Rereading Second Coming, and here's the excerpt I promised...
"I cannot stay here," Mordred agreed. His voice was flat and lifeless, and Patch wondered how much of the conversation he actually replied to. The shadows under the willow grew darker, somehow, and the press of Fae behind her was noticeably lighter. She felt an odd sort of prickling at the back of her neck, heralding something building on the horizon. Would Morgana appear and try to kill them all? Patch had no doubts about her own ability to survive, but what about Mordred? She could almost feel sorry for him, even after knowing what he had done.
"I can heal you," the woman whispered, and Patch wondered how much this healing would take out of her if Mordred agreed to whatever terms she set. "I can heal you and send you home."
"I have no home," Mordred whispered. The emptiness behind his eyes seemed to lose a little ground. "I have no home, but you can send me back."
"I will heal you if you swear to do something for me," the woman whispered. The gauzy material of her gown drifted across the stone and was not marked by his blood. "But you must swear, Mordred."
"What is the task?"
Either his voice was fainter, or the silence deadened Patch's hearing, for she could hardly make out his words.
The woman stood still for a moment, staring down at the bloodstained stone. "I cannot tell you," she whispered, and for a moment, her voice was as dead as Mordred's. "I ask of you one boon-your trust."
Mordred was silent for so long that Patch began to fear he was unconscious again. She took one step towards him, and the woman held up one perfect hand. Patch stopped. The prickling sensation grew stronger now, and she was tempted to glance behind her to make sure Morgana did not wait at the edge of the willow tree for her son to make his decision.
"Perhaps it would be better for you to let me die," Mordred whispered. "You don't want to help me."
The woman didn't seem to be surprised by this insight. "No, I don't," she whispered, "but if I let you die, someone I love will die in turn."
"Your son," Mordred whispered. "Emrys. But he is already dead."
Patch now knew why the woman looked so familiar. "Nimue," she whispered. "No he's not, Mordred. He's not dead." A six-month old secret was out, and Patch felt only relief.
Not a long excerpt. This is from the middle.
More later, perhaps...
"I cannot stay here," Mordred agreed. His voice was flat and lifeless, and Patch wondered how much of the conversation he actually replied to. The shadows under the willow grew darker, somehow, and the press of Fae behind her was noticeably lighter. She felt an odd sort of prickling at the back of her neck, heralding something building on the horizon. Would Morgana appear and try to kill them all? Patch had no doubts about her own ability to survive, but what about Mordred? She could almost feel sorry for him, even after knowing what he had done.
"I can heal you," the woman whispered, and Patch wondered how much this healing would take out of her if Mordred agreed to whatever terms she set. "I can heal you and send you home."
"I have no home," Mordred whispered. The emptiness behind his eyes seemed to lose a little ground. "I have no home, but you can send me back."
"I will heal you if you swear to do something for me," the woman whispered. The gauzy material of her gown drifted across the stone and was not marked by his blood. "But you must swear, Mordred."
"What is the task?"
Either his voice was fainter, or the silence deadened Patch's hearing, for she could hardly make out his words.
The woman stood still for a moment, staring down at the bloodstained stone. "I cannot tell you," she whispered, and for a moment, her voice was as dead as Mordred's. "I ask of you one boon-your trust."
Mordred was silent for so long that Patch began to fear he was unconscious again. She took one step towards him, and the woman held up one perfect hand. Patch stopped. The prickling sensation grew stronger now, and she was tempted to glance behind her to make sure Morgana did not wait at the edge of the willow tree for her son to make his decision.
"Perhaps it would be better for you to let me die," Mordred whispered. "You don't want to help me."
The woman didn't seem to be surprised by this insight. "No, I don't," she whispered, "but if I let you die, someone I love will die in turn."
"Your son," Mordred whispered. "Emrys. But he is already dead."
Patch now knew why the woman looked so familiar. "Nimue," she whispered. "No he's not, Mordred. He's not dead." A six-month old secret was out, and Patch felt only relief.
Not a long excerpt. This is from the middle.
More later, perhaps...
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