Chapter Ten: A Bad Seed

It didn't suit her half so well as it suited Merlin. That was Nimue's first thought, when she inspected herself in the mirror. It probably didn't help matters that her wizard's regalia, made to look exactly like his, was gray instead of black. It was a pale dove gray, the tunic soft and supple doeskin, the shirt fine cambric, but all of that couldn't change the fact that it was still gray. Nimue had insisted on boots and breeches rather than skirt and slippers—much to Guinevere's dismay—and she was beginning to think that that wasn't helping matters any. It was hard, she decided, to be a knight and a woman at the same time.

In an attempt to salvage herself, Nimue had left her hair mostly down; all but two long braids at either temple, that had been woven with ribbon that matched her clothing. Etherea hung at her hip, on a creation of braided silver wire and glimmering star sapphires that, as ceremonial garb, should have been gaudy. Should have been, but the blacksmith's daughter had a hand for such things as jewelry. She was, Nimue had found out, the female courtiers' best kept secret.

"Going to preen all day?"

Annoyed, she spun to face her master. It was no surprise to her that he looked fantastic in his regalia. Nimue planted her hands on her hips and gave him her best glare, but that just made Merlin laugh.

"I'm not preening!" Nimue snapped. "And you're in an awfully good mood, considering we're dealing with some crazy, barbarian-loving border lord."

"Actually, we're dealing with some crazy, barbarian-loving border lord's son," Merlin corrected. "And we're going to be late."

We're always late, Nimue thought, as she followed him out of the tower rooms. And usually it's your fault, not mine. She was not at all in a good mood, and it had little to do with the circumstances today. Merlin, for all his good humor, was avoiding her. Sort of. As her mentor, he had to teach her, lest her gift grow out of control. But emotionally, he was definitely avoiding her. Guin kept trying to get her to talk about it, but Nimue didn't think it was anyone else's business but her own. Aside from which, while it was bothering her incessantly, there were still more important things going on in the kingdom at the moment.

"Why send his son?" Nimue asked, as she and Merlin made their way down the castle corridor. "I thought the problem is the lord himself."

"It is," Merlin assured her. "However, by sending his son, he's able to do two things. The first is insure that he himself is not close enough to be taken into custody without the chance to escape." Merlin let out an aggrieved sigh, as though he'd seen this tactic one too many times. "The second reason is, and this is more theory on my part, that it is Kestin himself who has contacts on the moors. Only he is allowed to contact them. He wants to be at home, in case any of this should fall through."

"Clever, for a border lord," Nimue commented. "But assuming he does allow the barbarians through his lands, we'll know it's him anyway."

Merlin shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Unless we have some kind of tangible evidence—letters, perhaps—there's little that can be done. We can't execute the man on gut instinct alone."

This was the argument that had been making its way through Camelot for the past couple of weeks. There were many among the courtiers, knights, and even commoners, who didn't understand why Arthur felt the need to implement such policies. Even Nimue didn't quite understand this drive of his. She admired it, but she didn't understand it. It was wonderful that he, unlike other rulers in the world, did not make himself above the law. Yet it seemed to her to be a notion that was ill-suited to the times. Not everyone could be coaxed with honey; some needed the sting of vinegar or they lived out of control.

"It's been my opinion, for the past several years, that we should just run the man out of Camelot," Merlin told her. "Out of the country, to be honest. Or perhaps he should go live on the moors himself."

"That wouldn't be a very chivalrous solution," Nimue said, glancing up at him. She quelled a mischievous smile.

Merlin looked down at her, his eyebrows raising. She could just imagine what was going through his head at the moment. Nimue put on her most innocent face, widening her eyes as if she didn't have a clue what that look was all about. Only at these times, when she was teasing him, did he ever seem to relax a bit. At least, these days, anyway.

"You have been spending way too much time with Arthur," Merlin said at last. "I know it's not a charitable thought, but…ah, I suppose I'm just at the end of my patience. The man has been a thorn in Arthur's side for years…"

Merlin trailed off as the two of them reached the gate into the courtyard. Even though this was supposed to be an informal greeting, each and every one of the Knights of the Round Table had turned out, in full ceremonial battle dress. Arthur had as well, and he wore a simple but elegant gold circlet that gave him a far more commanding presence than any gaudy crown could. It does help that he has Excalibur at his hip, Nimue thought, as she and Merlin took their positions near the king; he a step to the left and behind, and she to the left and behind him.

A small column of horses and riders made their way beneath the portcullis. She knew that Kestin was a fairly rich man, but those horses, all of them uniform chestnuts with white blazes down their faces, confirmed it; those were expensive beasts. The dark green tabards the riders wore looked like expensive cambric. Behind them came a carriage, pulled along by a team of two, these a gray so light as to look white, as perfectly matched as the chestnuts. Nimue would have to get used to such displays of power and money, she decided, since this was going to be a part of her life from now on. It was a bit disgusting, though, she thought.

The first two riders in the column—one a standard-bearer—broke apart from the rest and trotted forward. Nimue realized that this man who came forward must have been Lord Kestin's son. There was no doubt he was a lord; he held himself in that same arrogant way she'd seen in many others. Up close, she could see he was rather good looking. There were more than a few court ladies who'd be going on about those blue eyes and that blonde hair before the night was up.

Kestin's son dismounted and went to one knee in front of Arthur. "Greetings, my liege," he said, bowing his head. "And greetings from my father, as well."

"Rise," Arthur said, with a soft chuckle. "I've known you since you were a toddler, Debraun. There's no need for such formality."

He really is far too forgiving, Nimue thought, watching as Debraun rose and Arthur embraced him. The king liked to believe the best of people. Perhaps he was hoping the son wasn't as bad as the father, and that he could win Debraun over. The young man greeted the Knights, and Merlin, after Arthur released him. Standing where she was, she didn't fall under his gaze so easily. When he finally caught sight of Nimue, from the corner of his eye, he turned his head to stare at her. She was getting fairly used to being stared at, but there was something in his eyes that she didn't like.

"You must be the young lady we've heard so much about," Debraun said, at last. "Your name has traveled all the way to the border, my lady."

Aren't I blessed? Nimue thought wryly. "You have me at an unfair advantage, my lord," she said aloud. "You've heard of me, but I'm afraid I'm not so familiar with you."

He smiled at her again, and she felt a shiver go down her spine. That smile didn't reach his eyes. Debraun took a step back, then another, and bowed slightly. Then he half-turned, flinging his arm out with a flourish, in the direction of the carriage. The servant driving the carriage scrambled down from the seat and grabbed the carriage door, wrenching it open. He looks terrified, Nimue thought, frowning. And very young…thirteen, perhaps fourteen…

The woman that stepped out of the carriage looked to be about Nimue's age, but their similarities ended there. The lady had blonde hair that was perfectly plaited beneath a jewel-decorated netting. Her skin was pale as milk, highlighted by the light splash of cosmetics over her cheeks and lips. The gown she wore was a simple, elegant creation of pink silk, the bodice silver brocade. She was a lovely, petite creature, with that curvy, somewhat plump figure so popular at court these days, and eyes even bluer than her brothers. Lord above, Nimue thought, rolling her eyes as every one of the Knights snapped to attention. You'd think they've never seen a pretty woman before!

"May I present my sister, the lady Ansella," Debraun said, with that same cold smile.

Ansella lifted her gown with one of those dainty hands, and held out the other to the poor, frightened servant. I feel like a bedraggled street rat, Nimue thought, watching as Ansella stepped down from the carriage and made her way across the courtyard. Even Merlin's eyes were riveted on the lady. She curtsied before Arthur, then rose to kiss him on the cheek.

"My, how you've grown," Arthur chuckled. "Last time I saw you, you could barely reach my knee."

"Last time I saw you, you were a giant," Ansella teased, in a voice as lovely as her face. "You're not nearly so scary, this time."

"Scary?" Arthur frowned, feigning dismay. "I? Now that is upsetting…"

She let out a musical trill of laughter that made Nimue want to scream. It was at that moment she realized that her new position still meant very little, as she was shuffled to the back of the crowd that began filing into the castle. Arthur and Guinevere led, followed by Ansella and Debraun, then Merlin, and it was Nimue who should follow him, but she found herself elbowed out of the way by her fellow knights. Chivalrous my ass, she thought, scowling at their backs. A pretty face and some fluttering eyelashes, and their supposed chivalry is nonexistent. The fact that even Merlin seemed taken by her was irritating as could be.

Nimue stayed at the back of the group, trailing behind. Every now and again she caught a glimpse of blue eyes, as Debraun looked over his shoulder at her. She had no desire to talk to him…or anyone really. Eventually, though, Merlin dropped back to where she was.

"Going smoothly so far," he commented, glancing down at her.

"For Ansella," Nimue retorted, without thinking. "She's got the whole court at her dainty, slippered feet and she hasn't been here ten minutes."

Merlin's eyebrows rose. "Jealous, Nimue?"

"Not hardly," Nimue snorted. "Unlike you, I just remember what the last pretty, mysterious face that showed up here turned out to be."

"Nimue," Merlin said, his smile irritatingly smug. "You are the last pretty, mysterious face that showed up here."



There couldn't have been a better time for a lovely, blonde distraction to show up at court. Merlin had not suffered such a lack of control since he'd been an apprentice himself. Only by pushing Nimue out emotionally was he able to cope. She grew more spirited and fiery by the day, quick to anger, but just as quick to laugh. And her power was growing with her; even restrained it radiated from her constantly. Merlin's only consolation—small though it might be—was that he was not the only man in court who was having problems taking his eyes off Lady Nimue.

Ansella was lovely, in that pale, petite way that was so typical and so favored in court ladies these days. She wasn't really the type he normally went for, but she would do. And she'd been making eyes at him all throughout the welcoming feast, so Merlin knew he wouldn't be overstepping his bounds. Aside from which, it would give him the opportunity to find out more about her brother. It wasn't just the fact that he was Kestin's son that was so disturbing; Debraun was making the same kind of eyes at Nimue that his sister was making at Merlin.

"It's so kind of you to escort me to my room."

Merlin glanced over at Ansella. The two of them were strolling together down the corridor towards the guest quarters of the ladies' wing of the castle. Nimue had looked fit to be tied when he'd offered to escort Ansella, but he'd gone anyway. Unlike the court ladies, Nimue didn't throw tantrums when she was angry with him; she just looked at him in a way that made him feel about three inches tall. Worse than that, though, was the fact that she was still incredibly attractive when she was angry.

"It's not a problem, my lady," Merlin answered, smiling faintly. "I had to come down this way, anyway." Which wasn't a lie. It was easier to reach the hall of records from this end of the castle. "Though I'm a little surprised you there isn't a chaperon breathing down our necks."

Ansella laughed. "Never!" she exclaimed, smiling broadly. "I might as well carry a hen with me, as have a chaperone. It might even cackle less."

"Very few creatures cackle more than a chaperon," Merlin agreed.

"Besides," Ansella went on, taking on a cooing tone, "a chaperone wouldn't allow me to invite you in and thank you for your kindness."

Merlin forced himself to keep smiling. He didn't like that syrupy tone of voice, even if it did mean that she really was going to invite him in. Although it worked on his comrades, he'd never found it attractive. Perhaps because he'd grown up around—and in love with—Morrigan, who'd always spoken with purpose in her tone, and voiced her desires without dancing around the matter. Nimue was much the same, which was yet another reason why he was finding it so difficult to resist her. And he must resist her; she was too young and too new to her powers to get entangled in a relationship.

Ansella's room was at the furthest end of the guest quarters, where she was unlikely to be disturbed. Better and better, Merlin thought, as they came to a halt outside her door. Although His one concern was that gossip—for there most assuredly would be gossip—would get back to Nimue. She was too new to her powers to be able to understand what he was going through right now. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her—and he was afraid he would, if he didn't get his feelings under control.

"Are you servants prompt, my lord?" Ansella asked, as slowly pushed the door open.

"Yes…" Merlin answered, a bit puzzled.

"Good," Ansella said, smiling. "Then the tea I asked for should be waiting for me. Would you care to join me?"

"I'd be honored, my lady," Merlin said, returning her smile.

The room was lit dimly by candles and the fire in the hearth. While the sitting room resembled his own somewhat, with the comfortable couches and small tables, the suite itself was a good deal smaller. It was small enough, in fact, that there was no separate bathing room, and the faintly steaming tub of water was in full view. Well, Merlin thought, his eyebrows raising, she does plan ahead, doesn't she? Perhaps Ansella was a bit more straightforward about her desires than she had seemed at first. Certainly the smile she gave him, when she turned to face him, was very telling.

"Yes…prompt servants indeed," Ansella said. She began tugging at the laces of her bodice, ever-so-slowly unlacing it. "I asked them to have a bath ready for me…it's been a long journey, after all. Would you care to join me for that as well?"



It had been difficult to head back to the tower rooms, knowing that Merlin had escorted the Lady Ansella to her rooms. Nimue had found herself wishing that she hadn't asked him to retrieve Kestin's family tree from the hall of records. She herself was, as a mere apprentice, not high enough in rank to go herself. Even so, she wished she hadn't asked him. She'd asked him days ago, and why he'd chosen to go tonight…well, that didn't bear thinking about. Nimue had had to take a sleeping draught to get to sleep, what with that thought running through her mind.

It was an uneasy sleep, though. While usually the sleeping draught kept her from dreams, this time she had them in force. Incoherent bits and pieces passed through her sleeping mind, which could make no sense of them. At times Nimue thought she dreamed as herself, but the places she was in and the people she was with were not ones she recognized. In only one dream did she recognize someone, and that was Merlin. But it wasn't the Merlin she knew; he was younger in her dreams, less sure of himself, and very much enamored of her.

Yet when she dreamed of anything physical, it was not between herself and him. Nimue tossed and turned with the dream, confused by the unfamiliar sensations. There was warm water around her, and a soft, feminine body tucked up against hers. Fingertips ran along her chest, but it wasn't her chest, not really. Slowly she came awake, not in the dream, but in her bed. And she knew with a frightening certainty who it was she dreamed of.

"Merlin."

The feeling of shock and mortification that flooded her was overwhelming, and impossible to distinguish from her own turbulent emotions. Nimue kicked at the sheets, which had tangled around her legs, and nearly fell in her scramble to get out of bed. Anger and confusion mingled with anxiety and chagrin until it was nearly unbearable. And then, suddenly, nothing. As if he'd slammed a door in her face, Merlin had shoved her out of his mind so suddenly and so harshly that she did fall. Nimue sat on the floor, stunned into complete stillness.

But not for long. She forced herself to her feet and grabbed for the pair of breeches she'd discarded beside the bed at some point, hardly even aware of what she was doing. I won't cry, Nimue thought, gritting her teeth until her head ached. Knights don't cry. It's stupid to cry. Her eyes burned and her vision blurred as she stumbled out of her room, out of the suite, and blundered down the tower stairs. The flagstones were freezing and the corridor was only dimly lit, just a few torches in brackets along the wall, but she didn't even notice.

Nimue ran, oblivious to the chill and the occasional servant who stared at her as she passed. She knew the way well; and she should, having been down there so many times now. The guards outside the entrance were so startled to see her at this hour that they only stared as she pounded on the doors. Although it didn't take long for the doors to open, her knuckles were bloody by then, from striking so hard. And Nimue was a bit surprised when Arthur answered the door, but that didn't stop her from going in, before he'd gotten the chance to so much as speak.

"Nimue?" Arthur's voice was soft and full of concern.

"Guin…?" Nimue managed, almost choking in her effort to hold back the threatening tears.

Guinevere had been sitting at the vanity, brushing her hair, when Nimue had come staggering in. Now she rose, dropping the brush on the floor in her haste. Even with the king there, there was something about the sight of her friend—perhaps her only true friend, she thought—that made Nimue break. It didn't even occur to her to worry that she was crying on the queen's shoulder. And although she was incapable speaking, with the sobs that were so heavy they made her shake, Guinevere seemed to understand immediately what the problem was.

"Don't worry, Nimue," her friend murmured soothingly. She glanced up to see Arthur pull on a robe and head out the door—probably not just for the purpose of giving the two of them some privacy. Guinevere watched her husband go, then turned her attention back to Nimue. "Poor dear…go ahead and cry. Lord knows, with all you've been through, you've earned it."