“What has she already told you about the sword?”
Cameron jolted, twisting, and Phelan smiled grimly. He hadn’t meant to startle his cousin’s lover, but there was a little piece of him that delighted in having done so.
“Not enough,” Cameron said, brows knitting together as he turned slowly back toward the ravine below. He was standing amidst the holly bushes that edged their settlement, their community, formed an extra protective boundary between them and everything outside. “She told me what it was and then shit started happening pretty fast. After that, Thordin was with us and we really didn’t have much time to talk about it.”
“And now instead of asking her, you’re asking me.” Phelan shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he drew abreast of the younger man.
“Seemed like a better idea than bothering her with it right now,” Cameron said. “She’s got enough to worry about.”
Like the fact that she’s in love with you and she fears what your intertwined destinies might hold. To be honest, I don’t think I blame her, either. I keep hoping I’m wrong about so much…it’s a wonder I dare to open my mouth anymore. “I suppose you’re right. What do you want to know?”
“I’m guessing ‘everything’ isn’t a very good answer, is it?”
Phelan laughed. “Oh, it’s a perfectly good answer, it’s just not an answer I can handle. There’s a lot about that blade that I don’t even know myself.”
Cameron blinked at him. “But Neve—”
“She’s been its guardian for a very, very long time,” Phelan admitted. “And in some instances, she’ll know more about it than I could ever hope to know. I just happen to know enough to tell you more about it.”
“Was it really Arthur’s sword?”
“His name was Artorius,” Phelan said. “And it really was his sword. It was forged well before his birth, though, and Neve’s been its guardian for centuries—almost since the day it was forged, give or take a couple years.” He smiled wryly. “It’s an ancient, ancient blade and probably not as ill-fated as you fear.”
“Was it Uther’s before it was Ar—Artorius’s?”
“There was no Uther,” Phelan said, stretching and crossing just beyond the holly hedge and the wardings it anchored. His skin prickled slightly as he passed through the warding line to the edge of the ravine, abruptly becoming aware of other sensations, of the power that pulsed from the trio of power nodes settled in the ravine, two nearer and one farther away. Those sources of power were what made this patch of earth so desirable—the confluxes of lines of power that wrapped the earth in what Phelan had always visualized as glowing gossamer threads.
The winding river directly East also made a difference in the desirability of the area, though. For all its troubles, the Grand was a strong line of power recognized throughout the history—clearly displayed by the array of burial mounds local native tribes had built on its shores over the years.
“Then the stories aren’t true,” Cameron said. “About how Merlin helped Uther disguise himself so he could take advantage of the lady Igraine—”
“No,” Phelan said softly. “Fabrications of later storytellers because the actual tale was somehow not interesting enough.” He snorted softly and shook his head. “I suppose maybe it wasn’t. Artorius’s father was Roman and his mother was an Erse princess. Artorius was a product of the Roman occupation that became a legend well before his death.” He smiled a faint, humorless smile. He hated it. Perhaps that’s why the truth of his story’s been all but lost-because he didn’t want it remembered. There’s something to be said for the wishes of a man being honored after his death. “Artorius was a good man and a brave warrior—and that sword kept him safe on more than one campaign, in Britain and beyond. But it couldn’t save him, not when his time was up.”
“Just like it won’t save me.”
Phelan shivered and shook his head, smiling slowly. “Don’t make assumptions yet,” he said softly. “You never know what might happen.”
“You do,” Cameron pointed out.
Phelan shrugged. “I do. And I also told you not to make assumptions.”
Cameron swallowed but said nothing, just stepped through the hedge to join him. Phelan grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Relax. I’ll tell you what I know, for what it’s worth. Remember, though—nothing, nothing, is ever written in stone.”
“Right,” Cameron said, only the barest hint of a tremor in his voice.
Phelan nodded and began to talk.
