caught sight of a star-shaped medallion at the fae’s throat. The last time he’d seen it, Morgan LaFaye herself had worn it, the ruby gem brilliant against her creamy white throat. LaFaye never bothered with mere trinkets, so no doubt the gem had magical properties.
“Leave us, boy,” said the fae. “I am on the queen’s work.”
He gathered up a fistful of Nimueh’s dyed black hair and used it to give her a cruel shake. She gave a moan of pain. The sound was too much. Dulac sprang forward, every instinct honed to protect.
“Don’t be a fool!” Nimueh cried, her voice half-strangled.
The fae raised a hand, releasing a thread of magic. Light twisted through the air, gone in a blink, but it hit Dulac squarely in the chest. A white-hot sunburst of pain dropped him to one knee. Every nerve blazed with electricity, numb and raging by turns. Dulac tried to stand, but nothing would obey. Still, he got his feet under him, forcing his muscles to push through agony.
The creature’s lips drew back. It was impossible to say what the expression meant—it wasn’t laughter or fear or even contempt at Dulac’s struggle. Nevertheless, he let go of Nimueh. She shot forward, diving under her attacker’s arm.
“Go!” Dulac ordered. “Get out of here.”
But the fae was too quick, grabbing Nimueh’s ankle to trip her. As she stumbled, the fae grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her in a brutal grip. She lurched to her knees with a shriek of pain. The fae dug his other hand in her hair once more, wrenching her head back to expose her throat. “Make another move, and I will punish her. She’s already escaped me once, and I’m tired of hunting. I won’t let her go again.”
Dulac pulled himself to his hands and knees, every limb trembling with the shock of magic. He had a sudden memory of deep green silk bedding, Nimueh’s long white hair spread across it, across his chest. He wanted that moment back so badly it hurt worse than anything the fae could conjure.
“What shall I do with you, mortal?” asked the fae.
In another being, the words might have been sarcasm, but the fae made it a problem of logic. Dulac studied him as he dragged one knee forward, setting off a fresh burst of pain along his limbs. If he could just get to his feet—the fae seemed to favor his right side, as if his hip had been hurt. That meant vulnerability. He could use it.
But the fae spotted his motion and flicked another spell his way. Dulac doubled over, too blinded by the hot fire in his core to even cry out—but his fingers clenched around the handle of the knife hidden beneath his coat.
Dulac lifted his head, ignoring the sweat drenching his body. Despite the sensation of claws tearing his flesh, he staggered to his feet. “You will leave her in peace.”
The fae’s expression hardened. “Don’t presume to order me, human. I am something new in your world.”
Dulac’s vision swam, but he stood firm. “Where I’m from, the fae are old news.” The words nearly choked him when an unbidden rush of memory constricted his chest. The first fae he’d met had been Nimueh. She had made everything new. “The Lady of the Lake is mine.”
“You, a mere human, know the lady’s true name?” A blink of those cat-green eyes—as close to surprise as the creature could likely get. “So who are you?”
Dulac ignored the question, watching the enemy’s every breath. It would be like their kind to toy with a mortal only to crush them when they tired of the game. Still, neither fae looked away from Dulac, as if he was the one factor that could tip the balance of fate.
“You must be one of Arthur’s knights,” the fae said slowly as he worked it out. “Are you the one called Lancelot? I heard the king has his champion wolf again.”
Dulac frowned at the description. “And I heard your kind is skulking in the shadows. It seems our informants are correct.”
“Not quite,” returned the fae. “I do not skulk. Tramar Lightborn simply takes what he wants.”
Dulac had heard the name before. Before Merlin’s spell, Tramar had been a lord among the fae, famed for his wisdom and depth of learning. Was it possible this was the same man?
Tramar ran his fingers down Nimueh’s face. It was a purely clinical touch, accompanied by a whispered spell. Nimueh trembled with what looked like genuine terror. A high, thin, keening sound escaped her lips along with a wisp of pale blue smoke. She began to shudder, the muscles in her neck corded with pain, the noise she made escalating to an agonized scream.
The sound tore through Dulac, but Tramar was deaf to it. His eyelids flickered, an ecstatic expression suffusing his features. When his gaze returned to Dulac’s, there was mockery in them that had been lacking just moments ago. Real, savage emotion.
The emotion Nimueh should not have had to give.
“I didn’t think she had any soul left to take,” Tramar said with a slow smile.
Nimueh sagged in his grip, suddenly limp.
The sick feeling in Dulac’s gut snowballed to rage. He jerked forward a step, the bone-crushing pain suddenly irrelevant—but it was still like forcing his way through solid brick. That single move had taken him within yards of the fae, but it wasn’t enough. Dulac snarled, his voice dropping deep into his chest. “Step away.”
“Oh, come, it’s barely a sip and the queen will destroy her. Why waste it?”
That was too much. Dulac was human, with no magic, but he was Camelot’s knight. With an act of will, Dulac shut down the pain in his body and sprang into the air. The fae’s eyes widened in affront, but he was too surprised to respond in time. Dulac hauled him away from Nimueh, wrenching him off balance.
Nimueh fell to the ground, but the impact seemed to wake her. With no wasted movement, she covered her head with her arms and rolled away from the fight. Dulac wanted to check on her, but Tramar was on him again, forgetting his magic to deliver a cracking punch.
With a swipe of his foot, Dulac knocked Tramar to the dirt and gravel, planting a knee on his chest to keep him still. The attack was quick and brutal, leaving the fae no time to resist. Dulac’s knife sliced through the chain of the amulet and kissed the soft flesh beneath Tramar’s chin.
The amulet fell with a clatter and skidded into the shadows. Dulac paused for the barest sliver of a second. As far as he knew, fae did not age. There was no telling what wonders Tramar had seen in his long life, what knowledge would be lost with his death. But he’d learned in a few short weeks how badly Merlin’s spell had destroyed the fae, and Tramar had tried to consume what was left of Nimueh’s soul. That had earned him his death.
Tramar’s eyes held Dulac’s. There was understanding in those cat-green depths, and the fae gave the slightest of nods. Dulac saw bravery, but also relief. Perhaps the worst tragedy of the fae was that under the influence of a stolen soul, they knew just how far they’d fallen.
Dulac slashed the blade, quick and sure. The skin of Tramar’s throat parted with a flare of red. Hot blood sheeted from the wound, slick against Dulac’s fingers. The fae gasped once, and it was over.
The fae’s body fell. Dulac remained where he was, breathing hard.
“Stand back.” Nimueh’s
