Page 50 of The Sword & the Stone

I took a step forward, my boots crunching on the loose shale. The wind picked up, howling mournfully as it tore at my cloak and sent pebbles skittering across the uneven ground. Ishivered, hugging my arms to my chest as I tried to make sense of my surroundings.

"Admiring the view, sister?" a voice purred from behind me, dripping with malice and dark amusement.

I whirled around, my heart leaping into my throat as I came face to face with Mordred. She stood a few paces away, her fiery hair whipping around her face and her emerald eyes glinting with a feverish light. Her lips curved into a cruel smile, revealing a flash of white teeth.

"Mordred," I breathed, squaring my shoulders. My hand instinctively reached for Excalibur, only to realize that in whatever dream-state this was, I no longer had my sword.

The cawing of the crows grew louder, more insistent, until it was a deafening cacophony that seemed to press in on me from all sides. Their inky black forms swirled overhead, blotting out the crimson-streaked sky like a living, writhing cloud. The downdraft from their wings felt cold and clammy against my skin.

Mordred took a step closer. I could see the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the gaunt hollows of her cheeks. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks.

She sighed, shaking her head. "Always so quick to assume the worst of me. Is it so hard to believe that I might simply want to talk sister to sister?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Forgive me if I find that a little hard to swallow."

Mordred's smile turned brittle, a flicker of pain flashing through her eyes before she masked it quickly. "I suppose I deserve that. But believe it or not, there was a time when all I wanted was to be a good daughter, a worthy heir to the throne of Camelot, not some wicked witch."

She turned away, gazing out over the churning sea. "I was Uther's firstborn, you know. For years, I trained tirelessly,studying statecraft and diplomacy, honing my skills with a blade. I thought if I could just prove myself, if I could be the perfect princess, then maybe he would finally see my worth."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "But nothing I did was ever good enough. No matter how hard I tried, how many accolades I earned, he always found something wrong with me. Some shortcoming." She spat the words like venom, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“Eventually, I realized nothing would ever be good enough for Uther Pendragon. Save for pulling Excalibur free from the stone.” Mordred turned, locking eyes with me. “I tried every spell I could think of, and nothing worked. Formonths, until…” Mordred's voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, her eyes haunted by the memory. "I was desperate. I scoured every scrap of fae lore I could get my hands on, and finally, I found it. A druid ritual, said to imbue the caster with the strength of a thousand men."

She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off a chill. "I knew it was dangerous. The magic required a blood sacrifice.”

My chest tightened, and I took a half step backwards. “Why are you telling me this?”

"Because you need to hear it!” Mordred snapped, sounding half mad already. “You’re about to be handed everything I ever wanted on a silver platter while I live in the darkness, alone.”

My half-sister's words hit me like a whip, and I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. Despite her questionable methods, I couldn't deny that she was right. It must be incredibly painful to watch someone else take away all your hopes and dreams, even if they were not rightfully theirs.

“I gathered the necessary components—the blood of a virgin’s throat, poured through the fingers, the heart of a black ram, the ashes of a hanged man. I painted the runes on my skin,chanted the words until my throat was raw. Then I made the final offering. My own blood spilled upon the altar stone."

Mordred's eyes grew distant, as if she was seeing the scene play out again. "I could feel the strength of a thousand warriors flowing into my veins, the knowledge of a hundred sorcerers burning in my mind. And the sword...Excalibur...it called to me..."

She shook her head, a bitter smile twisting her lips. "I was so close. My hand was on the hilt, the blade begging to be free for the first time in centuries. But then Gaius, Uther's pet weasel, found me.”

She let out a harsh, mirthless laugh. "The old fool didn't even give me a chance to explain. He ran straight to Uther, babbling about forbidden magic and blood rituals. I tried to reason with him, to make him understand I was only trying to claim what was rightfully mine. But he wouldn't listen."

Mordred began to pace along the rocky outcropping, her cloak billowing behind her in the biting wind. The crows overhead seemed to follow her movements, their beady eyes tracking her every step.

"Uther was furious. He dragged me before the entire court, denouncing me as a traitor, a practitioner of the dark arts. I pleaded with him, told him I had only done what was necessary to prove myself worthy of his approval."

She paused, her voice dropping to a haunted whisper. "But he just looked at me with those cold, pitiless eyes, and said that no daughter of his would ever stoop to such depravity. I’ll never forget the disgust in our father’s eyes.”

Mordred turned to face me fully, her expression a mix of pain and rage. "And now, here you are. The long-lost daughter, thechosenone. Here to claim everything I ever wanted.”

I strode closer to Mordred, my heart churning with a tumultuous blend of pity and caution. "Mordred," I said quietly,as though speaking to a scared animal that might attack at any moment. “I’m not so heartless that I can’t sympathize. Uther was wrong to turn his back on his own blood. But this quest for power and vengeance will only bring more suffering for you and all those around you."

Mordred stared at me, her chest heaving, her green eyes glittering with unshed tears. “It’s easy for you to preach to me about suffering when you’ve never experienced it for yourself.”

A bolt of rage shot through me. “You know nothing about my suffering. Don’t mistake my empathy for what you’ve gone through for absolution, Mordred.”

Mordred's eyes flashed with a feverish light. "You think I need your absolution?” She laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “I've endured more agony than you can possibly imagine. The only thing that matters now is taking back what's mine. And if I have to go through you to do it, then so be it."

She advanced on me; her steps slow and deliberate. The crows overhead began to screech and caw, their cries rising to a deafening crescendo. I stumbled back, my foot slipping on the loose shale. For a heart-stopping moment, I teetered on the edge of the precipice, the churning sea yawning below.

Mordred's hand shot out, grasping my wrist in an iron grip. For a split second, I thought she meant to save me. But I saw the malevolent gleam in her eyes, the cruel twist of her lips.

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