my shirt, ensuring the stain would never come out.

  So that's how he wanted to play it?

  Geraint jabbed at me with another of those jerky thrusts from the first time we battled. Had he learned nothing? How was he a knight and I was a squire?

  Then I realized why he fought that way. He was of Moorish ancestry. Those ancient warriors fought with the curved blade of a scimitar, which was a close-range blade. Geraint was used to slashing with his weapon, not thrusting a long sword.