“And how do we know the competitions haven’t been rigged?” Kel interrupted.
The goddess frowned.
“I believe the gargoyle wants to know if we plan on influencing the competition in some fashion.” Aren took a bite of his apple.
Laughing, Maeve approached the dragon. Her lips parted, her cheeks pink with amusement that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I suspect you meant no offense.” She stroked her finger along Kel’s jaw. “However—” the skin along the path of her finger darkened to a chalky concrete, “—I’d advise you to choose your words more carefully, lest you imply something you cannot take back.”
The lower half of the dragon’s face turned to stone, the rock face traveling toward eyes that remained hard and fixed on the goddess. With a knowing grin, she stepped back, releasing him. Within seconds his face returned to normal.
“No offense, but doesn’t allowing a wraith to compete put everyone else at a distinct disadvantage?” Vaughn asked.
Apparently Lucan’s doubts about trusting the wolf hadn’t been off the mark.
“Measures have been taken to ensure both the huntress and the wraith are equals among you.” Maeve gave him a smug look.
They’d restricted Nessa’s ability to flash, a god-like power that nearly always gave a huntress the edge during a confrontation. Lucan knew his ability to slip into shadow remained intact, at least partially.
“The attack in the parking lot,” Briana murmured, her gaze falling to the spot where Lucan had been wounded fighting the Fae warrior. She spun around to face Maeve, her voice dangerously low. “Troll’s blood?”
Their blood was toxic and slowed the healing process. It should have occurred to him before now that the Fae’s sword had been tainted with it.
Maeve shook her head. “The effects are temporary and merely to insure a more fair competition.”
If all his wounds took as long as his hand to heal, he definitely wouldn’t be at full strength during the competitions.
“Where was I?” Maeve’s cheerful grin mirrored a spoiled child’s. She strolled past Nessa and Elena. “You will remain here for the duration of the competition. If you agree to participate and then choose to leave the games before their conclusion…”
Aren drew an invisible blade across his neck, to Maeve’s giddy delight.
She clapped and spun around. “Until your brands are removed, you will be restricted to our home and the competition sites. Communication with anyone beyond these walls is strictly forbidden. It would be unfair to seek information or guidance from those without a personal stake in the games.”
Circling the wolf and the Korrigan, the goddess came to stand beside her brother who picked up where she’d left off.
“There are certain…protections in place here to prevent you from injuring each other in between competitions. How you choose to deal with your competitors during the games is your choice, but know that the weapons available to you are not capable of a killing blow. At least not until the final round.”
Lucan knew well that killing was a mercy the gods would resist when pain and suffering would be so much more amusing.
“And the prize?” The Korrigan asked.
Maeve beamed as though they’d finally gotten to the good part. “Whatever your heart desires.” Her gaze slid from Briana to the wolf. “Bargaining power?” She glanced at Kel. “Validation? Forgiveness?” She turned to Elena. “Or perhaps strength.”
The sorceress shifted under the goddess’s penetrating stare, but there was no denying the flash of interest in Elena’s eyes.
Maeve’s knowing gaze found Lucan’s. “Or maybe retribution?” She turned away. “As I said, whatever your heart desires. The possibilities are endless.”
“And what prize could grant such things?” the Korrigan pressed.
Maeve paused, her fingers idly tracing the design in the stone half-wall. “Do you doubt me?”
The Korrigan bowed his head. “I’m merely curious about the mystical object that could grant such gifts.”
Maeve lifted her hand and a trail of mist followed in its wake. A shape took form at the center of the darkening, swirling clouds.
“Excalibur,” Nessa murmured.
It wasn’t possible. Lucan took an involuntary step forward as though it would put him one step closer to the king they’d lost. A ray of light caught the tip of the blade and for a moment it hurt to look at Arthur’s sword.
An illusion.
Lucan knew it in his gut. So why then did it feel like his chest was pinned beneath the boot of an enemy, the pressure agonizing?
Not real.
The sword had been lost soon after Arthur’s fall. Constantine, Arthur’s heir, had forged six daggers that would supposedly lead to Excalibur when united. Lucan put no more faith in the daggers accomplishing such a thing than he did in the smoke and mirrors trick the goddess had just pulled.
Arthur was gone and no amount of treasure seeking would change that. Maybe Lucan couldn’t argue the daggers’ existence, but immortals—present company included—needed to stop looking to a myth to change their fate.
Some things simply could not be undone.
“I’m sure you forgive me for not revealing its location at the moment.”
“Excalibur was lost after the battle at Camlann,” Nessa insisted.
“Was it?” Maeve smiled. “You have until sunset to decide whether or not to participate.”
The gods vanished as quickly as they’d appeared, leaving everyone else still staring at the faded glimpse of the lost sword.
“Parlor tricks.” The Korrigan argued. “They couldn’t possibly have the sword if they’ve just awakened.”
“Just awakened for them could be a century for us.” It was the first time the Fae had spoken since the gods had appeared.
Eyes dark, the Korrigan shook his head. “Even if they did have it, winning the weapon would be a death sentence.”
“Maybe your pea-sized brain has forgotten how powerful that sword is.”
The Korrigan glared at Nessa. “I haven’t forgotten anything, certainly not that to possess Excalibur would invite war with either Rhiannon or Morgana. Or both.”
“Any war could be won with Excalibur in hand,” the enchantress put in, her sing-song tone deliberate and designed to weaken a man’s will. Or a dragon’s. She hadn’t taken her eyes off Kel throughout the exchange.
“Is that so?” The Korrigan shot a finger at Lucan. “Ask him how well that foolish belief worked for Arthur.”
There was no arguing with that, and everyone knew it. But neither had Arthur relied on Excalibur to fight his battles for him. The sword had been a symbol as much as the blade he’d used when he’d found no way around it. As far as Lucan knew, Arthur had never taken the weapon for granted, or the responsibility that came with possessing it.
Briana crossed her arms. “That’s assuming Maeve or her brother don’t have their own agenda for the sword. With a Campaign coming, what better immortal ally to have on their side than one who possesses Excalibur?”
“Why wouldn’t they just give it to an immortal of their choosing?” Elena asked, proving that the reckless sorceress wasn’t as flighty as rumored.
“Which proves it’s all a hoax.” The Korrigan walked away, apparently done with the conversation.
“Why do the gods do anything they do?” the Fae mused aloud, ignoring the shorter immortal’s departure.
“Because they can.” It was the only truth Lucan knew. With no real consequences for their actions, no one to hold them accountable, every decision the gods made mirrored their selfish outlook that every being’s sole existence was to entertain them.