The Lady of the Lake met Issylte’s gaze, her expression becoming grave. “Frocin is very powerful and extremely dangerous. He is the leader of the dwarves—otherworldly beings, like the forest fairies. But, while the Little Folk defend the sacred forests of the Goddess and protect those with a pure heart,” she explained, glancing at Tristan and Lancelot, “thedwarves delve in dark magic, and seek to harm others with their malevolence.” Viviane took Issylte’s hands into her own. “Frocinlocked eyeswith you in thesighting.He knew that you werewatching.”
Issylte nodded fearfully, remembering the dwarf’s penetrating stare.
“Frocin isclairvoyant. Capable of reading the stars. But he also has a most unique gift.” The waters of Viviane’s deep blue eyes rippled with warning. “When a fairy uses hersight, it leaves an imprint of magic. A trail that Frocin can trace.” Icy numbness rippled up Issylte’s arms. “The dwarf has undoubtedly tracked you here.”
Issylte’s stomach lurched.For the wretched stepmother who still hunts me. The wicked, relentless Black Widow Queen.
The Lady of the Lake rose to her feet. “It is no longer safe for you to remain here. Youmust leaveAvalon.”
Flustered and shaken, Issylte stammered, “But…Avalon is enchanted with spells of protection. I’m not safe here?”
Viviane looked out the window to the sacred fountain, shimmering in the starlight. “I have enshrouded the islands of Avalon with mists that keep us hidden from intruders. But Frocin, a powerful dwarf, allied with a dark wizard whose powers are unknown to me…” Viviane turned to Issylte, her serene face contorted with dread. “No, you are no longer safe here. You must leave. Before the queen, her dark wizard, and evil dwarf come for you here in Avalon.”
Issylte was lost, her world turned upside down. She needed to flee the wicked queen. Again. The stepmother who’d already tried to kill her.Twice. The wretched queen who forced her to leave her father’s castle. ThenTatie’scottage. And now Viviane’s Island of Healing. The Black Widow who poisoned Issylte’s father. Who murdered Gigi,Tatie,Bran, and Dee. Who unleashed the Morholt and his Viking invaders upon theinnocent victims of the slave raids. By the Goddess, she needed to stop her evil stepmother! Buthow?
She couldn’t breathe. Where could she go? Her limbs were shaking. “Butwhere? Where can I go to escape the dwarf, the wizard, and the evil queen?”
Lancelot jumped to his feet. “Tola Joyeuse Garde!”The White Knight beamed at Tristan, his radiant smile a beacon in the dark. He was at once rejuvenated, renewed, refreshed. “Tristan, we’ll bring her—with us!”
The White Knight seemed to gain momentum as he spoke. “You can’t return to Cornwall. I can’t go back to Camelot. And she must flee Avalon.”
With his boyish grin, he offered the perfect solution. “We’ll bring her tomy castle!”
His brain seemed to be churning, his strategy forming. “Tristan can train with my knights atla JoyeuseGardeuntil he regains his full strength.” Lancelot’s brilliant blue eyes gleamed with inviting challenge.
“Issylte will be safe with us. I’ll invite Esclados and Laudine—and a few other nobles, potential allies—to mychâteau.So we can plan how to challenge the queen!”
Lancelot gripped his friend’s shoulder, his voice filled with hope. “Perhaps we can save your uncle—before it’s too late. And find a way to clear your name.”
Taking Issylte’s hands in his, Lancelot knelt before her, gazing into her eyes with his blue ones that so resembled Tristan’s. “The Tribe of Dana can summon the army you need to defeat this evil queen that threatens us all.” He kissed her hand tenderly, his eyes meeting hers. “You, my Emerald Princess, are the rightful Queen of Ireland. May the Goddess grant Tristan and me the strength to help you reclaim your throne.”
Tristan knelt before her, next to Lancelot. He took her other hand and kissed it reverently, too. “I will be your champion,Issylte. I will fight for you—beside you—as we challenge this wicked queen. Together, united, we’ll defeat her. We’ll save my uncle, reclaim both of our crowns. We’ll restore the good names of the White Knight of Avalon and the Blue Knight of Cornwall. We’ll regain the respect of our kings. And establish peace throughout the Celtic realm. Together, we’ll prevail.”
She was swept up in a torrent of emotions. Thrilled at the prospect of finally challenging her wretched stepmother. Terrified at confronting the trio of evil—the dwarf Frocin, the dark wizard, and the Black Widow queen—which threatened them all.
She needed to flee Avalon—her refuge, her haven—as she’d been forced to flee her father’s castle, thenTatie’scottage. And Ronan was returning to her!
Yet, Issylte was empowered by the chance to summon an army. To have Lancelot and Tristan—the most powerful knights in the realm—lead the warriors of the fearsome Tribe of Dana. To fight for her right to the throne. To save King Marke from the queen’s poisoned touch, which she had been unable to do for her beloved father.
Perhaps they could prevent Queen Morag and the dark wizard from poisoning King Marke and seizing the kingdoms of Cornwall and Lyonesse—Tristan’s inheritance and birthright. Perhaps they could prevent Indulf and Frocin from resuming the slave expeditions which decimated kingdoms and left countless helpless victims. Perhaps they could restore Tristan’s good name, enlighten King Marke, and reunite the royal uncle with his nephew. Perhaps King Arthur would be so impressed with Lancelot’s valor that he would proclaim him First Knight of Camelot once more. And perhaps, after six long years, the Goddess had finally revealed her destiny.
In the breadth of a few seconds, processing all these conflicting emotions, Issylte determined that no matter wherethis path led, she must find the courage to follow it, with Tristan and Lancelot at her side. Rising to her feet, she raised the two knights who knelt before her. Her eyes brimming, she whispered, “Yes. We must go…together.”
Lancelot smiled proudly, grateful that she’d accepted his proposal. “We’ll depart for Bretagne in three days. I’ll send word ahead that we’ll be arriving soon. In the meantime, Tristan,” he said, addressing the knight beside him, “let’s dispatch invitations for potential allies to join us atlaJoyeuse Garde. I can think of several whom I’d like to recruit.”
He glanced at his mother and suggested, “Tristan has been training many of the injured warriors, helping with their convalescence. Encourage them to continue—and even train with the Avalonian Elves. Perhaps the victims will fight with us, as allies, anxious to claim vengeance for the lives lost to the Viking slave trade. They could be a most valuable asset to our knights.”
As they bid each other goodnight, amid kisses, tears, and hugs, the Emerald Princess, the Blue Knight of Cornwall, and the White Knight of Avalon looked forward to embarking on the journey and embracingla fatalité—the destiny—in which the Goddess had entwined them all.
Chapter 30
The Golden Hawk
Aqua silk draped the enormous windows where rays of the setting summer sun cast a golden halo around Morag, seated imperially atop the gilded chair of her royal antechamber. Her golden dragon, Lord Voldurk, stood before her with two allies from Cornwall who, having just arrived, wished to pay their respects to the powerful Irish queen. In her black silk gown, the fragrance of lavender perfuming the air, Morag assessed the wizened creature and blond knight as they knelt at her satin slippered feet.
The dwarf Frocin was elegantly dressed, a wealthy noble in rich velvet, brocade, and leather. Yet his blackened skin was hideous—wrinkled and withered like the rotting, gnarled roots of a dying tree. Thick, wiry hair was greasy and unkempt, poking out around his grotesque face like wayward switches of a disintegrating broom. Rotten stench of evil oozed from his every pore. A slimy slug wrapped up in finest frippery. Morag suppressed a gag of revulsion, daintily dabbing her nose with lavender scented lace.
“You may rise,” she said regally, eyeing the impressive blond knight at Voldurk’s side. Tall and muscular—not quite as magnificent as her Morholt had been, but wiry and lanky. With eyes as sharp as a falcon and a prominent aquiline nose. Many would consider him ugly. Yet, a thick blond beard covered most of the pockmark scars on his savage face, and the curved beak gave him the appearance of a ravenous, rapacious predator. Afierce, formidable fighter. A hawk among doves. Morag’s full mouth curved upward in a satisfied smirk at the obvious lust in the knight’s eagle eyes.
