Page 23 of The Sword & the Stone

"You saw them, didn't you?" Merlin asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "The sprites."

I nodded, still half-convinced I had imagined the whole thing. "Is that what they’re called? I've never seen anything like them before."

Merlin's lips quirked. "They're forest sprites. Mischievous little things, but generally harmless. They're drawn towards magic."

"So...they were drawn to me? Because of my fae blood?"

"Partially," Merlin said with a shrug. "But also because of Excalibur, and not to mention the protection spell I placed on you. It's like a beacon to creatures of magic."

I frowned, a flicker of unease stirring in my gut. "But if these sprites could sense it, couldn't other, more dangerous creatures sense it too? The wards were supposed to keep them out."

Merlin's brow furrowed, his blue eyes turning thoughtful. "The wards are designed to repel dark magic and malevolent beings. But sprites are creatures of pure magic—neither good nor evil. They exist in a gray area."

I shivered, hoping he was right. As if reading my thoughts, Merlin reached out and took my hand, his long fingers intertwining with mine. "I won't let anything happen to you, Wart. None of us will, and I’d bet my left foot you’re safe with these fucking barbarians."

That had me grinning. He tugged me closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into the warmth of his side. I went willingly, resting my head against his chest and listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my ear.

Just as I was about to drift off, a loud snort from one of the knights jerked me back to full alertness. I sat up, blinking owlishly as I realized it was Percival who had made the noise. He was shifting in his sleep, his brow furrowed as if in the throes of some dark dream.

As I watched, shadows began to gather around him, swirling and eddying like ink dropped in water. They seemed to be emanating from Percival himself, seeping from his skin and clothes to pool on the ground at his feet.

I nudged Merlin, my eyes wide. "What's happening to him?"

Merlin frowned, leaning forward to get a better look. "It's his shadow magic. It responds to his emotions, his subconscious. When he's agitated, it can manifest like this, even in his sleep."

The shadows began to take on shapes—grasping hands, gaping maws, twisted forms that seemed to writhe and contort. A chill of dread raced down my spine as I watched them grow and multiply, their edges sharpening until they almost looked solid.

"Should we wake him?"

Merlin hesitated. "It could be dangerous. He’s very powerful, so there's no telling how he might lash out."

I bit the inside of my cheek. On one hand, the shadows looked terrifying, like something out of a child's worst nightmare. But on the other hand, I couldn't stand the thought of leaving Percival trapped in whatever dark dream had him in its clutches.

Stupidly, I rose to my feet and approached the sleeping knight, Merlin close at my heels. The shadows seemed to sense our presence, writhing and hissing like angry serpents. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to turn and run.

Kneeling beside Percival, I reached out a tentative hand and placed it on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. "Percival," Icalled softly, my voice sounding small and frightened to my own ears. "Percival, wake up. You're dreaming."

Percival's eyes snapped open, but they were unfocused, unseeing. Inky blackness swallowed the white. His hand shot out, quick as a striking viper, and suddenly, a tendril of shadow was wrapped around my throat, as solid and cold as steel. I gasped, my hands flying up to claw at the shadowy bonds, but my fingers passed right through, finding no purchase.

The tendril tightened, cutting off my air. I choked, spots dancing in my vision as I struggled for breath. Dimly, I was aware of Merlin shouting, his hands glowing with arcane light as he tried to pry the shadows loose. Golden magic battered at the shadows, but they were unaffected.

The other knights were awake now, jolted from their sleep by the commotion. They leapt to their feet, their faces a mix of confusion and alarm as they took in the scene.

"Percy!" Lancelot roared, his sword drawn. "Release her, now!"

But Percival was still in the throes of his nightmare, his eyes wild and unseeing. His shadows lashed out, striking Lancelot across the face and sending him stumbling back.

Galahad and Tristan circled warily, their weapons at the ready, but hesitant to strike out at their brother. Gawain was chanting something under his breath, his hands weaving intricate patterns in the air as he tried to counter Percival's magic with his own. Shards of ice poured from his fingers, fissures of frost climbing up his arms. But the ice couldn’t penetrate the shadows.

Black spots danced in my vision as the shadowy tendril tightened around my throat, cutting off my air. I clawed at it desperately, my nails scrabbling uselessly against the inky blackness. It was like trying to grab hold of smoke.

A tear leaked from my eye, then drummed down my cheek. For a moment, the tendril loosened, and I sucked in a desperate gasp of air. But Percival convulsed, a low moan escaping his lips, and the shadows surged with renewed strength.

"Percival, wake up!" Lancelot shouted, his sword slashing through the writhing shadows to no avail. They simply reformed, darker and more turbulent than before. "You're dreaming! It's not real!"

Galahad tried to get closer, but a whip-like shadow lashed out, forcing him back. Gawain's chanting grew louder, the ancient words thrumming with power, but Percival's nightmare magic was too strong, too chaotic.

“You’re going to kill her if you don’t let go!” Tristan shouted.

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