Read Avalon Rising for Free Online

shattered looking glass, over and over until my reflection is nothing more than uneven lines and edges. I’m as useless to the knights as ever, sitting amongst the high winds in a rickety tower, while angry shouts from the main castle tell me the Spanish rogues have seized Jerusalem. Why did I think for a moment that I could be of any help to Camelot?
    I shut my eyes, and right away I see Marcus, even though he’s so far away. But to dive into my own memory brings us closer.
    “Tell me a story,” I said, shuffling on my side to relieve the discomfort of hay digging into my skin. I leaned on my palm, and my other hand snapped dried bits in half while we waited out the storm in his family’s barn.
    When the fire was strong enough to burn without Marcus tending to it, he moved next to me, close enough that I could smell the sweet rain on his skin, but far enough away that I wouldn’t see it dry. The flickering light shone in his eyes, speckling the violet with natural bits of gray and gold. A smirk appeared. “I’m not a very good storyteller.”
    “Anything.” I didn’t tell him I needed something to distract me from the contours of his cheekbones and the way his mouth parted every time he looked at me.
    But he must have caught on because his eyes were too long absorbed in mine, and suddenly his temperament changed to a lighter one. “All right. There was once an old serf. He enjoyed roasted duck. His wife preferred pork. But he didn’t give a—”
    I pushed him away before he could finish, feigning horror. “The language on your mind!”
    His lip cocked up in a mischievous grin. “You don’t know the half of it.” When his body swayed back, he was closer.
    I could feel the heat from his skin, and my voice shuddered into a whisper. “Then tell me about your home. It’s only fair. You watched me work in the clock tower for years.”
    He was bold in how he reached across to set a lock of damp hair behind my ear. His eyes drifted on every detail of my face, and I should have felt vulnerable, but it wasn’t with judgment that he looked at me.
    “Only fair?” he challenged me, his voice striving to tease, but too quiet to fool me. “I told you my life from the tops of parapets, nearly falling to my death. All to make sure you wouldn’t leave to carry out some tedious errand.”
    “And nearly fell twice!”
    He shrugged. “All right. I could tell you about my father. He didn’t always live in Camelot. His life was a secret one my mother and I know little about. I grew up hearing few stories about his life.” His eyes were shining at the nostalgia surrounding us, but as it dawned on him what tales those would be, he grew more serious.
    “Stories about his time in Lyonesse.”
My eyes open, staring at nothing. “Stop this.”
    The black lace is still in my hand, and I wrap it twice around my wrist, securing a ruthless knot. I lean on the desk, and my arm brushes against the skeletal form of Caldor. I glance at its petal-like copper feathers, at how meticulously I engraved the veins of each. But all I see are flaws in such an ugly machine. The hinges on the wings are too creaky. The wingspan doesn’t extend as fluidly as it did before. And when Caldor looks at me with those dark beady eyes full of jaseemat life, I see the face of a creature who might wish its true creator had fixed it, not a handmaid.
    A rush of fury comes over me. “I should never have wasted time on you, stupid falcon!”
    I shove Caldor away, but its feet are much closer to the table’s edge than I thought, and it trips, catching the wind with its wings, but too late. Caldor spirals as it strives to reach flight, but crashes straight into the wall, falling to a nearby windowsill. Its pitiful black eyes stare emptily across the way, and its wing falls broken, reflecting the village below.
    I sigh in annoyance at myself. That’ll be a few hours’ worth of repairs.
    A dark shadow passes in my periphery. I glance back at Caldor’s