Page 36 of To Love a Dark Lord

“How the fuck did they get that giant spider to carry the Crystal down here?” She was asking nobody in particular and was glad no one responded. It was always a fifty–fifty shot in Avalon.

With only the sound of the wind and rustling leaves for company, the whole place felt vacant. Lonely. Dead. Holding her other hand over her head, she lit it on fire like a torch, before heading down the roughly hewn steps.

“If there are zombies down here, I swear, I’m gonna quit.” She didn’t spot any of those, but there were, however, spiders of the non-giant-and-iron variety. She cringed and ducked under a few of the gnarlier webs. She had a distaste for spiders, but that wasn’t terribly uncommon. It wasn’t a phobia. She just really hated walking through cobwebs or when one of the leggy bastards snuck up on her.

The stairs wound deeper into the darkness, spiraling down before reaching a landing. Taking a breath, she stepped out into the chamber beyond.

A large sarcophagus set on a dais dominated the center of the room, a stone tomb with the figure of a sleeping king lying atop it. There was no question who it was. A crown, ancient and golden, sat atop his chest, covered in dust and a stray cobweb.

The carving looked fresh, though—untouched by the weather down beneath the castle. It was remarkably detailed, showing every line of the dead king’s face. He looked peaceful. Restful. Letting out a wavering breath, Gwen took a moment to appreciate the fact that she was at the tomb of King Arthur. A place that a hundred thousand historians would murder to be able to see.

Arthur’s wasn’t the only tomb in the room. Seven more sat around the center in a ring. Each of them made from a different metal, unlike the stone of Arthur’s. Silver, copper, gold, tin, cobalt, nickel…and iron. One for each of the knights.

She winced as she saw the silver tomb. Walking up to it, she frowned down at the figure of Lancelot that lay there in repose. Tears stung her eyes. “I’m sorry, Lancelot. I really am.” Slipping Zoe’s necklace into her pocket, she placed her hand atop the tomb. She didn’t know what was inside—elementals seemed to disappear into dust when they died. But it didn’t really matter. “I’m sorry for the part I had to play in all of this.”

She knew the beef between Lancelot and Mordred had started long, long before she arrived. But if she hadn’t shown up and mucked everything up, he’d still be alive. Miserable, but alive. With another heavy sigh, she turned away, looking around the room for any sign of an exit.

Mordred had said there was a lake deep beneath the castle, but he’d neglected to mention how she was supposed to get down there. The domed chamber was held up by enormous stone columns, each one carved with the figure of a knight or a soldier. Or, maybe they were gods. She had no idea.

But there, in the flickering shadows between two of the columns, she saw another doorway. Stairs led deeper into the darkness. She hoped this place wouldn’t wind up being her tomb. She wasn’t afraid of caves or dark places. Strangely, the whole place had a…peaceful vibe to it, down in the crypt and beneath.

She didn’t feel in danger.

The air began to grow moist, and she could smell a damp mustiness the farther down she went. It wasn’t too long before the stairs ended, dumping her on the shore of an underground lake. The firelight from her hand danced along the water’s surface, which was as still and calm as glass. She couldn’t see how far it stretched.

Shutting her eyes, she clutched the necklace in her palm again. If she focused, she could feel the power in it. The link to him—both iron and his magic. It was a little piece of Mordred, pulled from the rest. She tried to imagine using it like a key in an engine. That giant spider thing was down there below the surface—waiting. Waiting for her. Waiting for this.

She just had to call it.

Turning the proverbial key in her mind, she did just that. She willed it to come forward. For a moment, nothing happened, before a shudder at the surface of the water revealed something very large moving in the depths.

It looked like a nightmare.

A giant, seven-legged, twisted creature, its movements were bizarre and jerking as it lifted itself from the lake. The water must be immensely deep—even standing at its full height as it walked from the darkness, it was up to its first set of joints.

Gwen couldn’t help but take a step back.

Its many eyes were glowing that same white and opal color as before, shining off the rough rock walls around her. And in its open chest cavity were chains like ribs, running to the suspended Iron Crystal within.

She shivered as a wave of cold traveled up her. This was the point of no return. If she did this, things would be set in motion that she could only hope to stop. The odds of her being successful were slim.

But she loved Mordred. And he loved her. And she had to hold onto that.

Tightening her grasp around the shard until she felt the edges digging into her skin, she shut her eyes. Holding her hand in front of her, brandishing the necklace, she reached out to the iron in the Crystal.

She felt it there, like she felt the fire still flickering from her hand.

Something to control. Something she could wield.

“Break,” she commanded the Iron Crystal.

A loud snap echoed through the room, like the sound of a steel cable going past its limit. There was a groan of metal, and then a wrenching, shearing noise. Cracks in the Crystal began to form, growing larger, until it detonated.

The last thing Gwen saw was a chunk of it flying straight for her.

THIRTEEN

Mordred knelt by Gwendolyn’s unconscious body where she lay on the shore of the lake. She was alive, but a shard of the Crystal must have struck her when it broke apart. Poor thing. Poor, accident-prone thing. He vanished his gauntlet so he could run his fingers over her cheek, savoring the feeling of her skin against his. So soft.

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