The Conqueror

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, hot and painful. Her exhale came in a short, thrusting out-breath. “Saint Jude, Griffyn, let me go. You’ll be killed! I can save you.”

“No.”

He did not wave her off, did not invite her closer. She was walking at his side and it was as if she was a thousand miles away.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“So this is it,” Griffyn said. He and Alex stood in the lord’s chamber hours later, after the horses were rubbed down, the injured tended, the soldiers fed, and the children comforted. They were both staring at the small carved Guinevere chest, which is how he thought of it now, sitting square in the centre of the table.

Apparently; he could trust himself.

The sun was getting ready to set, not that one could tell from this side of the castle. On this northeastern side, the storm clouds were lowering, grey-edged and sullen, pumping across the sky. Griffyn walked away from the chest and threw another square of peat on the brazier. It flared into life, crackling.

“‘I think I ne’er truly believed,” he said.

Alex nodded. “Many thought your father waited too long to tell you about your destiny. The deathbed is no good place to lay such a burden on a young soul, for many reasons.”

Griffyn pushed the coals and new fuel about, coaxing it into a hotter burn. “I once would have claimed my father did so because he wanted it all for himself. Trying to live forever.”

“And now?”

“Now.” He threw down the poker and sat back at the table. “Now I think he took me away from it. To protect me from the things it did to men. The things it did to him.” He picked up the letters and trinkets scattered inside and laid them on the table. The tarnished ring, the scrap of reddish-purple linen, the blade hilt, the lock of hair, the coins.

“I know what you did, Alex,” he said quietly.

There was a pause. “Pagan?” He could hear confusion and tension, spiraling together in Alex’s voice.

“Did you know I have this?” Griffyn asked, and held up the steel key.

He heard Alex’s breath suck in. “Where did you get it?”

“Same place you tried. De Louth.”

Stillness descended behind him. If he wished to, Alex could simply whack him on the back of the head and be done with it.

“What did you plan to do with it, Alex, if you got hold of it?”

He heard Alex’s boots thud as he came around. His face was bleached white. “I’d like to say, ‘give it to you.’”

Griffyn leaned back, spine against the wall. “Yes. I’d like that too.”

Alex grabbed a bench and dragged it near. He sat down, one leg on either side, leaning deeply forward. “There’s so much I haven’t told you, Pagan—”

“I know. Why not?”

Alex wiped his hand over the top of his head. “At first, ’twas simply that you did not want to know. Were rather militant in your wishing not to know, for many years.”

“That I was. But you’re supposed to be my protection, are you not, Alex? A Watcher?”

“Aye, we Watch, Griffyn. And protect. But we are protecting you, so you can protect the treasure. We are oath-bound to protect the treasure.”

“Not me?” Griffyn said, but it wasn’t a question.

Alex stood stiffly at the unspoken accusation of betrayal. “I am your friend, Pagan. I will always be your friend. I need no vow to make that so.”

“And yet, you lied to me. Why did you not tell me you thought you had found one of the puzzle keys?”

“Because I couldn’t be sure you were going to be a good Guardian,” Alex burst out. “Good?” he added, then gave a short bark of laughter and began pacing the room. “I did not even know whether you would become one at all. You inherit the Blood, but the burden, as you said yourself, has to be chosen. No one can give it to you, or force it upon you. You must accept it.” He stopped by the west-facing window and looked over. “I didn’t know if you would.”