Page 37 of Secrets of Avalon
“T-thank you,” Boaz sputters out, swallowing down a second vile of ambrosia Ares had produced from a pocket beneath his breastplate.
As Boaz looks up at me, I'm struck by the weariness etched into every line of his face.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad, you bastard!” Ares growls, his voice angry and cracking beneath the weight of his concern. “I would’ve brought more. I would’ve found a way.”
“It hadn’t,” he said, his words strained. “It caught me by surprise and I tried to hide it instead of asking for help. But I couldn’t get to the ambrosia I had in time and it built up day after day.”
“How long have you been like this? On the floor?”
He shakes his head and coughs like an old man who smokes too much. "I don’t know. Maybe four days."
“Four days!” I reach for his still cold-stone hand. He could’ve died. I squeeze gently, trying to pour every ounce of my strength, my loyalty, into that single touch. But the guilt is a living thing inside me, gnawing at my insides, whispering accusations in the back of my mind. I should have been here sooner.
The gray pallor is fading away, thanks to the Olympian brew. Ambrosia is pure energy. Olympians consume it daily. It’s part of their biology. The rest of us typically use it sparingly or as a special treat. It provides healing or a enormous boost of energy. But, humans can only tolerate micro-doses safely.
Boaz's gaze flickers to Ares, a flash of gratitude softening his features. "The ambrosia helps," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper, but steadier this time. "But I'm building up a tolerance or whatever is coming for me is coming faster."
“I have more in Camelot for all of you, but I’ll get more and bring it here after the Ceremony.”
"Hopefully Hawke's woman will be the beginning of all of us finding a way to permanently solve this problem," Fen says, crouching beside Ares and putting a hand on Boaz's arm. Hope hangs heavy in the air, the thought of a solution, of an end to the constant fear and pain, is both exhilarating and terrifying.
The sacrifices we've made, the pieces of ourselves we've given up, it's all been leading to this moment, to the possibility of a way out, a way to reclaim what we've lost. But even as that hope takes root, there's a flicker of fear, a reminder of the cost we've already paid, and the price we may yet have to pay.
“Hawke’s woman?” Boaz’s forehead wrinkles and he tries to move for the first time, testing if his limbs are pliable again. “Has something happened with the mate magick? Were the Siren’s able to give you a vision?”
I shake my head. “The Earth door called to me this morning. When I touched it I saw her briefly. Later this morning she appeared. Nimue had brought her over.”
Boaz’s eyes widened. “She brought a human to Camelot?”
“She’s not human. And, she’s bound to a Drakonii somatophylakes.” I spit out that last word, more than slightly irritated by the intimate bond that man shares with my mate.
A half laugh erupts from Boaz and he meets my gaze. “I bet that’s frustrating, hmmm?”
I roll my eyes, though relief bubbles up within me. "You have no idea." I grasp his hand—now soft and warm. "Ready to get off the floor?"
He nods, a faint smile touching his lips that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I can feel my toes again. So, definitely."
Seeing him muster a smile despite the obvious effort it takes lightens the tightness in my chest. Ares and I each take one of his hands, gently pulling him up. As he steadies on his feet, I scrutinize his every movement for signs of lingering weakness.
"Thank you," he breathes out, his gratitude sincere though his voice remains faint. "I suppose you've come because the High Council is waiting. I’d like to put on a fresh set of clothes first."
His mention of the Council reminds me of the gravity awaiting us, but it's overshadowed by the relief of seeing him stand, even unsteadily.
“Oh, I’m not riding with you until you do. You reek, brother.” The corner of Ares’ mouth is turned up in a teasing grin. “After our pinky swears in front of Darkwood and the other assholes you can meet Hawke’s lady. She’s quite something.”
The urge to punch Ares rises in my chest, but I breathe through it and push it back down. Fighting amongst ourselves won’t help anyone. Me losing control won’t help anyone.
The journey back to the portal is a somber one, the weight of Boaz's condition bothering us all. The once-vibrant forest now seems muted, the colors less vivid, as if reflecting our subdued mood. The horses' hooves beat a steady rhythm against the dirt path, the only sound breaking the oppressive silence.
We hate the fealty swearing. We despise the High Council that stole the governing authority Yggdrasil bestowed on us. We were called. We were trusted. But we bow the knee every year to selfish greedy bastards because we must keep the peace. Because the five of us cannot fix anything until we are made whole again.
We leave the horses with an attendant and make our way to the throne room. The atmosphere is tense, each step seeming to echo louder than the last as we proceed through the corridors. By the time we emerge into the Hall of Realms, a quiet determination has settled over us.
Boaz stands tall beside us, his stature almost regal. The ambrosia has worked its magick, halting the spread of the petrification that had threatened to consume his body. Together, we ready ourselves to face the High Council, united and resolute, our earlier despair transformed into a fortified resolve to confront whatever challenges lie ahead. This renewed vigor doesn't just show in our strides but also in the defiant lift of Boaz's chin—a promise that we are far from defeated.
Keep the High Council appeased. Melinda is all that matters right now.
She is the key to everything.