Excalibur's Seven - Chapter 48: Chapter 48

MAGIC WAS STARTING TO fail Chalice, at least when it was all they used. They were getting good at making use of this iron chain, however, even though it didn't burn most of the King's men. There were a few Fair Folk among the army, but not enough for the iron to make a difference.
It helped to have Eurion at their back. The thief was so quick, Chalice lost track of her half the time. They'd gotten into a rhythm of the druid slowing them down, wrapping them in chains, and passing them off to Eurion, who would stab and slit and dismember with the efficiency of a longtime criminal.
"You been using knives like this for a long time?" Chalice asked.
Eurion was to their right when she started talking. "Not really," she said. She was on their left now. "Only had to a couple times."
They were quick, efficient, and though they weren't killing a large chunk of the army, they were keeping their own circle at bay. Arrows weren't a problem, either. Chalice could redirect them, even with the Seelie magic forcing them to be accurate, right into the soldiers fighting against them.
To Chalice's surprise, Giselle was holding her own as well. They didn't realize before how slick she really was, and she spent more time getting the soldiers to kill each other than she did doing it herself.
They didn't know where Selene was, but Chalice had every confidence she was winning whatever battle she was fighting. The druid felt good about this, a full Sídhe army against an army of mostly humans was not a fair fight.
It was going their way. Chalice thought they might be able to win this, after all. At least, that's what they believed, until the Seelie's blade drove into their sternum.
The castle felt like a maze to young Lionel. There were so many rooms and hallways it was making him dizzy. But he had to find the shards, his father told him so.
He stumbled across a large bedroom, filled with gold and luscious fabrics and things fit for a king. It was Wylan's room, it had to be.
"Yes!" he cheered to himself when he realized.
The only thing was, no one was in here. He thought it strange, but it was the perfect opportunity for some snooping around.
He started with under the bed, pulling out a large chest nearly as big as him. It was locked. Lionel squeezed his eyes shut and thought really, really hard about unlocking it and sure enough, he heard a click.
"See, mom? I can do it," he said, pulling the lock from the latch. He crouched onto his knees and pulled the lid open.
It was full of treasures. Gold and silver and jewels and things Lionel wished he could have. "Wow," he whispered when he picked up a small, golden figurine. It was a dragon, with jewels in the eyes.
"Dragons don't look like that, but it's still cool," he said to no one in particular.
But no one was supposed to respond.
"How do you know what dragons look like?"
Lionel gasped and turned his head. Standing in front of him was a tall woman. Her hair was long and white, and from her head grew antlers like a deer. There was something enchanting about her, but the boy was mostly afraid.
"I've ridden one before, that's all," Lionel told her, trying to look confident. It's what Kit would do.
I'm a knight, he repeated, over and over in his head. I'm a knight. I have to be brave.
"When did you ride a dragon? You seem a little young for that."
Lionel stood up. He was still holding the figurine, but he tossed it back into the chest.
"Are you the Queen? Sorry for looking through your husband's stuff."
The lady laughed, a pretty laugh that filled his chest with fear, but he never wanted to listen to anything else. "Well, I'm a Queen, but not this one. Wylan's wife is dead."
"So why are you here?"
She crouched in front of him, taking his hand and pressing their palms together. "I'm here to help... you." She touched his nose as she said the last word, and Lionel chuckled.
He thought he should be afraid of her, but she was nice. And pretty. She kind of reminded him of his mom.
"Where's your father?" she asked. "I have to bring something to him."
"What is it?"
She dropped his palm and placed a finger over her lips, then with her other hand pulled something from her pocket. The shards glinted in her palm, and Lionel's eyes widened.
"Yeah," the lady said, seeing his expression. "Now, will you help me find him?"
Lionel nodded.
"It's another fake, I'm not an idiot," Kit spat, raising his sword again.
Morgana kept his hands raised, but lowered one to give Kit the shard. He took it and examined it. It was very convincing, but he was done trusting anyone who just handed things over. Especially Morgana.
"Nice try," Kit said, tossing it to the ground. "You said you're here to help. Who are you helping?"
The Unseelie laughed. "You're getting smarter, Kit. It's a shame, though, it's a bit too late for that."
Kit lunged at him, but he moved away too quickly, sending the prince crashing into the wall. "You're not even trying to be slick anymore. You're getting sloppy."
"Maybe I am," he considered. "But it makes no difference. You lost, Kit, give it up."
Kit swung again, but he was tired and Morgana was in perfect shape. No one would know he was sick if not for the cracks on his face and the red in his scleras, he was moving as quick as any faery.
"I won't give it up for as long as I live," Kit gritted. This time when he swung, Morgana didn't dodge it. He blocked it with his own sword, and in one swift move, he knocked Kit's from his hand, sending it sliding across the floor.
"Yeah, because you care so much about your people," Morgana sneered, swiping at Kit with his sword. He dodged it, barely. "You care so much, you're willing to risk the ones that have been here longer than you."
"That's not true," Kit said, ducking another swing. He was nearly backed up to the wall now, and he rested his hand on the dagger in his belt.
Morgana didn't relent. "You're a liar, Kit. You say you do, but you don't care about us."
The blade jammed into the wall, inches from Kit's head. Morgana's eyes were an icy blue, his pupils clouded over completely. He was unhinged.
Kit didn't let him pull the sword from the wall. He knocked Morgana's hand away from the hilt, letting the blade clatter to the floor, and drove a fist towards the Unseelie's face.
Morgana dodged it, to no one's surprise, pressing a foot to Kit's stomach and shoving him backwards.
"For awhile, I wished you would've trusted me," he said. His voice was weak now. "I wanted so badly for you to change your mind and come with me. But I should've realized. You're more stubborn than me, of course you wouldn't change your mind."
They were at a standstill now, but Kit kept his hand hovering over his dagger. "I wish I could trust you, Morgana."
"Then why the hell don't you?" he cried. "Stop acting like you care, Kit, you only care about yourself and that's all you've fucking cared about since the start. This was never about anyone else, it's always been about you."
Morgana lunged for him, but he was ready for it. One hand pulled out his dagger while the other shoved him against the wall, pinning him there with the blade to his throat.
"You're right, Morgana," he said. "For awhile, it was all about me. But then I met you, and that changed. I care, Morgana, I care more than anything in the world and every day it kills me that I can't trust you. I know it's not fair to ask you to trust me now, but--"
He didn't get to finish, because Morgana's hands held his face and his his freezing lips were pressed over his own. Kit wasted no time being startled and melted into it. Morgana was so cold, but Kit's chest got warmer and his hands got gentler and his stomach was fluttering.
This was all he wanted. Mab was right when she gave him that dream, and he wondered what he would've felt if he stayed asleep. He knew, at the very least, that it would feel nothing like this. Nothing could come close to this.
It felt like heaven, and in that moment he didn't care that Morgana was prodding his hand open. He let him take the dagger, convinced that he would hear it clang to the floor at their feet. But he knew he'd fallen victim to those tricks once again when the blade buried itself into his side.
There was no look of betrayal on his face when he pulled away from Morgana, just pain and confusion. He'd thought that maybe, for just a moment, he'd gotten through to the stubborn faery.
And in a moment of weakness, he was convinced that Morgana felt the same way Kit felt since that day in garden when his whole world shifted. When he realized he couldn't look at the Unseelie without feeling something that made his heart constrict. And even after he betrayed them all, that never went away.
He was a fool to hope that things would change.
The faery yanked the blade out and let it drop to the marble floor.
"Morgana," he breathed. The Unseelie's face was cold as he grabbed Kit's arm and threw open the door to his bedroom. "Morgana, please, I'm--"
He was thrown inside, and the door slammed shut in front of him. The lock clicked from the outside and Kit's fists weakly pounded the oak.
"Morgana!" he begged. "Please! Let me out, come on, we can talk about this."
He sunk to his knees. He was too weak to pound the door again, but his fist stayed there against the surface. He thought he might cry, until something stopped him.
"You did talk about it, and he gave you his answer." Kit stiffened at the sound of the voice, deep and cold and unsettling.
He turned to face his father, scrambling back to his feet despite the pain in his side. Connor was there, too, standing behind Wylan with a sword in his hand. Kit felt his stomach drop.
"No," he whispered, eyes zeroing in on the blade. "No, no, it's not possible."
"Oh, this?" Wylan hummed, turning and ushering to the sword. "Well, it's not the same, but I'm sure it'll hurt just as much when we kill you with it."
Kit shook the door handle, but he knew it was hopeless. He was unarmed, wounded, and his vision was starting to spin. This was the end.
"Don't try it, Kristofer," Wylan bellowed. "This is the end. You lost. I'm sure all your little friends are dead already."
"No..."
"You were so selfish bringing them here, you know. Have you ever, for once in your life, thought of anyone but yourself?" The King laughed. "They didn't have to die, but you brought them here to your little family feud, because you don't know how to fight your own battles."
Everything was spinning. Kit didn't know if it had to do with the blood loss or the feeling in his chest that always came when the King spoke to him. This was no different than it's always been, Wylan telling him everything he thought was wrong with him and Kit feeling like it was true.
That's how this all started. They were only in this mess to begin with because Kit just wanted the King to see him as a son. He just wanted the kingdom to see him as a prince.
Then he remembered it. The village, the way those people fought. They weren't fighting for him, but they were on his side, fighting against the King. They didn't see him as a prince for all these years. But maybe... just maybe...
"You know, I used to care what they thought of me," Kit ground out, taking them by surprise. "I used to hope they saw me as a good prince, as a noble man, as someone of honor. But I realize now... I realize it was never what they thought it me. It was always what they thought of you."
"This is nonsense, Kristofer, what are you even saying?"
Kit laughed. "I never wanted to be seen the way they see you. I didn't want them to look at me and see a tyrant, or a selfish, greedy pig that didn't bat an eye when the greatest woman in the kingdom died having your son."
Connor piped up. "Hey, that's not fair."
"I'm not fucking finished, Connor." His amber eyes settled on Wylan. "I never wanted to be like you. I wanted them to look at me and know they had something to hope for. I wanted those people to know they had me, and that I would fight for them when all you do is take."
"Connor," Wylan bellowed, reaching for the blade.
"I don't care anymore," Kit said, scoffing at the sword. "I don't care if you kill me. And I don't care what you think of me, because I know that my people see you as a bad man, who proudly proclaimed that I was your enemy. Now I can die knowing my people didn't think for a second that I was anything like you."
Finally, with an angry shout, Wylan drove the blade towards Kit's chest. But it didn't hit him, because somehow Morgana was there instead. The blade went clean through his chest, keeping it from ever hitting Kit's.
"No," Kit said, eyes wide. "No. No, no, no, no, no, Morgana, you idiot."
Kit sunk to the floor with Morgana, cradling his limp body and trying to keep the blood from pouring out of him. "Come on, stay with me."
He heard a thump then, and turned to see Wylan on the ground, blood blossoming across his own chest and trickling from his mouth.
Sídhe karma. Excalibur couldn't kill Wylan, but the magic could.
"Morgana, you idiot," he said again, tucking his face into his neck. There was no pulse against his skin.
King Wylan was gone, but so was Morgana.