Page 60 of Secrets of Avalon
Kellan falls into step behind us as we make our way out of the bustling kitchen and back into the cool, stone corridors of the castle.
As we navigate the halls, the sound of music and laughter grows louder, drifting in from the outside. I’m excited to see more of the market and the festival. The air is filled with a palpable sense of excitement and joy. Everyone is celebrating.
We step out into bright sunlight, and I'm momentarily dazzled by the vibrant colors and lively atmosphere that greets us. There are stalls lined up as far as the eye can see with vendors offering everything from intricately woven tapestries to mouth-watering delicacies. The aroma of roasting meats and sweet pastries mingles with the fragrant scent of exotic perfumes, creating a heady mixture that makes me want to explore everything at once.
We weave through the crowd and unlike this morning, I really take my time studying the people around me. Well, some of them look like people. And some of them look very different from me. Some look like Wraith, tall, onyx skin, raven black silky hair, and bright gold eyes. “They’re the Upir, right? Like Wraith?”
"Yes, the Changing of the Guard ceremony tonight is why this whole thing is happening." He casually waves at the festival, but I can hear the pain in his voice. "It's the Upir's turn to be Camelot's caregivers," Hawke says, his voice laced with pain.
"Why does it sound like you're unhappy about it?"
Hawke sighs and stares off into the distance. "Camelot belongs to the Fae. Belonged–" His words trail off, making it obvious he doesn't want to explain.
I open my mouth to press further, but I'm interrupted by a cheerful voice beside us. "M'lady, will you come and see my puppet show?"
I turn to see a handsome man with a colorful puppet on his hand, its bright button eyes and stitched smile inviting me to join the gathered crowd. The puppet waves its tiny cloth hands, beckoning me closer.
"Oh, I don't know..." I hesitate, glancing back at Hawke and Kellan.
Hawke's expression softens, a small smile tugging at his lips.
The puppeteer smiles, his whiskey-brown eyes crinkling at the corners. "Excellent. You’ll love it!" He exclaims and flits off disappearing into the crowd.
I take Hawke’s hand to tug him along after the puppeteer went, but a blood-curdling scream sends me scrambling into Hawke’s arms instead.
CHAPTER 24
Meeting The Parents
Melinda Mayweather
“Holy mother of goats!” I leap forward, almost falling on my face. Hawke’s arm goes around my waist and catches me before I taste the dirt. “It scared me to death.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Hawke growls at the frightened teenage boy and stands me back on my feet. “Why isn’t your goat drunk?”
I giggle at Hawke’s question. The goat screams again and I jump backwards and bounce off of Kellan’s chest. “I’m going to have a heart attack.”
Kellan chuckles and steadies me.
“My prince, I’m so sorry. I promise, he’s had mead all day. He’s drunk. He would scream at me otherwise.” He yanks on the rope around the goat’s neck, but the horned menace seems unfazed by the boy's efforts. Its yellow eyes, with their horizontal pupils, stare at me unblinkingly, like it can see straight into my soul.
It throws its head back and lets out yet another piercing scream, its mouth opening wide to reveal a set of sharp, yellowed teeth. This time the sound is harsh and grating and vibrates through my bones, setting my teeth on edge. It's a cross between a human shriek and a rusty hinge being forced open, with an otherworldly quality that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
The boy's face turns a deep shade of red. He struggles to quiet the goat, his thin arms straining with the effort. “I’m so sorry!”
I laugh because what else is left to do. “I think the goats here hate me.”
Hawke looks so frustrated.
“It happened yesterday too. The vendor swore to me that the goats were drunk,” Kellan says, another chuckle escaping. “I think her magick is different. It’s stronger and the goats are reacting even when they’re already drunk.”
I’m doubling over now, giggles spilling out of me at an alarming rate. The goat is still screaming. The boy is still yanking on the rope. So much for flying under the radar. Pretty sure every single person in Camelot is staring in our direction.
“Come! Let’s go!” I grab Hawke's hand, my fingers intertwining with his, and pull him toward the crowd, toward the place where I saw the puppeteer disappear.
"Melinda, where–" Hawke starts, but his words trail off as he takes in the scene before us. Kellan's solid presence is a reassuring shadow at our backs.
"I want to hear the story," I explain, glancing over my shoulder at Hawke with a small smile. "And that persistent terrifying goat wasn't going to ever quit."