The Undead Queen of Camelot Read online

  M.L. Bullock

  The Undead Queen of Camelot

  The Undead Queen of Camelot

  Lost Camelot Series

  Book Three

  By M.L. Bullock

  Text copyright © 2019 Monica L. Bullock

  All Rights Reserved

  To mortals and the vampires that love them.

  Lightly she steps,

  The candle at rest

  In the palm of her hand.

  Downward she goes,

  Soil beneath toes

  Into that blackest land.

  Oh, lady fair

  With flowered hair,

  Why come you here to die?

  Life you should seek,

  Not love so bleak.

  Leave before endless night.

  Never, she swore,

  We loved before

  and so we should again.

  Draw close, I pray,

  Beside me lay,

  But death may not restrain.

  Lightly She Steps

  M.L. Bullock, 2019

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One—Nimue of the Greenlands

  Chapter Two—Guinevere

  Chapter Three—Arthur Pendragon

  Chapter Four—Guinevere

  Chapter Five—Nimue

  Chapter Six—Arthur

  Chapter Seven—Guinevere

  Chapter Eight—Guinevere

  Chapter Nine—Guinevere

  Chapter Ten—Arthur

  Chapter Eleven—Arthur

  Chapter Twelve—Guinevere

  Chapter Thirteen—Nimue

  Chapter Fourteen—Guinevere

  Chapter Fifteen—Arthur

  Chapter Sixteen—Guinevere

  Chapter Seventeen—Guinevere

  Chapter Eighteen—Arthur

  Epilogue—Alwen

  Chapter One—Nimue of the Greenlands

  I watched the white flower petals swirl on the surface of the water, but they did not linger long. They sank swiftly, pulled down to the depths of the pond by the tight, churning vortex. This pond was once a pristine lake, a holy place for pilgrims who visited the Lady of the Lake. That was once…ah, do not let your mind wander, Nimue. Focus on your task. Cast more flowers; perhaps she will come this night. Vivian always loved these white blooms. I tore another flower apart and tossed it on the water, but those petals also swirled away. I saw nothing, not even the hint of supernatural light or a slender limb reaching for the surface, nothing except black waters. Waters made blacker by the starless night.

  With growing futility, I whispered the ancient words that once summoned Vivian to the realm of men, but she did not answer my call. Just as I did not answer Queen Guinevere when she called me in her dreams. I refused to speak to her even though I loved her. I also hated her—and feared her. But the hate and fear were not as strong as the love I felt for my queen. I had been her friend once. We had laughed and cried together; I had been with her when she bore her children. She had been like a sister to me. Yet, I was not ready to see her again, to see her as she was…or see myself as the thing I had become. Morgan’s trickery had cursed us both, but it had been Guinevere’s weakness that allowed the Evil to come nigh to us.

  And for that, I cannot yet forgive you. Ah, yes. That is it.

  Thalia found me first. The Sleeping Queen kept me in a glass prison, and I had endured endless years in an enchanted portion of Camelot, never dying yet never quite alive. I had refused Thalia’s blood, although she had offered it to me again and again. Once, she even tricked me into taking a few drops. I had starved these many centuries and greedily lapped them up! Even as I starved, the once-compassionate Queen Guinevere hunted and fed nearly every night. I could see her when I closed my eyes, at least in the beginning. My murder, caused by her savage taking of my blood, had sewn us together in ways I could not perceive. But my own hunger had dimmed that connection until eventually, I could no longer see her in my dreams. I had hidden so well, forced myself to avoid even the smallest thought of her, and she never knew I had been there. Until now. Now she knew I dwelled in the same world as she did, and she wanted me close to her.

  But it wasn’t my company she sought. Guinevere wanted dispensation, but I had lost so much to her bloody hands. I had lost Merlin—again—and I found myself again laying the blame for that loss too at the queen’s feet.

  Pinching another silky petal from the flower, I tossed it onto the water. Another flower sacrificed for nothing. Like so many sacrifices. All for nothing. Such a shame. These were rare flowers, rare for the world I lived in now. If one could call this living. When I was young—and alive, even unskilled herbalists could find such flowers growing wild on the hillsides and along the edges of the forests. Not anymore.

  I laid my head on the rock; it was cold but not as cold as my own skin. I watched the small funnel carry another bloom down to the depths. This small funnel was all that remained of the Lady of the Lake’s whirlpool. I doubted anyone noticed this anomaly now, not in this busy world of humanity with all its stench and contention. I could see the lights of a nearby city and hear a ship horn blow in the distance. We were near the coast, so it was not impossible that I should hear such sounds. But this fog carried the sounds of humanity further, I think. One would believe that such a fog would smother out noise, but this mist had an unusual air. It was supernatural, surely. Or so I had hoped.

  The last of the petals were sucked down beneath the surface of the water and were lost to the abyss. So she would not come to me. The Lady of the Lake would no longer honor our friendship. I could not lure her out with gifts of flowers, or any kind of gift. Yes, I had been here before with candles. I burned them here on the smooth gray rock. I’d cast treasured herbs onto the waters, in the Old Ways of the magic, but these offerings yielded nothing at all. Not even the call of an owl, which had always been the Lady’s favorite familiar. At one time, Vivian kept a parliament of large gray owls for many years. Each had been a fierce beast but always at her command.

  Yet I knew that Vivian, or perhaps Vivian’s spirit, remained beneath the water. She slept on as the world changed; as it became noisier, she retreated deeper into the silt. Vivian was not one to abide much noise. Even the trumpets of Camelot disturbed her. Although I could sense Vivian’s ghost, like one recalls a few notes of a beloved yet forgotten ballad, I could not be sure she knew I knelt near her resting place.

  Vivian, Queen of Avalon, I summon thee…it is I, Nimue of the Greenlands. Please, come to me.

  I struggled to maintain my focus; I could not succumb to the growing feeling of despair that threatened to sink into my soul. It’s just the hunger. I should do as Guinevere does and take blood. Oh, I am so hungry. Merlin, what should I do?

  I calmed my mind, although it took much effort. I refocused my thoughts and pleaded with the Lady of the Lake again. Arthur needs us, Vivian, I lied. But was it really a lie? He would need us all if he were to rule in Camelot again. I was careful not to mention the queen’s name, for I knew that Vivian held the Unrepentant Grudge against her.

  Vivian had every right to expect Excalibur to be returned to her hands after Arthur’s tragic end, but it had not happened. Guinevere had refused to return the sword after Arthur’s death; she wanted the blade to go to Lochlon, but Vivian had seen that the Pendragon’s son would not rule for long. She could see such things, events that had not yet come to pass. In ways such as this, her gifts were far greater than Merlin’s. Yes, she knew Lochlon would not rule Camelot. Not for long. Yet, I did not blame Guinevere for hoping such a thing. I then remembered to push her out of my mind for fear of offending the Lady. I thought the words again and waited. I spoke t
hem, chanted them, but heard nothing. Except for the endless echo of oblivion.

  No! Please, not that! Silence, yes. Oblivion, no!

  But it was certainly possible that she would be shut out of this world. Morgan had wrought her chaos on all of us over these long years. What fate had the Lady succumbed to? How had Morgan tricked her? Perhaps like Merlin, she had been forced out.

  Ah, Merlin! My own dear love. Once you were the mighty Merlin of Britain, but I knew you by your secret name—Sagamaeus!

  Perhaps Vivian was not able to enter this dimension whenever she liked. Perhaps like Merlin, she must wait until her power grew, until she could push through the cruel veil. That must be it! She was trapped like Sagamaeus, trapped in another reality!

  I had no other white flowers to cast into the funnel. I no longer expected that Vivian would respond, yet I could not leave. I leaned over the cold rock which overlooked the once-holy spot, a holy place still to my mind.

  Very well, if you cannot or will not come to me, I will come to you, Lady.

  I rose to my feet and untied my gown. It was a simple green dress which tied at the waist. I tugged on the fabric and allowed the garment to slide off my body. My cold skin tingled; I could see the reflection of my nude body shimmering in the water. I was so pale, so very pale. I looked dead. But then again, I was dead. My hair fluttered about my face like a living thing.

  Instinctively, I took in a deep breath before diving into the icy water, although I did not need air. Like the silverfish that fled before me, I did not need to breathe. Thalia’s blood had kept me alive these many months. It had been powerful, strong blood, but it would not satisfy me forever.

  I pumped my legs and swam deeper. Oh yes, the lake was as deep as ever and black. I could see nothing but my own hands now. I continued to swim. Yes, the waters were dark, darker than Merlin’s hair and his marvelous eyes that seemed to have no end to them.

  Vivian…you must rise now. You can hide no longer. I need your help! Arthur needs you, Lady of the Lake!

  I hovered in the water unsure where to go now. Further down? Should I burrow into the mud like a water snake? I searched for some clue to lead me to Vivian’s resting place, but I saw nothing.

  But then I heard her voice. Finally, after these many hundreds of years!

  Liar. Easily you lie, Nimue of the Greenlands.

  My vampire’s heart thumped sluggishly in my chest. Oh yes, my heart was very much alive. At least there was that bit of humanness left to me.

  And it is the heart that houses deceit.

  I closed my eyes and waited. I would not bother denying the truth to her. She knew the truth. It was not Arthur who needed her help. I needed her. I, who was once her equal…

  You were never my equal.

  Her words stung me, but I did not protest. How could I?

  I am the Lady of the Lake. Why have you come?

  My hair floated around me as I raised my chin and imagined Vivian’s face before me. And then I did see her! Her angular chin, her petite frame, her blue gown floating about her. Tiny fish swam around her head like a strange, living crown.

  I want freedom. I want to die.

  Vivian’s face pulled back, but only for a few seconds. Suddenly, she was right in front of me with only a few inches of dark water between us.

  You know what I want, Nimue. Give it to me, and I will give you what you seek.

  I shook my head at her. Excalibur is not mine to give. The sword is in the king’s hands again, Vivian.

  Vivian tucked her head down slightly; her eyes told me that I should not hope to have this my way. She did not care about the fact that Arthur lived again or about Camelot. Not anymore.

  Give me what I want, and I will give you what you want. I can free you both, Nimue.

  I hovered in the water, my heart beating louder in my chest now. What should I do, Sagamaeus? What is the way forward? The questions were exercises in futility. He would not answer me; he only came when he wanted. Like Vivian, he did not do my bidding.

  But I want to be free of the shee curse. I must be free of this hunger. No poison will kill me; I have tasted them all. Have mercy, Vivian, Lady of the Lake, for I know it is within your power to free me.

  Vivian hovered in front of me, her chin lifted high as if I were a lowly worm crawling in her sacred pond. What is your decision, Nimue of the Greenlands? Hesitate no longer.

  I swirled around in the water as Vivian’s face disappeared. She had not gone far, and suddenly I felt afraid. Very afraid indeed. Vivian was powerful; she had always been powerful. I should never have imagined that Morgan could diminish her power in any real way. Vivian slept and therefore grew stronger. It had been her intention to remain hidden because she wanted to. It had been her choice to leave us as we were.

  And that thought angered me.

  I will not betray the queen—or Arthur, for that is what you ask! Arthur is alive, Vivian!

  I heard her growl fill my ears. Invisible hands snaked around my neck. Would she strangle me? What good would that do? I could not die. But she could hold me captive. My suffering would inevitably draw the queen here. No! I had not thought this through! I must leave! Even as the thought crossed my mind, Vivian’s grip tightened around my throat. She must have heard my thoughts. Yes, she had been there all the time, prowling in the recesses of my mind, still searching for Excalibur and plotting her revenge against the queen.

  Flee, Nimue!

  At last, Merlin’s voice! A flash of white light struck Vivian’s face, and for that fleeting moment in which Merlin released his power, I did not hesitate to obey him. I kicked at the water and swung my arms, but I did not go far. Vivian’s hands encircled my ankles. She clearly refused to let me go.

  Give me what I want, Betrayer.

  I kicked with all my strength but found no relief.

  Merlin’s voice filled my ears again, but he sounded faint. The light pulsed again and was gone, taking Sagamaeus with it. Still, that brief intervention must have surprised Vivian for she released me. I watched her face briefly as she sank back into the murky depths. Her arms were above her, and her blue gown encircled her and hid part of her angry face. Oh, such anger.

  What have I done? I should never have come here.

  I swam to the surface but did not linger on the rock. Clutching my damp gown, I raced across the rock and into the woods.

  Merlin, I am sorry, my love. I only hoped to be free.

  He did not answer me, nor could he. He was too weak now, but my heart sang, for his presence in the water had certainly been real. Merlin had challenged Vivian, yes, I knew this was true. I had been a fool, and my foolishness would cost us something. Clearly, time had not softened Vivian’s resolve to retrieve the sword.

  Now, my queen, I will come now. I must.

  I paused as I tied my gown. As clearly as I could hear my own voice, I heard Guinevere’s greeting.

  Come, friend.

  She did not have to tell me where she kept her kistvaen. I knew. I had always known where she rested.

  I had a long way to go before morning.

  Chapter Two—Guinevere

  I should have expected that my furniture moving would garner unwanted attention, yet I paid no mind to Abigail Lightfoot. She was no true threat, nor would she question me too deeply. I was an object of curiosity to her—those were her own words—and I could hear her mind quite easily. Lightfoot was guileless, an innocent. She trusted people too freely. The woman was an open book to me, which proved helpful, but what if she encountered other vampires? How easy it would be for them to read her thoughts about me. But people like me (dead people, that is) weren’t that plentiful in this part of the world, were they?

  Foolish queen. You have often done silly things, and they have always cost you. This will too.

  “May I help you with something, Jane?” Abigail leaned on her cane and studied the scene. I never told her my real name. I don’t know why, but it felt
necessary to lie to her.

  “No, thank you. I am expecting a guest. A friend,” I said as I intentionally visualized myself smiling. From the look on her face, I would say my visualization had not been as successful as I hoped. It had been so long since I’d been fully human. Vampires were intense creatures, and my nature made it difficult to smile for mere friendliness’ sake. But I did often smile after a kill. Then again, all those I killed deserved to die, so why wouldn’t I smile? Ah, now I felt like smiling. So I did.

  “A friend like me,” I added for clarity’s sake. I wasn’t sure what Dr. Lightfoot had determined about me; her opinions and hypotheses changed on a daily basis. Still, she thought me interesting, and my story of being John Faraday’s sister had been believable enough for her to pursue a friendship with me. Fortunately, no others had come around to ask about Lancelot, or John as he was known in these modern times. His parents were dead, and his friends were few; he had too many extreme ideas to be a success in the scientific world. It was easy to become his sister. I had come to the old Faraday Manor out of curiosity. It was an old place, not half as old as me but charming. It had old bricks and a few ghosts, Elaine included, but it also had a room that fascinated me. Something called a panic room. Why John would have installed such a thing, I would never know, but it had saved my life that first night here. There were no windows, only one door, but it had everything one could need to be comfortable for a night. Not that I required much besides sleep. Peaceful, undisturbed sleep.

  “I see. Will your friend be here long? I had hoped to continue our work.”

  “I am not sure what the future holds, Dr. Lightfoot. You will understand if I ask for privacy. You may return in a few days if that is your wish.” As I spoke, I realized that I wished that too. I had no wish to be constantly alone again. I had been alone for so long, but now Nimue would be with me. She was coming, making her way to me even now.

  No. I could not imagine facing the ages alone again. I had hoped that Nimue would want to stay close to me when we reconnected recently. Not to serve me as she once had, for I surely did not deserve such a thing, but I had hoped that together we could search for…for what? A cure? What a silly thing to hope for, Guinevere. After stepping back through the portal, Nimue wasted no time fleeing my presence. I followed for a little while, but she eluded me skillfully enough to discourage me from continuing to do so. When Dr. Lightfoot appeared, I did not turn her away. Nor had I considered killing her. She was my friend, just as she had been John Faraday’s.