Wesley slept until he heard the lock of his cell being opened.

  Blearily, he looked around, confused until his memory caught up to him. Then so did the dread. Then too, the bone-deep weariness that had found him even as he slumbered and not lessened.

  His chest felt as though someone had wailed on it.

  Or maybe that was simply the unraveling of years of grief. It had come back around again with a vengeance.

  The cell’s hinges squeaked, and he sat up to find Godfrey standing there, shackles in his hands. “It is time.”

  Behind him already stood Wesley’s father. He looked haggard and kept his eyes downcast. “What about breakfast?” he asked.

  “It was brought. I am told you did not wake,” Godfrey told him.

  “No wakeup call? They could have tried a little harder to ask me,” he rumbled.

  The big man frowned at him and shackled him. They rode the elevator in silence. They walked through the halls in silence. There was more life in the castle now. Nuns and other cloaked figures stalked the halls around them. More guards, dressed like tenth-century crusaders, flanked them as they entered a massive hall.

  The ceiling rose fifty meters high to stain-glass windows. A chandelier of sparkling gold hung in the center of the room. Stone chairs sat in a circle around the main floor, which was recessed into the ground. A number of iron chairs had been bolted to the ground, and in the center was a cage.

  The Nocturne was already there, in a sparkling white straight jacket, with chains crisscrossed around his shoulders, keeping him tied to the ground.

  Wesley stared at the man that had taken so much from him.

  Whether he was directly responsible for his mother’s death or not, he’d thoroughly disrupted Wesley’s life and probably ruined his career.

  But what shocked him most now was that they’d removed his hood. And yet, his head was still hidden behind some kind of skin-tight, metal-like flesh. There were no ears, no hair, and barely a nose. But his eyes were glowing a dark ghoulish yellow.

  He did not move as they approached.

  Wesley’s father did not lift his head or indicate in any way that he’d seen the man.

  Godfrey strapped them into the chairs beside each other, in front of the Nocturne, so they could no longer see him.

  “Where is Esther?” Wesley asked.

  “She is coming. As is your friend, Cecelie Harewood.”

  Wesley let out a deep sigh. If they were coming, it likely meant they were fine.

  In the hollowness of the large Keep, they were left alone as Godfrey and his guards grabbed the others. The spirit of the castle fell heavily on them, like a blanket of some old, vast being. Wesley was not a believer, well, not like these folks did, at least. But it was times like these that made him wish his faith was stronger.

  He closed his eyes and tried to calm the beast in his chest that was feral and full of fear and regret.

  It gripped him tightly now and did not want to give him even an ounce of relief.

  Then a voice, gentle and soft, said, in the swirling seas of his mind, “Is it not some cosmic fate, my dear knight, that you and I have arrived here at the same time?”

  He jolted, his eyes coming open, and he tried to turn his head, only to find he could not move.

  “Do not fret, for this conversation is only for you and me. No one else is worthy. You are the only one to have come so far with me.” The Nocturne paused, as if letting the statement sink in. “And now you have delivered Merlin to me.”

  “No,” Wesley shot back, his thoughts screaming. “I have done nothing for you.”

  “It has all been for me. Your special gift was made for my desires. No one else could have done it. The creature your father summoned imprinted this gift on you.”

  Wesley wanted to strangle the man but found himself impotent. “No…”

  It was as if he was leaned close to Wesley’s ear. “What providence that you have arrived here. If fate did not wish for us to meet, then why make it so?”

  “Get out of my head,” he growled.

  The voice grew smaller, more distant. “Very good, Wesley. Your powers grow. But I am the stone upon which your rage will break. It is not I any longer that you hate, but yourself.”

  Wesley wasn’t listening anymore. He straightened in his chair and closed his eyes, focusing on crushing the voice in his head.

  “If you wish to survive, do not lift a finger when I rise. Do not try to stop me. Go and you may yet live.”

  Then his mind was clear, and the voice was gone.

  Heavy footfalls filled the hall, and Godfrey appeared again. Behind them, someone was being strapped into a chair.

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  “The Council is coming. Do not speak until spoken to. They are…very particular.” His glance told Wesley that particular meant violent. “They will not take kindly to it.”

  “Esther,” Wesley called out. “Esther.”

  “I am here,” she said, her voice weak and tired.

  “Is Cece here?”

  “She is, though barely awake.”

  Wesley shot Godfrey a look.

  The big man nodded. “She is still very tired.”

  “If she doesn't recover, you and I will have a problem.”

  A bit of humor touched his eyes. “Yes, I believe we would.”

  Then more footsteps filled the hall. Dozens of them. Like the beating of dull wings. People in robes began to rise to the stone chairs. They were old, stern, and did not seem bothered in the slightest by their captives.

  It was not until most of the chairs were filled that he saw the first person he recognized. Colonel Francis Ferdinand fell into a seat near the center most chair. He looked down on them, his eyes gloating as he looked down upon Wesley’s father.

  For all his help at the battle of Morningstar Estate, he was unscathed. His uniform, a black tunic with gold buttons, was not damaged either.

  “Where is my father?” he heard Esther ask. “Barstow,” she hissed when no answer came from Wesley’s father. “Where is my father?”

  Still, no answer came.

  He’d not thought to ask the question himself and was irritated by his forgetfulness.

  “Barstow,” Esther said, her voice rising. “You will tell me where my father has gone.”

  A bark of rough laughter came from the Colonel. “He is dead, girl. Your fang-sucking father was turned to dust by the Nocturne.” He laughed again. “Couldn’t hack it, I guess.”

  There came a stiff silence, and Wesley could all but feel the rage and pain emanating off Esther. She did not want to trust the Colonel, but what evidence did she have to the contrary?

  “Lies,” she eventually spat.

  “Saw it with my own eyes,” the Colonel said, a curling smile touching his face. He mimicked an explosion with his hands. “Poof.”

  “No,” Esther cried out.

  Then came the sound of a hard impact and a stern voice saying, “Quiet.”

  When finally, the center most seat was taken, it was a rather young looking woman, who could only be in her mid-forties, that filled it. She wore a long robe of purest white, with a bright red cross stitched across her chest. Her hair was dark and fell onto her shoulders.

  She clapped her hands, and it boomed across the hall like a physical blow.

  “Now then,” she began, her voice crackling with authority. “Let us get this torrid affair over with.” She cast her eyes on the captives, taking them in. “So, that is really him?”

  “It is,” Godfrey said. He’d stayed below, nearest the captives, closest to the Nocturne.

  “Then it will be execution,” she said simply. “How could it be anything else?”

  The other cloaked figures nodded their agreement.

  “Perhaps a hanging?” one offered.

  “Take the head,” said a voice that sounded so ancient, its cadence was like that of rocks cascading down a mountain.

  “My lady,” the Colonel began, “if I may–”

  “You may not,” she said coldly. “You are an observer here. Nothing more.”

  The Colonel’s face flashed with silent rage, but he shut his mouth.

  “Let him speak,” said the same gravelly voice. Wesley tried to see him this time but couldn’t see him. “This affair has lasted decades, what is another few minutes?”

  “Proceed with caution, Colonel,” the woman said.

  The Colonel nodded and looked at Wesley’s father. “Where did the Orb go?”

  Wesley’s father didn’t even raise his head.

  The Colonel asked his question again. Still nothing.

  “He is mad,” the woman said matter-of-factly. “Look at him. He glows with magical exuberance. It has collapsed his mind.”

  Wesley’s head snapped up to look at her. “What?”

  He was ignored.

  The Colonel cursed and looked instead to his son. “Have you found the entrance to Avalon?”

  The entire hall went silent.

  “What is this?” the woman demanded. “That is enough.”

  “Silence,” said the deep voice again. “We will hear this.”

  The sound blanketed them like a warm, dense fog and Wesley realized his voice was a kind of spell unto itself. Riddle with magic to make it more convincing.

  It worked, too. The woman sat back, tapping a long, jeweled finger on the armrest of her chair.

  “You will answer him, boy,” the magical voice said.

  But the room’s silence was soon interrupted by the heavy footfalls of the giant knight. Wesley could just make him out. His armor was impeccable as ever, but it wasn’t him that everyone was interested in, it was what he carried.

  Two rather large things covered in rope.

  Wesley’s heart sank.

  Not-Merlin.

  They’d brought him to the trial as well. Something tickled his brain, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

  “What is that?” the woman asked, rising to get a better look.

  “Avalon,” the Colonel interrupted. “Where is it?”

  “That is enough, Colonel. You’ve had your time. These questions are pointless. I suggest–”

  “Mercia, silence!” the voice boomed. “You will let the Colonel ask his questions. There will be no more interruptions.”

  Mercia rose, her eyes darkening. “You have no authority on this council, Belaric. You overstep.”

  The man Belaric laughed derisively. “No, it is you who oversteps. But please, continue this charade.”

  She ignored the jab, rising. “You all have been accused of consorting with the Nocturne. How do you plead?”

  None of them got the chance to answer. A rising, joyous laughter rang off the high ceilings and stained-glass windows. It was high pitched and jarring to the ear.

  Wesley knew immediately who it belonged to.

  The Nocturne’s head was bowed, and his mouth barely open, but he laughed as though they did not have him dead to rights.

  Which meant they didn’t.

  Wesley grimaced.

  “These pawns of mine are no different than you, Mercia,” he told her, his voice a physical blow against the psyche. “They know not the game in which they play. Mere puppets.”

  She sat back, her chin raised, and said, “And we should trust you?”

  “I do not care,” he replied. “Father, kill her and I will give you Avalon.”

  Complete silence.

  And then…

  A flash of impossibly bright light. Mercia, her eyes wide and confused, crumbled before their eyes like a cheap waxwork.

  Nobody said a thing.

  “No…” Wesley said, trying to override his shock. “He doesn’t know. He–”

  “Ah, please, of course, I know.”

  None of the other council members moved. They watched the Nocturne with selfish fervor, biting at his every word.

  “How?” the Colonel asked.

  Chains rattled. “Release me.”

  “Tell us and you will be released,” Belaric said. “I give you my word.”

  “Allow me to kill my father and I will,” he said.

  The Colonel’s face contorted. “You little–”

  “Silence,” Belaric said, his voice so thick with magic even Wesley felt as though he couldn’t have spoken if he’d tried. “On your knees, Colonel.”

  He fell to his knees, his mouth trying to work. His body fighting a losing battle.

  “As you wish,” Belaric said. “Speak.”

  The Nocturne only laughed. “You greedy fools! I have hunted these answers for decades. You swoop in like vultures to steal it? No. I do not think you will take this from me now. What powers Avalon will avail will be to me only.”

  “Speak, boy,” Belaric thundered.

  But something else was happening. Something that made it so his magic didn’t play on them like it should have. The very light of the hall was darkening…

  “Belaric,” came a new voice. But one that Wesley recognized. It was the Minster. “I’ve seen this before–”

  Rage burned in Wesley’s chest. Though this betrayal was one among so many, still it troubled him greatly.

  But the Miniter’s words were lost as a bolt of lightning erupted beyond the walls, shaking the ground and casting a red hue into the hall.

  The Nocturne was laughing again, a high screech among the rolling thunder.

  Then the ceiling began to fall.