QUEEN OF ROSES

Blood of a Fae

Book 1

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright 2023, Briar Boleyn

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

CONTENT & TRIGGER WARNINGS

JOIN MY NEWSLETTER

PROLOGUE

BOOK 1

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

BOOK 2

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

TRIGGER WARNING LIST

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: BRIAR BOLEYN

Copyright 2023, Briar Boleyn

Queen of Roses, Blood of a Fae Series

Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without prior written permission by the author(s), except where permitted by law.

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in prison and a fine of $250,000

For more information, email: author@briarboleyn.com

Cover Design by Artscandare Book Cover Design

Developmental Editing by Rachel’s Top Reads

Flourish Art by Polina K, Emmie Norfolk, Gordon Johnson (GDJ)

https://www.briarboleyn.com

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Emberly, Cara, Sadie - My author BFFs, my listening ears. Thank you for your patience with my repetitive questions! Here’s to many more years as writers and friends.

Rachel – For being the first to leap in!

Gloria, Elodie, Kelly, Mariah, and many, many more – The readers who keep writers going. I appreciate you beyond words.

CONTENT & TRIGGER WARNINGS

Blood of a Fae is a dark fantasy romance series that deals with topics which some readers may understandably find triggering.

A trigger and content warnings list may be found at the end of the book. Use the hyperlink in the Table of Contents.

Please keep in mind that the content warnings list will spoil certain plot elements. Avoid reading the trigger warnings list if you do not have any triggers and do not wish to know specific details about the plot in advance.

JOIN MY NEWSLETTER

Grab the FREE bonus scenes and hear about the latest new releases, giveaways, and other bookish treats:

http://briarboleyn.com

PROLOGUE

The dagger sliced through the air, whistling like a bird.

There was nowhere to run. I was held fast.

A crackle of energy erupted, sending a shockwave through the stone chamber.

I closed my eyes, preparing myself.

From a short distance came the sounds of battle. Smashing, clattering. A blade running through all-too-soft flesh. In and out.

I could smell the familiar sticky scent of blood.

Was there ever a time I would not have recognized it? There had always been blood on my hands, one way or another.

Even without sight, I sensed the moment he drew near. My breath caught in my throat. The air grew colder.

He was coming.

In my mind, his voice rang out over and over, shouting my name. His voice was more powerful than the sea. More primordial than the stars. My name was on his lips as he promised unspeakable darkness to any who came between us.

I was desperate to fight by his side, but my body was too weak to move.

I listened to the sound of clashing blades coming from beyond the chamber. But I could do nothing but lie where I fell, gasping for each shallow breath.

How strange.

I hated him at first. Perhaps a part of me still did.

But one thing was certain...

He was the air I breathed. I could not live without him.

BOOK 1

CHAPTER 1

The day my mother died, I was reading a book underneath her bed.

It was a favorite hiding spot of mine. The heavy oak four-poster bed was at least two feet off the floor. The perfect amount of room for a small child. I would lay on my stomach, chin in my hands, slowly flipping the heavy pages of a tome worth more than I could possibly imagine.

The pictures were what I liked best. Creatures were my favorite. The more frightening the better. On that day I had the famous traveler Lorea of Anselme’s Booke of Beastes, Marvelouse and Rare in my little hands and was perusing the illuminated illustrations. First came the fabled monsters–giant rooks, fenrirs, gelerts, exmoors, glatisants, and the like.

Next came the ones Lorea claimed to have seen with her very own eyes–and it was here I doubted her greatly while nevertheless devouring the entrancing images of the creatures from the realms of the fae. Each seemed more fantastical than the next. Nixies with their sharp green teeth who lived beneath the water, small but deadly. Handsome pucas with their thick dark fur. Spriggans with their sinister sprawling branches and gwyllions who walked through the mist and twilight, leading poor travelers astray.

And my favorite, the nuggle, a sly shapeshifting water horse that was somehow always depicted as male. In hindsight, it was probably the name I liked.

Some days my mother would lie on the floor beside me, reading the captions aloud. On other days, she would sit beside the bed with her own book in her hands and we would stay that way for hours, quietly content in one another’s companionship.

Still other times she would pop her head under the bed and lean forward to kiss my cheek, then vanish, busy with her own work in her suite of rooms or elsewhere in the castle.

On some sunny bright days, I would watch the sweep of her skirts as she moved around the tower and I would feel happy. She was my mother. She was everything beautiful, everything good. She was all I knew of that mystical emotion called love.

Less fortuitous were the days on which my father would appear. More often than not, I would smell the scent of liquor before I heard the heavy tromp of his footsteps. Next I would see his thick muscular legs come into view.

Then I would become uneasy. I would slide further back under the bed, pulling my book into the gloom with me.

My mother would murmur quietly to him, tug at his hand, and soon they would both be gone, closing the door as they moved into the nearby sitting room or disappearing for a walk in the gardens or a ride through the city.

She could disarm him, charm him, persuade him. Her voice was gentle, while his was loud and harsh.

I loved her. I feared him.

But both were my family.

Until that day.

The smell of mead entered before he did. I swear I could smell it before we even heard his knock.

My mother moved quickly towards the door. Did I imagine her heartbeat quickening? Sometimes I felt we were so attuned to one another that I could feel every sensation she did. Most times it was a comfort. Not today.

I heard their voices from the doorway and prayed he would go away.

Instead, the voices became louder. My father stepped inside.

I watched him from the knees down as he paced the tower. Even his ankles seemed angry.

“Shall we go down to the gardens?” My mother’s voice was soothing and low, like a warm summer breeze. Hearing it made me feel as if nothing bad could ever happen.

My father’s legs paused. I held my breath, hoping he would agree, and leave.

The scent of the mead was pungent. It overwhelmed my senses, blotting out the smells of the fresh herbs–lavender, rosemary, and twigs of rowan–that my mother had strewn about the floor of the room.

“It is a lovely day,” she murmured. I watched as she crossed over to the window, drawing back a damask curtain.

From this distance, I could see her in full. She was tall and regal, her long yellow hair cascading down her back in shimmering waves that gleamed like spun gold. She wore a magnificent gown of deep crimson, adorned with intricate gold embroidery that sparkled and glinted with every movement. The gown flowed around her like a river of fire, sweeping the ground behind her in a sea of soft, scarlet fabric. Her skin was as fair as the moon and her eyes shone with wisdom and secrets.

How could my father be anything but enchanted?

“Close that, woman. The light is too bright for my tastes.” My father’s voice was harsh, his words slurred. He was deep in his cups.

I slid a little further back under the bed, though I knew he would not see me. Not once had he spotted me there. For better or for worse, he had eyes only for her.

“Can a man not come to his wife’s bedchamber and be greeted with something other than disdain and a request to leave?” His feet moved towards where my mother stood near the arched window.

“Of course.” Her voice was light and breathless. I could tell she was struggling to know what to say, how to put him at ease. With a child’s passion, I hated him for not appreciating what she was trying to do. “I thought you would enjoy a walk in the gardens. Ordinarily you like to...”

“I did not come here for my own enjoyment, but to remind you of your place in my court.”

The tower was quiet for a moment.

“What place might that be, my lord?”

I heard my father make a sound like a growl, full of bitterness and anger. “Do not challenge me.”

“I would never do that, as well you know.” My mother’s voice was gentle, but tinged with sadness.

I felt angry for her. Why should she be so sad? Why should he be so angry? Did he not love her?

I thought back and recalled that he had not visited her room in many months. What for me was a boon, was perhaps something else for her.

“I have missed you,” she said. “You have not visited me in some time.”

A pause hung in the air.

“I know you have been spending a great deal of time with Lord Beswick’s daughter,” she continued. I saw a flush bloom on her cheeks. “Ettarde is a charming girl, is she not?”

Another pause.

“I understand, you know.” My mother’s voice was hurried. “Of course, you need a change of company. But I am glad you have returned to me.” The sadness in my mother’s voice was palpable to me. I longed to reach an arm out and grasp her hand, to wrap my arms around her and comfort her, to reassure her of my love–as my father was not even attempting to do.

Still, he did not answer.

Then I understood, the pause was guilty. He was guilty. Even as a child, I guessed what would come next and cringed.

“She is a beautiful woman. She is everything you are not,” I heard him spit. “I was a fool to have wed you, Ygraine. The Three know how I have rued the day.”

I could almost feel the wave of hate as it hit my mother–and then the ripples of pain as the words penetrated deep into her heart.

“I had to get out. You were the way. You will always have my gratitude for that,” she murmured, almost to herself. “But you made vows to me as well. Vows of eternal love. Have you forgotten...”

“Gratitude, aye. That is all I expect from you. So why do you look at me with reproach on your face?” my father snarled.

The sound of his hand hitting my mother’s face was so sudden I nearly cried out.

I watched as my mother sank slowly down to the ground, her crimson skirts spreading out around her feet like the petals of a rose. Her hands were pressed to her face. There was blood streaming from her lips.

I longed to cry out, to run to her, but bit my lip instead, so hard I tasted iron. I searched her face, trying to get her to look at me, but it was as if I had suddenly become a ghost in the room. She would not look at me where I lay beneath the bed, no matter how hard I stared.

Gazing at her bloody face in horror, something was suddenly revealed to me. I knew where her other small injuries had originated. The many cuts and bruises she had quickly covered up and made up stories about.

They were from him. His touch had harmed her.

I felt a rush of fiery rage and a longing I had never felt before. I felt the fury of a small child who sees the injustice of the world and wants to reach out and stop it any way they can.

I imagined my small fists pummeling against my father’s immoveable chest and bit my lip all the harder.

The image was laughable. I could do nothing. I swallowed my pride and stayed where I was.

My mother was trying again. “You made promises to me. I beg you, do not forget the love we have shared. If you cannot keep your vow, if you cannot be faithful...”

“Why should I be faithful?” my father roared. “To one such as you. When there are any number of women–good women, desirable women, human women–who are ready to throw themselves at my feet.” He staggered on his feet a little. “You think I do not know what you did to me? When you had me make those vows?”

My mother closed her eyes, then she moved her hand and wiped the blood from her mouth on her skirt. Her hands moved to her lap, gripping the ruby fabric of her gown as if it were a lifeline.

“You know the vow you made,” she said quietly. “Whether I wished for it or not, it cannot be rescinded. We have a daughter.”

“You speak to me of vows!” My father’s voice boomed out like a crack of thunder. “You tricked me. You charmed me. Now look at me! A man such as I bound in a faerie trap. Well, there is one way to break it, Ygraine. And you know that as well as I.”

He had to bend this time to hit her face. There was a crunching sound and when he stepped away, I saw blood gushing from my mother’s nose.

“Please...”

Still she would not look at me. I clutched the pages of my book so hard I felt one tear. I had promised the librarian I would be careful with the precious tome.

Now I could not bring myself to care. Let the pages scatter to the wind. My beloved mother was bleeding.

“Please.” Her voice had dropped almost to a whisper, the merest rustle of leaves.

“No other man would have withstood a marriage to a woman like you for so long. No other man would have borne the humiliation, the shame. They all talk, I know they do.” The slur in my father’s voice had deepened.

“No one talks, my lord. Do they not see the love between us?” Blood ran down her cheeks like tears. “Do they not all see the proof of that love in our child?”

I felt tears run down my face. My mother’s sorrow mirrored in me.

“Lies!” my father shouted. “You spew lies, Ygraine. The same lies you have told me all these years. Pretending we are happy. Pretending all of this is something other than the grossest obscenity.”

“I was happy,” my mother murmured. “I have been happy. You saved me from much worse. Even now, I do not regret it.”

To this day, I do not know if he heard the words she whispered.

And then she looked at me. Her ethereal blue eyes met mine so powerfully I felt it to my bones. The words were for me, not for him. I understood.

She broke her gaze and looked up at my father, raising her hands, turning them this way and that. “I am helpless before you, my lord, as well you know. I beseech you one last time, for our child’s sake...”

But it was no use.

My father’s legs crossed my field of vision again, blocking my mother out.

He began to rant, a fearsome tirade. He called her terrible names. Spewed words too foul to recount.

Where did all of the hate come from? Why had I never seen it before? My mother had hidden it from me. Protected me. Her love was all encompassing. It was also a curtain, shielding me from what was true.

His hand moved back and forth as he struck her again and again.

I squeezed my eyes closed, the tears falling hard, soaking the pages of the book, giving the nixies real water to swim in.

My mother did not retaliate. She did not cry out. She made no attempt to flee or to fight back.

Perhaps she thought he would come to his senses, realize what he was doing, and take her in his arms as he must have done countless times before.

But this time he did not stop.

I kept my eyes squeezed shut until a heavy smacking sound made me pop them open again.

My mother’s head had hit the stone wall beside her.

As I opened my eyes, she was tilting, falling. Her sapphire eyes were open and glassy as her body hit the floor. She lay on her side, still and unmoving.

I was only five-years-old. Yet I knew she was dead.

My father’s legs had frozen in place.

Would he fall to his knees? Sob like a child as he wept for the grave sin he had committed? Would he call for me, hold me to his chest?

His feet began to move.

Pounding the floor as he ran to the door and yanked it open.

He began to shout for help, calling for the servants.

I knew what would come next. There would be no acts of contrition. He would say it was an accident. No one would question him.

After all, he was their king.

CHAPTER 2

Fifteen Years Later

Bloodstains wore away. The memories of those lost faded with time, for better or worse.

I was born to be a queen. But even queens could be set aside and forgotten. Or worse. Remembered but relegated to shadows.

I crossed the courtyard, sword in my hand, tossing my long gray braid over my shoulder.

The training courtyard was a spacious area, bordered on three sides by high stone castle walls. I marched across the packed dirt and straw, well-trodden from years of heavy use. The air was thick with the scents of sweat, leather, and metal. As I approached the practice ring, the clanging of swords and thumping of shields echoed off the stone walls.

Nearby, a group of young squires practiced their footwork, jumping and pivoting with wooden swords in hand as a knight with grizzled gray hair shouted orders. Their faces were set in concentration, their eyes fixed on their movements. Suddenly, one of the boys tripped and fell, evoking uproarious laughter from his companions.

On the other side of the courtyard, a group of knights in full armor engaged in swordplay, their movements fluid and graceful. I could hear the clash of steel as they swung and struck at each other, their shouts of exertion punctuating the air.

I stepped into the practice ring, wooden sword in my hand. There were some low benches arranged against one stone wall nearby, offering seating for any onlookers. Only Sir Ector Prennell stood nearby, however. The dark-skinned knight was leaning against the wooden fence as he watched us.

“Remember what I’ve taught you,” he called out as I prepared myself. “Focus on your footwork. Keep your guard up, Morgan.”

I nodded, keeping my eyes on my opponent.

Lancelet grinned. “Are you ready?”

“I’m always ready,” I replied, as coolly as I could.

We began to circle each other, our wooden swords clashing as we tested each other’s defenses.

Lancelet was quick and agile. She was more skilled than I–and knew it too.

I was more measured. I focused on her defense, waiting for an opening.

As we sparred, Sir Ector watched closely. I felt a sense of determination come over me. I wanted to show him what I was capable of. Show him that his lessons had not been for nothing.

Our swords clanged together again and again, the sound echoing off the stones. My patience began to wear thin, as did my endurance. I might not ever be a knight like Lancelet, but this was important to me. I had been a little surprised when Sir Ector agreed these were skills I should possess.

I felt the sweat begin to trickle down my brow and tried not to let it distract me. I was determined to win this match.

But determination might not have been enough. Lancelet was stronger, faster, and let’s face it, rougher by nature.

“What’s the matter, Princess? Sun get in your face?” she taunted.

I ignored her, finally seeing my chance.

“Need a rest? Perhaps a goblet of water? Shall I summon a servant to fan you?”

She was laughing hysterically at her own words. While she was distracted, I feinted to the left, swung my sword low, then back to the right, catching her off-guard. My wooden sword struck her arm with a loud crack, and the match was over.

Lancelet whooped her congratulations, and now it was my turn to grin. No one could say she wasn't a good sport.

She came towards me, arms outstretched, and I let her embrace me, trying not to flinch from the easy affection I was still not accustomed to.

Sir Ector clapped slowly.

“Are you sure you can’t make a knight of her yet?” Lancelet asked.

A small smile slowly crossed his weathered warm brown face. “You did well, Morgan,” he said, looking at me. “Both of you. You continue to impress me every day. Keep up the good work.”

I felt a sense of pride wash over me and my face heated up. I never realized how much I was counting on his approval until he begrudgingly gave it.

Lancelet and I walked back to the wooden block of rooms that served as both change rooms and equipment storage for female knights. There were fewer and fewer of them since my brother began his rule–just one of many foul symptoms of his reign, but I knew Lancelet was hoping to change that.

“Come for a drink?” Lancelet began shrugging out of her leather jerkin, revealing a cream linen tunic belted at the waist beneath. “The Bear and Mermaid has a new minstrel.”

I eyed her skeptically. “It’s the middle of the afternoon.”

“Yes, but we’ve worked hard. We deserve it.” She winked at me. “We’ve worked up a thirst. Look at you, you’re drenched.”

I glared at her, touched a hand to my brow, then reached for a towel and dipped it into a pail of clean water. I could have gone back up to my room and called for a maidservant to bring me a basin of crystal clear water and a spotless white linen, but I preferred being down here with the others.

Sometimes the tower where my bedroom lay was too quiet. Lately, various encounters with a certain someone had caused me to avoid it more and more often.

The training courtyard was noisy and smelly. But there was a camaraderie there. For a while, I could almost convince myself that I was a part of it–even though the truth was, I would always be on the outside.

“Thanks for the reminder,” I said, a little frostily, wiping the towel over my face and neck. I knew it was ridiculous, but I was self-conscious of sweating. I could thank my many nurses, governesses, and ladies-in-waiting for that. A lady was not supposed to sweat. Unless the lady was a knight. It was all very contradictory. “I’m hardly in any shape to go out to a tavern.”

“No one will even notice.” Lancelet grinned. “Besides, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Let me guess. She’s pretty with a laugh like sunshine and she gives you free ale.”

“That’s not all she gives me.” Lancelet waggled her eyebrows and I giggled.

“Do you...care for her?” I asked curiously.

As always, it was hard to imagine a world where I could ever feel as carefree as she is. Lancelet... Well, she was one of a kind. Women certainly seemed to think so. She had no trouble finding willing partners when she wanted them. My tastes ran to men, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t admire her brazen charm.

I eyed her familiar form. Her fair skin was lightly tanned with short blonde hair that was swept back from her face and tied with a leather strap to keep it out of her eyes when she fought. She had incredible blue eyes. They sparkled with mischief but also reflected a keen intelligence. Not to mention she was unusually pretty with delicate feminine features.

And she was bold and brash and utterly fearless. Which was why she was one of my two best friends.

Not for the first time I found myself wondering what it must be like to stand out only because of your physical beauty and sheer brazenness? Because of what you were not who you were?

“I care for her...a little,” Lancelet said cautiously. “She’s fun. She’s easy. We’ll see how things go.”

“You like bedding her but it won’t last more than a week or two,” I translated with a smirk.

Lancelot raised an eyebrow at me. “Perhaps you’d find someone you’d like to bed if you came along.”

“I think not,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster. “There’s my commitment to the temple, for one. Not to mention the king’s sister...”

Lancelet waved a hand dismissively. “Can’t be seen in a tavern? Can’t go about bedding handsome young men she favors?”

“I don’t favor anyone,” I said crossly, reaching for my flask of water and taking a long sip. “I never do. Not to mention that Arthur probably have a fit if I started behaving in a way he deemed improper. And then there’s Merlin.”

“It’s a tragedy playing out before my very eyes,” Lancelet said with exaggerated sadness. “You’re doomed to be a shriveled old maid and die alone.”

I flinched and hoped she wouldn't notice. She wasn’t trying to be cruel. Not really. How was she to know it was one of my greatest fears? Not the old maid part. But who wanted to die alone?

“Of course, that won’t happen,” she acknowledged belatedly. She snatched up the cloth I’d been using to wipe my sweaty face and began trying to whip me with it. I shrieked and backed away. “Because you’ll always have me around, won’t you?”

“To pester me to death.” But I gave her a small smile. She must have known  she’d gone just a little too far. “Now put that disgusting rag away.”

Lancelet smirked. “Is that an order, Princess?”

I shrugged. “I beat you in the ring just now. If you want me to prove I can snatch that cloth from you and wipe my sweat on your face before you go to the tavern to see your little girlfriend, be my guest.”

Lancelet cackled. “Not how I want to smell, ideally.”

“Well, then.”

I pulled on a hooded black tunic and soft wool breeches, stowing my gear away.

As we left the building together I was distracted by two knights sparring in the practice ring across the courtyard. Their armor was polished to a high gleam, and their swords shone in the sunlight as they moved with a fluid grace. An impressive sight. So impressive that I was confused when a shadow dimmed my view. The next thing I knew I’d run smack into a wall.

I heard Lancelet yelp in surprise. We must have both run into the wall.

I focused my eyes. Not a wall. A man. A huge, looming man.

Standing at a towering height, he seemed giant-like in his size, his broad shoulders and muscular frame drawing my eyes up and up.

He was scowling down at me in a way I wasn’t used to seeing from most people. Especially not from the men in the training courtyard who were all accustomed to my presence.

“I beg your pardon,” I said coldly and waited for his apology.

Instead, he snorted rudely. “Watch yourself next time,” he snapped.

I could feel my jaw dropping.

The stranger’s face was framed by wavy, black hair that fell to his broad shoulders in a carelessly tousled manner, while his skin was a rich, warm brown that seemed to glow in the sunlight. Encased in training gear, he wore a sturdy leather jerkin. The dark brown material molded to his chest and back in a way that accentuated his broad shoulders and trim waist. The leather armor fitted him perfectly, hugging his muscles and showing off his raw strength. With his square jaw shadowed by a day's worth of stubble, there was an edge of danger to him that was somewhat off-putting.

As he moved to go around us, I locked eyes with Lancelet who looked as stunned as I felt.

“Excuse me,” I started to say.

He stopped and glanced back. I swallowed, suddenly feeling the full intensity of his gaze. His eyes flickered over me with a keen, assessing look that set my heart oddly pounding.

And then his expression becomes dismissive. Whatever he saw as he looked at me clearly didn’t interest him.

Without another word, the man turned away, striding off with an ease and grace that contradicted his large size.

“Well, I never,” Lancelet said hotly. “Doesn’t he know who you are? Why didn’t you tell him?”

“I...don’t know,” I said slowly.

Sir Ector approached us.

“Who the hell was that?” Lancelet demanded of him before I could say anything.

Sir Ector looked behind us calmly. “Oh, I see you’ve met one of our new recruits. He’s a farm boy from the lowlands. I’m given to understand he shows a great deal of promise. Lord Agravaine put in a good word for him.” Sir Ector looked a little sour at this. He and Lord Agravaine did not get on. “He’s certainly doing well in training. I suspect he’ll be chosen as a member of the Royal Guard.”

“A farm boy?” Lancelet gave a loud snort. “I’ve never seen a farm boy that looks like that before.” She elbowed me. “Have you, Morgan?” She raised her eyebrows at me with a smirk that said she’d noticed my extended gaping.

“I am not sure I would describe him as ‘boyish,’” I managed to say. Rude, yes. But there was no doubt in my mind that he had been a man. Full-grown. Overly so.

Sir Ector shot Lancelet an amused look. “And you pay attention to men like him ordinarily, do you?”

“Well, no, but when they’re built like a brick house it’s a little hard not to.” Lancelet put her hands on her hips and tossed her head. “He was quite rude to Morgan.”

Sir Ector glanced at me protectively. “Is that true?”

“It’s fine,” I said quickly, feeling my face growing hot again. “He didn’t know who I was.”

“Well, he’ll learn soon. And then I’m sure he’ll feel like a proper idiot,” Sir Ector said. “Would you like me to go and speak with him?”

“No!” I blurted. “Absolutely not.” I shook my head vigorously. “As you’ve said, he’ll learn soon.”

“You might go up against him in the training ring.” Sir Ector’s expression turned thoughtful. “Dame Halyna and I want the new recruits matched with all of the squires. Good practice.”

Lancelet and I exchanged a glance. “Even me?” I asked. I was not, technically, a squire.

Sir Ector scratched his grizzled chin. “Well, no. Not unless you really wished to...”

“I do!” I wasn’t sure the words were going to come out of my mouth until they did. “It’s part of my training, isn’t it?”

Not that I wanted to go up against... whatever that was. But I certainly did wish to be included.

“Very well. I don’t think Halyna will object.” He smiled and there was a hint of pride there that sent me glowing. “It’s likely you’ll both best most of the squires. The new recruits though... Well, most are full grown men.” He gave us a measured glance. “I suppose we’ll see.”

“We’ll see another day,” Lancelet countered, grabbing my arm. “We’re through with training for this afternoon. Time for an evening of leisure.” She lowered her voice. “Get me out of here before Dame Halyna sees us or she’ll have me scrubbing armor and helping the youngest squires with their footwork for the rest of the evening.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want that, now would we? Not when cold brew and beauteous...” I paused. “What was her name?”

“Blanchefleur,” she hissed.

I snickered. “Blanchefleur?” It was a very old-fashioned name.

“Well, if you two ladies are through with me, I believe I’ll go and see what Sir Lucan is up to,” Sir Ector said wryly, thankfully disinterested in whatever we were whispering so subtly to one another.

“Good day, Sir Ector,” we called as he marched away.

“He really is the best teacher,” Lancelet remarked as we strolled out of the courtyard and back through the inner bailey towards the castle. “I’m lucky you thought to ask him to help you. Dame Halyna says I’m improving greatly. And you know how rarely she gives compliments.”

“Perhaps you’ll be knighted soon?” I suggested.

“I doubt it. I have a few years yet to go.”

There was a hooting sound and a young man flew towards us. A very different sort from the brick wall of muscle we’d just encountered.

“Galahad,” I exclaimed happily.

Galahad Prennell was Sir Ector’s son, but he was his father’s opposite in many ways.

He was dressed very differently than we were in our leather jerkins and snug-fitting breeches. An acolyte in the temple, Galahad was dressed appropriately in a white linen robe which draped down to his ankles. Sandaled feet peeked out from beneath the hem, coated with dust. Around his waist, he wore a sash of rich burgundy, its ends trailing down to brush against his knees. On his head rested a simple band of linen, holding back his unruly curly brown hair from his face, and around his neck hung a small talisman–a small sun, symbol of his faith and devotion to the Three.

Despite the solemnity of his dress, he exuded an infectiously cheerful demeanor. His bright eyes sparkled with warmth and humor, and his smile was so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“Come to the tavern with us, Galahad?” Lancelet asked with false innocence. “We’re going to find Morgan a man.”

I went to elbow her but she jumped away laughing.

“The tavern? I would tag along, but I’ve come with Merlin.” Galahad met my eye and his smile wavered. “She’s back inside the Great Hall with the king. Your brother... He’s holding court.”

“Holding court? Did he ask for me?” I was surprised. This was not a day my brother usually held court. Ordinarily such proceedings were scheduled well in advance. My brother would sit in the Great Hall, surrounded by his courtiers, advisers, and the nobility, and receive petitions and gifts, make proclamations, and even–albeit very rarely–listen to the grievances of his subjects.

He usually proclaimed court days dull in the extreme.

“No, in fact...” Galahad paused. “I am not sure I would go in if I were you.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Not go into the Great Hall? Why not?”

“They’re dealing with a matter. Well, your brother is. The king is,” he corrected himself. “I think it may become unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant?”

“There is a boy. A part-fae boy...” He trailed off.

I understood. My brother usually managed to hide it well from the people, but he loathed the fae.

Of course, there were no real fae anymore. Only the remnants of fae bloodlines that popped up in humans now and then.

Like in my mother. Or me.

There were a few older nobles still in the court who still claimed my mother had been a full-blooded fae. And yet I knew that for the impossibility it was. Wherever my mother had come from, her family line would have been as diluted as any other.

Besides, she had never shown any sign of fae features. She was unusually lovely, yes. But all-too fragile. All-too human. I had only to check my memories for brutal evidence of that.

I swallowed. “I see. Has he...done something wrong?”

“Well, the king believes he has.” Galahad looked down at the ground rather than at me.

“I see.” I tried to smile. “Well, you two should go on ahead. I wasn’t really planning on joining you at the tavern anyhow.”

It was true. A tavern was one of the last places I enjoyed being. Give me a quiet library or bookshop any day instead. Or even a nice sweet-smelling herb garden. Or a sweaty sparring ring, for that matter.

I had just pulled up the hood of my tunic and started towards the castle when I heard footsteps behind me.

“You’re going to the hall?” Galahad’s voice was low.

I nodded. I might not be able to do anything. Who knew, perhaps there was nothing to worry about in the first place. Small hope.

“Merlin is already there,” Galahad reminded me.

I nodded again.

We made our way across the grounds and entered the castle, stepping into the Great Hall. A grand and ancient space, built by my ancestors, the high vaulted ceiling was supported by massive stone columns, each one carved with scenes from Pendrath’s history. The walls were covered with vibrantly-colored tapestries that told the stories of glorious battles and conquests.

Of course, the history that was shown had been carefully selected. You could tell a great deal by what a monarchy chose to remember about its own history–and even more by what it chose to forget.

My brother’s throne–the king’s throne–sat on a raised dais on the far side of the room. Hewn from dark wood and embellished with gold leaf, it bore an exquisitely carved pattern of thorns and roses. Two smaller thrones were placed on either side of the main one, reserved for the other members of the royal family and the high priestess.

Our family’s royal coat of arms hung proudly above the dais–a circular shield with a gold dragon in the center, surrounded by a ring of red roses. The border of the shield was decorated with thorns, and a golden crown sat on top of it.

The sickening sweet perfume of roses was inescapable. It hung in the air like a cloud. The floor of the Great Hall was made of polished stone and was strewn with wild roses and rushes, woven into complex knots. Vases filled with roses lined the nooks along the walls. Large torches lined the walls of the vast room, casting their light over the faces of the courtiers and nobles who had assembled.

Even in the clothing and accessories worn by those in attendance, the Rose Court motif was all-pervasive. The nobles of Camelot who mingled in the hall were sumptuously dressed in rich velvets and silks. The women wore long, flowing gowns, adorned with roses embroidered into the thin silk fabrics or added as embellishments to the borders of sleeves or skirts. Some of them wore elaborate rose headdresses, while others carried small rose posies in their hands.

Although there were some knights who preferred to wear armor, even in the Great Hall, most of the men were in more formal clothing–doublets and breeches made of opulent materials. Their clothing was similarly adorned with roses, with many displaying embroidered or beaded rose designs on their cuffs or collars. I saw one man with a rose-shaped earring made of pink pearls in one ear.

As we took our place amongst the throng, I could hear the murmur of voices. The air was charged with a sense of anxious anticipation.

I could easily imagine what was being whispered. “What will the king do today? And “Who will he do it to?”

Many of the noble families had their eldest sons around them. I noticed a decided lack of daughters. Since Arthur had taken the throne, families brought their unmarried daughters to court at their own risk.

No one had noticed me and that’s how I wanted it to stay. I sidled over to a large column and stood behind it. Galahad followed without question.

I looked up at the dais and my eyes widened. My youngest brother, Kaye, had just sat down in one of the thrones. His small, slender frame was unsuited to the large chair. He shifted restlessly, his light-brown hair falling messily around his face as if it had not been brushed in days. He was smiling a little, but I could tell he was nervous about being on display.

I wondered why Arthur had summoned him to sit on the dais and curled my hands into fists. I had a bad feeling about this.

I looked to the other side of the dais where the high priestess was taking her seat.

Merlin, High Priestess of the Temple of the Three Sisters, Keeper of the Sacred Flame, Oracle of the Secret Mysteries, and Guardian of the Celestial Sanctum, was a handsome woman of middle-years whose face radiated with sharp wit and insight. Her hair was a silky cascade of ebony and silver strands, woven into a serpentine braid that knotted around her head. Dressed in flowing robes of the purest white, trimmed with gold and silver, the material draped elegantly around her graceful frame.

Unlike Kaye, Merlin sat straight and proud on the throne, her arms crossed before her, the sleeves of her gown long and flared, hanging to either side like the wings of a swan.

Her face was striking, with high cheekbones and soul-searching eyes. Her lips were full and set in a firm, determined line that lent her an air of command. Everything about the priestess conveyed a force to be reckoned with.

I took another step back behind the pillar. I doubted Arthur would notice me there, but Merlin was another story. She was decidedly astute.

In the center, on the Rose Throne, sat my brother Arthur. His brown hair was styled in the latest court fashion, and capped with a golden crown that glittered in the light. He was richly dressed as always, in dark red and gold silks and velvets, his doublet and hose embroidered with gold thread, and his cloak lined with ermine fur.

Arthur’s eyes were sharp and piercing as he looked out at his court, his lips pursed in a slight sneer. He leaned his head on one hand, looking petulant and bored.

My heartbeat slowed with relief. Bored was good. Surely Arthur would have been showing more interest in the proceedings if something significant was about to take place.

The king waved a hand. Instantly the hall became silent.

“Bring in the captive.” My brother’s voice rang out, filling the hall with regal authority.

Instantly, the heavy wooden doors on the far right-side of the Great Hall burst open and a group of guards dragged in a young boy. He looked to be a few years younger than I was. His arms were bound tightly behind his back and his clothing was ripped and torn, revealing a back covered with the welts of a whip.

I felt the bile rise in my throat. Evidently Arthur had instructed his private guards to begin the boy’s punishment early.

But there was still hope. Perhaps the whipping would be the extent of the king’s justice.

I could tell right away that the boy possessed some fae blood, and evidently I was not the only one, for the Great Hall had erupted into a buzz of voices. His skin was tinged violet and his hair was an otherworldly shade of blue. Such vivid features were unusual but not unheard of.

I watched as the boy’s eyes darted around the vast room, his expression desperate and fearful.

Sitting on the Pendragon throne of the Rose Court of Camelot, my brother leaned forward. “What crime has he committed?”

The question was a farce. Arthur surely knew the answer already. But then, the entire thing was a spectacle of cruelty. With poor Kaye trapped up there beside Arthur on the dais, forced to watch and unwittingly condone.

One of the guards stepped forward. I did not recognize him. “He was caught stealing in one of the markets, Your Highness. He claimed he came into the city from one of the smaller villages to find work but was unsuccessful.”

The boy dropped to his knees and began to sob. “I took only an apple, Your Majesty. A single apple.”

I stepped forward involuntarily, but a hand gripped my arm. I glanced up to see Galahad shaking his head slightly. His face was pale.

Arthur ignored the boy. “A thief,” he mused, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his throne. “But that cannot be all there is to this. Tell me truly now, guard, he is a spy, is he not? Come to scout among us? Has not Rheged been sending more and more spies along our borders?”

The guard cleared his throat. Evidently this part of the performance had not been rehearsed, yet he had no wish to contradict his monarch. He was a coward. But then, if he was one, what did that make me?

“Indeed, my king,” the guard declared, loudly enough to be heard across the hall. “Quite so. Most likely from Rheged.”

I watched my brother’s lips twist into a cruel smile. “The punishment for theft is the loss of a hand, as all those assembled here know.”

The boy’s sobs became louder. The more I looked at him the more he seemed closer to Kaye in age, hardly more than a child. Where was his family? Did he leave them behind to seek out a better life for himself only to come to this?

I was sure this was not how he ever imagined he would glimpse the famed Great Hall of the Rose Court of Camelot, broken and bleeding on the stone floor.

Arthur went on. “But spying–now that is another matter entirely. And one with a much more severe punishment.” He paused, then raised his voice to carry more loudly. “One which we all know is death.”

The nobles and courtiers were murmuring more loudly now. I overheard one woman near us suggesting in a hushed voice to the man beside her that hard labor would be more fair and fitting for the boy. The man shushed her quickly, but I was pleased to see any indication of mercy amongst my fellow nobles.

The boy had his palms to the floor and was emitting the most heart-wrenching cries.

“I beseech you, my king,” he sobbed. “Have mercy. Am I not one of your subjects? I swear, I am no spy. Yes, I did wrong. Allow me to pay for it and accept my sincere remorse.”

He held out a trembling hand, his eyes closed.

My brother studied the boy in silence for a moment as the court quieted. “Well, a spy would say that, wouldn’t he?” Arthur looked around with an easy smile as if expecting everyone around him to smile back.

There was a tittering of laughter from the sycophants closest to the dais and I slammed my hand into the pillar beside me, grazing my knuckles.

“If I may, Your Grace...” Merlin rose slowly from her seat, her movements sure and graceful, and stood with her hands clasped on the edge of the dais looking down at the boy.

I studied Arthur’s face and could tell he was striving to remain composed. “Priestess?”

“If the boy is part-fae then his bloodline may mean he is an excellent prospect for an acolyte. As you know, many of the fae and human mixes contain traces of magic.” Merlin's voice was cool and lofty. She showed no hint of sympathy for the boy, looking at him with an expert's gaze and nothing more.

“And can you tell if the boy has any hidden talents by looking at him now?” Arthur asked, beginning to drum his fingers again.

I glanced at Galahad and saw the hope in his eyes.

“Not yet, Your Grace,” Merlin responded. “I would need to take him back with me to the temple. But in time...”

“I beg the king’s pardon but if I may be so bold?” A familiar snide male voice interrupted the high priestess.

A man with sleek blond hair stepped forward from the group of nobles crowded around closest to the royal dais.

Lord Agravaine Emrys.

I clenched my jaw as I watched him approach. Lord Agravaine was my brother’s closest advisor and could be counted on to have the king’s ear. As he stepped up to address Arthur, there was a small smile playing about his lips as if he found everything taking place secretly amusing.

My brother waved a hand.

“No matter how much Your Highness may wish to be merciful, I beg you not to let a weak-hearted woman sway your sense of justice–” I glanced at Galahad and saw his mouth was grim. How dare Agravaine refer to the high priestess in such a way. “It is an unfortunate fact, but the common people grow more and more bold. Theft becomes more rampant every day in the markets. And, as you yourself have noted, the boy’s...unfortunate lineage...marks him out as being all too easily disposed to deception and trickery. Your guards have confirmed the boy acted as a spy. Therefore, trust your sound judgment, my king. A harsh and swift retribution is the only deterrent these people will understand.”

I watched Merlin’s eyes narrow. She seemed prepared to say more, but Arthur was already nodding as Lord Agravaine stepped modestly back into the crowd. “I thank you, good Lord Agravaine, High Priestess. As always, your wise counsel proves invaluable.”

Merlin nodded respectfully and resumed her place on the throne beside Arthur.

“Two paths have been suggested, but it is the harsher one we must follow today,”my brother continued, fixing his face in a solemn expression. “For the good of the realm, for the good of all of Pendrath, proper justice must be meted out. And it must be done swiftly. Death is the only fitting punishment for such a conniving and miserable creature.”

There were gasps from the crowd and I felt my hands start to shake. We had witnessed cruel punishments before in the Great Hall, but this... This was something both harsher and infinitely more final.

I longed to push my way through the crowd, to run to Arthur and speak up as Merlin had done.

But I knew my brother. I was only too aware of my own precarious position in the court. I knew it would be of no use.

The leader of the group of guards stood looking confused. He hesitated, glancing back and forth between the boy and his king.

“Now, guard.” Arthur’s lips thinned in displeasure. “Your king has spoken. Judgment is to be executed swiftly.”

For a split second, the guard gaped, realizing just what he was being told to do. Then his mouth closed and he nodded.

Beside me I could feel Galahad trembling. I gripped his arm reassuringly but refused to look away.

The guard drew his sword from its scabbard and stepped forward to where the boy sat in resigned silence, his head hanging down.

The blade hissed through the air.

I saw the spray of blood.

Some of the courtiers were standing too close for comfort. Screams of shock and titillation went up as the blood splattered their fine garments.

“Silence,” Arthur bellowed. He rose and gazed down at the boy’s decapitated body lying on the bed of roses and reeds, then nodded and smiled slightly as if it was all exactly as it should be.

He turned and left the dais.

I finally allowed myself to look at my younger brother Kaye’s face, then wished I had not. He was pale and looked as if he might faint. I cursed under my breath and stepped forward, but Galahad grabbed my arm and pointed.

Merlin had risen from her seat again. Moving quickly to Kaye she crouched beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Whatever she was saying, her words seemed gentle. I watched Kaye nod and felt a wave of relief.

Of course, Kaye was also a prince of Pendrath and second in line to the throne. It was in Merlin’s best interests to have his favor–and his gratitude. It was in her best interests to know his weaknesses as well.

Still, I was grateful for the gesture of kindness, no matter what the motives were.

“That was...unexpected,” Galahad said from beside me.

I turned to him. He looked as sickened as I felt.

“I thought a severe sentence of some kind, yes. But the boy had already been whipped and...” He trailed off.

“Not death, no,” I said quietly. “Death on a trumped up charge. What purpose could it have served?”

But in my heart, I already knew. To assert his power. To send a message reminding the nobles of how quickly that power could be exercised.

“I suppose the king may have been making an example of him. Perhaps there is more going on behind the scenes than we know,” Galahad said, obviously desperate to justify what had taken place.

“Perhaps,” I said evenly. I had never been able to be entirely open with Galahad and Lancelet about just what kind of a king I expected my brother to turn out to be. Especially not when it was my fault he was on the throne now in the first place.

I raised a hand to my head, pushing back my hood and massaging my scalp. I had wound my braid into a tight knot at the back of my head and suddenly was desperate to let it down. “I’m sorry, Galahad, but I’m more tired than I thought. Please thank Merlin for... well, for whatever she said to put Kaye at ease.”

Galahad nodded.

I tugged my hood back up over my hair and walked towards one of the doors to the left of the dais.

The hall was still filled with nobles and courtiers. Those who had been covered in blood and screaming must have been tactfully removed for cleaning.

A face caught my attention as I passed.

A tall, raven-haired man in leather armor was leaning against the wall apart from the rest of the crowd. His gaze was fixed on the throne–Arthur’s throne. His green eyes burned with a fierce intensity.

The giant from the training courtyard, I realized with a jolt. I could see the turmoil in his expression and wondered what could have caused such a reaction.

His head shifted slightly and I followed his gaze to where the fae-blooded boy’s body had fallen.

The body was already gone. Servants had carried it away. Now other servants crouched on the floor, gathering up the blood-soaked reeds and flowers and shoving them into baskets to be disposed of. The blood would soon be scrubbed away and fresh roses placed once more upon the floor.

In a few minutes, there would be no trace left of the horror we had witnessed in the name of our king’s justice.

I looked back at the dark-haired man’s face. His lips were twisted in clear revulsion for what he saw.

I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of admiration for the stark honesty of his expression–foolhardy though it was to show such feelings.

Before I could reach the spot where he stood and covertly pass him by, he pushed away from the wall and stormed out of the room, his heavy footsteps echoing through the hall.

I followed at a slower pace, making my way to a staircase leading up to the upper floors of the castle where my own suite of rooms lay in one of the towers.

My body felt tired and heavy. My feet plodded along on the shallow stone steps.

Part of me wished I had gone with Lancelet. That I hadn’t returned to the Great Hall at all. But long ago I had told myself that bearing witness to Arthur’s cruelty was itself an act of defiance. And that someday, I would do much more to defy him.

Even now, I could have escaped the oppressive atmosphere of the castle and gone out into the gardens for a walk as twilight fell.

But it was time to take my medicine.

CHAPTER 3

My father, Uther Pendragon, had three wives. All of them were dead now.

A tragic accident befell my mother, Ygraine. She tripped and hit her head against a hard stone wall while my father was visiting with her in her tower rooms. He called for the healers and high priestess as quickly as he could, but they could not save her.

That was the official story.

My father’s second wife was Arthur’s mother. Her name was Ettarde. She was young and very beautiful, but her tongue was as bitter as wormwood and she had many enemies. She was not well-liked at court, especially not once she became queen. She loved to laugh and to flirt and to tease and she did all of these things too well, playing favorites with the noblewomen, and forming her own court around her. She called it the “Court of Love,” which I always found ironic because she showed no love to me.

Even so, she might have gotten away with that much, but she played favorites with men as well and that was too much for my father’s limited tolerance.

Ettarde was executed for committing adultery with one of my father’s best friends, Sir Pelleas.

He was executed, too.

After their deaths, it came to light that Ettarde had borne a child by my father, Uther, before their marriage.

Arthur.

My father brought Arthur to the Rose Court and after conferring with his advisors and the priestess proclaimed that his illegitimate son from the disloyal Ettarde was now legitimized.

Thus, Arthur became second in line to the throne of Camelot.

This was the beginning of my undoing, though I did not know it yet.

Perhaps I should have been angry. After all, Arthur had been born while my mother was still alive, while I was hardly a year old.

But I wasn’t.

As a small girl, I loved Arthur. I had always wanted a brother. And if Arthur was sometimes a little cruel and stole my toys or ripped apart my favorite books, well, that was to be expected. He had lost his mother. I could understand that. I thought I could understand his anger. And he could be very sweet when he wanted to be.

Enid was my father’s third and final wife. She was young like Ettarde, but her opposite in every other way. Enid was pretty and plump and gentle-hearted, and she did what Ettarde had not. For a time, she managed to bring peace to the Rose Court. Or as much peace as she could achieve with someone like my father as her husband.

Enid treated me as if I were her trueborn daughter. She was kind to me and kind to Arthur, no matter how badly he misbehaved, and I was grateful to her for that.

She died giving birth to Kaye.

After my mother died, my father was kind to me at first.

He never realized I had been lying under the bed that day.

But I suppose his guilt was as strong as if he had known, because for the first few months after my mother died he was unusually gentle. And Uther Pendragon had never been a gentle man.

Somehow, I managed not to push him away. Even as a small child, I knew I could not risk doing so. I could not risk the wrath of the king–even if he was my own father.

After Ettarde was executed, things grew worse.

And after Enid died giving birth to Kaye, Arthur and I began to live in a state of constant terror.

But I had been living in a precarious state long before then.

When my father legitimized Arthur, I suspect he realized then that he was going to pass me over.

By right, the throne was mine. I was first in line for the crown.

Until my father decided my mixed human and fae blood was too much of a problem to be ignored.

Was it my appearance that irked him so?

I had never had what you might call perfectly human ears. They were not pointy like a fae’s but neither were they completely rounded.

Or perhaps it was my hair.

Before my mother died, my hair seemed on its way to becoming a pale blonde, if not a rich gold like hers was.

But after she passed, it began to turn ashen. Then decidedly gray.

Now I was a twenty-year-old young woman with hair the color of an old woman’s.

Perhaps if I was very lucky it would be pure white by the time I reached twenty-five.

Gray was not a fae color. Their complexions leaned towards the more vivid hues. Bright greens, vibrant blues, rich reds. I once read a story about a fae with purple hair and violet skin. It sounded beautiful to me.

Humans with a dash of fae blood in their lineage rarely presented with such strong features. Many of the noble families still possessed traces of fae blood but fewer and fewer who did came to court, knowing of Arthur’s unspoken prejudice.

Usually those with mixed blood managed to blend fairly easily. They generally didn’t wind up murdered in cold blood by their king before the entire court.

I suspected there were a fair number of nobles with fae lineage in the Great Hall that day who had been quivering in their doe-skin boots and silk slippers at the sight of their king unhesitatingly executing a fae-blooded boy on the slenderest of justifications.

Overall, mixed-blood humans were accepted. Oh, they might have faced some cruelty and ridicule. But they were permitted to live their lives. They married, had children, and died like the rest of us–in a limited lifespan.

But a Pendragon queen with fae blood? I was a relic of a people who many believed no longer even existed. Not to mention a reminder of the fae-blooded wife my father would rather forget he had ever had.

So, my father decided I would simply not become queen.

What it came down to was simple. He did not believe I was worthy.

What was easier to understand was that he preferred Arthur to me. Arthur who was a replica of the boy my father had been. Arthur who was strong and hard and showed a hint of the viciousness my father believed was necessary in any good monarch.

And so not long after Ettarde died, not long after Arthur was legitimized, and only a short while after Uther had married Enid, another proclamation went forth.

Morgan Pendragon, daughter of Uther and Ygraine, was no longer the heir to the throne of Pendrath.

Instead, she would be dedicated to the Temple of the Three Sisters upon reaching her twenty-first birthday.

Arthur Pendragon would be the future king of Pendrath.

For my father, it was all very simple and very convenient.

Officially, I was still a princess of the royal blood, no matter how murky that blood might have been in my fae-tinged veins.

I was not being sent away or formally repudiated. Nothing so cruel. No, this was very...humane.

I would simply not be queen.

But unofficially, I was an outcast in the Rose Court from that day forward.

My future had been set for me before I was old enough to question it.

CHAPTER 4

The royal castle of Camelot was a sprawling series of buildings, spanning hundreds of years of construction, which had been plunked onto the top of the second highest hill in the city. I am sure it annoyed Arthur to no end that the temple's elevation was slightly higher than the keep.

The castle was made of gray stone, with towers and crenellations dotting the tops of its walls. The main keep rose out of the center. My rooms were on the third floor of one of the keep’s four highest towers.

I pushed open the door to my room. A fire was already burning in the large fireplace. A tray had been set for me on the desk by the window. I spotted a dish of bread, cheese, and fruit, and on the other side of the tray a large mug that I knew would be filled with a dark murky liquid. I grimaced. The servants who tended to my rooms–and to me–knew by now that the medicine left me with little appetite and so there was no need for a heavier meal.

I closed the door behind me. My rooms were a pleasant place where I was usually able to find respite, no matter what might have been happening elsewhere in my world. Years ago, Enid helped me move my things from the nursery. With her help, I selected furniture and decorations. Little had changed since then.

As in the Grey Hall, the walls were hung with rich vibrant tapestries but rather than depicting scenes of battle and conquest, I had chosen displays of lush landscapes, exotic animals, and fantastical creatures. Places and creatures I had no hope of ever seeing but which filled my dreams when I lay alone in bed.

Two full walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with leather-bound tomes on every subject and piles of parchment I couldn’t bear to throw away. On the ornately carved desk by the window lay an old hourglass that did a dismal job of keeping time, a brass telescope for stargazing, and a quill pen and ink set. In one corner of the room, there was a large, plush cushioned reading chair with a warm woolen blanket draped over it.

In the far corner by the bed, sat a beautifully carved wooden harp with strings made of silver, and a set of hand-carved wooden flutes. They were more for show than anything. I was a terrible musician, although Enid had high hopes for me. A bow or a blade were more suited to my hands than a harp, though I was still not as skilled with either as I wanted to be.

The furniture was all a dark polished ashwood. Each piece had been carved with vines and flowers. Enid had everything ordered specially for me from a famed furniture-maker in a village a few days' journey from the city. My bed was the masterpiece of the room–a true work of art, a large four-poster construction with carvings so detailed that they seemed to come alive in the flickering firelight. Roses and vines wound their way up each post, their delicate leaves and tendrils intertwining with small buds and even tinier thorns. A large moon and hundreds of stars decorated the headboard, hand-painted to shine against the dark wood.

I sank down onto the bed and pulled off my leather boots, then rose and walked over to the tray on the desk.

As I did so, the painting of my mother that hung over the desk to the left of the window caught my eye. A small miniature in an oval gold frame that I wished was much larger. But it was a detailed, faithful rendition of her and the only one I had.

Ygraine Pendragon, former Queen of Pendrath, watched me serenely from the frame as I lifted the mug and began to sip, wrinkling my nose.

The taste never improved. But at least I knew what to expect.

I stared back into my mother’s eyes.

She, too, drank this same concoction I am told. Every second night as I do now.

I looked out the window as I took a large sip. Through the diamond panes I could see the gardens and courtyards scattered below. The formal garden with its neatly trimmed hedges and colorful flowers opened onto a series of orchards where fruit trees grew, and a vineyard, where grapes were harvested and turned into wine for the king’s table.

I could have chosen to join the others in the dining hall. There, the nobles who were privileged enough to reside in the castle would be eating together. The room would be full of raucous laughter, the music of minstrels, and the scents of roasting meat.

I thought back to the man hulking against the wall in the Great Hall, of the look of outrage on his face, and I felt a pang of shame.

Sir Ector had said he was a new recruit. Well, today that new recruit had gained some insight into his king. Probably more than he wanted.

Did the people in the towns and villages and outlying areas of the kingdom realize what went on here in the capital?

I still felt the outrage I had seen on the man’s face today. But not long into Arthur’s reign, I had been forced to learn to conceal it. For my sake and for Kaye’s.

And the recruit had better learn to do the same or he was not going to last long in Camelot. He would certainly never make the Royal Guard.

I had read my history books. The Pendragon line was not full of models of virtue. The queens and kings of old had been wrathful and cruel. Their good qualities had mixed with their bad until there was little distinction between what made a good ruler and a bad one.

When I was younger, I had hoped Arthur would steady out as he matured, with careful guidance and instruction. But he had chosen the worst possible counselors. Ones who honed and encouraged his vices rather than his virtues.

Would I have turned out the same way if I had become queen?

I drained the rest of the glass of medicine then looked at the plate of food. My stomach was already queasy, but I knew I should eat. I picked up some slices of apple and nibbled them as I crossed back over to the bed and threw myself upon it.

The queasiness was one thing. But what was worse was the pain in my head that set in as the medicine did its work. Every second day I had to deal with this affliction. A throbbing pain in my temples and behind my eyes that sometimes left me in so much agony that I was unable to do much besides sleep.

But tonight I was determined to do more. I have a small rebellion planned.

I finished the apple slices then closed my eyes resolutely, willing my body to briefly rest.

For tonight I would join the hunt.

The underground passage beneath the castle keep was dimly lit by torches mounted on the walls which cast shadows across the rough-hewn stone. The air was cool and damp, and the musty scent of earth and stone filled my nostrils. As I made my way through the winding passage, I could hear the sound of dripping water echoing somewhere in the distance.

After several twists and turns, the passage began to slope downwards. I descended a set of steep stairs carved into the rock. At the bottom, the tunnel leveled out. I could see a faint light in the distance, beckoning me forward.

I stepped towards the end of the passage. A narrow opening in the wall led out into a dark, wooded area beyond. Moonlight filtered through the trees, casting a pale glow over the forest floor.

I paused for a moment to make sure every strand of my gray hair was tucked beneath my black hood, then lifted my bow, and slipped out through the gap. My dark leathers scraped slightly against the cold stone as I squeezed through.

Stepping into the open air, I could feel a cool breeze on my skin. Leaves rustled and crunched underfoot.

My head was throbbing, but it was a dull pain. I could keep it in the background if I focused. The cool night air was refreshing against my skin, lessening the pain a little.

I turned around to look at the passageway, reassuring myself I could find my way back. The tunnel entrance was concealed by overhanging branches. To someone who didn’t know where to look, it was nearly invisible.

My heart was pounding with anticipation. I might not be a prisoner in the castle, but there was still a sense of freedom and exhilaration at slipping away in the dead of night.

I walked towards the designated meeting place, keeping a careful eye out for danger.

There was a brief moment where I thought I heard the sound of a snapping twig, but when I turned and waited and listened, there was no one there. The forest was quiet.

I assumed it was a rabbit or a fox and continued on my way.

By the time I spotted the group of other hunters, the moon was high in the sky, casting an ethereal light over the ancient forest that surrounded us.

I hid a grin as I approached the group. They were an odd assortment but I felt lucky to have been permitted to join them. They had no idea who I really was, but still, I was a stranger in their midst and they’d trusted me enough to give me the correct meeting place.

Rough-looking men and women armed with spears, knives, and bows were gathered together talking in low voices. I stole a glance at my own weapon. It gleamed in the moonlight, while the others’ weapons were scuffed and worn from hard use. I scowled a little and hoped they wouldn't notice. This was only my second time meeting with the group. I wanted to blend in.

The leader, a grizzled man named Baudwin with a long black beard, reminded me a little of Sir Ector. He nodded to me as I took my place. I kept my head down as he spoke quickly, reminding us of the plan for the night.

A woman stepped forward; her russet hair was drawn back into a knot. She looked like any number of middle-aged mothers I’d seen in the marketplace. Was she there to feed her own family? Or to help others?

Quietly, she began to say a prayer to one of the Three. I had not realized the group was devout.

“Great Devina, goddess of the hunt, hear our prayer. Grant to us the cunning of the wolf, the swiftness of the deer, and the strength of the bear. May your light guide us through the darkness and your wisdom aid us in the hunt. Watch over our blades so that they may strike true. Allow us to honor you with our prowess, O Devina. Lady of the moon, protect us and lead us safely home. So may it be.”

“So may it be,” we all echoed.

I heard the man next to me muttering to himself, promising Devina a share of the spoils of his catch if she aided him tonight.

I hoisted my bow and quiver, and that’s when I saw him.

He stood at a slight angle, almost hidden near some trees. He had obviously been waiting for the right time to approach. His small frame made him seem younger than he is.

He was dressed in hunting clothes which must have been borrowed from a servant. They were made of rough-spun wool and leather and were dyed a deep brown, perfect to blend in with the forest. But they had clearly been meant for someone much older, for they hung loosely on Kaye’s slender form.

Swearing under my breath, I marched over to him.

“You followed me?” I hissed. I wasn’t angry. Not exactly. But the prey we hunted wouldn’t be an easy catch.

Kaye nodded and eagerly displayed the knife he carried in a leather sheath on his belt.

“Don’t send me back,” he pleaded. His light brown hair was still tousled, sticking up in places. His bangs fell over his forehead, partly obscuring his soft brown eyes. He needed a haircut. He needed care, period, I thought with a lump in my throat.

I swallowed. “Fine. Follow me and stay close. Don’t leave the group. Don’t get in the way. And above all, don’t try to be a hero. Just watch and learn.”

I felt like such a fraud, telling him what to do. I was a novice at this myself. But I couldn’t admit that. I was his older sister. He was my burden. Mine to protect.

Surprising myself, I threw an arm around his shoulders and watched his face break into a sweet smile. Strange how Kaye was the only one with whom I’d never had trouble showing affection.

“Thank you, Morgan,” he said earnestly. “I won’t be any trouble, I swear.”

“I hope to the Three you’re right,” I grumbled. I watched his eyebrows raise in surprise. Invoking the goddesses was something I usually avoided doing. Had the prayer meant more to me than I cared to admit?

We began to move through the forest, following Baudwin’s lead as we made our way deeper into the woods.

The trees loomed above us like giant sentinels, their branches creaking in the wind. The forest floor was covered in a thick layer of leaves, and the underbrush was dense, making it hard to see more than a few feet ahead.

The air grew colder, and I could see my breath in the moonlight. I began to wonder how much farther we would have to go before encountering our prey. Hunting by night was not ideal.

But neither was stealing our bounty from the king’s lands.

I hardened my heart, telling myself Arthur would never know. These people deserved anything they took from the land. Its bounty was theirs by a right more ancient than even those of kings.

Then I thought of the boy and the apple.

I glanced swiftly over at Kaye. In the moonlight, his face was so smooth. It lacked the rough edges that would soon come with adulthood. At eleven, he was hardly more than a child. Despite his small size, there was a determination in the way he carried himself.

He reminded me of myself.

Suddenly, there was a snort from up ahead, and the sound of something crashing through the brush.

Kaye met my eyes as we froze. I reached for my bow, notching an arrow, as a giant boar charged out of the undergrowth, its eyes glinting in the moonlight.

The boar was massive, all bristling hair and razor-sharp tusks. It could feed ten families for a week. But I’d heard the stories of boar hunts turned dangerous and deadly. I gestured for Kaye to step back and to my relief he did so, moving into the shelter of some trees.

All around me the others were leaping into action, as Baudwin shouted for us to form a circle around the creature.

The boar pawed the ground, snorting like a horse, and looking around the circle for a way of escape.

It didn’t seem like a trapped animal on the verge of surrender to me. Anything but.

The boar lifted its head, meeting the eyes of the devout man who had promised Devina a share of the spoils, and charged.

I watched as the man’s eyes widened in surprise. He tried to step back but few could move that fast. It was too late. The boar’s tusk slashed swiftly across his middle and he fell to the ground with a sharp cry of pain.

I clenched my jaw, hoping the boar did not just deliver a death sentence.

“Go to him, Kaye,” I called to my brother, already moving to close the gap in the circle of hunters. “This is how you can help. Go!”

The other hunters were trying not to become distracted by what had just befallen their comrade. As Kaye ran behind the trees towards the fallen man, they dodged and weaved expertly as the boar let out a frustrated grunt, looking for another way out.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Kaye huffing as he dragged the injured man into the shadows. Good. Now he was out of the worst danger. And what was more he could truly feel that he had helped.

I positioned my bow, pulled back on the string, but my hands were shaking. The pain in my head had increased but in the commotion I hadn’t noticed. Now it threatened to overwhelm me. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my trembling hands and my queasy stomach, then pulled the bowstring back, letting the arrow fly towards the boar.

It hit the animal on the back but bounced harmlessly off its thick hide. I let loose a string of curses under my breath, and quickly notched a second arrow.

The boar was relentless, charging back and forth, looking for a new opening for attack.

More arrows ricocheted off the boar’s hide. I saw the woman who led the prayer shoot one after another, shaking her tawny head in frustration.

Finally, Baudwin lifted a deadly-sharp-looking spear, threw with all his might, and it struck true.

The boar let out a furious shriek and turned to see its attacker. I watched frozen as Baudwin’s eyes widened and he began to turn. But the boar was too quick. It lunged, delivering a vicious blow to the hunter’s leg.

The black-bearded man went down, blood streaming from the wound as he sank onto the grass. He shouted to us, refusing to give in, insisting we close the circle again.

We did so, and from the corner of my eye I spotted Kaye moving covertly through the trees to where Baudwin sat, his face a mask of pain. Kaye put his arms beneath the man’s armpits and began to pull him away. When he caught my eye, he gave a small smile. Clearly, he was pleased at being useful. I nodded to him, hoping the gesture conveyed my pride.

The other hunters continued to attack the beast, but it seemed almost invincible. Murmurs began to arise amongst the group. I could sense our spirits waning.

I was determined not to give up. There was already so little I could do for our people. Surely a princess of the realm could at least help to feed those who starved.

I gave my head a little shake, refusing to let the pain get the better of me, and quickly notched another arrow, my fingers moving quicker and more surely this time.

My heart was racing.

This time my focus didn’t waver. My hands didn’t shake. I looked at my target and let the arrow fly towards the boar.

The arrow pierced through the air and found its mark. Right on the boar’s hindquarters. The animal let out a squeal of fury.

I’d drawn the animal’s attention, no doubt.

As it turned to face me, I set another arrow to the string. My hands trembled slightly, but I held steadfast, waiting as long as I could.

The boar was turned to me now. Preparing to charge.

Would I go down like the two men? Bloody wounds gaping to the night?

It ran straight towards me. It took all my restraint to wait.

I loosed the arrow.

I watched, holding my breath, as it found its mark, striking the boar deep in the throat.

Rich red blood began to spurt and I breathed a sigh of relief and lowered my bow thinking this must be the end.

The boar stumbled, staggered, and then did the unthinkable–it tried to charge again.

I fumbled for another arrow but my hands were shaking so badly I knew I was out of time.

The hunters around me were shouting. A young woman a few feet away from me darted in with her spear, trying to stab the boar and distract its attention, but as soon as she came near, it swung its deadly tusks and she fell back, looking at me with sympathy.

I was frozen, numb. Everything was happening too quickly.

And then a large figure broke through the circle, splitting apart the two hunters to my right.

There were shouts and gasps, but the newcomer ignored them.

With a roar, he charged forward, a sharpened spear held high.

The boar stopped in its tracks, inches away from me, and swung its dark head to face the stranger, its eyes blazing with bloodlust and rage.

The hunter dodged to the side, sliding under the boar's massive body, showing more agility than I ever would have thought possible for such a large man.

With a quick thrust, we watched as he delivered the killing blow, plunging his spear into the boar's side.

He made it look almost easy. Effortless.

There was silence as the boar squealed in pain, thrashing about wildly. But it was too late. With a final, shuddering breath, the beast fell to the ground, dead.

Everyone around me erupted into a triumphant cheer and crowded around the mysterious hunter, patting him on the back and congratulating him on the kill.

Everyone but me. I’d recognized him now.

The giant from the training courtyard. The man with the outraged expression.

I felt unexpectedly furious that he had dared to appear here, out of the blue, and joined the hunt. As if he had encroached somehow on my private territory, which I knew was ridiculous.

I stepped back, nibbling my lip, watching as two of the hunters, a man and a woman, crouched beside the boar and began to skin it.

I knew I should find Kaye and make sure the two men are all right. On previous occasions, I’d managed to slip coins into the pockets of those who’d been injured during one of these hunts. I wasn’t a healer, but I could do that much at least.

I was thinking too hard about what to do next and didn't notice that the raven-haired man had approached until he was right in front of me.

I gasped, took a step back, then let out another curse.

His eyebrows raised and I felt a small rush of satisfaction. Had I offended him somehow? Good.

“Such a foul tongue for a woman,” he remarked, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m sorry, did I ask your opinion?” I narrowed my eyes right back at him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he declared.

My heart skipped a beat. For a moment I thought he knew who I was and where I’d come from. I looked around wildly for Kaye.

I gritted my teeth and prepared to beg the man not to tell Arthur what he’d seen here tonight.

Then I hesitated. “What do you mean?”

He frowned, his chiseled jaw clenching. “The boy? He’s your brother?”

I felt my body sag with relief just before annoyance flooded in. For the second time in a day, this man had no idea who he was talking to.

Maybe he wasn’t the sharpest of swords. All brawn, no brains.

“Yes, he’s mine. And that concerns you how precisely?”

I watched as an angry glow came into the dark-haired man’s eyes and felt a tad smug. What right did he have to question me? Had I not wounded the boar for him? What had he done?

Broken the circle and ended the hunt single-handedly, I reminded myself. Possibly saved my life. Not that I was keen to admit it.

Yes, well, it wasn’t exactly the most sportsmanlike style of hunting I’d seen. This was meant to be a community effort, not a one-man giant show.

“You should have stayed at home. This is no place for you,” the man said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I suppose you say that because I’m a woman?” I challenged, my eyes flashing.

“Because you’re a woman?” He seemed surprised. “No,” he said, his scowl deepening. “Because you are weak.” His gaze shifted to where Kaye stood further off in the trees. “Both of you.”

My hands curled around my bow. The pain in my head had rapidly gone from a throbbing to a sharp stabbing behind my eyes. I was suddenly too tired to argue with a man about whether or not I was weak.

“And you are a lug-headed fool,” I managed to say pleasantly. “I’d say thank you for the concern but it’s unwelcome. Next time you should mind your own business. My brother and I can take care of ourselves and you’d do well to remember that.”

He raised his eyebrows again. They were very fine brows. Dark and thick with an elegant curve that contrasted with his hulking build.

“Is that a threat?”

I shrugged coldly. “Take it for what you will.” And then, before I could think it through, I found myself shoving him in the chest with both hands. He hardly budged but it still felt satisfying. “Leave me alone and stay out of my way.”

I turned away, my heart racing, and wondered if he was the kind of man who would follow. But there was only silence as I walked away.

Kaye was crouched beside Baudwin watching in fascination as the russet-haired woman tended to the hunter’s leg.

“Mor–” he began, then saw my facial expression and stopped himself just in time. “There you are, sister. I did as you asked and stayed out of the way.”

“Yes,” I acknowledged, shifting uncomfortably. I found out about the group from a friend of Lancelet’s who had told her. Now I hoped I wasn’t about to be told not to return because of Kaye’s presence.

But Baudwin only grinned and ruffled Kaye’s head. “He did a little more than that. Modest, isn’t he? Good boy.”

The older hunter met my eye. “You’ll have to bring him again. There is much we can teach him.”

I nodded eagerly. “If that would be all right. I’d like to join you. We want to help.”

I watched Kaye’s face from the corner of my eye and wondered if he even knew why we were here. He’d followed me, yes, but did he understand the significance of what we were doing? Did he realize the trouble we could be in if Arthur found out his brother and sister were a part of this little group?

Despite the growing food shortage in the city, I knew Arthur had little sympathy for the people’s suffering. Those who were discovered stealing or poaching were dealt with swiftly and harshly. Though not quite as harshly as the boy in the Great Hall.

“That boar will feed a great many hungry children,” Baudwin said with satisfaction, grunting as the woman finished tying a bandage tightly around his leg. He grinned at me. “We’ll have to practice our technique for the next one.”

I managed to smile back.

“The next one, eh?” the woman bandaging his leg said sourly. “Perhaps we should stick with stags.”

“Nonsense! Nothing like roast boar.” Baudwin gave a hearty laugh. “Eh, Yaryna?” He winked at the woman.

I tugged on Kaye’s arm. “Well, we should get back home.”

“Come join us at the Red Rogue,” Yaryna suggested, giving me a warm smile. “You would both be more than welcome. We’ll be celebrating.”

“That would be lovely, but we must get home. It’s very late and my brother...”

“Snuck out of the house, did he?” Baudwin guffawed. “Bold lad. Lucky to have a skilled huntress for a sister, too.”

“I’m not sure I can call myself that yet,” I said, my face flushing with embarrassment. But secretly I was thrilled to receive the praise.

“Do you know that man who arrived out of nowhere?” Yaryna asked me curiously. “He seemed to know you.”

I shook my head quickly. “I’ve seen him around the city before, that’s all. I think he’s a newcomer. But no, I don’t know him.” And thank the gods, he did not know me.

“We owe him our thanks,” the woman said,. “Praise Devina the boar did not reach you thanks to him.”

I felt a twinge of guilt, as if she thought I should have thanked the man. But I had no idea where he’d gone and had no intention of trying to find him again after his harsh words. Besides, we really had to go. Happy or not, I couldn’t put off the pain any longer. I needed my bed.

I wished them both a goodnight and promised to meet up with them at the next hunt, then led Kaye off in the direction we had come from, back towards the castle.

We walked in silence through the dark forest. Me, because I was in too much pain to speak.

Then Kaye spoke up. “Why doesn’t Arthur care?”

The question was so large, I didn’t know how to begin to answer.

“Why doesn’t he care about what?” I asked lightly, stalling for time.

“About the people. They are hungry, are they not? We aren’t hungry, so why are they?”

It was an excellent question. I had wondered the same. Until about a year or so, Camelot was a thriving, prosperous city where no one starved. Then, in the span of a few months, things began to change.

It wasn’t that there was not enough work or not enough coin. It was that there was not enough food. Not enough grain. Not enough meat.

“I honestly don’t know why things have gotten so bad,” I replied quietly.

“And Arthur?” Kaye demanded.

Before I could answer, I stumbled in the dark, my foot catching on the root of a tree, and nearly went down. My head was splitting now.

Kaye caught my arm and held fast. I let him keep hold of it and we walked at a slightly slower pace.

He didn’t bother asking what was wrong with me. He already knew the answer.

“Why did he do that today?” Kaye asked, his voice soft. With a shock, I remembered Kaye had seen more than merely a boar butchered. “Today, to that boy...”

I wracked my brain for an answer that would be satisfying and somewhat close to the truth.

“I suppose he believed he was enforcing the law,” I said bleakly.

Kaye was quiet for a moment. “He enjoyed doing it. And he hates anyone with fae blood. But he doesn’t hate you, Morgan,” he added.

I felt him steal a glance at me in the dark.

“And besides, you’re hardly fae,” he said hurriedly.

I grimaced. I didn’t know what I was. Most of the time it didn’t seem possible that my mother claimed to be a full-blooded fae.

After all, the fae had been gone from Eskira for generations. For more than a hundred years.

I wished I could remember more of her. More about who and what she was and what she had taught me.

I touched a hand to my hair, then readjusted my hood. Even in the dark, my gray hair gave away who I was too easily.

And just who was that?

A Pendragon princess. The king’s elder sister.

A usurped queen, a voice in my head whispered. I pushed it away. I was never a ruler. Nor did I deserve to be one any more than Arthur.

I was strange in appearance, but in the way that a birthmark might also cause me to stand out. Gray was not a fae color. It was not nearly beautiful enough to have anything to do with those enchanted beings of old.

We’d reached the passageway leading back into the castle. Within a few minutes we’d reached the upstairs hall, on the way to my room. Kaye had still not released my arm. Evidently he believed I needed an escort all the way.

As it turned out, he wasn’t wrong.

Florian Emrys stood leaning against the wall just outside the door to my room.

Instantly my already-sick stomach sank even lower. I put a hand to my head. I couldn’t deal with him. Not tonight.

I prayed my face wouldn’t reveal anything. Wouldn’t show how much pain I was in. I thought back to what the dark-haired man accused me of being back in the forest. Weak.

I certainly didn’t feel strong right now.

“What’s he doing here?” I heard Kaye mutter.

My sentiment exactly.

“I believe your rooms are in the other tower,” I said loudly as we approached. “Get a little lost, did we?”

Florian perked up, a nasty smile beginning to steal across his face. Then it faded as he noticed Kaye. I watched him push a lock of blond hair off his face, a malicious glint in his cold blue eyes. He was a bastard, yes, but he was also a handsome bastard. There were any number of noble daughters who would have been glad to receive his attention–despite his arrogant and entitled manners. But Florian had chosen me to pick on. Lucky, lucky me.

“Up late, aren’t we, children?” he said laconically, studying his nails. “And where were you?”

He flicked a finger towards my hood and I flinched. I didn’t want those hands anywhere near me.

“We were out for a walk,” I snapped.

“Oh? Where?”

“None of your business.” Kaye and I both spoke at once. I looked down at my little brother and smirked. He smirked right back.

“You’d best run off now, little prince,” Florian suggested, his eyes honing in on Kaye. “It’s past your bedtime. I’m surprised your nurse hasn’t come looking for you, widdle princeling.”

“I don’t have a nurse. And I think I’ll stay,” Kaye retorted, looking up loyally at me.

I managed not to sigh with relief. This is one time I truly appreciated his presence. Things would already have been much worse if Kaye wasn’t here. Since he was, Florian had to behave with a measure of restraint.

“Kaye is coming inside with me,” I announced, taking a step towards Florian and hoping he’d get out of the way. He didn’t budge. “If there’s something you’d like to discuss with me, you may come and find me tomorrow down in the martial courtyard. Or better yet, speak to Sir Ector.”

Florian’s eyes ran over me, sending a chill through my veins.

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what I want,” he said softly.

I sensed Kaye turning to look at me and imagined his curious expression. I felt a sense of nausea creeping up on me.

“Go away,” I said quietly. “No one wants you here, Florian. Leave me alone.”

It was the second time that night I’d had to say almost those exact words to a man.

For a moment, Florian was simply silent, staring at me. I refused to meet his eyes.

Then his hand darted out and before I could dodge, he knocked my hood back.

“Very well.” He smiled cruelly. “Good night, old crone.”

A childish insult for my hair. I didn’t bother replying. His hand was just far too close to my body for comfort. I felt myself shaking, memories of the times when Kaye had not been with me flooding in.

Florian finally turned away, moving back down the hallway.

He raised his hand in a farewell gesture then blew a kiss. “Yes, I’ll find you tomorrow, Morgan. What an excellent suggestion.”

Kaye and I stood in the hallway until Florian’s footsteps had faded away.

“I don’t like him.” Kaye’s voice was small.

“Neither do I,” I replied with a sigh.

I led the way into my room and closed the door behind us.

CHAPTER 5

The sun was high in the sky the next morning as I walked down the Path of Three, the stone road that led through the center of the city from the castle to the Temple of the Three Sisters. I might have taken a horse or called for a carriage or even a palanquin, but I preferred the exercise.

Besides, I had dressed simply and it was rare for anyone to recognize me beyond a simple friendly greeting. I wore a plain black tunic, linen breeches of dark wool, high leather boots, and my customary cloak. The spring morning was cool so I could get away with keeping my hood up. My long hair was in its customary plait, braided from the crown of my head to the nape of my neck.

Standing on the highest peak in the city, the first you saw of the temple was a monumental rectangular building of white marble. Eight columns were arranged in a row at its front with a grand pediment decorated with carvings of the three goddesses. The temple was second only to the sprawling castle complex in its size and secretly I had always thought it exceeded it in grandeur.

As you passed beneath the pediment, you entered a spacious courtyard where three massive statues stood. To the left stood Devina, goddess of the hunt and ruler over the natural world. She wore a helmet and armor over her long tunic, and held a spear in one hand. Her other hand was held aloft to catch the moon from the sky. There was a laughing expression in her eyes that I had always appreciated. She looked light-hearted and clever, like someone you might actually want to go hunting with.

The sculpture of Zorya, goddess of the sun, stood in the center, towering over both her sisters. Shaped from the same gleaming pale marble as Devina’s, she stood with her arms outstretched, as if summoning the first light of the new dawn. Her form was depicted in exquisite detail, every muscle and curve of her body perfectly defined. Her long fair hair curved in graceful waves down her back, while her face was etched with a look of strength and serenity.

To the far right stood the statue of Marzanna, goddess of death and the seasons. In contrast to her sisters, her body was chiseled from a dark obsidian. Marzanna was a regal but foreboding figure. Her eyes were cast downwards as if she were inspecting the worshippers below. Around her neck, she wore a necklace of bones and skulls, a symbol of her embrace of death itself, while in her hand she held a sharp-looking sickle.

The courtyard was busy with activity as worshipers milled about, leaving offerings to the goddesses–flowers and plants for Devina, offerings of grain or small knives for Zorya the most powerful of the Three, and small rolls of parchment or vellum scrolls for Marzanna.

Two smaller shrines were off to the sides. The neglected siblings.

The first of these was for Perun, the god of the sky, thunder, lightning, and storms, and brother of the goddesses. A small sculpture of Perun rendered from gray stone decorated his altar. I saw a few soldiers near the shrine, kneeling or placing their weapons on the altar to be blessed. Some looked as if they were not from Camelot. I understood Perun received a little more attention elsewhere in the kingdom than he did in the capital.

In another shadowy corner of the courtyard, there stood an even smaller shrine with no one around it. This was dedicated to Nedola, the fourth sister of the pantheon of goddesses, goddess of fate and destiny. Her shrine was far less ostentatious than the others, but I thought it was still beautiful. A finely wrought silver statue of Nedola stood at its center, her eyes closed in deep contemplation as if she were listening to the winds of fate themselves.

Beyond the courtyard lay the second part of the temple, a circular building roofed with a bronze dome with a small opening in its center. Beneath the small opening lay a small chamber that only the high priestess was permitted to enter and in the center of that small chamber hung a bronze lantern that held the perpetual flame of our city.

Legend had it that if the flame were to ever burn out, the city would fall.

Other buildings attached to the temple housed the young acolytes and priests and priestesses. Galahad had lived there for the past two years and it was where he spent most of his time.

Unlike some of the noble children who were dedicated to the goddesses when they were small and sent there to live at a very young age, Galahad had chosen to become consecrated, giving up his worldly possessions and preparing to make vows of celibacy.

“My lady!”

I turned as I heard Merlin’s voice ring out–and so did others around me. As they turned to stare at me I wished Merlin had not called out so loudly.

A few of the more devout sank down onto their knees, looking reverently between myself and Merlin as she glided towards me, her dark hair swept up in beautiful braids, her pure white vestment bound tightly against her breasts with a golden girdle.

I gritted my teeth, knowing she had drawn attention to my arrival on purpose.

My presence, as she had told me more than once, was a reflection on the temple itself. My eventual consecration would be like a marriage between the royal house and the goddesses.

Perhaps marrying the goddesses would have been very well if I were Lancelet. I choked back a sacrilegious snigger.

“High Priestess Merlin,” I said calmly as she came towards me. I lowered my voice. “I have told you more than once that you may use my name.”

Merlin merely smiled. “It is good to see you, Morgan.”

I refrained from mentioning I had seen her the day before, in the Great Hall. I recalled her attempt at pleading for leniency and decided that to remind her of that failure would be cruel.

Merlin took my arm in hers and began to lead me across the courtyard and into the domed building.

“It has been weeks since we’ve seen you,” she murmured as we entered the dark shadowy space.

“Yes, well, I’ve been...busy,” I said lamely.

She didn’t reply, but released my arm, stepping into the chamber ahead.

Candles lit the wide room from metal sconces along the walls. Ahead of us was a long, low basin filled with scented water.

She stepped towards it and I joined her, lowering my arms into the lukewarm water and washing them up to the elbow as she was doing.

A young acolyte girl stepped forward holding white towels across her arms and we each took one, patting ourselves dry.

Nodding my thanks to the girl, I followed Merlin into the next room.

This was not the inner sanctum–the room which held the sacred flame. But in this chamber, many other sacred rituals were performed–under the eyes of only the high priestess and her devotees. The royal family were also granted access and at rare times a very wealthy noble might be permitted to enter the room for a special occasion–the birth of a son or daughter, or the receiving of a blessing.

Today I was there to observe Merlin as she conducted one of the many minor rituals that I would someday be expected to perform.

I watched as she pushed open a heavy oak door gilded with gold, then lifted a purple silk curtain and stepped into a room filled with smoke and disappeared.

I followed her slowly. The smoke was simply incense–heavy and cloying. Even so, it provided a mysterious mask as we slipped into the room.

Three small statues of the goddesses stood on a stone table in the center of the room. Votive candles lay in a pattern around them, flames flickering.

A small empty bowl made of pure gold sat in the middle of the table with a silver flask beside it.

Merlin stepped up to the table, picked up the flask, then turned to me. “Would you like to...?”

I stared stupidly at her, then shook my head, feeling oddly embarrassed. “I couldn’t. I don’t recall the words...”

I had watched her perform the libation before, but she had always chanted in a low voice.

She picked up two tiny silver tumblers from the table that I had not noticed before and filled them from the flask. The scent of a rich liquor filled the air. I could smell cloves and honey.

Merlin held out one small tumbler to me. Nervously, I took it.

“You have seen eleusia before,” she said, smiling at my expression.

“Yes, but I have never drunk it myself,” I noted. “Is this... ordinary?”

“To sample the libation?” Merlin nodded. “You may not have seen me do so, but yes. The eleusia is powerful. It can enhance the power of the incantation.”

I looked down into the tiny silver tumbler. The room was too dark for me to clearly see the contents, but eleusia was generally a shimmering gold in color. It was also said to have mind-altering properties that could be harmful if one imbibed too much.

“I’m not sure I wish to...” I began.

Merlin held up a hand. “Someday, you shall be high priestess in my stead. It’s time you learned these things, Morgan.”

I shifted where I stood. Such an idea made me vastly uncomfortable. I was to be given to the temple, yes. My father had decided that for me long ago. But even he had not dared to demand that I be made high priestess, though such a thing was a great honor.

A great honor and a massive, life-altering responsibility. One I was still not sure I wanted anything to do with.

Not that I really had much choice.

“You have chosen not to reside at the temple, Morgan,” Merlin continued, her eyes flickering over me with unmistakable criticism. I lifted my chin stubbornly. For now, choosing where I lived was the one thing still within my control. “And so when you do come to us, you will have a great deal to learn. In many ways, you are less knowledgeable than the youngest of our acolytes.”

It stung to hear her say so, though I knew it was no more than the truth.

“One day, the responsibility for the fire of the Three will be yours. As well as oversight of all of the sacred duties and devotions we practice,” she continued.

“I hope you live for a very long time then,” I muttered, a little rebelliously, still holding my full tumbler.

I caught the hint of a smile on Merlin’s face.

“If the Three allow it, I will be grateful,” she said serenely. “But if they do not, you will do well in my stead.”

She studied me. This was the part I hated.

With a tsking sound, she stepped towards me and pushed down the hood of my cloak. “Such beautiful hair. Unusual in color, yes, but why hide it?”

“It’s a hideous color and I like to blend in,” I muttered.

“You are a princess of royal blood and the future high priestess of all of Pendrath,” Merlin marveled. “But you like to ‘blend in.’”

I gritted my teeth, thinking of the hunt in the forest the night before and of the starving people of my city. “Is it really so much better to think ourselves superior to the people we are supposed to be serving?”

Merlin looked amused. “Of course not. And if your true motive was simply kindheartedness then I would say it was admirable. I know you empathize with the people. I hope you never cease to do so. The temple serves the people, Morgan. But I know what you really mean when you say you wish to ‘blend in.’” Her gaze was penetrating. “You mean you long to become invisible in their eyes. Or perhaps to even disappear altogether.”

I stared back at her but said nothing. She had come all too close to the truth.

“Have you shown any indication of...?” Merlin’s voice was gentle, even hesitant.

I raised my head. “Magic? No. As I’ve told you countless times before. Nothing. My mother had none and neither do I. I don’t know why you insist on asking each time.” I heard the petulant tone of my voice and cringed. But her repeated questioning drove me mad.

“So strange,” she murmured, looking at me and shaking her head. “So very strange.”

This was what I dreaded most about our visits. Every time she was sure to ask and every time I would give the same answer. Each time I felt as if I were disappointing her in some way I didn’t understand. No, I had no magic. No special power. No skills. And neither, from what I could recall, had my mother before me.

The high priestess was by tradition supposed to carry magic within her. That was the contradictory crux of our complicated history with the fae.

Magic, human historians would claim, was always ours by right.

And yet, it was only when human bloodlines mingled with those of the ancient fae that magic entered our domain, our rites, our children.

Merlin was supposed to possess this magic. But I had always suspected whatever she had was very limited.

When I was a child, before Merlin, there was another high priestess. Aruna. She had demonstrated more skill, channeling power to illuminate the sky with thunder and lightning on feast days or to force rain down over farmer’s fields when there were droughts. Such things were impressive indeed. I had never seen Merlin come close to performing any similar feats.

Now, she turned from me, murmuring to herself and lifted the silver tumbler to her lips, tossing back the contents.

“Drink, Morgan,” she commanded without turning around.

I clenched my jaw but did as she asked. The eleusia poured down my throat like liquid fire, stronger than anything I had ever drunk in the Great Hall or even the tavern with Lancelet. I coughed as it burned and stung.

“Hush now,” Merlin murmured from where she stood near the silver bowl and flask. It was not a rebuke, just a gentle reminder. We were in the presence of the goddesses. At times like these, I wished I were a true believer like she and Galahad.

I smothered a sigh and watched her begin to chant.

As before, I had no idea of the words she was saying. They were a jumble in my ears.

I felt nothing special as she said them either. No closer to the goddesses. No special connection to the sacred.

No, I stood on the plane of the absolute mundane as I always had.

I put a hand to my hair, touching the gray and grimaced. If I thought Merlin was a disappointing priestess, then how much more disappointing would I be one day with not even an inkling of power and none of her majestic beauty.

Merlin’s chanting grew a little louder but the words were still nonsense to me. Would I really have to memorize all of this? I was not looking forward to it.

If only the rites and rituals of the temple had more to do with the martial activities I enjoyed learning from Sir Ector. If only my father had decreed his daughter would not be queen but the leader of his armies and a great knight instead.

But that would mean actually asking what I wanted. It would mean that he had cared about my desires, my thoughts, my feelings.

And as Arthur and I knew well, he never had.

With a splash the contents of the silver flask poured into the empty bowl and erupted into flame.

Merlin’s arms lifted in the air and as she held them high, the fire followed, encircling her in a burning blaze.

From where I stood, it looked magnificent. It was certainly enough to impress the average citizen.

She stood within the flame, completely shielded from its heat.

This, we were to understand, was magic.

But to me, it was simply showmanship. A cheap trick to impress those who already believed.

I saw nothing of the divine here.

Oh, I respected the traditions. I would pour the libation when I had to. I would chant the incomprehensible words.

But I felt nothing. Certainly not impressed.

Simply empty and apart from it all.

Finally the flames fell, Merlin let her hands drop.

She turned to face me and with surprise I saw her eyes were heavily dilated. The eleusia had affected her in a way it had not done with me. I wondered why.

She stepped past me, and pushed open the door. I followed her through the outer chamber, then through a side door and into the light.

We were in a different space, one reserved for those in service to the temple. It was quieter here. Covered walkways with arches and columns lined a wide square courtyard. In the center, lay a garden with clusters of trees, fragrant flowers, and herbs surrounded by a low stone wall.

I watched Merlin take a deep breath and shake her head. Was she trying to clear it of the eleusia? I wondered, fascinated.

Slowly, she made her way into the center of the garden and sank onto a bench as if suddenly weary. A group of nearby acolytes who had been sitting on the grass reading some scrolls rose to their feet and scurried away. She smiled after them. Clearly she knew the impact of her presence.

“Someday this will be you, Morgan,” she said, looking up at me. “Frightening the children away.”

“I believe I have had a head start at that,” I said, wryly, pointing to my hair.

She gave a peal of laughter that rang out like the deep chime of a bell.

“What nonsense,” she protested. “Anyone frightened away by an odd shade of hair is...” She stopped.

For a moment I wondered why. Then I remembered the part-fae boy and the sight of his blue-tinged features as his head rolled across the stones of the Great Hall.

A frown crossed her face, then vanished.

“I cannot remember a time I did not feel I belonged in this place,” she murmured, changing the subject. “But I know the same is not true of you, though I wish it was. I wish... I wish you could find the same peace I have found here.”

I felt her eyes on me and studied the grove of trees. They were cedar, I believed. Their scent was lovely.

“You must have hopes and dreams of your own. To have to put those aside, to forswear marriage, children, a home of your own... It must be very difficult,” she added.

“But I can marry,” I reminded her. “In thirty years.”

I saw her face turn to shock. Then her lips twitched. “Yes, that is true,” she admitted. “Is that your plan?”

When an acolyte took vows to the Three, they were also promising celibacy. In most cases, for a span of at least thirty years. In some cases, acolytes willingly pledged a lifetime.

I knew Galahad was prepared to make that vow. Oh, he had fooled around with boys before. But his heart belonged to the temple and always would. He was different from Lancelet or even me.

Sometimes I wished I was like him. It would have made things easier.

“I honestly have no idea,” I said with a shrug. “Was this all you wished to show me today?”

I felt like a negligent pupil, eager to run away from my teacher. I knew there was far more Merlin could teach me, far more I had to learn. And I knew, too, that most acolytes at the temple would give their right arm to have the high priestess as their mentor.

But all I felt was trapped.

One more year and then this became my life. My life for the next thirty years.

Until then, I would spend my own freedom.

“No,” Merlin answered, surprising me, and rising to her feet, her white gown swishing around her leather sandaled feet. “There is one more thing I wished to show you, but I nearly forgot. Come. Follow me.”

She led the way back into the domed temple, through the purification room, into the room where she had poured the libation offering, and then towards a door on the far side that I had not noticed before.

I hesitated as she began to push it open, and she laughed.

“Never fear. We are not going into the inner sanctum. Not today. This is merely a passageway.”

I nodded and followed her into the corridor.

“I think you will appreciate this,” she murmured.

As we entered, I let out a gasp.

The ceiling arched above us. Though no natural light came in from anywhere, the space seemed to glow and shimmer with a light all its own.

Every inch of the walls and ceiling were lined with glowing mosaics made of precious jewels and rare stones that depicted scenes from the ancient past.

A time when the fae thrived and lived alongside mortals.

I studied the mosaics, my eyes wide. The images were like nothing I had seen before.

In one scene, a fae queen sat on a majestic throne, surrounded by courtiers. She wore a gossamer gown made of flowers and sat in a verdant landscape beside a babbling brook. Her hair was a bright shade of blue, her skin a pale, almost translucent azure. Her coloring reminded me of the fae-blooded boy. I could almost hear the sound of the wind rustling through the trees as I looked at the mosaic.

There were humans in some of the images. Far less richly dressed and smaller in scale. They could be seen bringing gifts to the queen, as if trying to curry favor with her.

In another carving, a group of beautiful fae men and women danced on a hilltop. Their long hair flowed in the wind and their bodies shimmered in the sunlight as they spun and swayed, their faces full of melodic laughter.

But not all of the scenes were so idyllic. I turned my head to the wall along my right and gasped.

A very different side of the fae was depicted here. The mosaics were crafted from darker tiles that showed the fae as still beautiful, yes, but monstrous, too. Some with horns, others with claws. Still others with features more shocking and grotesque. I glimpsed feathers, fur, and scales. Here the fae’s faces were savage and bloodthirsty, twisted in vicious snarls, their gleaming eyes full of a fierce hunger.

In contrast to the opposite wall, the landscape on the right was ravaged and desolate, all sharp rocks and stunted vegetation. I looked along the wall at carvings which showed humans being led in chains by fae soldiers holding whips in their clawed hands. The humans were downtrodden and defeated, while the fae looked on with cruel expressions.

I tried to imagine Arthur’s reaction to seeing something like this, here in this place.

“Are you shocked?” Merlin asked, inspecting my face. “Few have stood in this space.”

“I’m surprised,” I managed to say. “This is... It’s...”

“We don’t usually think of the fae as having two sides, do we?” Merlin observed.

“What do you mean?”

Merlin lifted her shoulders delicately. “Just as humans have a light and a dark side, so must have the fae. The artist has shown the fae as both beautiful–” She gestured to the left wall. “But ugly, too. The symbolism is clear, I think.”

I stared at her. “Is that all it is? Symbolism? What of the humans shown on the right?”

She tilted her head consideringly. “Some of the fae may indeed have been cruel to humans. Yet our bloodlines are mingled, nearly two hundred years since the fae left Eskira, and so we must have lived alongside many of the fae in relative peace.”

I could think of other less peaceful ways the bloodlines might have mingled but said nothing.

“Who created all of this?”

“The temple is the oldest building in Camelot, perhaps in all of Pendrath. Some believe parts of it may even be fae-made.”

“And the inner sanctum?” I said, deciding I might as well press my luck.

“Not today,” Merlin said with a small smile. She turned back to the door and led the way outside and into the main courtyard.

As we stepped into the light, she stopped. “Your brother has always shown the required respect for the goddesses and the temple.” This was probably an overstatement. “But lately, he has been particularly interested in the Three’s brother.”

“In Perun?” I frowned. “I didn’t realize that.”

“Yes, he has been asking questions of some of the scholar priests. He seems quite fascinated by rituals to Perun which used to be followed by past Pendragon monarchs. Hundreds of years ago, of course.”

“I see,” I murmured. I had no idea Perun had played more of a role in our worship in the past. He and Nedola had always been sidelined. I thought that was how things had always been.

“Of course, it is natural for a male ruler to more easily relate to a male deity,” Merlin assured me quickly. “He’s simply curious. Your brother still seems properly observant when it comes to the Three.”

I said nothing.

“Yesterday...” She hesitated. “I was...disappointed...in his decision with how to deal with the young thief.”

The young thief. Not the young fae-blooded boy.

“So was I,” I said honestly.

Merlin sighed and put a hand to her brow. “Such a waste. The boy could have had great potential.”

“I’m sure the boy thought so,” I said quietly.

Her eyes flickered. “A waste of life, absolutely. But then, he broke the law.”

“Yes.”

Our eyes met. I wondered if we were thinking the same thing. Or was Merlin merely thinking the boy would have made a good addition to her collection of talented young acolytes?

Or perhaps it was the cruelty and ruthlessness of the execution that bothered her the most. Was she as concerned about Arthur as I was?

“What were the rituals of Perun?” I asked, suddenly curious.

Merlin had begun to turn away, preparing to step back inside the temple. Now she faced me, her expression serious.

“There were many. All involved blood.”

I pulled up my hood and walked back to the castle slowly, thinking hard.

CHAPTER 6

When I returned to my room, I could tell someone else had been there. Not the servants who tidied it daily and cared for my clothing. Someone else.

I paused in the doorway, my head turning to and fro.

Then I saw it.

My mother’s picture had been moved from its usual place. Instead of hanging on the wall, it lay on the desk.

I crossed over to it quickly, panic rising.

The painting had been completely drenched in red ink.

I looked down at it, feeling sick inside. It was the only portrait I had of her. I knew there must be others and that Arthur must surely know where they were, but up until now I’ve been hesitant to ask him. The miniature was enough.

The ink had not even dried yet. I touched it gently with one finger. Perhaps, if I hurried, I could take it to be repaired. Perhaps the worst of the ink could be removed.

But in my heart, I knew it would never be the same.

There was no point in asking who would be so cruel as to enter my room and destroy my most treasured possession.

In fact, as I glanced at my bed, I realized my tormentor had gone one step farther than usual and even signed his name.

It was carved there on the headboard of my bed, in between the moon and stars. He must have used a sharp dagger and done it quickly for the letters were messy and jagged.

But I could still read them nevertheless.

Florian.

It was my fault. The door had a lock, but I rarely used the key because it would inconvenience the servants who needed regular access. That would have to change. Florian had snooped through my things before. Last year, he’d even destroyed some of my books and stolen clothes. But then for months he had left me alone and I’d been stupid enough to assume his torture was over.

But this... This had crossed a line. This time he’d gone too far.

I imagined lying in my bed knowing his name was just above my head and I felt sick.

Before I could think about it, I pulled my own dagger from its sheath and crossed over to my bed where I climbed up and began to scratch and stab away at those six unbearable letters.

When I’d made a worse mess of the headboard than he had, I stopped, breathing hard.

I’d rather lay under an imperfect sky than one that had been marked with my tormentor’s name.

As if he owned my bed. As if he owned me.

I couldn’t stay there. Carefully, I wrapped the miniature up in a piece of cloth, tucked it into a leather satchel, then searched my drawers until I located the key to my room. Stepping back out into the corridor, I pulled the door shut behind me and this time I locked it fast. Perhaps I could save the servants some trouble and simply tend to my own room from now on.

I knew exactly who I needed to see next.

With relief, I spotted Lancelet as soon as I stepped through the doors of the Bear and Mermaid. I was even more relieved when I saw that Galahad was seated beside her.

It was nearly nightfall and the tavern was crowded, brimming with people, all laughing and talking as they drank from large wooden mugs and goblets filled with ale, mead, and spiced wine. The air was pungent with the scents of hearth smoke and roasting meats. I could smell the mouth-watering aroma of pies and stews coming from the kitchen in the back.

The smells were nothing compared to the noise, however. Rowdy laughter, the clink of tankards, and a lively tune being played on fiddles and pipes by a traveling band filled the air. There were people everywhere. Maidservants bustled about the room, their flowered skirts twirling around their legs as they refilled drinks and delivered steaming platters of food. In one far corner, groups of men and women sat playing raucous games of dice and cards, their shouts and cheers adding to the general clamor.

The din was overwhelming and I felt nervous even stepping inside. It had been months since I’d come along with Lancelet.

As I stood hesitating in the doorframe, I felt something collide with my back and without further ado I was shoved forward and into the room. I reeled towards a wooden table, my arms outstretched and was about to collide with it when a strong hand grabbed my elbow, yanking me to a halt.

“Here now, what’s this?” Lancelet complained from where she stood holding my arm. “Watch where you’re going, can’t you?”

I looked towards where she was scowling at the short sandy-haired man who had the misfortune of pushing me. He put his hands up in an apologetic gesture and nodded quickly before moving off into the room towards a group of men who greeted him.

“Discourteous oaf,” Lancelet muttered. Then she turned back to the door. “You again! I suppose you pushed him and he pushed her.”

I followed her gaze, then wished I hadn’t.

The raven-haired man from the training courtyard, the new recruit, was paused in the doorframe. The man from the forest who dismissed Kaye and I as “weak.”

He must have come in just behind the man who pushed me.

His presence was undeniable. He stood tall and confident, looking down upon us, his arms crossed across his chest, a scowl on his full firm lips. His wavy black hair fell in loose waves around his face, drawing my eye to his long straight nose and high cheekbones. A thin ring of silver glinted in his left ear.

For the first time, I noticed his eyes. They were a deep shade of green that seemed to glow with an inner light. As he looked at us, I felt as if he was seeing right through us.

Which was ridiculous, for clearly this man hadn’t truly seen me at all.

Nevertheless, there was something about him. His body was a warrior's build, completely overpowered, designed for pure destruction. And yet there was a feral beauty to his long limbs and sinewed muscles. Everything about him hinted at a strength and agility that could be deadly in the wrong hands.

I thought about what Sir Ector had said about having the squires face off against the new guards in training and suppressed a shudder. The truth was, while he was wrong about my weakness, I couldn’t imagine fighting this man and winning.

But I sure as hell planned to try.

I snuck a glance at Lancelet to see if she was as put off by him as I felt. But of course she wasn’t. She was scowling like a wolf, her teeth bared ever so slightly.

She looked beautiful and ferocious, her golden hair spilling out of the loose tail she has it pulled back in, her pale skin flushed slightly, and for a brief moment I felt a pang of jealousy. She was everything I wasn’t.

I put a hand to my hood.

“Don’t you know who she is, you big oaf?” Lancelet demanded. “Shoving your way in like you own the place.”

My stomach sank as I realized she must have had more to drink than usual. I felt the heat rise to my cheeks.

“What are you doing,” I hissed. “Please stop.”

“I didn’t touch the woman,” the black-haired man said, his voice chilling. He stepped towards us, clearing the doorway as a group of chattering young people came in behind him. He didn’t spare them a glance. In fact, his eyes were not even on Lancelet. They were pressed hard on me.

I lifted my chin, determined to meet his gaze.

“Once again, I find you in my way,” he said, glaring down. “How should I know who you are? Why should I care?”

He seemed about to turn away and I felt a surge of relief. Good. Let him go. I didn’t come here for another confrontation.

But Lancelet couldn’t let things go so easily.

She grabbed the sleeve of the man’s black shirt. “She’s the bloody princess, you brainless lump. Perhaps you’re the one who should watch where you’re going from now on.”

I groaned. “Really wish you hadn’t done that,” I muttered under my breath. For so many reasons, especially the ones she didn’t know about yet.

Lancelet turned to me, her eyes flashing. “As for you! Take that stupid hood off for once, Morgan. You don’t bloody well need it.”

And then she pulled it down for me.

There was silence. I felt as if the entire tavern had gone mute, but surely it wasn't that bad. Sure enough, I glanced around and saw that in one back corner, a group of men and women were still chattering.

Wonderful. Only most of the tavern had gone silent and were staring at me.

I smiled weakly, and raised a hand to lift my hood again, but Lancelet’s hand snapped over mine.

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed.

I glared at her.

The man was still standing there, watching everything. He must have heard what Lancelet said but he didn’t seem particularly impressed.

Finally, he spoke. “I didn’t know,” he said begrudgingly. “I beg your pardon. Princess.”

I tried not to snort. As if this man could have been humble if he tried.

“Thank you,” I said, trying for a modicum of grace. “It doesn't matter. Come, Lancelet.”

“Wait,” Lancelet demanded, putting up a hand. “Who the bloody hell are you, anyhow?”

The man frowned. “Kairos Draven. I’m one of the new members of the Royal Guard.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” Lancelet murmured

“Yes.” This time there was clear discomfort on his handsome face. Princess Morgan, I truly did not know. I apologize for...”

This was unbearable. Much worse than no apology at all.

“There is no need.” My voice was clearer and louder this time. “You did nothing wrong. The fault was mine. I stumbled. Kairos Draven, please go about your business.”

I grabbed Lancelet’s arm and dragged her away towards the table where Galahad still sat watching.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, as I pulled her away. “Make him pay. At least a little!”

I turned to her, my cheeks still blazing. “Make him pay? For what? For accidentally knocking into me once? This time he was not even at fault.”

I decided I was definitely not going to tell her about the incident in the forest.

“He pushed the man who pushed you,” Lancelet argued. “He’s arrogant and rude.”

I thought of the man’s rudeness in the forest the night before. He hadn’t known who he was then, so he had spoken the truth. His truth. I might not agree with him, but was I really going to punish him for speaking plainly to me?

That wasn’t my way. It was Arthur’s.

“Yes, he’s detestable. I’m not disagreeing. But you are the one who embarrassed me in front of a roomful of people,” I said quietly.

“You know she doesn’t like it when you pull her hood down,” Galahad chimed in helpfully from the table behind us. “I’ve, uh, taken the liberty of ordering a pitcher of spiced wine for us all.”

We turned to him slowly. Clearly he was trying to calm us both down.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to smile. I sat down on the bench across from him with my back to the room, trying not to think about all of the eyes that were still on me.

“No one is looking,” Galahad said softly. He met my eyes. “Almost no one,” he admitted, with a grin.

“They’re just not used to seeing you. Really seeing you,” Lancelet complained, settling herself on the bench beside me. Evidently no apology would be forthcoming. “They know you mix with us more than the king does, but by the Three, must you always be hiding under that hood?”

I bit my tongue. I wasn’t going to keep making a fuss about what she did. I also wasn’t going to pull my hood back up and show weakness, to Lancelet or to Kairos Draven. My gray braid hung against my back, almost painfully heavy. I tried not to think of how I must look.

Like an old crone, as Florian had said.

I was a twenty-year-old girl with hair that made her look like a grandmother.

But what did it matter? Soon I’d be a celibate priestess at the Temple of the Three.

I couldn’t help stealing a glance past Lancelet’s shoulder. Kairos Draven had taken a seat at the bar. He sat alone. There was already a tankard in front of him and he sipped from it slowly, his eyes on his glass, not the room. Certainly not on me.

Once again, I was beneath his notice.

I turned back to my friends, and picked up the pitcher, filling the mug in front of me.

“Oooh, she’s going to drink with us,” Lancelet exclaimed with  glee.

“Where is your paramour?” I inquired, lifting the glass to my lips. I was glad it wasn’t a medicine night or the liquor would probably have caused my head to explode. But fortunately, I was spared until tomorrow.

Lancelet shrugged. “She didn’t last.”

I raised my eyebrows. “She didn’t last?”

Lancelet smirked. “Very well. There is another. More charming, more beautiful...”

“Oh, by the Three, Lancelet,” Galahad groaned. “Can you show no loyalty to a woman for more than a week?”

Lancelet seemed affronted. “It’s not as if we made vows. We’re young. This is how it should be.” She gave me a significant look. “For all of us.”

“Not Galahad,” I reminded her. “He’s making vows.”

“Making, not made. He could still enjoy himself if he chose. There’s no explicit rule against it.”

“Well, I don’t choose,” Galahad said sweetly, taking another sip from his mug. “And I am enjoying myself just as I am, let me assure you. My loyalty is pledged, utterly and completely.”

Lancelet shook her head as if in disgust. “Pledged to three women. I remember a time when you liked boys.”

“I still do like them,” he protested. “I simply don’t need them in that way. This is quite different.”

“You can’t tell me that a nebulous goddess can fill the place of a warm naked body in your bed at night,” Lancelet argued, refusing to give in. “There’s no comparison.”

I shifted uncomfortably on the bench.

Lancelet turned back to me. “And you. You have no such excuse. You might be doing whatever you like. At least until...”

“Yes, until.” I met her eyes. “What is the point? It can go nowhere.”

She looked speechless for a moment. “Nowhere? Morgan, you truly are an innocent if you think a night in a beautiful woman’s bed–or a beautiful man’s for that matter, since it’s your preference– is ‘going nowhere.’ Try it just once for yourself and then come and tell me that.”

“I think Morgan means, what if she developed feelings?” Galahad says quietly.

“Then she would deal with them.” Lancelet shrugged lightly. “It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

“What if I couldn’t? Then I would be even more miserable,” I blurted out.

“More miserable?” Now it was Galahad’s eyes I could feel boring in on me. “Does the temple make you miserable?”

I was silent. Then, “Not being able to make my own choices in life makes me... Well, if not miserable then not particularly happy.”

There was quiet around our table.

“You’re both hopeless,” Lancelet finally said.

Hopeless reminded me of something else.

“Oh, that reminds me.” I fished around in my satchel and carefully pulled out the wrapped miniature.

I laid it on the table and pulled back the cloth.

Galahad gasped. “Who did that?”

“I did,” I lied, reluctantly. I was not about to tell them the truth. For the last four years I had managed not to share how bad things with Florian had become. They had enough to worry about in their own lives without having to always worry over me, too. Besides, I knew they would want me to go to Arthur. And I wasn’t about to do that. “I spilled ink over it.”

“That’s your mother’s portrait, isn’t it?” Lancelet murmured, peering at it. “I thought it always hung on your wall.”

“It does. It fell from its hook. Bad timing.”

I caught Lancelet and Galahad exchanging a glance.

“And you want me to try to fix it?” Galahad says.

“Can you?” I asked, trying to hide my desperation. “Even if it’s not perfect. If I can at least see her face...”

“I’ll take it back with me tonight, if I may. There’s another acolyte at the temple who is studying the art of the Three under one of the priests. He’s a wonderful painter. Merlin wants him to paint a new mural in the dormitories.”

“He sounds simply divine,” Lancelet purred, leaning forward and stressing every syllable emphatically.

Galahad coughed. “Yes, well. He is very skilled and he may be able to do something with this.” He met my gaze. “We are simply friends.” He rolled his eyes at Lancelet.

“Can’t the priestesses use their magic and clear it off for you?” Lancelet asked, frowning impatiently. “What is the point if they can’t even do something that simple?”

I had often wondered the same thing, but would never have said so aloud. Not in front of Galahad.

“You think that doing little tricks with spells and incantations is the point of serving the sacred Three?” Galahad asked, looking aghast. “That is not why we are there. Magic has little to do with it. Even if there was no magic left in any of the priests or priestess’ bloodlines at all, we would still serve the goddesses. The rites and rituals would remain the same. The meaning would still survive. The goddesses see and hear all, Lancelet.” He turned to me eagerly, that familiar look of avid faith in his brown eyes which always made me uncomfortable. “Pray to them tonight, Morgan. They will hear your prayers.”

I tried to compose my face. It was hard to know how to react when Galahad spoke with such piety. How could I tell him I didn’t pray at all?

Ever.

Would he tell Merlin? Would she even care?

“I will try,” I lied. “If you think it might help.”

Galahad beamed at me. “You are a princess of royal blood. I am sure the Three will favor your plea.”

“Oh, so they favor those with royal blood more than us regular humans? The goddesses play favorites?” Lancelet asked sarcastically.

Galahad’s face became pained. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

“I know what you meant,” I said hurriedly. “I understand. I’m sure the goddesses are always fair. Thank you for taking it, Galahad. Please ask your friend... Please, try your best.”

I rose from the table, suddenly tired. The prospect of returning to my room without the picture of my mother was off-putting. I was always alone there, but now there wasn’t even a portrait watching over me.

“You’re leaving already?” Lancelet complained. “At least let us walk you back to the castle. Did you come with a guard?”

I gave her a wry look. “Do I ever?”

“You ought to have,” she warned. “You’re careless, Morgan. Sir Ector has told you before.”

I shrugged, refusing to heed this particular warning. “Our city is peaceful. A few thefts here and there...”

And a few executions.

I cleared my throat. “I feel safe. The tavern is only a few minutes from the castle gates.”

Lancelet’s expression remained stony. “Still. Sir Ector and Dame Halyna told the squires there’s growing unrest among the people.”

“What kind of unrest?” Galahad leaned forward.

Lancelet lowered her voice. “You know there have been food shortages. They’re getting worse. Some say there are people starving. Families with children. Within Camelot’s very walls. People are growing angry. They say...” She broke off, looking at me.

“They say what?” I asked.

“They say that there is anger growing, against... the king.”

“Against the king and his family, you mean?” I demanded.

I knew it was stupid of me, but for one brief second I felt almost offended. As if the people of Camelot should have somehow known that Kaye and I were trying to help by hunting the other night.

As if our contribution was significant at all in the grand scheme of things. When children starved.

I imagined the way a mother might feel as she looked at her hungry children and felt a wave of sympathy. Of course the people had the right to feel angry at Arthur and the entire royal family for that matter. The Rose Court showed no signs of imminent starvation–or of any lack whatsoever.

I suddenly felt uncomfortable, sitting there in the tavern. Knowing that when people looked at me they saw merely a spoiled, privileged princess–and rightly so.

How could Arthur have let things get to this point? Camelot was a wealthy and prosperous city. What was causing the food shortage and why wasn’t he addressing it?

I could see from the expressions on my friends’ faces that they were wondering the same thing.

“I’ll ask my brother why this is happening,” I announced, rising from the table. “I promise, I will try to get answers.”

They nodded, but said nothing. It was not exactly a vote of confidence. They knew their king too well for that already.

“Go with the Three, Morgan,” Galahad said softly. “Just... be careful, whatever you do.”

I turned away from the table and began winding my way through the crowd.

Somehow I’d managed to forget that the new guard–Kairos Draven–was still there.

His back was to me as I went past him and for a moment I was relieved. Then I realized that even with his back to me, I still felt as if I were being watched. How was that possible?

I quickened my pace and pulled my hood back up as I neared the door. This time I didn’t collide with anyone as I made my way back out into the streets of Camelot.

CHAPTER 7

The next night, I entered the streets alone again, moving like a ghost.

Dressed all in black and wearing a hooded cloak, I wasn’t particularly concerned about my own safety or about being recognized. For years, I had roamed the castle and the city alone without a mishap. After my father’s death, I had quickly learned no one cared what I did or where I went. But the group of hunters who were struggling to provide food for their families and for those in need–their safety did concern me.

Once a week, a signal was arranged and posted on a pillar near the largest market. It told us when and where to meet and, as with last time, sometimes even what we’d be hunting so we could be prepared with our chosen weapons. This was my third time seeking out the details of the next hunt. I didn’t expect any trouble, but even so, I was armed with a dagger as always.

The city was surprisingly quiet even though it was only early evening. Shops were being closed as I walked past. The last traces of sunlight had fled the sky and the stars were emerging. As I reached the marketplace, it was already empty. The stalls and tents stood dark and silent against the backdrop of the starry sky. The light of a few torches cast eerie shadows across the cobblestones.

I walked quietly across the square. In the center stood a large stone fountain, with a statue of Zorya in the midst of the spraying water. Around her was a pile of fruit and vegetables–the bounty of the goddesses. In the flickering torchlight, the goddess’s eyes seemed to find mine, watching with an uncanny intensity.

The night was peaceful. The square was quiet. This should have made it easier for me.

Yet I felt an unshakeable sense of unease.

I spotted the column. Even from this distance, I could see the red cloth that tagged the paper pinned to its surface. I picked up my pace and jogged towards it. I’d scan the paper, then return to the castle where my supper and a mug of medicine were awaiting my attention. The plan seemed simple.

But when I reached the pillar, a bearded man stepped out of the shadows.

“Baudwin!”

The older hunter’s face was more lined than I remembered. His expression was solemn, no trace of the jovial, encouraging man I remembered from the forest.

“What are you doing here?” I was more concerned for his sake than mine.

“Princess Morgan,” he said, his voice low. “I must speak with you.”

I stared back at him in shock. He had learned who I was. This couldn’t be good.

“Come this way,” he urged, tilting his head to gesture at the dark alley behind him.

Not even the stars illuminated it, for the open arched roof had been covered with a canvas cloth. The alley was lined with empty stalls where merchants put out their wares during the day. The canvas had been put up to protect their wares from the rain.

I hesitated, tendrils of warning threading over my skin.

“Quickly,” Baudwin insisted. “You and I must speak.”

“I only need the location...” I muttered, glancing at the paper on the column. It was so close. I could read it and run.

But Baudwin was the leader of the hunting group. If he wished to speak with me, I had to comply. Perhaps having learned who I was, he no longer wished for me to join them. I could understand that. If I was simply drawing attention to the hunters, bringing more danger down upon them, then I would agree to withdraw. I would find other ways to help. Or to put some kind of pressure on Arthur.

“Do you wish for me to cease my participation in the hunt?” I whispered. “I will understand if that is the case, Baudwin.”

“No, that’s not it. Please, follow me.” He glanced behind him nervously, and I wondered if someone else was back there. Another hunter from the group?

“Does someone need my help?” I asked, taking a step towards him.

“Something like that, yes.” I heard relief in his voice. “Please, come and help us.”

“Us.” So there was someone else there.

He waited until he was sure I intended to follow, then moved into the shadow of the alley and disappeared.

I reached the edge of the alley. “Baudwin?” I whispered. In my mind, I was cursing for everything I was worth. I knew this was stupid. What would Lancelet say? She’d say “Screw Baudwin.” If he didn’t want my help, then screw him and leave.

But I couldn’t. I was too worried about what might have befallen the group. What if Arthur had learned about what we were doing? I could only imagine his anger if he did. And that anger would be primarily turned upon the peasant hunters, not upon his sister.

I touched my blade with my right hand, reassuring myself of its presence. I didn’t think I’d need it, but I was glad I’d brought it along.

I stepped into the shadows.

For a moment, I couldn’t see anything. Then I blinked a few times and two forms ahead of me shifted into view.

One was Baudwin. The other was another man. I didn’t recognize him. He was dressed in drab colors and like me he had his hood pulled up, obscuring not only his hair but most of his face.

“Who is this, Baudwin? What do you need from me?”

Baudwin opened his mouth to speak but the man beside him stepped forward. “You’re really the princess? The king’s sister?”

I hesitated, uncomfortable confirming any of this to a stranger.

“It’s her. I’ve told you already,” Baudwin hissed. “Yaryna recognized her.”

Yaryna. The russet-haired woman who invited Kaye and I to the Red Rogue.

“If I’ve put you in any danger with my presence, I’m sorry. That was not my intention. I merely wanted to help.”

The man beside Baudwin spit on the ground, then took a step towards me. “If you wish to help, tell your brother the king to help. Tell him our families are starving. Ask him where the grain is going. Ask him what he is doing with the food that should be flowing from the farms into the city. Why has he cut off the supplies? What is he planning? Why is he doing this to us?”

The man’s intensity frightened me, though I could understand it.

“I don’t know,” I said, honestly. “But yes, I will ask. I will try to find out. I will do my best.” I hesitated. “But my brother... does not always listen to me. You should know this.”

“Then perhaps he’ll listen to this,” a voice hissed from behind me.

I started to whirl around, but it was too late. Another man had appeared. He must have been hiding in the darkness of the stalls.

Before I could move, there was a blade at my throat.

The man’s other arm had encircled my waist tightly. I was trapped. The knife was so tight against my throat I was afraid to breathe.

“What are you doing?” Baudwin demanded. His face was angry. “You promised not to harm her.”

“We need to send a message to the castle,” the man holding me said gruffly. I wondered who he was. A father with hungry children at home? Or simply a citizen eager to get revenge on my brother for perceived mistreatment? Right now I didn’t really care. I just wanted the knife away from my throat.

“We’ll take her and demand a handsome ransom,” the hooded man beside Baudwin growled. “We’ll take her and then we’ll have leverage. We can demand answers. The king will have to hear us, with his sister’s life at stake.”

“Please–” I tried to say, but the knife tightened, cutting into the soft skin of my throat. I felt something warm trickle down my chest. Blood. My blood.

“She’s bleeding, you fool,” Baudwin exclaimed. “You’re hurting her.”

“Hurting the Pendragon fae-blooded bitch? The tainted heir?” The man holding me gave a nasty chuckle. “And you expect me to care when—”

Abruptly, his words ceased.

The knife against my throat slid swiftly away, nearly cutting me again as it fell to the ground still clutched in the man’s hand.

I turned to see my would-be-captor lying on the ground with an arrow through his chest and blood spilling from his still-open mouth.

Behind me, Baudwin and the other man were shouting at one another in confusion.

I didn’t know whether to face them, join them, or run out of the alley. Before I could finish deciding, I heard the sound of pounding hooves, then caught a glimmer of steel flashing past me.

I fell back against the wall of the alley as a stallion sped past me. I glimpsed a man in the uniform of a Royal Guard sitting tall and upright in the saddle, his weapon drawn and ready.

The shouts behind me rapidly became screams.

By the time I stood up again, it was already too late. Baudwin and the cloaked man were crumpled on the ground, blood pooling around them.

I stared at their bodies, horrified.

The guard on the horse dismounted quickly and strode towards me, gripping me by the shoulders.

“Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

I recognized the voice. I forced myself to focus.

The white linen and black leather of the guard’s uniform. The glint of a silver ring in his ear. Dark hair falling over his brow.

I pulled away from Kairos Draven as hard as I could, stepping backwards until I hit the wall.

“You,” I said in disbelief. “You’ve killed them all. Why? Why did you do that?”

“Because they were about to kill you or worse.” There was a brutally cold look in his eyes that told me this was not the first time he’d done something like this.

“But–” I stuttered. “Baudwin was...”

“He led you into this alley, did he not?” Kairos Draven interrupted. “You trusted him and he betrayed you to these men.”

“He–” Then I remembered. “You know him. From the hunt. He led us.”

Draven nodded darkly “I remember him. I would have hoped for better.”

“You knew he would be here,” I realized. “You came... looking for the note on the pillar.”

“A good thing I did.” He glanced at the bodies. “I’ll have to inform the king about this.”

“No,” I exclaimed. “You must not. You must promise me you will not.”

He met my eyes, his expression stubborn as steel. “I won’t promise any such thing.”

“You would betray the hunters?” I asked desperately.

He shook his head. “I’ll leave that part out. But this?” He gestured to the three dead men. “An attack on the king’s sister’s life? He must be told of it.”

“I...” I stopped. How could I explain to this man that nothing good would possibly come of telling my brother? “Very well. Now?”

He hesitated. Finally a second of indecision on his handsome face. “Tomorrow. I’ll report it to Sir Ector and Dame Halyna tonight, however. If they insist on sharing the information with the king immediately, however, then...”

“Yes, I understand.” I started to walk past him. My leather boot slipped and I looked down to see I’d stepped in the third man’s blood. The dagger he held against my throat lay abandoned now, a few feet from his unmoving hand.

I stared at it. Three men had just died because of me. Baudwin was dead. He seemed to have had no idea what the other men planned. He had good intentions. Who would lead the group now? What would become of them?

I thought of Yaryna, who Baudwin had mentioned. Did the group believe I’d been sent to spy on them? Was that why they had done this?

“You claimed they didn’t hurt you and yet you’re bleeding,” Draven observed. “Your throat.”

I swiped at the blood with the back of my hand. “I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.” My voice was thick. I felt as if I might cry or throw up or both.

I didn’t want to do either of those things around this odious man, however, so I stood up straighter and walked towards the entrance to the alley.

From behind me, Draven let out a sardonic laugh. “And just where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Back to the castle,” I said without pausing. I looked straight in front of me at the empty marketplace. At the fountain of Zorya. At the stars in the sky.

I tried not to think about Baudwin. About the children or wife or husband he might have had at home. About how they would never see him again. About how they would soon learn he died a traitor, attempting to harm the king’s sister.

I brushed at my eyes and quickened my pace.

From behind me came the clatter of hooves and the sound of a horse rearing. I turned around in alarm, just as a strong arm swooped down roughly and grabbed me around the waist.

Before I could fight or protest, I had been lifted off the ground and dumped unceremoniously in front of Draven on his saddle, my legs dangling sideways.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” I demanded furiously.

“I’m taking you back home, where you belong. Where you should have been all along. What kind of a princess walks alone at night without any guards?”

I seethed. “One who lives in a city that is ordinarily peaceful and content.”

I contemplated throwing myself off the horse, but knew it would be useless. Draven would just pick me up like a sack of grain and throw me back in the saddle again.

And worse, he’d probably enjoy doing it, too.

That didn’t mean I couldn’t despise him for it though.

We rode across the square at a trot.

“You saved my life, but at what price? You killed three men. Baudwin was guilty of no crime. He may have had a family. Children. Who will feed them now?”

“Not my problem,” Draven grunted. “He should have thought of that before he sold you out to his friends.”

He truly sounded unconcerned. Despicable.

The horse started up the hill to the castle gates and I found myself unexpectedly flattened against his chest. It was as hard and unyielding as the rest of him.

“You’re no better than a murderer,” I muttered rebelliously.

“That’s not how I see it,” Draven replied with infuriating calm. “The old hunter made a poor judgment call that nearly wound up with you dead. He didn’t care about you or he wouldn’t have led you into that alley in the first place.”

“Perhaps he was right not to care,” I said bluntly. “After all, people are starving.”

Draven snorted derisively. “So their lives are more important than yours? Or perhaps you have a death wish? Is that why you were in the forest that night? At least do not extend your recklessness to your younger brother. He deserves your protection.”

“How dare you tell me how to treat Kaye,” I exclaimed. “Of course, I don’t wish to die. But neither will I claim my life is worth more than the starving citizens of Camelot. Little wonder they wished me dead. Or to use me as a pawn.”

A pause.

Then, “No wonder you’ve been dedicated to the temple, with that attitude.”

I felt my blood start to boil. “What the fucking hell is that supposed to mean?”

Draven let out a low chuckle. I could feel the laugh as it rumbled through his chest. It was off-putting, being this close to him.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me.” I was struck with the very strong urge to punch him in the face as hard as I could. Or worse. I thought of the dagger at my belt and for a moment it was tempting.

“I mean that you seem perfectly suited to a life of pious martyrdom, Princess. You’ve made the perfect choice.”

Now it was my turn to be stunned into silence.

“It wasn’t my choice,” I finally said slowly. “Are you so ignorant of your own kingdom that you don’t even know that much? My father made the vow when I was a mere child. I am being given to the temple. Like a gift. Not through any choice of mine.”

He was silent. The horse continued to plod along, hooves clapping softly against the cobblestones.

“I did... not know that. Or, I suppose I must have forgotten.” Draven cleared his throat. “Where I am from, the lives of the kings and queens of Camelot are... not particularly interesting to us.”

“What a refreshing place that must be,” I muttered.

He made a choking noise. Was it a laugh?

“Here we are,” he noted. We were riding through the castle gates. I caught a look of shocked surprise on the faces of the guards by the gates as they saw me.

“I think this has gone far enough,” I declared, and slid down off the horse as soon as it began to slow and before Draven could stop me.

“Not even a thank you, Princess?” he called as I strode away. “I’ll miss you, too.”

I refused to give him the pleasure of another look.

The door to my room was slightly ajar when I returned. A servant had left my medicine and must have forgotten to close the door all of the way. A gold goblet was waiting on a tray on the desk, filled to the brim.

I glanced at the wall where my mother’s picture usually hung, then reached for the goblet. I had pushed back my usual time for it by a few hours and wondered if it would matter. The other night, the medicine had been so debilitating while I was out hunting that I had decided I couldn’t risk that happening again tonight before I’d gone down to the marketplace.

I quickly drained half the goblet, forcing the thick liquid down my throat, then paused. There was an odd taste to it tonight. Perhaps some of the herbs had turned rancid. I wrinkled my nose and downed the rest. It was not as if the medicine had ever tasted anything close to “good.”

Putting the goblet back down on the desk, I wandered towards the bookshelves on the far side of the room. I was in the mood for an old favorite. Something I had read before to comfort myself after the horror of the night.

But as I touched the spines of the rows of books, all I could see was Baudwin’s face as he lay dead on the cold cobblestones.

They say there is peace in death. But I had never known that to be the case.

Baudwin had certainly not looked peaceful. His eyes had been wide, his mouth half-open. He’d looked stunned. As if he could not believe that death had truly come for him.

Death in the shape of Kairos Draven, who had killed for me.

But if death had not come for Baudwin on this night, would it have come for me instead?

Had Draven been right? Would Baudwin have been complicit in my abduction and murder? Oh, somewhat unwillingly. But as Draven had pointed out, Baudwin had been willing to lure me there. To bring me to men who seemed only to have harmful intentions.

I felt dizzy and nauseous. The medicine was taking effect even quicker than usual. I put out a hand to steady myself on the bookshelf.

On second thought, I did not think a book would be much comfort tonight. The dizziness was rapidly becoming an incessant wave, threatening to completely overwhelm me.

Suddenly my bed seemed very far away.

I let go of the shelf and began to walk slowly across the room, one step at a time, very conscious of every inch that lay between me and the bed.

This was ridiculous. I would have to speak with the Master of Potions. Clearly he had mistakenly made the concoction much too potent and now I was paying the price.

By the time I reached my desk, half-way to my bed, it felt as if hours had passed. The room had become a dark blur around me. I put out my hand to steady myself against the desk’s edge and waited, moment after moment passing until my hand finally touched the wood surface.

What was happening to me?

I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to clear it. That was a mistake. When I opened my eyes, the door to my room was opened wider than before. Had I forgotten to lock the door?

A figure stood in the opening. But no, that was impossible. I reached out a hand, to push the door closed. But my hand touched only air. And then I was falling.

Spiraling down into darkness.

When I awoke, I was tied to my bed.

Florian sat astride me, looking down.

As if from faraway, I watched as he lazily reached out a finger and traced the line of my cheek, my jaw, then trailed it down my neck.

I told my body to move, to turn my head away, to push myself up, to fight against the bindings that tied my wrists, my ankles.

But it would not, could not comply.

I was frozen in place, unable to do anything but blink. I could not even wet my lips. Could not even lift my head to see what state I was in below.

As I lay there, becoming terrifyingly aware of my condition, Florian lifted his hand to my hair, touching the loose strands.

“Such a pity,” he murmured. “The hair of an old crone. You might have been pretty otherwise.”

He smoothed down the strand, his touch slow and deliberate.

Disgust overwhelmed me. Bile rose in my throat. A creeping sense of unease slithered across my skin like a thousand writhing snakes.

He grinned abruptly–a grin that must have charmed many a noble girl, a smile that transformed his face into that of a simple, handsome young man.

But there was nothing simple about Florian. And the smile had never charmed me. I could see behind it. And what I saw was rot and decay, selfishness and cruelty. And tonight? Depravity in the extreme.

I wondered just how far he would go. Then I wondered just how far he had already gone.

“Of course, I still find you strangely desirable, Princess. I always have. An aberration in my blood, my father says. Your noble lineage calls to mine, I suppose. Even though yours is tainted by your mother’s pollution.”

Again, I tried to move my wrists. But nothing in my body seemed to work. I was transfixed. Like a fly caught in a spider’s web.

“Your mother, a woman so stupid that she literally died from falling down in her own room,” Florian continued.

He leaned closer, his head coming down towards me. I could feel his breath warm on my face.

I could not even turn away or close my eyes.

“I’ve heard she was dead drunk,” he whispered, his eyes glittering with malice. “Is that true? You were so young then, I suppose you don’t remember. What a stupid, stupid queen. Did she know then what a repugnant daughter she had borne? Did she ever tell you how hideous and useless you were bound to become?”

I felt hot tears prick the corner of my eyes. Not tears of sorrow. Florian had no fucking idea what he was even talking about.

No, these were tears of rage. Tears of murderous rage.

“Your brother doesn’t know what you’re up to, Princess. But I do. I watch. I see everything. Your training with Sir Ector and your little friend, the one who thinks she’ll be a knight? Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.” He chortled. I longed to slap the smile off his face.

He leaned over me. “And your little excursions outside of the castle? What are you up to exactly? You know I’ll find out soon enough.”

I wished I could grit my teeth, spit in his face, and tell him that if he was really watching me and was as smart as he pretended to be then shouldn’t he know already?

But I could do nothing but lie beneath him.

He leaned even closer, his body sliding along mine. His mouth was inches away.

“My father will be petitioning the king on our behalf soon, Morgan. He knows the hold you have upon me. The very, very vexatious hold. Did you know your mother was said to have bewitched your father in much the same way? Is that what you’ve done? Bewitched me into finding you appealing? Naughty, naughty, Morgan.”

I could smell the liquor on his breath. How much had he consumed to work up the nerve to do this? To come here?

I lay very still. Because I had absolutely no other choice.

He moved his mouth to my ear. “If our petition is granted, you won’t be going to the temple next year, Morgan. No, you’ll be coming home with me. As my precious wife.”

And then his tongue was on my cheek. Licking me slowly.

“To do with as I wish. To have however I wish. Would you like that, Morgan?”

I trembled then. My body shuddering from his touch, desperate to get away.

I tried to clench my hands into fists, but could only succeed in finally feeling a speck of sensation in my fingertips. Feeling was returning, slowly. But much too slowly to help me help myself.

Florian’s eyes burned down into mine. “For all your feeble protests, I think you would. I think you crave this, just as much as I do.”

He leaned back, sitting upright.

“I left you some tokens of my affection the other day.” He nodded to the headboard behind me. “Yet I see you’ve scratched one out. That wasn’t very nice, Morgan.”

Lazily, he reached a hand down to the bed beside him and picked something up.

A small dagger, the steel glinting in the firelight.

“No, that wasn’t very nice at all.” He spun the dagger in his hand, then leaned down to me again, holding the tip of the dagger directly over one of my eyes. “Promise me you won’t destroy any tokens of my affection again.”

He hovered like that, the point of the dagger all I could see from one eye. His face filled the view from my other.

I could not nod my agreement even if I had wished to. And I did not. I wished to take the dagger from his hand and stab him in the heart. I longed to see his blood pour from his chest. That was the only token of his affection I desired.

My heart was racing. If only the rest of me could move as quickly as my furious heart.

“Since you so cruelly rejected the mark I left on your bed, I suppose I have no other choice but to leave you a token somewhere else, Morgan.”

The knife was lifted away from my eye. I blinked slowly.

Florian was inspecting the knife. He lay it flat on his palm and looked at it as if still deciding what to do next.

“This next part... It won’t be pleasant. I wonder if that drug I put in that disgusting concoction you call ‘medicine’ will numb pain as easily as it numbed the rest of your flesh. I suppose for your sake, I should hope so.”

For the first time since waking up, I glanced at the door. It was closed. Probably locked. A servant must have given him a key. Or perhaps he had stolen it.

I understood then. There would be no happy ending. Not here, not tonight. Not for Baudwin, and, as it turned out, not for me.

Hazily, I thought of Kairos Draven. What would he make of someone like Florian?

He would make mincemeat of him, I suspected. He would tear the flesh from Florian’s bones with his sword, and leave him in pieces on the ground for the scavengers.

Violence became Draven. He wore it like I wore my hooded cloaks.

But he wasn’t here now. Not when I could have used such violence. And so such thoughts were pointless.

There were no Royal Guards here. It was just me.

And I was not getting out.

I watched as Florian positioned the dagger over my left arm. As he began cutting away the fabric of my tunic, I closed my eyes, praying to the Three that whatever drug he had slipped into my drink would take me far away again.

CHAPTER 8

In the morning, I was summoned to stand before the king.

Not to the Great Hall where court was held, but to a private meeting chamber in another part of the castle.

I bathed my wounds then dressed slowly, choosing clothes that would cover all of the marks. My body was aching and sore. My head still felt as if it were in a fog.

When I dropped a silver braided girdle on the floor and leaned down to pick it up, my vision flickered in and out and I nearly heaved up the remaining contents of my stomach.

With great effort, I pulled out the wooden chair from my desk and sank into it. I could not do this. The only thing I was fit for was lying in bed all day. The next day, too. And possibly the entire week.

But I had no choice. Arthur’s summons could be about any number of things.

He might have learned of my forays into the forest with the hunters.

Had the bodies in the marketplace been found? Had Draven done what he had threatened and gone to Arthur? Had he told him all of what had happened? Even about the hunters? Despite promising not to?

Or worse... perhaps Florian’s father, Lord Agravaine, had already presented his petition for our marriage. Would Arthur grant such a thing when our own father had already promised me to the temple?

The people of Camelot expected not a royal marriage but a consecration. How would they react if Arthur decreed the former heir of Pendrath was to wed?

I pushed myself out of the chair and finished buckling the belt around my waist. I had chosen a high-necked blue tunic with long sleeves that fell to mid-thigh, and long black breeches with dark tanned leather boots.

Now I moved to stand in front of the long gilded mirror off to one side of the room and looked at my reflection. For once, I had not bothered with a cloak or a hood. While I had tunics that were hooded, I knew Arthur would demand I lower my hood in his presence.

For once, I had left my long gray hair loose instead of braided. It fell around my shoulders like a heavy curtain. Conveniently, it concealed the bruises around my throat more than a hood would have.

I tugged at my sleeves, wishing they were even longer. Should I have worn a cloak after all? Or tied a scarf around my neck?

I glanced at the clock on my desk. I was going to be late. Arthur hated tardiness.

I stepped into a large chamber with stone walls and a high vaulted ceiling. My boots made soft clicks on the floor.

The room seemed quiet at first.

A large oak table lay near a row of arched windows. I glanced at it with interest, seeing a sprawling mess of maps and scrolls. I wondered what Arthur had been working on. I hoped he and his advisors were trying to come up with a solution for the food shortage. But considering Lord Agravaine Emrys was his foremost councilor and cared only for consolidating his own power, I had my doubts.

I turned towards the far end of the chamber. The sound of a woman caught my ear.

Specifically, the sound of a woman wrapped up in the final throes of her own pleasure–or one who wished a man to believe she was.

At the far end of the chamber was a raised platform with a throne-like chair. There Arthur sat. There was a woman on his lap, her dark hair tumbling down her back as she raised and lowered herself.

I slowed my steps, not wanting to come closer. But even as I did, she slid off his lap, fumbled with my brother’s breeches, then tugged her skirts back down her thighs and stumbled down from the platform.

Her dress was still askew, her bodice falling off one shoulder as she walked slowly towards me.

I recognized her. She was the youngest daughter of the noblewoman I had overheard the other day. The one who had complained to her companion that the part-fae boy should have been sentenced to hard labor rather than execution.

The bright smile the young woman had been wearing fell as she passed me, her face flickering into dull numbness. I felt a wave of revulsion as I looked beyond her to where Arthur sat. Had she been compelled to come here or done so willingly? Had she known she would be forced to participate in such a vile public performance?

As she brushed past me, I belatedly realized there was one other person already in the room.

Kairos Draven stood quietly off to one side looking out of a window. His hands were folded behind his back, his chin lifted.

As I approached Arthur’s seat, Draven turned to glance at me and I saw the look of disgust written plainly on his face. He must have seen the same thing reflected on mine, for he quickly cleared his expression–as I did my own.

In the morning light, I could see how well the guard's uniform he wore suited him. The surcoat was of white linen with a black leather chestplate overtop in the center of which was carved the symbol of the Rose Court, a dragon's head surrounded by a swirling rose, a simpler version of the Pendragon coat of arms. He wore tight-fitting black breeches that showed off his muscular legs. His helmet had been removed and tucked under one arm, revealing his black hair and handsome features.

I remembered the three men he had delivered death to the night before, as if they were nothing, and forced my gaze away.

Arthur was watching me, I realized. His brown eyes regarded me with complete composure from where he sat on the dais, sipping from a goblet.

He was already half-drunk. But even if he had been sober, I had seen him indulge in this kind of revolting spectacle before. He did such things to rile his courtiers. To rile me. It pleased him to know there was nothing we could do but observe–observe anything the king wished us to observe, no matter what it might be.

He was dressed in a rich red tunic. A heavy gold medallion carved in the shape of a rose hung on a chain from his neck. There was a jewel-encrusted short sword at his side. I wondered if he had ever finished learning how to use it.

“Good morning, Brother.” I tried to keep my voice calm and steady.

“Good morning, Sister.” He smiled at me as if he had not just forced me to witness anything untoward. His voice was strong and powerful. Truly, right now he seemed the picture of the perfect young king.

Perhaps if Draven had not just seen what he had, he might even have believed it. I glanced at the guard, wondering if he had already forgotten the brutality in the Great Hall.

Had I mistaken the look on his face that day? Perhaps to Draven, a man capable of equal violence, it had not seemed like brutality at all but justice.

As a new guard, it would be understandable if Draven revered his new king. After all, why else would he have traveled to the capital and applied as a recruit?

The Royal Guard were the most elite group of soldiers in the land. To have been accepted so quickly was a rare thing. Draven had moved from recruit to guard more quickly than anyone else that I could recall.

I suddenly felt a cold chill go over me. Perhaps it was not I who had been the unintentional spy amongst the group of hunters at all.

Reaching the edge of the crimson square carpet that bordered the dais, I stopped, clasping my hands respectfully in front of me, my head lowered.

“You summoned me, my king?”

“I did, Sister. Word reached me this morning that last night you were attacked.”

For a split second my heart froze and I thought Arthur was referring to Florian. Was my brother going to help to free me from my tormentor? Could it be possible? Would he save me?

Then Arthur’s lips thinned into a cold, hard line and I knew I needn’t have bothered hoping. Even for a second.

“You’ve made a humiliating misstep, Sister. You’ve embarrassed not only yourself but the throne.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, glancing at Draven.

But the guard stared straight in front of him, refusing to look at me.

“You have been going out into the city alone.” It was not a question.

“I always have,” I said truthfully. “I have always felt safe doing so. You know that Merlin often requests my presence at the temple.”

Arthur studied me in silence. I did my best not to flinch. I had had quite enough of men looking at me for some time. I looked past him, at the stone wall, willing myself to stay calm.

“Last night you went out for an evening stroll–” Arthur’s voice was scornful. “Accompanied only by this guard. And by the night’s end, three men had been slaughtered.”

My lips parted. Had I heard him correctly? I glanced at Draven again, but still he stood stony-faced.

“I encountered three men, yes. And there was a misunderstanding. I do not think they were truly planning to harm me. I was trying to negotiate with them...” My voice trailed off as I saw my brother’s face. Cold fury scrawled across it.

“Fresh blood was spilled for your sake,” Arthur said softly. I heard the subdued arousal in his voice, as there always was when he spoke of anything to do with blood, and suppressed a shudder. “Three men died because of you.”

Was this really the little boy I had grown up with? The one I had done everything in my power to save? Our father’s influence had been too strong. I had been too late. I had loved my brother with all my heart. I longed to love him still. But when I looked at Arthur now, all I saw was a stranger who left me chilled and frightened.

“You’re right, Arthur.” I raised my head. “Of course, you are right. I should not have gone out.”

Everything in my body railed against the words pouring from my mouth. But in my heart, I knew I had no other choice.

My brother was no longer someone I could disagree with. I wasn’t even sure he was still my brother at all.

“My liege, the mens’ deaths were my fault. I acted rashly, when I should have exercised restraint. I might have brought the men back for questioning instead. Indeed, your sister chided me afterwards for failing to do so.”

I gaped as Draven finished speaking and stepped back into place, still staring straight ahead of him.

Draven had lied for me. Told Arthur he had been with me all along. Now he was lying again. Did he really believe he had done anything wrong by slaughtering the three men? I found it hard to believe the man I had spoken with last night could have had such an abrupt change of heart.

My brother looked at the guard curiously. “A noble gesture, guard. But no, you should not have been there in the first place. Morgan is to blame, not you.”

My brother’s eyes flickered to my throat. “What is that, there on your neck? Lower your tunic.”

I raised a hand to my throat, then very slowly slid the neck of the tunic down a few inches, praying it would be enough.

“There.” Arthur sounded triumphant. “They wounded you. They bruised you. I am told a knife was found on one of the men. They might have slit your throat, Morgan.”

I felt Draven’s eyes on me and quickly let go of the tunic, letting it slide back into place.

“It’s nothing. Only a scratch. I am fine, Brother.”

“The marks on your neck say otherwise,” Arthur answered, his voice deceptively gentle. “I admit, I balk at the prospect of my sister being slaughtered like a pig in an alley. You made me look like a fool, Morgan. You made us look weak.”

Instantly I understood what this was about. It all hinged on that one word. Weak.

I sank to my knees and lowered my head as modestly as I could. “Forgive me, Brother. I see how I have wronged you.”

I watched as his expression softened and pushed my luck. “But the people are hungry. I went out to see if there was anything I could do. Surely you know how dire things are...”

Arthur’s face flashed livid with rage. “Of course, I know what occurs in my city. My kingdom.”

“Of course,” I said, my heart pounding. I made my voice as soothing as I could. “If only there was some way I could help. Is there nothing I can do to ease your burdens? Perhaps I could...”

“You can help me by remaining in the castle,” Arthur barked. “My enemies, Morgan, would like nothing more than to use you against me. Even if it means your death.”

I swallowed. “Your enemies?”

“They lie in wait, all around us,” was all Arthur said. He ran a hand over his face. “You are fortunate, Sister, that this man happened to be with you last night.” He gestured to Draven.

I looked at the guard’s flinty face and felt a resurgence of the helpless anger I had felt last night.

“I disagree, Brother,” I said, lifting my chin. “He acted rashly, as he has already admitted. Those men need not have died.”

Arthur leaned forward in his seat. “Oh?”

“No,” I said, racing forward into the trap. “Those three men may have had families, children. I believe they were simply desperate to gain your ear, Arthur, and they saw me as a tool to do so. They wouldn’t have hurt me. This guard–” I swallowed. “He should have arrested them, not slaughtered them.”

Arthur was looking back and forth between us, with a curious expression.

“The bloodshed was too much for you, Sister? Even though this man committed it for your sake? What wonderful gratitude.” He laughed loudly, looking at Draven, as if expecting the guard to join in. Then he threw up his hands, his face hardening once more. “You are a fool, Sister. Do not trust the people and their whining words. They would like nothing better than to see us dead. They envy what they cannot have, as most peasants do. You play right into their hands when you wander outside, ignorant and unguarded. From now on that ends.”

“What do you mean?” I asked quickly. “Am I to be confined to the castle grounds? Followed by armed guards?”

On the one hand the protection of armed guards did not seem like an entirely terrible idea after the events of last night. But I couldn't help but chafe against the prospect of my freedom of movement and my privacy being curtailed even more than they were in the limited time that I had left.

Arthur was quiet for a moment. “What a ridiculous question. Of course not. Do you see armed guards following Kaye about?”

I tried to smile. “You only want to keep me safe. And I am grateful to you for that...”

“But if there is another incident like this one, then yes, you will be confined to the castle henceforth,” Arthur broke in, ignoring me, his voice icy. “You would do well to consider your next moves carefully. Do you understand me, Morgan? I will not be made a fool of.”

I nodded silently, knowing better than to argue.

“Guard Draven,escort Morgan back to her room,” Arthur said, rising to his feet. “This audience is at an end.” His eyes lingered on me. “Morgan, you would do well to remember that your future lies in my hands and not your own.”

I felt a prickling of unease.

“My future lies with you for now, of course, Brother. Then it shall lie in the hands of the Three,” I replied slowly.

Arthur smiled coolly. “The Three have little to do with it. I rule by divine right, and thus whatever fate I decide for you, Sister, is fitting in the eyes of the gods.”

My mouth felt dry. Did this mean that Lord Agravaine had already approached Arthur?

I opened my mouth, trying to find the courage to ask, but Arthur had already turned away.

Draven stepped up beside me and gestured towards the door.

I marched towards it, feeling mutinous.

“Does this mean I am to have an armed escort at all times? Even while walking about the castle?” I muttered to myself, not caring if he could hear.

“Perhaps that might be for the best,” Draven murmured from behind me. “Did you ever consider it?”

We stepped out into the hall. I kept up a steady pace as we walked down the corridor.

“Of course, you think it would be best,” I snapped. “You wish to contain me. It is more convenient.”

I knew I was being unjust and unfair. Based on what Arthur had said, Draven had not even been the one to go to my brother and tell him about the events of last night. I wondered who had done so. Was Florian really watching my every move?

Draven had lied to the king and claimed he had been with me all along. Had he done so to try to shield me from Arthur’s anger?

“It would be safer, not more convenient,” he corrected me. “Based on last night, you should have at least one guard with you at all times.”

I was relieved he had not suggested such a thing to my brother but refused to say this aloud.

“Believe me, I am no more safe within the castle walls than outside of them,” I spat back at him. “If someone truly wished to hurt me...”

I paused and took a deep breath. “Then they will do so. If they really want to. A guard wouldn’t be able to stop that.”

Draven said nothing, just clenched his jaw tightly. But I could feel his eyes on me as we continued to walk.

I lowered my head, my hair falling around my face in a cloud of gray. Suddenly I felt very tired. Perhaps being trapped in my room with armed guards would not be such a terrible thing after all. I could stay there for the next year and write letters to Lancelet and Galahad instead of seeing them in person. In time, they would grow used to it. In time, they would simply forget about me.

A strong hand touched my shoulder, shocking me out of my depressing daydream.

“Stop,” Draven instructed, in the tone of a man who is not used to having his will disputed. “There is something caught in your hair.”

“What–” I began. But his hand was already pushing aside my hair, brushing it back over my shoulder, giving him a clear view of my neck.

I stepped back with a cry like a wounded doe and pressed myself to the wall, pure terror running through me at being touched by anyone so soon after the nightmare in the dark.

“I thought so.” Draven’s voice was chill.

“Step away from me. How dare you touch me.” I felt myself trembling.

Draven ignored me. “There are bruises all over your neck. And they are not from the man in the alley last night.”

He glanced around. The corridor around us was empty and quiet. He stepped closer to me. I must have flinched, for I saw something flit across his face. Could it actually have been guilt? I quickly dismissed the thought.

But Draven raised his hands in a timeless gesture that promised he meant no harm.

“Open your collar,” he demanded, in a tone that said he would brook no refusal. “Show me.”

I shook my head slowly. “No,” I whispered.

I tried to sound stronger. “They’re merely the marks from last night. You were right, the man with the knife, he must have been rougher than I realized. I have a few bruises. That’s all.”

Draven was looking at me closely. Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

I was relieved. “That’s all right. How were you to... Hey!”

He stepped forward so quickly, the movement was almost blurred. And then he had my arms in his and was yanking up my sleeves.

I tried to pull away, but his grip was too tight. His hands were warm and firm against my skin, almost soothingly so. Or at least, they might have been if my arms were not covered in fresh cuts and bruises.

I winced and let out a little cry, then felt ashamed of my weakness.

The cuts were shallow. The bleeding had mostly stopped by the time I woke up in my bed this morning. Alone and unharmed except for cuts, thank the Three. At least, this time.

“It’s nothing. Really, they’re nothing.” I found myself unable to look at his face.

“Stop.” To my shock, he sounded almost disgusted. “Stop lying to me. Next you’ll claim you did this to yourself. Or that you fell.”

He released me and I quickly yanked my sleeves back down, stepping away from him until my back hit the wall. But it was no use. The look in his eyes told me he was not going anywhere. Not without answers.

“Who did this to you?” Even with the sleeves of my tunic pulled down, his eyes were still on my arms, my throat. I thanked the Three that he could not see the rest of me.

Still I said nothing.

He took another step forward. And another.

He was very close now. I could feel the wave of pure fury radiating from his body.

“There are cuts and bruises all over your arms, all over your throat. They are fresh. They were not there last night when I brought you back.”

Last night. I could not help it. I closed my eyes, feeling the bile rise at the memory of Florian overtop me, raising his blade again and again as I lay helpless beneath him, unable to fight, unable to even scream.

“Who?”

I jumped.

“Who did this to you?” Draven’s voice was a guttural growl. The sound of a furious animal, not a man.

I shook my head mutely.

“You won’t tell me? You think I won’t find out for myself?” He shook his head as if in frustration. “Morg–”

My eyes widened.

He tried again. “Princess. My lady.” I could see him trying to soften his voice. Which was impossible. A steel sword could never become silk. “Tell me so I may help you. That is all I ask.”

I tried to clear my throat. When my words emerged, my voice was hoarse and cracked. “Thank you, but... there is no need for any of this. I’m fine.”

This time he really did growl. A sound low and deep in the back of his throat.

I tried not to flinch. I failed.

“Last night in the market. Now this. You are not fine.” He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. “Tell me this. Has it happened before?”

I was quiet.

The truth was, it had. But not this badly. Last night... Last night was the worst.

Florian had cornered me before. He had hurt me, bruised me. He had even used his knife. I had small scars in a few hidden places from those encounters.

But compared to last night, those had all been child’s play.

Again I thanked the Three that Draven could not see the rest of the marks I bore. Strange, the things we thought we ought to be grateful for.

If he could see Florian’s name carved across my chest, just above my breasts, well... I had the feeling he would explode into a tempest of rage that nothing would be able to contain.

And for some odd reason... I didn’t want that to happen. I didn’t want to see this arrogant guard, infuriating though he might have been, die trying to go up against one of the most powerful noble families in the kingdom.

I knew how it would end. Lord Agravaine and Florian would destroy Draven. And Arthur would let them.

I wasn’t about to let a man go on a crusade of vengeance for my sake. But the fact that he seemed so willing to do so? That he had actually noticed my injuries and demanded to know who had dealt them? That sent something hot and nameless flowing through my veins. Something I wasn’t sure I wanted to try to pin down.

“I want to go back to my room now,” I said, making my voice as small as I could, hoping his sympathy would finally cause him to let up his barrage of questions.

“You want to go back–” He stopped. Shook his head. Unfolded his arms. His face was tight, but resigned.

Good. I hoped he would simply forget about all of this.

“Very well.” He gestured ahead. “Lead the way, Princess.”

I started to walk, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to stop my shaking.

And then he spoke, from behind me.

“But if you think I’ll just forget about this, you have another thing coming.”

I ignored him and kept walking. He would forget. Because he had to. It would be easier for everyone if he did.

CHAPTER 9

A few days later I lay on my bed, hands folded behind my head, a discarded book beside me.

Arthur had not said I could not move freely about the castle and he had not said I had to move within the castle surrounded by guards.

Nevertheless, I was trying to keep the peace and so hadn’t left the castle in days. Yet, unsurprisingly, I had quickly realized that my room was not one of the places I wished to be.

My tower room had transformed from a sanctuary to a space where I now constantly felt trapped. I was diligent about keeping the door locked, but it felt futile. Florian must have acquired a key. Either that or he had bribed a servant to open my door at his request.

He had managed to drug my medicine without anyone being the wiser. Despite Arthur’s concern that I might be murdered outside the castle walls, I deeply doubted I was particularly well-protected within them. At least, not when it came to insidious threats like the one his closest advisor and best friend’s son represented.

I had taken to pushing a large armchair and a heavy trunk in front of the door each night before I climbed into bed. But that was not enough to make me feel truly safe.

Some nights I lay in bed and wondered if I should have given Kairos Draven more of the answers he wanted.

But what exactly could a Royal Guard have done with the knowledge? No, Florian was too close to Agravaine and Agravaine was too close to Arthur for me to feel safe telling even Sir Ector about what was happening. I didn’t want others to face repercussions for trying to help me. That would make things much worse.

Which was why I had not dared to mention to anyone that Florian had threatened to try to make me his wife.

Nor had I returned to ask Arthur about Lord Agravaine’s request.

I had decided I did not want to know. Was I pulling the hood over my eyes once more? Maybe. But I had also concluded that Florian’s petition was most likely to be refused.

Because if there was one thing that would make Arthur say “no” to his most trusted advisor it was the prospect of his elder sister and the former heir to the throne being permitted to bear children of her own to the son of a powerful family.

No, Arthur wanted me safe and conveniently locked up in the temple. I had never done anything to harm him or his prospects before this–in the past quite the opposite–and that was how I was sure we both wanted things to stay.

I needed to let myself believe Arthur retained at least a small measure of affection for me–and for Kaye. And that he wished us no harm.

As long as we stayed out of his way.

I was only too willing to do that. Especially now.

No matter which way I inspected things, my future did not look especially appealing at the moment.

I had less than a year of freedom left. And I was trapped in the castle with Florian hunting me like a trapped fox. If I left, I risked incurring Arthur’s wrath. Or being hunted by some new predator, like the men in the alley.

One could say the bright side was that I would soon find refuge in the temple.

But oddly enough, the prospect of becoming a celibate acolyte cloistered away in the Temple of the Three did not bring me great comfort.

In my heart, I supposed I had always held out the hope of something more.

Something else.

Anything else.

It was a vague and fruitless hope, but it remained nonetheless. Though it was growing foggier and foggier by the day.

A rap at the door sent me leaping to my feet with my heart pounding.

When the beating had slowed slightly, I crossed to the door. There was an armchair pushed in front of it that I would have to move. If I chose to open it.

“Who is it?”

“Galahad. May I come in?”

I eyed the chair, then sighed and began to push it away from the door and back over to its usual place near the hearth, hoping the noise wouldn’t be noticeable.

Unlocking the door, I stepped back as Galahad entered. His tightly curled brown hair was shorter than the last time I saw him.

“Haircut?” I asked, smiling a little. He looked more boyish with his hair trimmed short.

He touched his head ruefully. “Yes. One of the priests did it. A little shorter than I usually like it.”

“It looks nice.” And it did. If Galahad was not an acolyte who had devoted himself to the Three, he would have had no trouble acquiring a very nice boyfriend. He had sweet yet mischievous features, gorgeous skin, and a smile that I’d swear had a magic of its own. Seeing him there, looking so warmly at me made me feel a little better already.

“What on earth are you doing?” he inquired. “It sounded like you were moving furniture.”

“I’ve been doing a little of that, yes,” I said lamely. “Just... you know, rearranging the space.”

“Hmm.” He eyed me skeptically. “You had to unlock the door to let me in.”

“Yes, well, it’s a good habit, I think,” I hedged. “You can never be too careful these days. And you know I value my privacy.”

I felt like an idiot. Galahad still looked skeptical, but I was relieved when he began to fish around in the leather bag he had across his chest.

“I’ve brought back the painting. Lorne was able to remove the worst of the ink.” He lifted out a familiar shaped bundle, wrapped in a linen cloth.

I wanted to grab it from his hands but managed to contain myself.

“But it’s not the same, Morgan,” Galahad warned.

“I know, I know,” I assured him.

He passed over the picture and I quickly unwrapped it, breathing a sigh of relief as soon as the linen was removed.

“It’s much better. Much, much better.” I stared down at the portrait. Galahad was right, it would never be the same. The red ink had left the entire image with a permanent tinge.

But my mother’s face was now visible again. I could see her dancing eyes and sweet smile.

Reverently, I hung the painting back in its place over my desk and stepped back.

“Please, thank your friend for me,” I said, turning to Galahad. I put my hand in my pocket and felt for coins.

“No, no, there’s no need,” Galahad said hurriedly. “He said it was an honor to be asked.”

My eyebrows went up. “He knew who the woman in the portrait was?” Ordinarily, Pendrathian kings and queens retained an honored place in history. But not my father’s wives. Their images were conspicuously absent. There was only one portrait of one of his consorts hanging in the Great Hall of the castle, and that was of Ettarde, Arthur’s mother.

“Of course, but more than that, he knew who you were. I speak of you all the time.” Galahad smiled. “The other acolytes are excited for the time when you join us at the temple. It’s not so far off. I think some of the girls are quite eager to have a princess among them.”

“I highly doubt that,” I murmured uncomfortably. I had never been the sort of princess to inspire much adoration in the people. My odd appearance probably didn’t help with that.

“You weren’t really moving furniture,” Galahad complained, glancing around my room. “Except for that armchair over there, everything is the same. It looks to me like you’ve been lying in bed all day. Your coverlet is crumpled. Your fire’s gone out. It’s chilly in here.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re brooding. Why are you brooding? What’s going on, Morgan?”

“What are you, an inspector for the Royal Guard?” I muttered. “There is no mystery to be solved. I’ve been spending the day in my room. It is no crime to desire solitude.”

“It is if that’s all you seek or if you seek it to the exclusion of all else.” Galahad’s eyes lit up. “Why not come down with me to see my father? He’ll be in the practice yard. I’m sure he’d love to see you. When was the last time you went down to train?”

I opened my mouth to say it was just yesterday, then realized it had been more than a week.

Since Florian’s attack, I had hardly left my room.

I stared thoughtfully at Galahad, chewing my lip. What in the Three was I doing, hiding in here like a mouse?

If Florian did come back, I had no intention of being overpowered again. I had to be prepared. I had to be fit and strong. Not weak from idleness.

Before this, I had been training just as hard as Lancelet. But now it had all fallen by the wayside. I’d become depressed and discouraged. I had let Florian’s cruel words get right inside of me, twisting their way in and destroying my confidence.

That had to stop. Immediately.

If Florian tried to get into my room again. If he managed to get inside... Then I had to be ready. I might not be willing to let others fight my battles for me, but I would be damned if I would continue to play his victim. If he refused to leave me alone, then next time I would meet him head on.

I would fight my own battle. I would vanquish him.

“You’re right,” I said abruptly. “Let me get my things.”

Most of my training armor was already down in the shed by the courtyard.

But today I decided I would wear a different breastplate. One that Sir Ector had given me for my nineteenth birthday, a few months after I had begun training with him.

I crossed the room to the large oak wardrobe across from my bed and reached up to the top shelf, pulling down a beautiful black leather breastplate engraved with the Pendragon insignia. The rose on the insignia had even been embossed with real gold, as had the outline of the dragon and its swirling majestic tail. The breastplate fit me perfectly, snug as a glove.

I turned to face Galahad, holding it in my outstretched hands. “Strap me in?”

His expression confused me. He was looking not at the breastplate but at my arm. Quickly I tugged at the sleeve of the crimson tunic I wore.

“It’s no use, Morgan,” Galahad said, shaking his head. “I saw. When you reached for the armor. How did it happen?”

His eyes watched me, honest and steadfast as ever. I could not lie. Not to him.

“Florian,” I whispered. I cleared my throat. “They’ve... They’ve mostly healed. Just scratches, for the most part.”

“Scratches.” He shook his head, as if he knew that for the brazen piece of fiction it was.

“Please. Will you strap me in?” I asked again. Suddenly I felt desperate. I couldn’t lose my nerve. Wind up stuck here in this tower bedroom again all day and all night.

Galahad seemed to understand. He stepped up and took the breastplate from my hands and helped me shrug into it, then began to buckle the leather straps on each side.

“Lancelet and I care about you very much, Morgan,” he said as he worked. “You know you can tell us anything.”

He sounded so parental. I almost laughed. But I knew he was serious.

“I know,” I said softly. “Thank you. I do know that. But... Things are complicated. I don’t wish to put either of you...” I nearly said “in danger.” “In an uncomfortable situation. With the Emrys’ or with...”

“The king?” Galahad finished. “There.” He let go of the buckles and stepped back. “Feel all right?”

“Yes, perfect.” I grabbed my sheathed sword from where it stood in the wardrobe and strapped it on. “Let’s go.” I was suddenly beyond eager to spend the rest of the day throwing my body into a fight.

We made our way down the hall to the stairs.

“Could you not tell your brother what is happening with Florian?” Galahad was careful to keep his voice low as we walked. “Wouldn’t he wish to protect you? Wish to intervene?”

I was quiet for a moment.

“I honestly don’t know,” I said finally. “You know Lord Agravaine is his closest counselor. Also...” How did I explain this? “The older Arthur and I get, the greater the distance between us. While I would like to believe he considers me with affection, the truth is...”

“He can be terrifying, can’t he?” Galahad met my eyes frankly. “It’s all right. We know. I cannot imagine having such a man for my brother.”

And Arthur was just barely a man. But I knew just what Galahad meant. Arthur was only nineteen years old, yet already he ruled with an iron fist and the shameless indulgences of a much older man. In many kingdoms, such a young king would have a fleet of advisors–even a regent. But not Arthur.

When our father had died, Arthur’s coronation had been held six weeks later.

At first he had retained a group of older advisors, lords and ladies who had served my father and who hoped to remain close to the new king. But soon none of these remained.

Oh, he had not killed them. Though a few had been sent away from Camelot, essentially banished from the Rose Court, forced back to their country estates where they would be safely out of Arthur’s way.

The rest had dwindled, one by one, as they realized Arthur would not be heeding any of their wise words.

Eventually, only Lord Agravaine remained. He had the king’s ear. Secretly, I believed this was because he told Arthur precisely what he wished to hear. Or worse, things more terrible than the ones Arthur had initially thought of.

Somehow the kingdom had not crumbled into ruin either. We had gone steadily on, the same as before. At least, until recently. Now things were changing. And not for the better.

“He used to be different. More approachable. Even...” I nearly said “kind.” But had that word ever fit my brother?

“It is not entirely his fault,” Galahad said carefully, looking at me. “We know–the entire court knows–how difficult your father was to get along with. How hard he was, not only on Arthur but on you.”

I couldn’t help it. A bitter laugh escaped me. “Yes. That is putting it... Well, that is certainly true.”

“Part of you must have been glad when he died.”

I looked at Galahad, shocked that he had said something so honest. But it was true, of course.

He clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I...

“It’s all right. I don’t wish to speak of it. But yes, if we’re being ruthlessly, recklessly honest. It’s true.”

I paused my tread on the stairs, the memory of that night flooding back.

It was too close. Too close by far to my memory of Florian’s attack. And I did not want to think of either just now.

But Galahad had brought me back around to one certainty. I could not go to Arthur.

Ever since our father’s death, the reality of what Arthur was becoming had grown like a weed in the back of my mind.

Part of it was that it was too terrible to allow myself to stop and really look at it.

And part of it was that I was too jaded to care.

For a long time, I had held out hope that Arthur would be... different.

I had hoped our father’s death would put a pause on Arthur’s own inclination towards coldness and cruelty.

If only.

We reached the ground floor and exited out a wooden door leading into the outer bailey.

In many ways, the bailey was the heart of the castle complex. On this warm and sunny spring day, it was a hub of bustling activity. The sounds of laughter and chatter filled the air as we passed by the kitchens where cooks were busy preparing meals for the court. Workshops lined the edges of the bailey along the stone outer wall.

Craftsmen and women were hard at work, hammering at metal, carving objects from wood, and weaving cloth. I could hear the clanging of the blacksmith's forge and the whirring of spinning wheels, as we passed by. A group of children raced past us, chasing each other in some rowdy game. A little girl screeched as she ran to catch up, a hilarious look of panic on her face.

The scents and sounds and sights threatened to overwhelm my senses, but in a good way. I found myself grinning. Galahad had been right. It was good to get out of my room. Out here, in the sunshine and the fresh air, with so many people going about their regular routines, I felt a sense of safety and security. I felt less alone.

There was so much good in Camelot. So much worth protecting. I felt a tug of tenderness as I looked at the people around me. Our people.

Did Arthur ever feel it too? This sense of belonging and the urge to protect it?

Or were people like Florian and Arthur becoming the very ones I was training to protect all of this from?

I clenched my fists, feeling the freshly scabbed cuts along my arm pucker and tense with my muscles.

I felt ready to train. No, more than that. Desperate to fight. I needed to fight. To hit. To stab. I needed it more than anything.

“What’s gotten into you, Morgan?” Sir Ector bellowed.

I slammed against the wide-eyed squire, smashing my elbow into his breastplate and shoving him up against the wooden fence, my sword to his throat.

I grinned, panting hard, and saw a look of sheer terror come into the poor boy’s eyes.

“Just happy to be back training is all,” I called back, releasing the boy and waving him off.

He started to scamper out of the ring. I hadn’t meant I was dismissing him.

“Hey! Where are you going?” I shouted after him. “We’re not finished yet.”

“He’s done, Morgan. You’ve scared the poor lad. He’s probably running back to his mother,” Sir Ector bellowed again from the side of the ring. He threw up his hands. “Will you kindly stop terrorizing my squires?”

“Just putting the fear of the Three into them, Sir Ector,” I called back sweetly. “A little hard training never hurt anyone. Much. Well? Who’s next?”

I strode towards where Sir Ector stood near the fence, feeling the blood racing in my veins. It had been nearly five hours since Galahad had brought me down to the practice yard. Nearly five hours since I had thought of Florian Emrys.

My body ached gloriously and I knew I would have a wonderful sleep tonight.

After I had finished pushing all the furniture in my room against the door.

“Who’s next? Who’s next?” Sir Ector repeated. “Look around you. It’s past suppertime, Morgan. That was the last squire.”

“There are still some men practicing. Those knights over there.” I squinted. “Is that Dame Halyna?”

“Yes, Dame Halyna training with Sir Lucan,” Sir Ector said drily. “Shall I call her over for you? I’m sure she’d be thrilled.”

I scratched my chin dubiously. “I suspect you are lying and that she’ll be furious with me.” I turned away, slinging my sword over my shoulder carelessly. “But yes, call her over. Tell her the princess demands it. Tell her... Tell her anything you wish. But bring me someone. Anyone.”

I was being a spoiled brat and I knew it. This was not how I ordinarily behaved.

Lancelet and I admired Dame Halyna, but we were petrified of her, too. I couldn’t believe I had really demanded Sir Ector tell her she’d be serving as my next training partner.

“It would serve you right if I did exactly as you asked,” Sir Ector called. I could hear the aggravation in his voice. There was something else there, too. I couldn’t pinpoint it. I stopped in my tracks, suddenly worried Galahad had mentioned my injuries to his father. But no. Galahad wouldn’t do that.

Regardless, Sir Ector was starting to look concerned. And that concern would soon become a fatherly “talk.” I didn’t walk to talk. I wanted to fight.

“Why not get cleaned up, put your gear away, and come have dinner with Galahad and me?” Sir Ector suggested. “We’re joining Dame Halyna in the dining hall tonight.”

For the nobles who had the king’s favor–and thankfully, Sir Ector and his family were included in these—the dining hall was basically an open invitation to join a rowdy nightly feast.

“Can’t,” I called back. “Need to keep training. Not even near tired yet.”

I began swinging my sword at the practice dummy in the far corner of the ring. Swish. Swish. Stab. Stab. Pierce.

“I suppose a princess does not need to eat like other mortals,” a familiar voice drawled.

I whirled about. Kairos Draven stood leaning over the wooden fence.

“I’ll spar with her, Sir Ector. There’s no need to bother Dame Halyna,” he said, looking over at the older knight.

“I have no wish to spar with you.” I lifted my chin.

“And I’m quite sure Dame Halyna has no wish to spar with you. Are you really going to pull her away at your whim like a spoiled child?”

I glared at him, then glanced across the yard at where Dame Halyna and Sir Lucan had paused their practice and were standing talking.

“Fine,” I spat. “Let's begin. I hope you’re not too tired.”

Without answering, he began to climb over the fence wearing a sly grin.

I muttered a curse under my breath. I wanted to knock the grin right off his cocky face. Then rub those handsome features in the mud.

He faced me, raising his blunted practice sword.

"Ready?"

I didn't answer. I tossed my head, then charged forward.

He deflected me easily, as I'd known he would. He was stronger. More experienced. Whatever farm he’d come from, he’d clearly already learned his way around a sword and shield. I'd give him that.

But there were advantages to being a woman. Female knights might be smaller, but they were usually faster. I might not have had Lancelet's swiftness, but I was still faster than most of the male squires I'd faced off with.

Of course, I'd also been sparring for five hours. Though I would never have admitted it, I was a little tired.

But not too tired to stop before I'd shoved Draven into the dirt.

He was craftier than I'd expected. Dodging and deflecting my blows easily.

Time passed.

Neither of us had landed a blow yet, but I felt as if I was close.

Despite my fatigue, my movements were sure and fluid, my attacks strategic. I was furious, yes. At Draven, Arthur, Florian–at everything and everyone around me. I had left my room but the anger had followed me.

Now I was so filled with rage and fury I thought I would choke on it. I was so full of anger that I had no need of food.

But in the ring, with Draven looking at me as if he were just waiting for me to fail, waiting for me to prove myself weak, I leashed my rage and funneled it into my arm, my sword, the power of my strike.

“You’re healing well, I see, Princess,” Draven remarked as we circled each other.

“I told you there was nothing to be concerned with,” I said as haughtily as I could. “I can take care of myself.”

I feinted to the left, then swung low, hoping to catch him off guard. But Draven was too quick. He parried my blow with ease.

Flushed with frustration, I spun around and aimed my next blow at his shins.

He jumped back, laughing.

"You'll have to do better than that, Princess."

My hair, which had been braided tightly when I first began, was now threatening to come loose. Annoyed, I pushed a strand of gray off my face, sweat dripping down my brow, and caught Draven looking at me.

“What is it? My hair?” I said coldly. “Off-putting color on a young woman, isn’t it? I’ve been told.”

He shrugged. "Just wondering if you were trying to distract me."

I gaped. "By moving my hair from my eyes?"

“Wouldn't be the first time a woman's tried something of the sort to distract me.” His face warned that he was baiting me, but I still felt furious that he had compared me to such women. Was that what he was used to? Women batting their eyelashes and falling at his feet? If so, he had another thing coming.

I ran towards him, letting out a screech of fury, my sword slicing through the air.

I watched his eyes widen in surprise. He raised his arm to block but it was too late. My sword connected, knocking his own from his hand.

I stood back, my chest heaving with exertion, a smirk on my lips as I looked at his sword lying there in the dust.

“I'm sorry, did I distract you that time? Was it my hair? Or my rare female strength? I suppose both can be disarming when you’re not used to them.”

“Neither,” he said calmly, bending to pick up his weapon. When he stood back up, his expression confused me. He looked... a little impressed. “That was a good hit.”

“Surely you're joking, Guard Draven.” My voice was snide. I couldn’t accept that he would actually give me praise. That was impossible. “A mere woman could never disarm a great hulking man like you. I must have blinded you with the sunbeams reflecting off my hair.”

"It’s ‘captain’ now, actually. They’ve promoted me. It is quite silvery. Does it gleam in the moonlight?"

I glowered. "Was that a real question?"

He grinned. "They say you're part fae. Do all the fae have hair like that?"

I couldn't handle this. I dove forward, my sword raised.

Our weapons clashed, the sound of steel echoing through the yard.

“Why–” I said, my teeth clenched. “Would–they–have–promoted–you–already?”

“Something about my incredible aptitude for the role,” Draven panted, his face as slick with sweat as mine. His black hair was damp and hung loose around his face. I could see the small glint of the silver hoop in his ear. “Oh, and I suspect saving the life of the king’s sister had something to do with it.”

“By the Three,” I exclaimed. “Must you brag of that every time you see me?”

“Every time?” He raised dark eyebrows. “I take it that means you aren't going to answer?”

“About the bloody fae? No, they don't have hair like this. Have you never read a fucking history book or seen a part-fae before? A real fae... A real part-fae...” I paused, suddenly realizing how few I actually had seen myself. Over a hundred years after the true fae had left Eskira, even the part-fae were becoming few and far between. “Their hair is beautiful. Luminous. Colorful. Not drab like mine.”

“There aren’t many part-fae where I’m from. So what's wrong with you?” He seemed genuinely, truly curious.

I stared. “Do you have any manners at all?”

“My apologies. Should I be more polite because you're royalty? Pardon me, Princess. And here I thought you enjoyed being treated as an equal.” He gave a mocking bow.

I roared, clenching my jaw, and lunged forward, but he parried, then deftly stepped back and before I could block him, brought his sword down in a swift arc, catching me on the shoulder.

I let out a yelp and gritted my teeth in pain.

He watched me rub my shoulder with interest, no sign of an apology.

Good. I didn't want one. Now it was my turn to be a little impressed. The squires had been fun to practice with but something of a letdown, too. They were frightened of me. Not because I was female–there were some girls amongst them, too–but because of who I was. Even the more skillful of them seemed to be holding back. Eventually I had lost all patience and resorted to treating them all like the last one and slamming the breath out of them until they scuttled away like rats from a sinking ship. Hopefully they'd learn for next time to give me their all and not hold anything back.

Just like Draven was doing now.

Giving me exactly what I thought I had wanted.

Except when he hit me, I felt a stab of pain, yes. But also... faintly betrayed. Which was ridiculous. He was my sparring partner, not my friend.

“So, what's wrong with you then, Princess? Why the weird hair? Why all the cloaks? I suppose you think you look more mysterious with them on.” He gave me a smartass grin, his wicked lips curving upwards.

“I’m not even going to honor that with a response,” I said, my chest heaving. I shook my head. “You know what, you’re evidently such a fucking yokel that you don’t know. Tell me, in the goddess-forsaken farm town you come from, do they really not speak of the half-fae princess who is cursed to resemble an old woman?” I was angry now. “Everywhere I go, my hair tells the story of what I am. That my father believed me unworthy to sit on the throne and only fit to serve in the temple as reparation for whatever sin had been committed that caused me to be born this way.” Not to mention the litany of my father’s own sins. Too many to ever make reparation for. “So, pardon me, Captain Draven, if I would rather melt into the crowd sometimes by pulling a hood over my head rather than walk amongst you and be constantly recognized as the girl who was deemed unfit to be your queen.”

I moved back into position, seeing an opening while he was distracted and taking it.

But Draven was too quick. He refocused. Blocked my blow, countering with a quick thrust, which I barely managed to avoid.

I stepped back, grinding my teeth in frustration, feeling my cheeks blaze with anger, and charged forward again, my sword flashing in the fading sunlight.

I aimed for his chest. Draven parried, his own sword coming down hard against mine. The force of the impact sent a jolt through my arms, but I pushed back with all my strength.

We stood there, locked in a deadly dance, steel kissing steel, sweat pouring down our faces.

“You said you weren't real,” Draven grunted, looking at me hard from behind those deep green eyes.

“What?”

“You said–” He stepped back, just a small step, but he caught me off guard. I relaxed. And then he had me. He pushed hard, slamming me back.

I was knocked off guard, falling into nothingness, tumbling down into the dirt. My back hit the ground and all the air was sucked from my lungs.

“You said you weren't real,” he repeated, panting, as he stood above me. “Not real. Not real like the fae. Like the part-fae. So, what are you then, Princess? Surely you are something. So, what are you? Do you even know?”

I glared up at him, struggling to regain my breath, my fists twisting with rage.

He lowered his voice. “Whatever might have happened to you, you’re choosing to fight back. I don’t see how that’s a bad thing. All of life is a fight. There’s no point in avoiding it.” Then he reached out a hand to help me up from the dirt.

I took a deep breath, looking up at him, then swatted his hand away.

The sound of clapping drew my attention. We both turned towards the opposite side of the fence.

Arthur stood there, putting his hands together slowly. A retinue of guards stood just behind him.

“Well done, Captain Draven. Well done indeed.” He looked vastly amused. “And you, Morgan, of course. Well done, too. Though I must say I missed all but that last part.” He let out a chuckle. “Highly entertaining.”

Draven turned back to me. His face had swiftly returned to a mask of blank civility. “Princess? Are we through?”

I pushed myself up onto my elbows, then leapt to my feet.

“How good of you to come and watch, Arthur,” I said coolly, crossing the yard and ignoring the pain from my arms, my back. “Were you looking for me?”

My brother shook his head. “Not you. I came to speak to Dame Halyna about a certain matter. I didn’t expect to see you here. Though, of course, Agravaine has told me how hard you have been working.” There was a glint in his eyes as he looked at me. “I must say, I don’t see how a knight’s skills will serve you as a priestess.”

There had been warrior priestesses in Pendrath in the past. Though they had been few and far between. But one Pendragon queen had commanded an entire battalion of them. Zorya’s Blades they had been called.

I decided not to point that out to Arthur.

“I find the training stimulating,” I said simply. “I need useful occupation.”

“I’d have preferred you found it at the temple, but I suppose you aren’t in any danger here at least,” Arthur said, consideringly. “Surrounded by knights and guards. It’s the safest place to be.”

I swallowed the impulse to say “Safer than in your castle.”

“Yes,” I answered. “Very safe, with the captain of your Royal Guard here to protect me once again.”

“Yes, you do not seem to get on well with Draven. Despite his heroic rescue,” Arthur observed. “Very interesting. I would have thought women might find him an appealing man. But you don’t.”

“He’s proud, arrogant, and utterly detestable,” I said honestly, hoping my face wouldn’t reveal that it was more complicated than that. I couldn’t deny Draven was a handsome bastard. But he was also the most infuriating man I’d ever met. And one of the most brutal.

Had he meant to hurt me? To knock me down so hard? It wasn’t quite sporting, but then, I hadn’t been quite so sporting either when I’d pushed that poor little squire up against the fence.

“And yet, he’s the best.” Arthur seemed oddly delighted. By my failure or my fury at Draven? “Well, you’ve helped settle something for me, Morgan. I must thank you. It simplifies matters.”

“Glad to help, Brother.” I glanced around. Draven had disappeared. I felt a twinge of disappointment. Perhaps he was on night duty. If so, I hoped I had thoroughly worn him out and that he would be exhausted and sore for the entirety of his shift.

“You haven’t joined us in the dining hall for a meal in some time, Morgan,” Arthur observed. “Kaye misses you. Come sit with us tonight.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask whether that was the king’s command or my brother’s request, but I bit back the question and accepted it as an order.

“Of course. I’ll be there.”

There was just one thing I had to do first.

“Good. Sit with us. Eat with us. We are your family after all, are we not? After all, nothing can come between blood.” Arthur gave me a thin-lipped smile and I forced myself to smile back.

“There will be a celebration soon,” he added. “For the Festival of Marzanna, of course, but also to honor some visiting dignitaries that we will be hosting from Liria. I plan to hold a grand ball in their honor to coincide with the spring festival.”

Arthur glanced at me, his gaze sweeping from head to toe, evidently taking in my dust-covered leathers and sweat-drenched hair. “You will dress appropriately while they are here. As befits the sister of a king. I expect you to attend the gala, despite your disinclination for crowds.”

“Of course. I was already planning to.” I knew Galahad was excited about the upcoming festival. The spring rites were in honor of Marzanna but they were also a rite of passage for those who entered temple service. The celebration was a time when new acolytes were officially accepted into the temple and were tested to see if they possessed any of the ancient magics.  “But... Liria!” I was astonished. “I can’t remember the last time we had guests from Lyonesse.”

The capital city of Liria lay in the kingdom directly south of us, Lyonesse. A sun-drenched land of olive groves and vineyards. Or so I had read. Lyonesse was supposed to enjoy a vibrant culture, rich with music and dance and literature, where the various noble courts played host to traveling musicians and poets called troubadours.

Arthur nodded, but I could tell his attention had waned. “A diplomatic visit, of a sort. I will tell Kaye he may look forward to seeing you in the dining hall soon.”

He and his guards moved back towards the keep.

I stood for a moment, sweaty and exhausted and alone in the practice yard, then came to a decision. Things could not go on as they had been. Before I joined Kaye in the dining hall, I would pay a visit to the Master of Potions.

CHAPTER 10

The apothecary's laboratory was a dimly lit room located deep in the bowels of the castle, accessible only by a narrow stone stairwell that wound its way down into the earth.

As I descended the ancient stone steps, the air was redolent with the scents of herbs and oils, mingled with the acrid smell of smoke from the various burners and furnaces that dotted the room.

The stone walls of the laboratory were lined with shelves. Some with books, others brimming over with jars, bottles, and vials of all shapes and sizes, each one containing its own precious mixture of powders, liquids, and herbs. I could see some jars filled with dried plants, their leaves and petals fragile and brittle. Others had more mysterious contents, with thick, syrupy-looking concoctions that shimmered strangely in the gloom.

At the center of the cavernous room was a spacious wooden work table, worn smooth by years of use. The table was cluttered with all manner of instruments and tools, from mortars and pestles to flasks and beakers.

In a far corner of the laboratory stood a wooden cabinet with a grated iron door and a heavy lock. I had never seen the cabinet opened before. I knew this was where the apothecary kept his most dangerous ingredients, those that were too rare or potent to leave out on the shelves.

Behind the table lay a broad stone hearth, its flickering flames casting long shadows over the room.

An elderly man with a white braided beard stood hunched over a cauldron, stirring meticulously. His nose was long and hawk-like, his skin weathered and creased. Contrary to the dusty and dingy setting of the laboratory, he wore a flowing robe made of a luxurious purple velvet embroidered with gold and silver threads in patterns of the constellations. The robe was cinched with a wide leather belt equipped with pockets and pouches and hooks from which various vials and small bottles dangled.

“Morgan, my dear,” the old man said without raising his head from the cauldron. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Have you?” I took my foot off the last step and moved into the room, going to stand near the wooden table. I was surprised to hear this, but then, for someone who spent his life mostly below the earth, the old man had an uncanny knack of knowing things. Sometimes even before they happened.

“Oh, yes. I’ve been expecting you to visit me for at least three months now.” He chortled. It was a rather rusty sound. As if he was unaccustomed to laughing or talking much, which was probably true. I did not think he received many visitors.

“I’m sorry,” I said ruefully, thinking of my own recent bout of solitude and how isolating it had been. “I should have come much sooner.”

“Not simply when you needed something?” The elderly head lifted to look at me, eyes sharp as ever. “Never mind. They visit when they want something. And not when they don’t.”

“You are a very useful person and so I am sure that is the case,” I said, trying to be as honest as possible. “But in the past, I have also visited because I enjoyed our conversations and your company. You are not only the finest apothecary in the kingdom, but your knowledge of the history of the kings and queens of Pendrath is unsurpassed.”

The apothecary’s eyes honed in on me like a falcon’s. “Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear.”

I grinned.

Caspar Starweaver, Master of Potions, and my uncle lifted the heavy cauldron he had been stirring and carefully set it aside on a nearby iron grate to cool, then came over to the table.

“So, you are here for a history lesson?”

“Not exactly.” Where did I begin? “I was wondering if I might be able to... make the medicine myself, in my room. At least, put the herbs together, I mean. Add boiling water and there you have it, right? I could make it in my room over my own fire.” I saw his eyes sharpen and hurried on. “Or perhaps I could even come down here to fetch the mix myself from now on.” His eyes narrowed still further. I kept going. “I was also wondering if there was a ward of some kind you knew of, that I could set on the door of my room. Some kind of... protection spell perhaps. Anything like that. Anything at all. An amulet or a ward or even a charm...”

Caspar held up a hand. “Stop. Please stop. You are rushing forward like a leaf carried downstream. Tell me what has happened.”

I bit my lip and his expression turned shrewd.

“Very well. If not exactly what has happened, then tell me enough that I may understand.”

I nodded. “I can do that.”

“Good. In the meantime, I will make us a nice kettle of tea.” He moved to a cupboard, took out a kettle, filled it with water from a jug and went back over to the hearth where he hung it on a hook over the fire.

Half the time my uncle set out to make tea for us, the kettle boiled over or we forgot about it altogether.

But perhaps this time there really would be tea. My uncle had the widest assortment of anyone I knew. An entire cabinet was devoted to small drawers and sachets filled with fragrant herbs and spices he had collected over a lifetime of travel and study.

The Master of Potions had not always lived in the castle, a hermit in the dark.

He turned back to me with an inquiring expression. I cleared my throat.

“Someone tampered with my medicine a few nights ago. I drank it before I noticed.”

I looked up at him. His lips had thinned. “I see. Who did this?”

“I...don’t know. No. I know. But I don’t wish to say. I can’t say.”

The lips thinned still more. There was silence in the gloomy room.

“I am dealing with things on my own.”

That was an overstatement. It suggested I had something resembling a plan. Which I did not. Unless wearing out my body pretending I was punching Florian instead of a frightened squire and barricading my bedroom door with furniture counted as a plan.

“I see.” His voice was deceptively soft. “And yet you come here asking about making the potion yourself. Asking about magical wards and amulets. I did not think you believed in such magics. Or that you held with them.”

I was surprised. “Do they exist? I have nothing against such magic if it can help me.”

“They exist. Of course, they exist. Whether anyone now alive knows how to wield such spells, to make such wards–now that is another matter. But certainly such things have been used in the past.” He looked thoughtful. “A ward, you say. Carved runes on the doorpost. A spoken spell. In the past, the high priestess would have created such wards. If not for ordinary citizens, certainly for the throne when requested. Why, some of the remaining wooden door frames and panels in the castle still bear traces of such runes. Leftovers of the elder race.”

“The fae, you mean?” I was fascinated. “The temple truly knew how to do such things?”

“They still might. But whether such wards would hold any real power.” He shrugged. “That would depend on whether Merlin herself possesses any traces of it.”

We exchanged a knowing glance. My uncle and I were not devotees like Galahad and we had a healthy skepticism for what the temple was actually capable of.

I thought of something. “I visited the temple recently. Merlin wished for me to watch her perform a libation rite. Afterwards she took me into a passage I had never seen before. It was full of old mosaics.”

My uncle perked up. “How extraordinary. What did they look like?”

“Well, they were very beautiful. They must have been carefully maintained. They showed scenes of the fae and humans.”

“A time when the two races mingled together. What a sight that must have been.”

“Yes,” I said carefully. “But the fae looked very... off-putting in some ways. I am not sure our history books quite prepared me for how they were presented in the mosaics.”

My uncle smiled slightly. “Your brother has always preferred the historical interpretations that say the fae left this realm because humans expelled them. A battle of might in which humans were ultimately triumphant.”

“These mosaics...” I said slowly. “Seemed to show the fae dominating us. Not the other way around.”

My uncle raised his eyebrows. “Fascinating,” he said again.

“Was my mother truly fae?” I suddenly blurted out. “Full fae? How could she be? How is that possible?”

My uncle’s face twisted. “Your father certainly thought so. Didn’t he?”

I nodded reluctantly. “She died before I could talk to her. About any of this. I have always had so many questions.”

“Your mother... She took the same medicine herself. Did you know that?”

I let out a small cry of surprise.

“Oh, yes. Ever since her marriage to your father.”

“He forced her to take it, you mean?”

The old apothecary laughed. “No, she insisted upon it. She was adamant. She said it would keep her safe.”

The word hung in the air between us.

“Why?” My voice was soft.

“Well, for the same reason you do, I suppose. She did not want to deal with any unwanted traits which she feared might manifest. It made her time amongst us easier, I suppose.”

I thought of the mosaics in the temple and a nightmarish image of my mother came unbidden to my mind. I brushed it away as quickly as I could.

“She wanted to be accepted by the people,” my uncle continued. “To be loved. Your father was overjoyed that she would go to such lengths for him.”

Had the medicine truly made it easier for her to blend in? I wondered how exactly. I would never accept that she truly had succeeded. My father had made that impossible.

I could also not imagine my father ever being “overjoyed.” I quirked an eyebrow.

“Well, if not ‘overjoyed,’” my uncle clarified. “Then certainly appreciative. At least at first. You know he could never appreciate anything or anyone for very long.” He gave a heavy sigh.

“No,” I agreed. That was certainly true.

“Your brother came here recently asking a very similar question.”

“About my mother?”

“No, about the medicine you take. He, too, wished to know if you could make it yourself. Or have someone other than me make it for you.”

“He did? Why?”

Caspar tilted his head to one side. “I suspect he is planning a journey of some sort. And that you are to accompany him. Why else would he ask such a thing?”

“A journey!” Now I was well and truly shocked. The word sent butterflies spinning in my stomach. “Me? Travel? With Arthur? Where?”

“I have absolutely no idea. He did not care to share any of that with me, of course.”

“And what did you tell him? Is it possible? Can it be made by someone other than you?”

“I told him if you came to me, I would carefully appraise you of the numerous steps and delicate measurements involved in its preparation and maybe, just maybe you could be trusted to prepare it yourself while traveling away from Camelot.”

“It’s that complicated then?” I bit my lip nervously wondering if I would wind up poisoning myself. Well, at least then I would be free of Florian.

But my uncle waved a hand. “No, not at all. I can throw the ingredients in a pouch and you can add boiling water. It is the proportion of ingredients and the ingredients themselves that are the key to the medicine’s potency and efficacy. No one else but I can put them together. But anyone can prepare the potion, making a drinkable liquid. I simply did not want Arthur assigning the task to anyone but you. For the very reason you now tell me has already occurred. Someone might meddle with it.”

“I see. That seems wise.”

“I suppose it would have been wiser if I had thought of proposing it long ago,” my uncle said drily. “Preferably before someone poisoned you.” He inspected me keenly. “You look none the worse for wear. Simply dirty and tired.”

“That sums it up very well,” I said, smiling. “I’m fine. Completely fine.”

He laughed. “You’re a Pendragon, so I highly doubt that. But they are all excellent liars, so I will accept it if you say you are.”

“What of the Starweavers? Are they masters of deception?” I asked curiously.

My uncle was a bastard. Born, as they say, on the wrong side of the sheets. So although he was my father Uther’s elder brother, he never had a chance of inheriting the throne. Fortunately, he never seemed to want it.

“My mother’s people?” My uncle shrugged. “She never bragged of it, but it’s not something most people would consider a worthy skill, is it?” Wryly I recognized a non-answer. “No, from her side came my penchant for knowledge, my skill with potion and herbs.”

“And some skill with magic?” A question I had always been too hesitant to ask before now. But surely such potions as Caspar Starweaver brewed could not be made without at least a trace of magic.

He shot me a canny look. “No magic. The ability to overpower magic, if anything.”

“What do you mean?”

He tapped a finger to his nose. “Think carefully, Morgan. The fae had powerful magic. Yet some history texts would have us believe that humans at times succeeded in overpowering them. How would we have done such a thing? Surely there must be ways.”

“I thought... prowess on the battlefield. Skill at arms.”

“Physically outmatch them? I suppose it must have happened from time to time, but no, overall the fae are more than a human’s match physically. But when it came to the craft of materia medica–ah, there we humans could excel. With our minds, our wit.”

“We outsmarted them,” I said slowly.

“They were–are–arguably the smartest beings in existence.” He grimaced. “Don’t tell your brother I admitted that. But yes, we did so. ”

“They were or they are?” I said sharply. “Are there still fae? Where did they go? Was my mother one or not? Will I never get a straight answer from you, uncle?”

The elderly apothecary frowned as if he disapproved of my lack of subtlety. “Your father brought your mother back with him after he had been away traveling. Few of us had any idea where he had been. The tale he spun of how they had met was only fit for children’s stories.”

“Tell it to me,” I pleaded.

His frown deepened. “You take this medicine to avoid all of that, Morgan. When you were just a small child and your hair began to change from a pretty reddish brown to this–” He pointed with disgust to my gray hair. “Your father knew it was in your blood.”

What was in my blood? I longed to say, but knew it would be no use.

I could hardly remember a time when my hair had not been gray. I could hardly remember a time I had not drunk down the loathsome medicine and endured its painful consequences.

His gaze softened. “You think the gray hair is bad, Morgan. But things could be worse. Much worse. The traits being repressed by my potion could be much more extreme. Some of the fae had the features of beasts. Horns, tails, claws. They were not all the beautiful creatures we tell ourselves they were. They could be dark and malicious. Purely evil.”

I thought of the mosaics I had seen in the temple and swallowed hard. I imagined sprouting horns. Would a hood cover those or would they stick out like straight points into the air?

The “horned crone” I imagined them calling me. I supposed my uncle was right and things could get worse.

“Of course, if we had the powers of the fae, an illusion spell would cover all of that. What is often called a glamor. But such things are best left to books.” My uncle shuffled a set of bottles on the table in front of him. “You and your questions about the fae. Arthur and his questions about blood magic. What has come over you children this week?”

He suddenly seemed to remember the kettle and moved over to the hearth, his long purple robe trailing behind him. He made unhappy noises as he lifted the kettle off the hook with a long rod. “Bone dry. The pot will soon be ruined.”

There would be no tea. But I was already distracted.

“Blood magic? What do you mean?”

“Very well, not blood magic precisely,” Caspar conceded. “Blood rites. Help me to understand. Why is your brother fixated on Perun?”

He spoke as if I would have an answer, as if Arthur confided in me more than in my uncle. When in truth I doubted he shared his true thoughts with either of us.

“Perun, the god of thunder, the sky, of storms, and lightning,” I said, trying to sound as if I knew what my uncle was talking about.

“Yes, and of oak and iron. But war, too.”

“Zorya is the goddess of war.” She was often called the Red Maiden because of her warrior-like powers. The temple taught that Zorya lived in the Palace of the Sun and rode her white war-horse across the sky each morning, heralding the dawn of the world. “Perun is subservient to Zorya, to all his sisters.”

“Very good. But, ah, was he always?”

“Always subservient?”

My uncle nodded. “At one time, Perun was honored alongside the Three.”

My eyes widened. “Truly?”

“Admittedly, this was long ago. But it seems Arthur has finally started to take his historical scholarship seriously. He’s been reading old texts that tell stories of Perun and an ancient battle against the old fae gods. In the stories, Vela the foremost fae goddess was beaten back by Perun the god of war. Vela flees Perun and his powerful lightning bolts, taking her people with her and transforming herself from her form of a serpentine dragon into a willow tree.” He snorted. “Unfortunate for the House of Pendragon that the fae goddess was always more associated with dragons than any human deity ever was.”

“But those are just stories,” I said. “Children's tales.” I echoed his words back at him.

“Ah, but even children’s stories have a kernel of truth,” my uncle said, looking excited. “Your brother is smart enough to have caught onto that.”

I was dubious. Arthur was certainly not lacking in intelligence. But I could not imagine him revering the knowledge of old texts unless doing so could get him something in return.

“Vela was real? Perun was real? Is that what you are saying?”

Caspar Starweaver shook his head. “No, no, no. But there was certainly a very real battle between human and fae, hundreds of years ago. We know this, though the scholarship is disappointingly lacking. Much has been destroyed. Little that is true remains. But what we can surmise is this–some human, probably a king or queen, bore a great weapon similar enough to Perun’s lightning or thunder that it was later called such. A weapon powerful enough to destroy Vela–or the fae people themselves or enough of them that weapon lived on in collective memory as a fearsome object. And the weapon was said to have been fueled by the power of blood.”

“By blood?” I was revolted. “What are you saying? Human blood?”

“In a sense,” my uncle said soothingly. “Blood rites. Blood offerings. Animals and so forth. In the past, such things would have been very common.”

I thought of the beautiful shrines at the temple to Zorya, Marzanna, and Devina, covered with flowers and sheaves of wheat and little scrolls. “But not now. The goddesses do not demand blood. You speak of another time. A savage-sounding one.”

“I suppose to a woman, it might seem that way.” My uncle looked amused by my disgust.

I frowned. “I do not know if the gods are real–” In truth, I highly doubted it and knew my uncle did, too, so he would not be offended. “But the rituals of the Three are...”

“Pretty? Peaceful? Are those the words you’re looking for? Yes. And yet when we celebrate Marzanna’s bringing of spring, do we not drown a woman in the river?”

My eyes widened. “Not a woman! A woman made of straw. An effigy.”

“She is dressed in a real woman’s clothes. A woman from each city, each village.”

“For a woman to be asked to give a set of old clothes to the straw woman is an honor!” I said hotly.

“Because the woman is being offered in essence to the goddess,” Caspar explained, looking as if he were trying to be patient. “Marzanna demands it, does she not?”

“No one is dying. There is no blood involved,” I insisted. “It’s a harmless ritual. To banish winter, to welcome spring.”

My uncle shrugged. “If you say so. But I have always wondered about the origins of the tradition. Surely at some point in the past a real woman was used in place of the straw one.”

“Well, we don’t do that anymore,” I said stubbornly. My eyes widened. “Surely you are not suggesting that Arthur...” As I said the words I realized with a chill that it was all too easy to imagine.

But my uncle merely burst out laughing. “No, no, child. No woman will be harmed in this year’s springtime rites.”

I was more relieved than I should have been. “Good. What a horrible tradition it must have been, if indeed it existed.”

My uncle moved over to the locked cabinet and took a ring of keys from the belt around his waist. “If you are truly to accompany Arthur on a journey of some sort, I see no reason not to give this to you now.” He pulled out a squat black bag, tied with string and held it up. “This should be enough for a month, if not longer. But before you leave, you will come here and I will refill this. In the meantime, use the measuring spoon inside the bag. Brew hot water. Add a scoop. Stir, then let it settle for half an hour, and drink.”

“It sounds so simple.”

“Preparing the mixture is so simple a servant could do it. And they have,” he reminded me. “The mixture itself, however.” He shook the bag. “Only the finest apothecaries in the kingdom could craft such a subtle concoction.”

“Only you, in other words,” I said with a smile.

He shrugged modestly. “Perhaps one or two others. In all of Aercanum.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the bag gratefully. “This will help.”

“Help you to feel safer?” he asked gently. “I have no wards. No amulets.” He raised a finger. “I do, however, have many deadly poisons.”

“That won’t be necessary. At least, not yet.” My lips curved. “Thank you.”

“Well, if you should change your mind, you know where to find me.”

I ran up the stairs, feeling lighter than I had in days. When I got to the top, I stopped and sniffed. Was it the herbs?

I wrinkled my nose. No, it was most definitely me.

Did I have time to bathe before going to the dining hall? I would have to at least change and clean up a little, I decided. Late or not, I could not go in this state.

Half an hour later, I pushed open the heavy wooden doors to the castle dining hall.

I had freshened up with a wash basin and cloth as best I could, stripping off my sweaty tunic and breeches and replacing them with a fresh ensemble.

Now I strode between the long rows of wooden tables and benches, my long legs encased in a pair of rich brown breeches that hugged the curves of my hips. I wore a blouse that was more elaborate than my usual plain wool tunic, made of soft white cotton with delicate lace edging the collar and cuffs. Overtop I had added a fitted black velvet jacket with silver buttons in the shape of stars. My hair was, if not clean, then at least brushed and rebraided. A few loose strands hung around my face in a way I hoped looked soft and artful rather than simply messy.

The blouse was high-necked, of course. The wounds on my arms had mostly healed, though there were still traces as Galahad had observed. But the marks above my breast where Florian had carved his name with that fucking dagger–those would take longer to fade. Part of me was not sure they ever would. But I did not want to think about that now.

Not when Kaye was flying down from the head of the room towards me. He had leaped down from the raised dais where a large table had been set for the king and his siblings, as well as his current favorites.

I took note of Agravaine and Florian to Arthur's right. Kaye had been sitting to Arthur's left. I would make sure to join him there, as far from the Emrys family as possible.

“Morgan!” Kaye’s face was split in a happy grin.

I winced, anticipating the moment when–oof! He hit me at full speed, nearly knocking me back into a group of nobles sitting on the bench behind us.

“Watch it, would you? Who do you think you are?”

I opened my mouth to apologize, then realized it was Galahad. His father, Sir Ector, sat beside him. Both men were laughing.

“Decided to join us after all, did you?” Sir Ector inquired.

I noticed Dame Halyna across from him and blushed.

“Yes, I... Arthur requested it.”

Sir Ector’s eyebrows went up. “Good. As he should. You’re his family. It will be nice to see you up there where you belong. By your brothers.”

I tried to smile. Kaye had still not let go of me. He was hanging on my arm like an excited puppy.

“Come join us for dessert,” Galahad suggested. “Lancelet may even turn up.”

I scanned the table. I did not see Lancelet’s parents. They were nobles but had a fine house in the city and that was where they preferred to be most of the time. They were not social climbers, and they had a bevy of other children, younger than Lancelet, who they seemed to actually enjoy raising and spending time with.

“I’ll try,” I promised, and then let Kaye lead me down the row to the king’s table.

The air was heavy with the fragrant scents of freshly baked bread and roasted meats. The tables were covered with lavish dishes. I caught sight of a platter of roast peacock, with small capons nesting beside it, cooked to a crispy brown. On another large platter sat an entire boar, surrounded by baked apples, with a huge sugar plum stuck in its mouth.

I spotted one of my favorite dishes, roast whitefish with herbs and breadcrumbs. My stomach began to rumble. Perhaps righteous fury could only feed one for so long.

A servant passed us, swiveling gracefully to one side to avoid being knocked over by Kaye. They carried a wooden platter full of desserts. Small bowls of custards and puddings, sweetmeats and candied fruits, and, my favorite, small pieces of marzipan shaped into tiny animals.

“I’ve missed you, Morgan,” Kaye complained as he led the way.

A pang of guilt replaced the pang of hunger.

“Yes, I’m so sorry.” I really was.

I usually visited Kaye almost daily. He had his own room in another tower. His days were filled with lessons from various tutors, some fencing, and a few hours of leisure to spend with his few friends. He lived a fairly quiet life, like I did. One of the things we both liked best was to walk in the gardens together, or find a copy of a book we both enjoyed and take turns reading it aloud. With snacks and a roaring fire, we could be happy for hours in the castle library, reading into the wee hours of the night, talking and laughing.

“I’ve missed you, too,” I said, a lump in my throat.

“Is it because of the...” Kaye glanced around then lowered his voice. “The other night. The hunt. Did I do something wrong?”

“Not at all,” I exclaimed. I lowered my voice. “Not at all, Kaye. You were magnificent. You did exactly the right thing. You were so helpful. Even Baudwin said so.”

I stopped. Remembering. Baudwin. He was dead.

“He did?” Kaye looked very pleased. Sadly, I didn’t think he received a great deal of praise. At least, from anyone besides myself.

“He really did.” I decided I would not tell Kaye about Baudwin. Not yet.

I wondered if his next question would be about my rescue, but instead he broached a new subject.

“Arthur says we are going on a journey, Morgan,” Kaye said, his eyes gleaming. “A Royal Progress!”

We had reached the table. I followed Kaye up the two steps and to his place beside Arthur. My brother was engrossed in conversation with Sir Agravaine. He looked up briefly and nodded his approval, then turned back to his advisor.

Sometime between my entrance in the hall and arrival on the dais, Florian had finished his meal and vanished.

That was fine with me.

I sank into my chair with relief, pulling a platter of stewed greens towards me.

But Kaye’s announcement had sparked my interest.

“Are you certain, Kaye? A Royal Progress? Really?”

Kaye was nodding so hard I thought he’d become dizzy. Only a pre-teen boy could have this much energy.

“Really, really, really, Morgan! Arthur says I’m to come. I’m sure you are, too.”

I already was fairly certain I was so it was easy to smile.

“We’re going to travel all through Pendrath, and perhaps even as far as Liria!”

“Liria!” Arthur had spoken of visitors joining us at the spring festival from Liria, the capital of the southern kingdom Lyonesse. Was he intending to strengthen the bond between our two lands this quickly?

Suddenly a thought occurred to me. Perhaps Arthur intended to wed. A princess or noblewoman from Liria would make an excellent choice, for they were our closest neighbor. Not to mention our wealthiest.

“Why did you avoid me, Morgan?,” Kaye was asking. “If I didn’t do anything wrong, where were you?”

I focused on him. “I would never avoid you on purpose, Kaye. You’re right, I should have sent a message. I’m sorry. I’ve been ill and haven’t left my room much at all these past few days. But I’m feeling much better now. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings but that was thoughtless of me. Please forgive me, little brother.”

I leaned over and hurriedly kissed his cheek.

Remarkably, Kaye was still young enough and sweet enough that the gesture didn’t embarrass him. Even though his sister had kissed him in front of the entire Rose Court and probably most of his friends, he grinned happily.

I felt my heart aching. Was he so starved for affection?

There was no way I could tell him the truth about Baudwin. I knew even honest Galahad would not demand it of me if I explained. Kaye was my little brother. He was the best of us. I wanted to shield him from the ugliness of the world for as long as I could.

I filled my plate and began to eat, listening to Kaye chatter about his day. It seemed his newest tutor was an enlightened woman who believed children learned better in small groups and not total solitude. With that in mind, she had invited a few of Kaye’s closest friends to join them and formed a study group. Every week they would have a draw and study something based on one of the students’ suggestions. This week they were learning about the importance of waterways and the ocean to Lyonesse.

I was stuffing my face with roasted herb-encrusted fish and rice when Arthur leaned forward.

“I wish to speak with you tomorrow, Sister. Come and see me in the morning.”

I nodded, trying to swallow and form an answer, but he had already begun to rise from the table.

The relaxed feeling I had began to vanish as I recalled my last private meeting with my brother. For a few minutes, I had been able to pretend we were a regular family getting excited about a trip we would be taking together.

The dining hall became silent as the king left the room. Then the talking and boisterous noise resumed.

I told myself to calm down. After all, this was different. I already knew what Arthur wished to speak with me about in the morning. He was going on a journey and Kaye and I were coming along.

CHAPTER 11

“Not going to Lyonesse?” I stared stupidly at my brother without understanding. “But Kaye said...”

“Forget what Kaye said,” Arthur interrupted impatiently. To my relief, we were alone in his meeting room this time. A few guards stood outside the door. “You are not going with Kaye. Or, rather Kaye is coming with me. But you–you are going somewhere else entirely.”

“Where am I going if not with you?”

Except for a few villages that lay a couple of hours away, I had never gone anywhere in my life. We traveled there by carriage from Camelot for a festival once or twice when I was much younger. Did that count? I was not exactly a world-traveler when it came to exploring Aercanum.

“You are going to do your king a great service.”

My eyebrows went up. He had never entrusted me with any significant tasks before, beyond watching over Kaye and standing by his side throughout ceremonies and celebrations as a kind of princess figurehead. “Me? Do you a great service? What kind of a service?”

“You are going to retrieve an object essential to the safety of the kingdom. You will locate it and then you will bring it back to me. It is a vital task, Morgan. One I would trust only to a few.”

“The safety of the kingdom...” I took a breath. “I don’t understand. Does that mean the kingdom is in jeopardy of some sort?”

He smiled slightly. “You’re not an unintelligent person, Morgan. Surely you must be aware of peoples' recent complaints.”

I looked at him with confusion. “The food shortages? But you said...”

He raised a hand to silence me. “I know what I said. I am telling you now, there is a shortage–and there isn’t.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head stubbornly.

“For the past six months now, a portion of the kingdom’s food supplies have been diverted away from Camelot.”

“By whom? Why?”

“By whom? By me, of course,” Arthur replied. “And as for why. Well, you always enjoyed our history lessons. Tell me, why would a king divert essential supplies away from his people?”

“Only for good reason, I presume,” I said slowly. “To prepare for something. A famine. A blight. To store food for years of bad harvest. A wise ruler prepares for such things.”

Arthur had never seemed like the kind of king who would act so strategically to protect his subjects, but could I have misjudged him at least in part?

He nodded. “True. But think harder. What else?”

My eyes widened. “To prepare for a war. You are planning to go to war, Brother?”

“Not planning,” Arthur answered, his voice sharp. “Not planning to start a war. But preparing for war–a war which seems more inevitable every day–yes, I am doing that.”

“You believe we will be attacked then? By another kingdom?” I wracked my brain. “But by who? Which one? Surely not Lyonesse.”

Arthur’s lips twisted in disdain. “Certainly not Lyonesse. They are a wealthy kingdom, but weak. They depend on us to protect them. Lyonesse is an excellent ally, but not a kingdom to fear. No, try again.”

“Tintagel lies to the northeast.” But Tintagel was a small kingdom that bordered the great ocean to the east. It was a rugged, windswept land of proud seafaring people. But it was poor. I doubted Tintagel had the capacity to take on Pendrath. “But Tintagel is too small, too impoverished to gain anything by starting a war with Pendrath.”

Arthur nodded, gesturing for me to continue.

“Cerunnos lies to the south west of Pendrath,” I went on. But while Pendrath was a fertile kingdom with rolling hills, rich forests, and bounteous rivers, Cerunnos was said to be a perilous and primal place. A rugged, untamed wilderness of ancient greenwoods, towering mountains, and treacherous bogs.

I frowned. “The people of Cerunnos are said to be fierce and wild, so it is possible they might turn aggressive on their neighbors. But historically, the kingdom has a reputation for isolation not outright aggression.”

I saw a glint in Arthur’s eyes and for a moment thought I had hit the mark. Then he shook his head. “Not Cerunnos.”

“We rarely see travelers from anywhere but Lyonesse, Tintagel, and...” I stopped. “A few from Rheged.”

Arthur tilted his head to one side but said nothing.

Rheged lay to the northwest of Pendrath. Far from the sea, Rheged was said to be rough but beautiful. Famed for its rugged peaks, icy glaciers, and deep, narrow valleys, Rheged was inhospitable but not uninhabited. In fact, it had been one of our primary trading partners for generations. The kingdom boasted rich mineral resources which made it a prosperous kingdom.

Rheged also boasted a haughty, powerful warrior people who had a long history of conquest and expansion across the continent.

“You believe Rheged threatens Pendrath?” I asked cautiously.

“I have reason to believe that, yes,” Arthur said. “For some time, we have been investigating that possibility. Recently we have begun to take steps to prepare ourselves in the event of an invasion.”

“We” meant he and Agravaine, I assumed.

“I see. That seems very wise.”

Arthur smiled slightly. “You sound almost surprised, Sister.”

“Not surprised,” I said hastily. “Simply shocked. This is... entirely unexpected. When you mentioned visitors from Lyonesse and then when Kaye told me of a visit to Liria, I thought perhaps you were thinking... well, to wed.”

Arthur cocked his head. “It is a possibility.”

“To a noble daughter of Liria?” It would be a desirable match. Strengthening the bonds between Lyonesse and Pendrath. If Pendrath was invaded, Lyonesse had the bounty to help soften the blows of war. If Rheged tried to attack Lyonesse instead of us, Pendrath had the might and the fighting force to come to its aid.

Arthur shrugged as if the topic of his future wife bored him. “I must wed eventually. Sooner would be better. Lyonesse would make the most advantageous alliance.” His gaze sharpened. “You have your own marriage prospects, Sister.”

I nearly choked. “Me?”

“Yes. Father promising you to the Temple of the Three years ago...” Arthur scowled. “It is not what I would have done with you.”

“Oh?” My tone was cold but I couldn’t help myself. “And what would you have used me for?”

“A political marriage, of course.” Arthur seemed surprised that I had to ask. “Is that not what is done with most daughters of noble blood?”

Not when the daughter was the eldest in a monarchy that had traditionally permitted sons or daughters to inherit the throne.

But in my case...

“Yes, I suppose that is true.” I struggled to keep my voice light. “But I am promised to the temple. Everyone knows that.”

“And everyone knows that I am king, Morgan. And that promises can be altered.”

“Broken, you mean?”

Arthur gave me a look of displeasure. “Not broken. A king does not break a promise. Especially when it has been made by another king. But the agreement was not made with my approval or consent.”

“Our father did not require it at the time,” I reminded him.

“No, but it is too bad he did not consult me. Or even you. Would you not have liked a say in your own fate?”

I bit my tongue. “I have become used to not having one.”

“Well, speak now,” Arthur said, his tone deceptively playful. Our entire meeting had struck a different tone from the last one. He seemed to be striving to put me at ease. Yet I did not trust it. “Surely you know you would be the most desirable woman in the kingdom were you not promised to the temple.”

I could not help it. I let out a snort of laughter. “Oh, Arthur. High praise indeed! I thank you. Though that is extremely exaggerated.”

Arthur did not smile back. “I speak only the truth. You represent a powerful opportunity to many noble families who are hungry for power. Hungry to be closer to the king.”

I shuddered. “How appealing. I am some rich man’s opportunity to be closer to my brother.”

“Of course, there are some who desire you solely for yourself,” Arthur said slowly. “Take Lord Agravaine’s son, Florian. I’ve been told he is quite taken with you.”

I stared at my brother. Of course. I should have known this was where our conversation was heading.

“To say he is ‘taken with me’ is putting it in very polite terms,” I managed.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Florian has begged his father to request that I free you from your compulsion to the temple.”

My blood ran cold. “And how did you respond?”

“Agravaine is my closest advisor. I might even call him something of a friend. I care for young Florian for his father’s sake.”

If those words had come out of another young man’s mouth, it might have been laughable. Florian was at least twenty-two, four years older than Arthur. But there was nothing funny to me about any of this.

Arthur was gazing at me coolly. “Agravaine tells me that if I were to inform the temple that you will not be joining them upon your twenty-first birthday, there would be very little they could do. The agreement was an informal one between our father and Merlin.”

“But all the people of Pendrath are aware of the promise.” I was starting to feel desperate. “I have been preparing for this eventuality for years.”

Arthur tilted his head. “Yet forgive me for saying you have never seemed particularly eager to become a priestess before now, Morgan.”

“I would rather become a priestess than Florian Emrys’s wife,” I said softly. “If that is my only other choice, then I beg you to honor father’s wishes and leave the agreement in place.”

Arthur studied me. “That is truly what you wish? You would not rather take a husband? Have children of your own?”

I didn’t know how to answer. Disinherited or not, as Arthur’s elder sister, any children of mine could not help but pose a threat–at least until Arthur sired children of his own.

“I have never given it much thought,” I said, forcing a smile. “I suppose that means such a domestic life is not for me.”

Arthur smiled back and I wished he hadn’t. His smile was predatory, like a fox observing a rabbit it planned to eat. “Perhaps you may give the two paths that lie before you closer consideration as you embark on your journey.”

I moved over to sit in a chair at the table, pouring myself a goblet of water from the nearby pitcher. “Very well,” I said, as agreeably as I could. “May I hear more about this journey. Where exactly am I going? On some sort of a diplomatic mission, I suppose? To Tintagel perhaps?”

Arthur walked over to the table and pulled out a chair. “The other direction in fact. You are going south. Past Lyonesse. Past Cerunnos. Very far south, in fact.”

I put down the goblet. “Past Cerunnos? There is nothing past Cerunnos.”

“That’s not precisely true. You must have studied maps of the continent just as I have.”

“The Bloodlands lie south of Cerunnos,” I acknowledged. “But no one travels in those parts.”

“Not no one, but admittedly they are very few.”

I stared at Arthur. “You want me to go to the Bloodlands?” I said slowly. “That’s a journey that would take months.”

“Which is why you will be leaving immediately after the spring rites.”

For a few moments, I was stunned into silence. “That’s only a few days from now.”

He nodded. “You’ll leave the day after the ball that is being held for our honorable guests from Lyonesse. I thought you would want a few days to pack.”

I suddenly realized Arthur must have been arranging this for some time. A few days to pack? He was doing this on purpose. He didn’t care one way or another if I really felt prepared. Throwing me off guard and sending me spinning with confusion was exactly what he’d intended to do today.

I was struck by a horrible prospect. “Am I going alone?”

Arthur laughed. “Of course not. You’ll have a few guards attending you. Escorting you. Protecting you. You won’t be alone. But it will be a small party. Smaller is better for the mission I am sending you on.”

“What exactly is my intended destination and what exactly am I doing?” I asked, trying to stay calm. “You mentioned an object.”

“A very important object, yes. A weapon of immeasurable power. A weapon that could help us win the war.”

“The war against Rheged? If they attack, that is.”

Arthur frowned. “There is no doubt in my mind that they will. And so you must return with the weapon as quickly as possible.”

My heart was hammering. “What sort of a weapon?”

“The Blade of Perun.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “In your time spent reading, have you ever come across mention of the Blade of Perun?”

I shook my head. “I’ve read very little about Perun.” I remembered what our uncle had mentioned last night.

Arthur nodded as if this was to be expected. “He’s been sorely neglected. But at one time he was the mightiest god in our pantheon. The true god of war. Perun imbued the ancient Pendragon kings with great power. We were invincible with Perun’s might behind us. That has all been lost now with this obsession with the Three sisters.”

“But Perun’s worship faded for good reason, did it not?” I asked carefully. “Were there not... blood sacrifices involved?”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Perun’s power came with a price. The price was blood.” He lifted his shoulders. “Only animal sacrifices, of course. But blood sacrifices have power that sheaves of wheat and flowers could never possibly have, Morgan.”

I nodded, not in the mood to argue.

“The fae called the sword Excalibur,” Arthur went on. “The weapon was said to make the one who wielded it utterly invincible. The fae stole the sword from us and hid it. Now you will retrieve it for me. And for the people of Pendrath. I do this for their protection.”

“Of course,” I murmured. “It is only that...”

“Yes?” Arthur’s voice was hard.

“It sounds like a storybook tale. An enchanted weapon. One lost centuries ago. How do we know it still exists?” How did I know Arthur was not just sending me on a wild goose chase? But then, why would he go to all of the trouble? He could send me anywhere and I would have to obey. There was no need for such an inventive pretense. Unless he truly believed what he was saying.

“I have reliable sources,” he replied shortly. “You must trust me on that.”

“Why not send an entire battalion of soldiers to retrieve this weapon if you believe it is so very crucial to our success against Rheged?” I asked, still disbelieving that he meant to send me and a few guards on a quest across all of Eskira.

“No, it has to be you.” He met my eyes stonily.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked. “Please, Brother. Talk to me. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” Arthur’s gaze became downright flinty. “I care for you, Morgan. We are family. But how could I ever trust a fae-blood?”

I was caught off guard. “I have always done everything in my power to care for you, Arthur. To protect you. You know that.” I swallowed. “Even if the blood of the fae does run in me, it is nothing compared to the ties of my own family. You and Kaye are everything to me.”

It was the truth. No matter what Arthur was, no matter what he had done, no matter what he was becoming, a part of me still cared for him. Felt a fierce loyalty to him.

He was my younger brother. He always would be.

“You have my loyalty. You are my king,” I said quietly.

His gaze softened ever so slightly. For a moment, he looked young and open and familiar again. Then his expression became closed once more. “I know you believe that. And in fact, this is a rare opportunity for you, Morgan. To prove your supposed loyalty as no one else can do. Your fae-blood is the very reason I have chosen you for this quest. It may make you uniquely suited to finding the weapon and bringing it back. Think of this as a long journey, nothing more. You’ve always wanted to see more of the world, haven’t you?”

I was quiet. How could I challenge such a drastic understatement? A journey through an all but unknown foreign kingdom was one thing. Traveling merchants did visit Cerunnos, though it was said to be an inhospitable, dangerous place.

But the Bloodlands... Oh, they were not called that because they ran with blood or anything so gruesome. But they were distant blighted lands. There was a reason they had not been claimed by any kingdom though they lay near Lyonesse and directly south of Cerunnos. They were a wilderness. The history books were mostly blank pages when it came to the Bloodlands.

Past the Bloodlands was said to lie another place lost to history.

The abandoned fae kingdom of Valtain.

“Valtain is our destination then, I take it?” I asked hesitantly.

Arthur rose to his feet. “You don’t require those details now, Morgan. Go and concern yourself with packing.”

I felt as if I’d run up against a brick wall but tried again. “I assume we will have maps? That I will hear more specifics about how we will make this journey and where exactly our final destination lies?”

Arthur waved a hand. “One of the men accompanying you will have everything you need. Explicit instructions and directions from me.”

“And if we fail. If we cannot find the place or if we find the place but cannot find the sword... What then?”

Arthur had been moving away from the table. Now he turned and faced me. “You will return to Camelot, of course, Sister. A hero for having made the attempt.” His eyes were hard. “But a most zealous attempt it must be. There will be no returning until all avenues have been absolutely exhausted.”

“Of course.” My heart was racing but I was losing patience, too. “A dangerous journey where I don’t know where I’m going or exactly how I’m supposed to find the object you want me to bring back. I’m sure it will be a triumphant success.”

Arthur’s face flushed with anger and I swallowed hard. “You say you wish to help the people of Pendrath. You claim to be loyal to your king, to your family. Then you had best do this, Morgan. Succeed and you will have my gratitude upon your return. Not to mention your choice of the two futures we discussed.”

I already knew which one I’d be sticking with.

“But if you fail me,” he continued. “Or if I believe your reluctance may contribute to your failure, then may I remind you that ultimately the course of your future lies with me. If you return without the sword in hand, then it may not be necessary for me to break our father’s promise to the temple at all. A word in Merlin’s ear about your great sin and she won’t want you in the temple ever again, Morgan.”

I clenched my hands into fists beneath the table. There was no need for him to elaborate. I knew precisely what he was referring to.

If anything, I was surprised he had not threatened me with this earlier, when he first suggested I marry Florian.

“If you were going to threaten me, why did you not start with that, Arthur?” I asked softly.

Arthur ignored me. “But if that is not enough of an incentive for you, remember that Kaye remains with me.”

“What does that mean?” I demanded, trying to hide my fear. “Of course, he remains with you. You are his older brother. It’s your duty to protect him. He’s merely a child.”

Arthur smiled in a way that made the hairs along my arms stand on end. “He is indeed my heir. And as such, I will not allow him to fall prey to your misguided teachings. While you are away, he’ll remain close to my side. Agravaine and I will personally oversee his instruction. We cannot leave his future in the hands of weak-hearted tutors any longer.” Arthur laid his palms flat on the table. “I will mold our brother into a worthy servant of my reign, one way or another. The way of the Pendragons is not for the faint of heart.”

I knew better than to argue with him. Not with the way he was looking at me. He was trying to frighten me. And by the Three, it was working all too well.

I already knew what the answer would be but I had to try. “May Lancelet accompany me? She is training to be a knight. She is close to completing her training. I am sure she would be a useful companion to have on such a long journey.”

“Lancelet de Troyes.” Arthur shook his head disdainfully. “You choose the most distasteful companions, Sister. Lancelet and Sir Ector’s son. Both of them would have already been cast out of the Rose Court in the days of Perun.”

“What do you mean?” My palms were beginning to sweat.

“I mean that such deviant behaviors were not tolerated before the kingdom turned to the worship of the Three. Under Perun’s law, deviancy was dealt with harshly.”

There was no need for me to ask him to elaborate on the nature of this supposed “deviance.” Even so, his words stopped me cold. Before today, I had no idea he felt this way. For as long as I could remember Pendrath had been a tolerant and fair-minded kingdom, just like our neighbors. There was no penalty for loving freely.

“And you wish to bring back Perun’s law, is that it, Arthur?” I managed to say.

Arthur sneered. “There are edicts in the records of our history that would punish women like your Lancelet in ways you cannot even imagine. That is all I am saying.” He curled his lip contemptuously. “So, no, I don’t think she would be a fitting companion to join you.”

He turned away from the table abruptly, snapping his fingers for the guards near the door. Our audience was at an end.

My mind was reeling as I walked from the room.

Suddenly everything was under threat. Kaye. The safety of my friends.

Even my life in the temple–which was suddenly sounding more and more appealing with every minute.

A small and cowardly part of me wanted to run there now, beg for sanctuary, ask Merlin to protect me. But I knew that would be of no use. Arthur’s word was law.

I steeled myself, straightening my back as I walked down the hall.

Arthur had threatened everything I held dear. Now what would my response be?

Would I fall into hopelessness or fight for those I loved, even if it meant stepping into the greatest danger I had ever known?

I grimaced. Whatever dangers lay ahead on the road to Valtain, one thing was certain. At least Florian Emrys would not be there.

For the first time in my life, I’d be leaving he and Arthur far, far behind.

CHAPTER 12

The spring sun was just warming the cobbled streets as a group of rowdy children gathered by the banks of the Greenbriar River that ran through the center of Camelot to the lake and from there to the sea far beyond. Led by Merlin and a cohort of young priestesses from the temple, the group of children held onto a large crudely-made effigy in the shape of a woman, fashioned from sticks and straw, and dressed in a real woman's clothing–a blue flowered blouse and bright red skirt that had been donated that morning by a devout beaming peasant woman.

With a raucous chorus of laughter and singing, the priestesses directed the children as they began to wade into the chilly river water, carrying the effigy in with them. More children joined them, splashing and playing as close to the priestesses as they dared, soaking their clothes as they entered the water to be near the excitement.

A large crowd stood on the bank, observing the springtime spectacle. Brightly painted wooden street carts selling hot mulled wine and roasted sugared nuts were set up along the street, with lines of people chattering as they waited to place their orders. The festivities would go on all day and long into the night, culminating in dances in the city squares and special night-time markets.

While the citizens of Camelot danced in the streets, the nobles and courtiers would all be attending the gala ball in the Great Hall of the castle that evening.

As the children reached waist-deep water, they raised the effigy high over their heads and the priestesses beside them lifted the burning torches they carried, setting the effigy ablaze.

With a cheer from the crowd on the bank and a triumphant shout of glee from the children, the effigy was hurled into the river waters. Slowly it sank below the surface, flames flickering and then dying out in the murky depths.

As the straw woman disappeared from view, the children and priestesses began to chant a silly nursery rhyme I could easily remember from my own childhood, their voices rising in unison:

Marzanna's lady, Marzanna's lady,

We'll set you on fire now.

In the icy river waters, you are sure to drown.

But spring is here, the sun is warm, the flowers are in bloom,

So down you must go, down you must go,

Down to your watery tomb!

The chant echoed across the river, bouncing off the stone walls of the city and fading into the distance. The ritual over, the children began to splash the priestesses who shrieked and splashed back, in a most improper but hilarious display.

I saw Merlin watching from the bank, her back tall and proud, the barest hint of a smile on her handsome face.

“Macabre, don’t you think?” said a voice in my ear.

“Gruesome,” I agreed, a grin beginning to form.

“Innocent fun!” Galahad insisted. He glared at Lancelet and I. “Good innocent fun!”

“Oh, yes, I always think it's fun to drown a woman each spring to celebrate the changing of the season,” Lancelet said sweetly.

I giggled, but then remembered how I had strongly protested my uncle’s suggestion that the effigy was meant to be a real woman.

“But it’s only a game,” I said, starting to switch sides. “The temple would never...”

“Of course not,” Galahad said hotly. “The Three do not ask for blood tribute. That goes against the nature of the goddesses. They are above such things as petty bloodlust.”

Someone cleared their throat from beside him. “Does it, young Galahad?” Merlin had appeared. She looked at Galahad with a glimmer of amusement in her dark eyes. “You do not believe Marzanna, the goddess of things as powerful as life and death, who oversees the changing of the seasons, and the yearly victory over cruel winter would ever expect such a sacrifice?”

Galahad stared at the High Priestess as if uncertain of how to answer.

“Perhaps humans misinterpreted the will of the goddesses in the past and made such offerings, but surely the Three never intended such sacrilege,” he finally ventured.

“Sacrifice is sacrilege?” Merlin mused. “Interesting. You may be correct. But certainly, in the past, a real human woman must have been cast into the river at some point.”

Galahad looked so horrorstruck I felt sorry for him.

“Aha,” Lancelet exclaimed triumphantly, rubbing her hands together in glee. “I told you so!”

“Whether she was dead already or still alive,” Merlin continued. “Well, that is another matter.”

We all stared at her.

Merlin let out a chuckle. “Well, just look at your faces. Dead would be preferable, would it not? Perhaps someone who had recently passed on? I’m sure it would have been quite the honor.”

“Yes, I see what you mean,” Galahad said, sounding relieved. “Someone’s grandmother perhaps. With her consent freely given, of course.”

“Of course,” Merlin agreed. She met my gaze. “There is something to be said for those who sacrifice willingly for the goddess’s sake. Come, Morgan. Walk with me back to the castle. Your brother the king has invited me to greet the visitors from Lyonesse before I return to the temple for the Proving.”

“Gladly,” I replied. I exchanged glances with Lancelet and Galahad. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Galahad said, waving a hand.

“Your last night.” Lancelet’s voice was hollow. She frowned up at the castle in the distance and I knew who she was blaming in her mind. “I’ll be there.”

I nodded and joined Merlin who had walked a few steps away.

“Will you be joining us for the Proving today, Morgan?” Merlin asked quietly as we began to walk up the cobblestone street to the castle. “Your brother has sent his excuses and will not be overseeing the ritual this year. He is too busy with his guests from Lyonesse.”

“I would have thought they would find the ritual interesting,” I replied. “I wasn’t planning on attending. I’m preparing...”

“Yes, to leave tomorrow. I know.” Merlin gave me an appraising look. “Would you care to tell me more about your trip than your brother has?”

I shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not sure Arthur would like that.”

Arthur had not told me explicitly not to mention the purpose of my trip to anyone. But considering the threats he had made, I had decided it would be safest not to. When I told Galahad and Lancelet I was leaving, I spoke in the vaguest terms possible. Even so, I knew they suspected there was much more to the journey than I was saying.

“No, I suppose he would not.” Merlin fell quiet.

I thought about the temple rites. The Proving was to test each new acolyte for magical potential. One at a time, they would stand in the center of the temple courtyard as the High Priestess circled them, murmuring ancient incantations and waving a brass censer of burning rose petals and smoky incense. An acolyte might be asked to peer into a bowl of water and describe what they see. Another might have a pinch of herbs sprinkled onto their palm.

I had once seen an acolyte close their eyes and begin to chant as Merlin moved about them, soft smoke billowing from the brass censer. As the acolyte finished their chant, they stretched out their hand and revealed a small flower blooming from the sprinkle of herbs, its pink petals unfolding in a delicate spiral.

But that was the exception.

Most of the time, the results were far less impressive.

With every passing year, fewer and fewer acolytes were found to have any trace of magic at all.

In the past, acolytes were selected specifically for their abilities.

One might possess a power over the air, the ability to send a gust of wind whipping through the temple–and with proper training, through the sails of a ship at sea. Another might look into the scrying bowl and actually see something worth describing. An image that revealed important information. A message from another kingdom. Or even just the future birth of a child to a family who believed they would never be blessed with one.

I knew that Merlin's predecessor had been able to read the thoughts and emotions of those around her. A very powerful gift indeed. But in some of the books I had read, priestesses in the past had been able to sense and even communicate with those not just in the same room or even the same city but in a kingdom far away. I could not even imagine being able to do such a thing.

And I never would. For I had not a speck of magic. Merlin had tested me before.

I would never have been chosen for the temple based on power alone. I was an empty vessel.

Ironic then that my father had disinherited me because of my fae blood. Those with much less of it had still more power than I did.

Even Galahad had shown a small aptitude for magic. He could charm animals–calling birds right out of the sky and calming wild deer and other creatures when we would walk in the woodland around the city.

Admittedly, it was not a particularly useful sort of magic, but it was still something.

I wondered what Arthur thought of the dwindling magic of the human race. While he disdained the fae and any traces of them, without the mix of fae blood humans had lost the ability to do many things that once came easily to us.

Merlin placed her hand on my arm. “I know you have never been entirely enthusiastic about taking up your place with us, Morgan.”

I colored. “That’s not true. I’m grateful...”

“Grateful to have a place you will belong?” Merlin’s eyes studied me shrewdly. “For with us, in the temple–you will truly belong, Morgan. I know you have your doubts that it is the life you were meant for. I had my own, long ago.”

She smiled wryly and suddenly I caught a glimpse of Merlin as a young girl. Had she really once doubted she was meant to be a priestess?

“But while you are away, perhaps you might think of that future as a source of comfort.” She paused. “We want you, Morgan. The Three want you to serve them. When you return from this journey your brother is sending you on, I hope that you will look forward to the rest and solace the temple can bring.”

“I hope so, too,” I echoed, not wishing to disagree.

She smiled slightly. “Good. Those who have suffered are especially welcome there, you know. My thoughts go with you, Morgan, and my prayers.”

I stared back at her, uncertain of what she was implying.

“Thank you,” I said finally.

After we parted, I went back to my room and spent the afternoon packing for the journey, then went down to the Great Hall at Arthur’s request to introduce myself to some of our guests from Lyonesse.

Before I knew it, the time had arrived to get ready for the ball.

CHAPTER 13

I stood doubtfully before the oval full-length mirror in my room, craning my neck to see the back of my dress.

Even I had to admit the gown was lovely. The castle seamstresses and tailors had outdone themselves.

A deep, midnight blue, the gown glittered softly in the flickering firelight. The dress was sleeveless, with a high, round neckline that emphasized my collar bones, but hid the marks just below them. The back of the dress was cut low, revealing a swathe of smooth bare skin. The bodice was form-fitting, hugging my curves, while the skirt fell elegantly to the floor in a cascade of shimmering blue fabric.

Silver beads were arranged over the skirt in a pattern that resembled the branches of a tree, with delicate leaves, vines, and flowers twisting their way down to my feet. The fabric was light and airy, and when I moved, the beads caught the light, creating a dazzling sparkling effect.

On my feet, I wore a pair of matching blue silk slippers with delicate straps that wound up my ankles. A maidservant had arranged my hair in a sleek, braided updo with a few loose tendrils framing my face.

I was even wearing jewelry. I had a fairly large collection that had belonged to my mother, but it usually sat untouched and unworn in a box in my room. Tonight I had chosen a set of silver bangles for my wrists, etched with swirling flower designs.

I finished off my ensemble with a pair of earrings. Once upon a time, my mother had been given them by my father. I still could remember seeing her wearing them, carefully threading the delicate hooks through her ears as she prepared for a ball. In those brief years when she still attended balls alongside my father.

The earrings were carved red roses, the petals made from rubies, with long winding silver stems. The rubies were of an extraordinary quality, shimmering in the light as if they were real.

There was a knock at the door to my room and for a moment my heart skipped a beat. There was no furniture barricading it tonight. All day servants had been coming and going, carrying things I would need for the ball and for the journey, so it had seemed pointless to be moving heavy furniture back and forth.

The lock was not turning. I heard a dull thump as if someone was pushing on the door.

“Morgan, are you there?” Lancelet sounded impatient.

“Just a moment.” I unlocked the door and pulled it wide. “Come in. I was just about to go down.”

But Lancelet remained in the doorway.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, I think I have the wrong room. These are the princess’s quarters, are they not? Is that you, Morgan Pendragon, wearer of breeches and leather armor?”

I snorted, but was blushing. “I wear other things.” I looked at her more closely. “The same might be said of you,” I pointed out.

Lancelet glanced down at herself.

She was wearing a pair of fitted leather trousers in a shockingly bright shade of red, paired with a crisp white linen shirt that tucked in at her trim waist. Overtop, she wore a fitted waistcoat of black velvet, cut close to her body, accentuating her slender frame. A jacket of gold and silver brocade hung over her shoulders. There was a slim dagger strapped to her thigh and sheathed in an ornate leather scabbard. Bold but practical. Her hair looked perfectly, intentionally messy, with blonde locks falling haphazardly across her forehead. I spotted dark kohl around her eyes and there was a splash of red on her wide mouth.

She looked rakish, glamorous, and completely and utterly dashing.

“The red is too much, isn’t it?”

“Not too much. You look splendid,” I said honestly.

She stepped into the room and came to stand next to me in the mirror, then gave a long, low whistle, and grinned.

“Shall I escort you to the Great Hall, Princess?”

I slipped my arm through hers and grinned back at her reflection. “If you please, brave knight.”

We left the room together.

The sun had set on the castle walls. The gala had begun over an hour ago. Fortunately for me, Arthur had not demanded I be there to help open the celebrations.

As I looked across the room, he and Lord Agravaine were standing with a group of nobles from the visiting delegation from Lyonesse, chatting and talking. Arthur looked handsome and regal. He was even smiling at one of the women in the party in a way that made him look almost content. I felt a pang as for a moment, I imagined him as he might have been.

To my relief, there was no sign of Florian.

Good. I could do without seeing him again before I left.

Or ever again.

Ever since the night he had come into my room, I had only seen him in the dining hall briefly.

Still, I wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d actually had a change of heart and decided to leave me alone. I suspected he had come to my room at least once, possibly more, tried the door and when he’d found it barricaded, had stormed off.

Not given up, however. No, he was probably off hatching some new diabolical plan.

But that was the one bright point about being sent away from Camelot. I would be leaving Florian far, far behind.

Perhaps when I returned, Lord Agravaine would even have married Florian off to some ambitious noble daughter. One could hope.

I glanced around the room. Guests from all over the kingdom had been invited to pay their tribute at the Rose Court tonight in honor of the spring festival. Everyone was dressed sumptuously, in rich fabrics adorned with precious gems and elaborate embroidery.

The nobles from Lyonesse fairly glowed in their finery. Their traditional clothes were brighter than those of Pendrath, with lighter fabrics suited to the warmer southern climate. The women wore flowing gowns of chiffon and soft muslin in pastel shades of green, pink, and blue, while the men wore short-sleeved tunics and trousers made of fine linen and cotton. Standing together, they looked like a beautiful rainbow and I could not take my eyes off them. The women's gowns were scanty, in some cases nearly transparent. The gown I wore seemed downright modest by comparison with its high neckline and dark colors.

While red was Pendragon's traditional shade, tonight the Great Hall was bedecked in an abundance of colorful roses, from soft pinks to white to yellows. The roses came from all over Pendrath, though many were grown in the castle hothouses by talented gardeners. The fragrant flowers colored the walls and hung from the ceilings in elaborate garlands alongside colorful silk streamers. Banners bearing the emblem of a rose entwined with an image of Marzanna's scythe hung along the stone walls, replacing the customary tapestries.

Music filled the air, played by a band of musicians on a stage to one side of the room. A lively folk melody was currently being played on lutes, flutes, drums, and a harp. No one was dancing yet, but that was sure to change as the night went on.

At the top of the room near the royal dais, tables had been set up for the guests, decorated with centerpieces of roses and other seasonal flowers. Food and drink lay on the tables atop gleaming silver platters–roasted meats, fresh fruits, and sweet desserts.

As Lancelet and I stood near the wall, watching, a servant passed by with a tray of small cups and offered them to us. They contained a specially brewed ale made for Marzanna’s day, he told us. The scent was warm and spicy. I swallowed, tasting the rich flavor, and wondered what I'd be drinking by this time the next evening.

“I can’t believe this is really your last night,” Lancelet muttered, echoing my thoughts. “No, what I can’t believe is that your bloody brother won’t even let me accompany you.”

“Hush,” I said swiftly. I glanced about but no one was near. “You cannot talk like that, Lancelet. Not around anyone but me. When I’m gone, promise me you’ll be more careful.” I looked at her, in her vibrant attire, and bit my lip. I had not told her of Arthur’s thinly-veiled warning. I wondered if I should before I left.

But what could she do about it? Besides something risky and dangerous that might get her into greater trouble with Arthur. And I would not be there to protect her and help her get out again.

“Do you even know who will be attending you? Will there be a single woman in your party?” Lancelet demanded.

I shook my head. “No idea. A group of guards and soldiers. That’s all I know. I wouldn’t put it past Arthur to ‘forget’ to include a single woman.”

“A huge group of fighting men and you. Will you even know a single one?” Lancelet scowled. “Sir Ector and Dame Halyna were not invited to go. Nor were they told anything about your trip beforehand.”

“I know,” I said, feeling a little desolate. I wished Sir Ector was coming with me. Having him there would be a huge comfort. With him at my side, perhaps the mission would not be completely doomed to failure. “But I had no say in the matter, as you are well aware.”

Lancelet was quiet. “You have not even told us exactly where you are going or what you are doing. Why must you go? Off on your own with a group of soldiers while Arthur and Kaye go elsewhere. It seems so strange, Morgan.”

“It does. I know. But this is how it must be. Arthur has good reasons for arranging things this way.” I tried to speak with conviction but Lancelet shot me a sour look that said she was not fooled.

“It will be an adventure at least,” I added lamely. That much was sure to be true. “I’ll be leaving Camelot. Seeing the country.”

“Which country?” Lancelet demanded shrewdly.

I colored. “I shouldn’t answer that.”

“I thought so.” She frowned.

“It’s our last night together,” I reminded her, squeezing her arm gently. “Have fun with me.”

She nodded. “I know. I’ll try.” Her eyes lit up. “Will you dance with me?”

I groaned. “There are so many people.”

Lancelet was a dancer. I loved to dance. But not like this. Not in such a huge space surrounded by onlookers. Nobles and courtiers and visiting guests who would all be observing me, talking about me, commenting on my appearance, my grace–or lack thereof. That was not my idea of fun.

Though, of course, they were already staring at us, taking in my appearance. I resisted raising a hand to smooth back my gray strands.

I was just wondering what the guests from Lyonesse would make of Lancelet when I caught sight of one of the women in the delegation staring at my friend with open appreciation.

“Their gowns truly leave nothing to the imagination,” Lancelet murmured approvingly, looking right back at the woman. “By the Three, I can see absolutely everything.” She grinned lecherously.

“Lancelet!” I elbowed her, a little scandalized.

“You should ask them to make you a dress like that, Morgan. Not that you’d be daring enough to wear it.” She smirked, elbowing me back until I squeaked.

I stared at the woman. Her gown was a pink chiffon and Lancelet was right. You could see everything through it.

“Do you think her nipples are truly pink or is it just the fabric that makes them seem that color?” Lancelet mused.

“Why don’t you go and find out?” I jokingly suggested.

Lancelet straightened up and adjusted her waistcoat. “What an excellent idea.”

“What? Really? Here?” I hissed, my cheeks flaming at the thought.

“Don’t worry, Morgan, I’m not going to undress her in the Great Hall,” Lancelet promised. “I’ll pull her into a stairwell or something. Where is your sense of decency?”

“Oh, you little...” I began, furiously. But she was already gone, striding in the direction of the woman who might or might not have very pink nipples.

I watched, terrified that she was about to interrupt Arthur mid-conversation to steal away one of his guests. But instead of approaching the group, she paused a few steps away, out of Arthur and Agravaine’s sight, and meeting the woman’s eye inclined her head towards the dance floor.

The Lyonessian woman smiled widely. She stepped away from her group, moving towards Lancelet.

There was no one else dancing yet. But I supposed that was about to change.

I watched them begin to dance, fascinated and yes, a little envious. Part of me wished I possessed Lancelet’s skill–though, what would I do with it? Who would I even use such flirtatious charm on? It was a depressing thought.

And as the thought crossed my mind, I spotted the new captain of the Royal Guard.

Captain Draven was wearing a guard's dress uniform made of finely crafted black silk with silver embroidery. It clung to his powerful frame, accentuating the breadth of his shoulders. The Pendragon insignia–my insignia–was embroidered in silver thread on the breast pocket of his jacket, catching the light as he moved across the room. The jacket had a high collar that framed his strong jawline, highlighting the hint of dark stubble there.

Black trousers hugged his lean legs, tucked into polished black riding boots. His raven hair had been slicked back, revealing the sharp angles of his face. A thin silver chain glimmered against the rich, bronzed skin of his throat, matching the silver ring he always wore in his ear.

His green eyes pierced through the crowd around him. There was a haunting beauty to his features, an allure that was both beguiling and dangerous. His eyes seemed to hold secrets, lurking just below the surface.

To my chagrin, I realized I was not the only one observing the captain. A number of noblewomen had turned their heads as the handsome guard entered the room.

I wondered if Draven had noticed the attention he was receiving. The man certainly didn’t need another boost to his already enormous ego. Resolutely I began to turn my head away.

And then his gaze met mine.

I felt a flush creeping up my cheeks. His eyes looked me up and down, seeming to take in every detail. Perhaps I imagined it but I thought his eyes widened slightly, as if he were surprised to see me look... what? So different? Or perhaps he simply thought I looked completely out of place.

Feeling exposed and vulnerable, I broke my gaze from his.

As I did, I noticed that one of the noblewomen from the Lyonesse delegation had not been content to wait and be noticed by him. Stepping away from her group, she walked boldly up to Draven and coyly placed a hand on his arm.

She was one of the loveliest women I had ever seen. Her dark silky black hair flowed loose down her back. On her head she wore a wreath of ivy, while her lithe body was just barely covered with a flimsy green gown that had been cut high on one side, revealing a perfect curving thigh.

She seemed to be inviting him to dance. I watched as Draven shook his head and murmured something, probably a very charmingly-worded excuse. But the woman would not take no for an answer. With a winsome smile, she began to pleadingly tug on his arm.

“Princess.” Sir Ector stepped up beside me, cutting short my view of the performance. His face was steely.

He followed the direction of my gaze and his scowl seemed to deepen as he noticed Draven.

“You look very handsome this evening, Sir Ector,” I said, trying to be pleasant.

He did not reply in kind. “I know who will be accompanying you tomorrow,” he said bluntly.

I raised my eyebrows. “You spoke with my brother? Who will it be? Is the group very large?”

He shook his head. “Dame Halyna happened to gain the information. She was kind enough to inform me.” He met my eyes. “Only two men are going with you, Morgan.”

I was taken aback. “Only two? How is that possible?” I felt dizzy. I had expected at least ten. Not to mention a retinue of servants and pack horses to keep the group supplied.

“Though it goes against everything I might wish for your safety, your brother evidently desires you to travel as light as possible. With that in mind, I would go through your baggage. Take only what you must. You’ll avoid some embarrassment if you are prepared now rather than coming down with two stuffed trunks.”

I blushed and nodded. “I can do that.” I didn’t think I’d overpacked. My belongings were in two leather satchels, not trunks. But still, it sounded as if we might be traveling with no carts or pack horses whatsoever. In which case, for the sake of my own mount, I should probably remove a few books.

“I will do my best, but you know I have hardly gone anywhere, Sir Ector,” I said, in a low voice. “I don’t know anything about traveling rough.”

Sir Ector tried to smile. “You will learn quickly, Morgan. You’ve always been a fast learner. And you’re tougher than you let on. Tougher than you may even know yourself. I have faith in you.” He cleared his throat, his face still grim. “The number of men going... I’m afraid that is not the worst part of what I must tell you.”

My eyes widened. “What do you mean?” I was having trouble imagining how it could get worse. I was leaving everyone and everything I loved and going on a perilous journey to goddess-only-knew-where. The ass-end of the world, as Lancelet had so delicately suggested yesterday.

“Step back here with me.” Sir Ector tugged on my arm. When we were safely ensconced between two pillars near the stone wall and he had satisfied himself there was no one within earshot, he continued. “I have learned the identities of both of your guards.”

“Considering we leave tomorrow, I should have liked to have known who they were long ago,” I muttered.

“One of them is Ragnar Whitehorn. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you who that is.”

I stared. “Lord Agravaine’s man.”

Sir Ector nodded tersely. “Yes.”

Was this Florian’s doing? Having his father’s right-hand-man tag along with me? If Florian could not come himself, sending Whitehorn along as a spy would be the next best thing. I did not doubt Whitehorn would be sending reports back to my brother–and to his own master.

“But... He’s not even in the Royal Guard,” I said, flailing wildly for an excuse.

“He doesn’t have to be, does he? Your brother didn’t specify that the people accompanying you would be.”

“No, he didn’t,” I admitted.

“Whitehorn is a ruthless man, Morgan. Entirely loyal to Agravaine. He’ll do whatever is asked of him, no matter how cruel it may be.”

I tried not to let the implication frighten me. “Not an ideal companion. And the other?”

Sir Ector hesitated. “Even worse.”

I gulped. “Worse? Worse than Whitethorn?”

Sir Ector nodded darkly. “Oh, he’s a skilled warrior. And until recently, I had believed him to be an honorable man. That was, until Dame Halyna and I discovered who he truly is.”

“Who who truly is?” I said, sounding like an owl.

“The captain of the Royal Guard. Kairos Draven. He is the second man who will be accompanying you.”

“What?” I stared at Sir Ector. “But I thought you and Dame Halyna had helped to appoint him. He was promoted so quickly. I don’t understand. How can Draven possibly be a bad choice?”

It was bad, of course, because everything about Draven rubbed me the wrong way. Right down to his cocky knowing attitude.

But this was different. This was about my safety. And right now, Sir Ector looked truly concerned.

“We did not appoint him,” Sir Ector countered. “It seems Dame Halyna was under the same misimpression that I had a hand in it–and I believed the same about her. But neither of us had anything to do with Draven’s quick promotion. Your brother and Lord Agravaine–that is who you may thank. Or who Draven should thank, I should say, for his impressive rise.”

“What exactly is wrong with Draven? Why would my brother elevate a man you and Dame Halyna are so disapproving of?”

“There was nothing wrong with Draven... at first,” Sir Ector admitted. “His recommendations seemed sound. His papers looked genuine. He claimed to be a simple reservist soldier from the countryside north of Camelot. He said he’d grown up on a farm, helping his father and brothers. Of course, he seemed to have been very well trained for a rural reservist, so yes, perhaps we should have dug deeper. But we were grateful for a skilled man. And so we took him at face value.”

“And then?” I prodded.

Sir Ector glanced at me. “You’re probably unaware of this, Morgan, but Dame Halyna and I have our own connections. They’re nowhere near as sophisticated as your brother and Lord Agravaine’s spy network. But yesterday, one of our sources came through. She brought us information concerning Draven the likes of which we had not even fathomed.”

“What do you mean?” My heart was beating faster. “Please be clear.”

“I will be. I take your life very seriously, Morgan. You are precious to me. As precious as my own son. If I could force the king to call off this foolish journey, or to send someone in your stead, I would. If begging would have any effect, I would beg.” He met my eyes bleakly. “But you know your brother.”

“I do,” I said softly. “Still, I thank you, Sir Ector. The affection you bear me–you know it is mutual.”

He nodded. “Don’t thank me yet.” His lips thinned. “Draven is known by another name. Not quite a name. A title. Void’s Edge.”

“Void’s Edge?” I turned the words over on my tongue.

“He’s a mercenary. No, much worse than a mercenary, an assassin. A highly skilled and extremely lethal one at that. His reputation is built on his unique style–he moves as silently as a void. His blade is there and then gone, into nothingness. A shadow in the night. A ghost in the dark.”

“I’d almost think you were trying to frighten me with a children’s tale, Sir Ector,” I said lightly. But my heart was speeding.

“It is hearsay, yes, but I’m afraid it is no tall tale, Morgan. But frighten you? Yes, I am. I wish for you to take what I am telling you very seriously. Your life may depend on your doing so,” Sir Ector said, his jaw clenched.

“There must be many mercenaries, many men who have worked for hire, killing for others. What makes Draven the worst?”

Sir Ector was quiet for a moment. “A man may work as a mercenary, even an assassin, and still have honor. He may still follow a code. A line in the sand that he will not cross, even for coin.”

I swallowed. “And Draven has no such code?”

Sir Ector shook his head. “I will tell you one story. Only one. Do you know how the current king of Rheged attained the throne?”

Rheged again.

I shook my head.

“Nerov the Unyielding, he is called. He was not supposed to rule. The man we can thank for putting him in power is currently dancing there across the room.” Sir Ector nodded his head towards Draven, with an expression of disdain. “To achieve this, Draven had to complete an impossible task. Eliminate all who stood between Nerov and the throne.”

“I suppose there was a brother or an uncle or two?” I ventured.

“There were sixteen people in line to the throne before Nerov,” Sir Ector said quietly. “Men, women, and children. Most of them belonging to the last king’s family–his wife, his seven children, one a babe still in arms. The others were relatives, the king’s sister and her family and so on.”

“A baby?” I whispered. I felt my stomach turn.

“The family was protected by a large army of loyal retainers. The last king had been a good ruler. Hard but fair. He was beloved by his people. Draven had to find a way to bypass what was in essence an army. He did this in a single night, forcing his way into the castle by some means still not known. He eliminated all of the soldiers who stood in his way, and then one by one, executed the royal family as they lay asleep in their beds. I will spare you the details. They are not for the faint of heart.”

I could not help it. My eyes leapt of their own accord to where Draven was still dancing with the beautiful woman from Lyonesse. Could we really be speaking of the same man? Draven was a pain in the ass, yes. Bold, cocky, arrogant. But I had seen a glimpse of good in him, too. Why would a man who killed helpless innocents have given a coin toss for the marks Florian had dealt me?

Perhaps it was just part of his elaborate cover.

I felt a cold chill come over me. “Perhaps he was sent here to kill Arthur. Or to kill Kaye. Why would he come here for any other reason?”

“That was our first thought, too. Dame Halyna and I went straight to the king to warn him.”

“And?” I asked eagerly.

Sir Ector met my eyes. “Our visit was pointless.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that the king knew exactly who Draven was, from the moment he arrived in Camelot. Dame Halyna and I might have been duped. Your brother was not. He had arranged Draven’s arrival.”

I thought of the convincing recommendation letters and papers that Sir Ector said Draven had provided. This explained where they had come from.

“Why would Arthur do such a thing? Trick his own knights into training such a man?” Especially when Draven likely needed no further training. What a joke it must have been to him to spar with me the other day.

“Why would he send such a man along with his own sister, supposedly to safeguard her?” Sir Ector asked quietly. “I think that’s the more important question.”

I stared back at him. “I don’t know.”

Sir Ector’s face turned weary. “Under other circumstances, I would suggest that you ask your brother. But you and I are both familiar with the sort of king we have. I am not sure what sort of an answer you would receive.”

“Neither am I.” I was quiet, thinking.

There was an easy answer to all of this. Arthur wished to kill me and he wanted Draven to do the job.

But in that case, why send me away? And why have Agravaine’s man, Whitehorn, accompany us? Why the elaborate story about a sword?

If Arthur truly wanted me out of the way, all he had to do was make up some trumped up charge–as he had so easily done with the part-fae boy in the Great Hall weeks ago–and then execute me publicly. He didn’t have to hide behind an assassin. He was already the king. Who would challenge him?

“There is one possibility that is not entirely dismal,” Sir Ector said quietly.

“Is there? I’d love to hear it.”

“Your brother is sending along two men who are corrupt and dangerous, yes. But they are also deadly fighting machines. Perhaps Arthur has reason to believe they will serve you the best on this journey–and that they have the most hope of keeping you safe.”

“Perhaps.” I tried to smile. “He is my brother, after all.”

“Yes,” Sir Ector said quietly. “He is.”

He suddenly straightened his back. “He’s coming, Morgan. Look to the left.”

I whipped my head around to see Arthur striding towards us, Lord Agravaine at his side.

“Ready for your journey, Morgan?” Arthur asked as he reached us. “All packed? You leave at dawn.”

I nodded. “I’m well-aware. Yes, I’m ready to go. I look forward to successfully completing this task you have honored me with, Brother,” I finished, hearing the hollow formality of the words.

Arthur smiled slightly. “Excellent. Before you go, I wish to speak with you now. Alone.”

Nodding briefly to Sir Ector, Arthur turned to leave the Great Hall. Clearly I was meant to follow.

I glanced helplessly at Sir Ector, shrugging my shoulders.

“If I do not see you again before you leave,” Sir Ector said quickly, gripping me by the shoulder. “Safe travels, Morgan. We will miss you dearly. Galahad sends his love.”

I had not even seen Galahad yet that evening. I supposed this meant I might not have an opportunity to say good-bye.

I nodded and forced a smile, then turned to see if I could spot Lancelet. She was still across the room. She was no longer dancing, but had taken a seat at one of the banquet tables. The Lyonessian woman in the pink dress was seated beside her. They were talking and laughing. I couldn’t catch her eye.

Maybe it was for the best. My last sight of my friend would at least be a happy one.

I started to follow Arthur. Accompanied by four of his guards, he had already walked ahead, out of the Great Hall and into the long corridor that led to the king’s apartments.

I picked up my pace, trying to catch up. As I approached the open arch leading into the corridor a man stepped into my path, his head down. We both stumbled, trying not to walk into one another.

He lifted his head.

I could not help it. I gasped.

It was Florian.

His face was nearly unrecognizable. He had been badly beaten. His appearance was grotesque. Cuts and bruises covered his entire face, rendering it a mass of colors, greens, purples, and yellowish-browns. One of his eyes was nearly swollen shut. The other was red and puckered.

As he saw me, his lips curled in a snarl. For a moment, our eyes met. He looked back at me with the murderous rage of a a rabid dog.

I brushed past him quickly, unwilling to linger in his presence for even a moment longer than I had to.

Who had done this to him?

Whoever it was, the look Florian had given me said one thing.

He thought I was responsible.

CHAPTER 14

It was not difficult to think of the obvious answer as I followed Arthur down the hall.

Draven had demanded to know who had hurt me and had seemed intent on vengeance.

Were it not for the look in Florian’s eyes just now, I might have been grateful, even joyful at seeing Florian’s body so broken and disfigured after what he had done to mine.

We reached the door to Arthur’s apartments and my brother gestured to his guards to remain outside.

I followed him in, watched as he removed his velvet and ermine cloak and threw it on a table, then sank onto a chaise by a window. Outside, the warm spring day had turned into a black and stormy night. I could see the trees below thrashing in the wind.

Arthur watched me steadily from where he sat, his arms thrown over the sides of the chaise.

“Tomorrow, you depart, Sister. But before you do, I thought you and I should have one last talk.”

“Of course.” I stepped closer. “Do you have any further instructions for me?”

I wondered if I would finally be given more details on the route we would travel or who would be in our party.

“The men traveling with you have everything you will need to know in their possession.” Arthur waved a hand dismissively. “No, I haven’t called you here to elaborate on the details of your mission. You know the essentials of what you must do.”

The very bare essentials. I said nothing.

“My fear is that you are not sufficiently motivated yet, Sister,” Arthur continued. “That is why I believe the time has come for us to finally lay all our cards upon the table.”

“Our cards?” I furrowed my brow. “I am not sure what you mean, Arthur.” I couldn’t help it. “Perhaps you mean your cards. Have you called me here to finally tell me who will be accompanying me?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Sir Ector has just finished doing just that, I presume.”

I said nothing.

“Sir Ector is nothing if not predictable,” Arthur drawled.

I flushed. “He serves you loyally.”

“He serves as loyally as he knows how,” Arthur corrected. “But his heart is yours, Morgan. As well you know.” He studied me. “How many other hearts have you swayed to your cause?”

I stared. “My cause.”

Arthur leaned forward. “We are alone, Morgan. There is no need to play coy. I know everything and I have for some time. But I suppose you thought I was a fool, didn’t you? As you snuck around at night and colluded with traitors and seditionists? You believed I would never find out.”

My heart stood still. The hunt. He meant the hunt.

“I would never,” I began.

“Stop.” Arthur’s voice was icy. “No more lies. I have a gift for you.” He rose from his seat and gestured for me to follow as he walked over to a long table.

A box rested on top, made of rough wood, with a hinged lid.

“Open it,” my brother instructed.

I touched the rough wood, hesitating.

“Open it. Now.”

I lifted the lid slowly.

The smell of rotting meat wafted out. I gagged.

“Open it all the way.”

I lifted the lid higher. Arthur came up beside me, his shoulder nearly touching mine.

Together we looked inside.

Dead eyes stared up at me. I counted slowly. Seven pairs in all.

Seven heads lifeless and pale. All of the eyes were open, staring up at us. It took everything I had not to back away, not to retch all over the lush carpet we stood on.

“Who are they?” I asked hoarsely.

“Don’t pretend not to recognize them,” Arthur replied, his voice venomous. “They’re your comrades, of course. Greet them warmly, Morgan. After all, this is the last time you’ll meet.”

He meant the hunters.

I forced myself to look at the faces more closely. I did not recognize them until... There.

Yaryna. Her russet hair was tangled and bloody. Her face was contorted in a grimace. Of terror or pain? Perhaps both.

Streaks of blood stained her cheeks. I could see the tendons of her neck, severed and twisted at the stem.

How had she been killed? The wound was not clean. Her head had not been quickly severed. The wound looked... jagged. As if it had been chopped. How many blows had it taken to sever these heads from their bodies?

I stepped back, overcome with horror.

“I recognize one. The woman. She was a hunter.” There was no reason not to speak freely now. “I joined a group of citizens hunting in the woods. Seeking food for their families and for those in need. There was nothing treasonous about it, Arthur. I swear to you. All they were looking for was food.”

Arthur turned his back to the chest and when he looked at me, his eyes were full of cold malice.

“You killed all of these people,” I said softly. “Because you believed them traitors? When really they were simply trying to help their families, their neighbors. They were hunters, not traitors, Arthur. How many innocents will you murder out of false fear?”

Arthur’s expression was flinty. “You dare to question me, Sister? After what you have done? You call them hunters but these people stole from their king. They broke the law. Their punishment was swifter than they deserved.”

“But you know why there is a food shortage,” I said desperately, unable to accept that he would not even try to understand. “You know the shortage is of your own making. So how can you be so harsh? These are your own people!”

Arthur took a step towards me, looming menacingly. “Don’t displace blame, Morgan. You organized these people. You turned them against their king. You made them believe this was the only way. They conspired. Hunters? They were planning much more than a simple hunt. If anyone is responsible for their deaths it is you, not I.”

I shook my head, overwhelmed, furious, sick at heart. “If they were planning anything more than a hunt, I don’t know what it was. They did not take me into their plans. I met Yaryna only the one night.”

“So you’d have me believe. You expect me to trust you, Morgan. You act as if it is your due when the truth is, I will never trust you, Sister. And you know very well why that is.” He looked at me from behind unveiled eyes full of glacial anger.

I stared at him. “I do not.”

“You have always hated me. You have always been jealous of me.” His words slowed as he stressed each one. “You have always coveted the throne.”

I swallowed hard, scouring my heart to see if there was any truth in his words.

“I have always tried to protect you. I have always tried to love you. And Kaye. You are my brothers. Everything I have done, I have done for your sake.”

Arthur sneered. “I wish I could believe that. But the truth is, there is nothing to stop you from killing me and taking the throne for yourself. Or for Kaye.”

I gasped. “Nothing besides the fact that I do not want it. Nor does Kaye. He would never do such a thing. Never.” Pure-hearted, gentle Kaye. Was this really what Arthur worried about? “Do you really believe what you’re saying? That I would kill you, Arthur? That Kaye wishes you harm?”

I curled my hands into fists and said the one thing that was truest of all. “All we want is for you to be a good and just king.”

Arthur regarded me quietly. “I know exactly what you’re capable of, Morgan. After all, you’ve done worse, haven’t you?”

There was nothing I could say in reply. Nothing he would believe. He had been there that day. Yet still he threw it back in my face. What I had done to save our lives, to save my brother. It had been for nothing. From the moment it occurred, Arthur and I had been split asunder. Fated to reach this moment. Our bonds of blood cracking apart under the weight of a guilt so devastating it would follow me across the earth.

“And so that is why you will go, Morgan. You will do this thing for me. If you die in the attempt, so be it.” Arthur’s words dripped with spite. “I will mourn for you, though I cannot say I will miss you. At least you will not be here to further warp Kaye’s mind, to turn him against me.”

“I would never do that. Have never done that, Arthur,” I murmured, knowing it was pointless. “Kaye loves you. His heart is true.”

There was so much more I longed to say, to do. I longed to scream in his face. To beat my hands against the wooden chest full of sundered heads, to flail at Arthur’s cruelty, his misplaced fears. I knew it would do no good.

He was becoming exactly the kind of king I had always feared he would be. A mirror-image of our father.

Arthur ignored me. “You asked about the men who will accompany you. Whitehorn and Draven. I take it you know who they are.”

“I know Draven isn’t who he says he is, if that’s what you mean,” I said directly. “And I assume you know that as well. If you wanted me dead, Brother, you might as well just do it yourself.”

Arthur’s lips thinned. “Too easy, Morgan. Though it is refreshing to be able to speak so openly in this way to you at long last.” He shook his head. “No, I don’t wish you dead. I may not trust you, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still be useful. Like it or not, I need you for now. With that in mind, the men I’ve assigned to go along with you may be dangerous but they will protect you with their lives.”

“Just as Draven protected the royal family of Rheged? He killed children.” I doubted this would shock my brother. If anything, it had probably endeared the guard captain to him even more.

“He did what had to be done. That’s why I like him, Morgan.” A wicked grin crossed his face. “I’m sorry you don’t share my high opinion of Draven.”

I realized something. “Draven worked for Nerov, the king of Rheged.”

“Sir Ector has brought you up to speed I see.”

I ignored him, praying he simply saw Sir Ector as a simple, stupid tool and not an actual problem to be dealt with. Yes, Sir Ector cared for me. But if it came down to choosing between loyalty to the throne and loyalty to me? I truly did not know what the result would be.

“Yet you claimed Rheged was preparing to invade Pendrath,” I said. “Why would the king of Rheged permit his best assassin to come and work for you?”

Arthur shrugged carelessly. “Perhaps Draven didn’t ask permission. Perhaps he left Rheged of his own volition.”

That was possible, I supposed. But it seemed unlikely.

Yet the other possibility was even more disturbing.

That Nerov let Draven come to Arthur willingly. That Rheged was not a threat at all. That all of Arthur’s previous claims had been a lie.

And if so, what was the truth? What was Arthur preparing for?

I suddenly wondered what else Arthur had lied about the last time we spoke.

“The last time we talked, you said I would have a choice when I returned. The temple or marriage to Florian Emrys.” The name rolled slowly and sickeningly off my tongue. “Was that the truth?”

Arthur’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Florian Emrys. He has been rather a thorn in your side, hasn’t he, Sister? His devotedness to you leans rather heavily towards fiendish obsession. Why, when he told us he had actually branded you as his property, I admit, I was skeptical. Would you really sit back and allow such a thing? My sister? The one who fights so ferociously in the practice ring?”

My hands trembled in revulsion.

Arthur gestured lazily at my gown. “But then, I suppose you were probably urging him on. After all, if you’d wanted Florian to stop troubling you, you’d have put up more of a fight. And I see you’ve kept the place where he claims he marked you covered up. So it’s true? Care to indulge me in a peek?”

The thought of doing so made me feel physically ill. “You knew. You knew what he was doing to me. All along you knew. And you did nothing to stop him.”

Arthur didn't bother to answer. His expression was all the proof I needed, anyway. The mask he had sometimes chosen to don on previous occasions had now been entirely removed exposing the malicious man beneath.

The cold, brutish, and yes, even slightly-bored-looking young man who was staring back at me with only contempt in his eyes? This was my brother. He was everything I’d always known he’d be capable of one day. Full of capricious cruelty towards not only his own people but his own family.

Why had I hoped for anything different? Why had I hoped Kaye and I might be the exceptions?

I was suddenly filled with dread at the prospect of leaving Kaye with this man.

My stomach churned. I had to get out of the room. I had to get away from him. Away from Arthur.

“Let me take Kaye with me,” I said beseechingly. “You fear he will undermine you somehow. It’s a ridiculous notion, but if you truly feel that way, let me take him with me, Arthur. He’ll be out of your way. As you’ve said, Draven and Whitehorn can protect him easily. You’ve chosen well. Let him...”

“No.” Arthur’s voice was hard as nails. “Kaye remains with me.”

I swallowed. “Very well. May I be dismissed?” My tone was that of a meek child. But what else could I do? I had no desire to become one of the heads in the horrific box. Who would there be to protect Kaye from Arthur then?

“You may. Sleep well, Sister.” Arthur’s voice was deceptively gentle.

“Thank you, Arthur.” I was thanking him for my release. But he didn’t have to know that.

I left the room as quickly as I could, walked down the corridor, and headed straight to the nearest door leading out into the bailey. Standing on the low stone staircase, I leaned over the side, retching and heaving.

When my stomach was empty, I stood with my back pressed against the wall, trembling.

The wind had picked up. I wrapped my arms around me, as the gale howled through the castle walls, its fury matched only by the pelting rain that lashed against the stones.

I was already shivering but I didn't care. I couldn't go back inside.

I walked down the stairs and across the courtyard, my mind numb.

The sky was dark, save for an occasional flash of lightning that lit up the bailey in a stark, otherworldly light.

I could feel the force of the wind against my bare skin, as if it were trying to push me back inside. I forced myself to walk into it. I moved aimlessly at first, then veered to the right, walking towards the stables where the horses would be kept for our journey tomorrow.

As I stepped inside, the only sounds were the soft whinnies and snorts of the horses in the long rows of stalls.

A dim light came from the lanterns hanging over the stalls. The hay strewn across the floor muffled the sound of hooves as here and there a horse shuffled and stomped. The scents of sweet hay, leather harnesses, and horse sweat permeated the air.

The ambiance was everything the castle had not been. Peaceful. Comforting. There was a purity and an innocence to this place, to these animals, that Arthur's court utterly lacked. I knew it was unlikely to improve in my absence.

I walked down the row of stalls. The stable was quiet and empty. Everyone was out celebrating the festival.

A few days ago, I had met with the castle stablemaster, Gregor, a tall man with weathered skin and calloused hands, who had spent his lifetime working with the royal equines. Together we had selected the horse I would take on the journey.

My usual mount, Macha, was a sleek and graceful mare with a shiny black coat and a fiery spirit. She was well-trained and obedient, but wasn't suited for a long journey. Her delicate build and high-strung nature made her prone to fatigue and stress. While she was a lovely horse, perfect for riding about the city and on short rides on the outskirts of Camelot, I knew I needed a sturdier mount.

I stepped towards the stall, whistling softly under my breath.

A chestnut-mare stepped forward, her eyes intelligent and proud.

“There you are my beauty,” I murmured. I touched her head, rubbing gently.

Her name was Haya. She was a Tintagel horse, bred for sure-footedness on the rocky windswept terrain. I moved a hand over her flank, appreciating the ripple of muscles beneath the mare's skin. Her back was broad and strong and Gregor claimed she would be able to bear my weight and that of my gear without complaint. I certainly hoped so, but vowed to lighten my load when I returned to my room.

Haya nuzzled my head, snorting softly, and I felt a surge of affection.

“You take care of me and I'll take care of you, Haya. Deal?”

“Talking to a fucking horse, Pendragon? How utterly pathetic.”

I stiffened, then turned slowly around.

“What happened to your face, Florian? Did a horse kick it in?”

Florian sneered and took a step closer.

Carefully, I moved away from Haya's stall.

“Amusing. As if you don't know who did this, you little bitch.”

I didn't reply. My eyes were fixed on the glint of steel in his hand. A dagger. Larger than the one he had used on me in my room.

And there I was, unarmed, defenseless, in an empty stable. Leaving the castle suddenly seemed like the worst idea I’d ever had.

My back hit a wooden pillar and Florian smiled, his handsome lips pulling up sharply. He pushed a lock of blonde hair off his forehead, revealing more deep cuts and bruises.

The beating he'd received had been a bad one. I tried to feel pity for him, tried to put myself in his shoes.

I failed completely.

Someone had made him feel fear, like he had made me feel. Someone had made him hurt, like he had hurt me.

I felt nothing but satisfaction as I looked at his disfigured face.

“Not quite so pretty now, are you, Florian?” I said softly. “How the tables have turned.”

“You appreciate my face like this, don't you, Morgan. Now that it looks more like your own?” He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his breath warm against my face. I turned my head, disgust blossoming in the pit of my stomach.

Florian reached out a hand, his fingers sliding over the silk of my gown, then curling around my throat.

“I've missed you, Morgan. Our last visit was much too long ago for my liking.”

I forced a grimace. “It was far too recent for mine. Let's not repeat it.”

My eyes were scanning the stalls, looking for something I could use. A bridle. A harness. But all the tack had been stowed away. Damn the tidy competency of the castle servants.

Florian's hand slid down my throat, trailing over my collarbone.

“I've dreamed of seeing my name on you, Morgan,” he breathed. “How does it look, each time you peer into the mirror and see me there, reflected back at you? I bet it looks good.”

“It's practically vanished. Faded quite quickly. Soon there will be no trace left,” I lied.

Florian smirked. “Let's see about that, shall we?”

I moved fast, stepping to the side, but I wasn't fast enough. His free hand caught me by the hip, slamming me back against the pole. All the while I was aware of the long knife in his other hand, so close to me.

Florian’s hips pressed against me. His body was flush with  mine. The sensation was unbearable. The memory of the last time he had been this close pulsed through me. The memory of him sitting atop me. My terror at the thought of what he might do.

Tonight I thought he might not stop. This might be it. He would go all the way.

“I admit, I'm thrilled to catch you here, Morgan. On our last night together. Let's make it a good one, shall we? I know I'll miss you. And you... Well, you won't forget me anytime soon. Not when I'm through with you.”

He ripped at the high collar of my dress, pulling at the fastening, his frigid blue eyes full of sick hunger.

I could see exactly where this was going. I pictured myself lying on the floor of the stable, Florian above me, my dress crumpled and torn.

I felt a flush of fury. My skin burned with rage.

His mouth descended, lips pressed against my throat in a twisted inversion of a kiss. All the while, his hand kept yanking at my dress.

As I felt the fastening at my neck finally give way, I raised a trembling hand to my ear and willed my rage to build, to bubble, to boil up and over.

Adrenaline flowed through my veins. I had trained for this. I didn't have a sword, but I was ready. Ready to fight back with everything I had. Arthur had been wrong. I had been unable to fight back the last time when Florian had played his dirty, despicable trick and poisoned me. But I wasn’t incapacitated now. I would not go down peacefully. Nothing would stop me from saving myself.

The sound of my own voice shocked me. A snarl of sheer outrage flew from my lips.

I watched Florian raise his head in surprise, just as I lifted my arm. With a swift, fluid motion I punched my hand into his throat as hard as I could.

Florian's face twisted in a mix of fear, shock, and disbelief. His eyes widened as he struggled to understand what was happening to his body.

I pulled my hand back, the bloody stem of the rose earring still positioned tightly between my fingers.

Blood spurted from the hole in Florian's neck. So much blood. It sprayed my face, my dress, his clothes. It poured onto the ground beneath us, soaking the clean straw as his life drained away.

I watched his mouth open and close soundlessly as he gasped for breath that would never come.

His face turned pale. He clutched his hands to his throat, finally understanding what I’d done, but it was too late. I could see his body already trembling, his strength fading rapidly.

When he fell onto the straw, I didn’t move. I didn’t try to help. I just watched. Watched as his expression became the frightened and desperate one of a little boy.

But Florian was no child. He was not innocent. He had made terrible choices and now he was paying the ultimate price.

Life went out of his eyes. His chest ceased to rise and fall.

Still I stood, waiting. For what, I didn’t know.

The stable was silent. Even the horses had gone quiet.

I stared at Florian’s pale corpse, and was suddenly certain I had made an equally terrible mistake. I had killed a man. The son of Arthur’s best friend. And I was sure to pay for it.

“What have you done?”

The voice came out of the dark. For a moment, I thought it was Gregor.

I lifted my head, preparing for the king’s justice to descend, for the stablemaster to shout for help as he saw Florian’s lifeless body at my feet, for soldiers to come running.

I would be restrained, locked away forever. I choked back a sob.

But it was not Gregor.

Kairos Draven stood silhouetted in the stable doorway, a torrent of falling rain behind him.

He stepped into the lamp light and I saw he had removed his jacket. The black silk shirt he wore had been unbuttoned down to his breastbone, revealing smooth, honeyed skin and curling dark hairs. His hair was wet and disheveled, the damp locks falling around his face.

“What have you done?” he asked again.

His eyes were on me, not the body. I watched as they narrowed.

“You’re covered in blood. Your dress is torn.”

I could have lied, said I’d found Florian like this. Or tried to run. But I wasn’t that desperate. Besides, as he’d said, I was covered in blood.

“I killed him,” I said simply. “I killed Florian.”

Draven was silent. His eyes moved from me to the floor where Florian’s body lay, then back to me, inspecting me from head to toe.

Abruptly, I realized my gown was gaping. The neck had fallen open, exposing the skin just above the curve of my breasts. I reached to tug it up and retie the fastening but it was too late.

“Stop. Is that his fucking name?” Draven’s voice was icy. “Is that his fucking name on you?”

I felt a chill of terror come over me as he stepped closer. He sounded so angry. If what Sir Ector said was true, this man was more dangerous and deadly than Florian could ever have dreamed of being.

Reluctantly, I nodded, my fingers trembling as I found the loops and fastened the dress again.

Draven looked at me wordlessly, his emerald eyes filled with cold fury.

“We’re leaving. Now. Tonight. Do you understand? Are you packed?”

I stared at him, confused. “What? Leave now?”

He nodded curtly. “Take a rag from one of the stalls. Find a bucket of water. Wash off as much blood as you can.”

“I’ll be sopping wet. I won’t be able to get the blood off. Someone will notice,” I babbled.

“No one will notice. It’s pouring rain outside. Stand in the rain for a few minutes until you’re soaked through and your dress is too wet for anyone to see the blood. Then go to your room, gather your things. Dress warmly. Talk to no one. Tell no one. Do you understand?” He paused. “I’ll give you twenty minutes. If you aren’t back by then, I’m coming to get you.”

I felt numb. “What about Whitehorn?”

“I’ll deal with Whitehorn,” he said shortly. “Just do as I say.”

I gulped. “What about Florian...”

“I’ll deal with the body.” He was already kneeling beside Florian. He glanced up at me. “Don’t think about this fucker. Stop thinking about any of it. Now go.”

I nodded.

I ran over to a bucket of water I had seen near one of the horse’s stalls, picked up a cloth hanging on a rack, wet it and passed it over my skin. The water might have been dirty. It might have been clean. I didn’t know and I didn’t care.

When I was done, I turned back to where Draven crouched, hesitating.

“The cloth...”

“Here. Toss it to me.” He looked me up and down, then nodded. “Good. Better. Now go.”

I stepped out of the stable and into the deluge. Within moments, I was soaked, my dress a second skin that clung to me.

I tilted my head up, letting the rain pour over my hair, my cheeks.

When I looked down at myself again, the blood was gone. I had been washed clean. So easy.

I forced myself to focus, to walk steadily back into the castle. I chose corridors and stairwells that I knew would be less frequented. Most of the servants would be celebrating out in the city or in the servants’ quarters. The party in the Great Hall would be in full swing. Everyone had seen Arthur call me away. No one would be missing me.

I reached my room, passing only one maidservant who I gave a tight-lipped smile. “Caught in the rain. Going back to change my gown.”

She bobbed and curtsied with a disinterested expression, then scurried off.

The door to my room was slightly open. I had left it unlocked. There would be no need to lock it from now on. Florian was gone. He would never be coming back.

I might not be coming back either, I reminded myself. I thought of the look on Draven’s face, his terrifying expression.

I pushed the door open.

“Kaye!”

My little brother lay curled up on my bed, his back to me. He was so still that for a moment I was frightened, remembering Florian’s lifeless body. Then Kaye turned over slowly, his face groggy.

“Morgan. I wanted to see you before you left. I must have fallen asleep.”

I crossed the room and sat down beside him, careless of my wet gown.

“Why aren’t you down in the Great Hall? You should be at the festivities.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t want to go. You know I don’t care for dancing. Besides, you leave tomorrow. I wanted to see you before you went. Are you really going, Morgan? Must you go?”

Reaching a hand out, I gently brushed his hair from his eyes. His skin was warm with sleep, his cheeks flushed. He had been such a sweet baby. He was still such a sweet boy. Kind and gentle, everything that was good in the world. Everything that Arthur and I were not.

I felt tears filling my eyes and squeezed them shut, willing them to be gone.

“What is it?” Kaye tried to sit up.

I would have to tell him.

“I’m leaving now. Not in the morning. Tonight. But you must keep it a secret, Kaye. You cannot tell anyone. Promise me, please.”

“Like the hunters?” he whispered with understanding. “I can do that. I promise, Morgan.”

The hunters. Oh, Marzanna.

I took a deep breath. “Kaye, the hunters. You need to know this. They’re dead.”

I watched his clear brown eyes widen in shock. “What do you mean?”

“Arthur killed them,” I said bluntly. “He found out what they were doing and he had them all killed. He believes I was responsible for organizing them and that they had seditious intentions. He thinks they were traitors. And so, he must never find out that you came with me that night. Do you understand? If ever he should ask, you must say you knew nothing, that you had no part of it. Do you understand, Kaye? Do you?” I gave his shoulder a shake, suddenly terrified for him, left all alone with Arthur, without me.

Kaye’s mouth still hung agape but he nodded. “I understand. He really had them killed?”

“Yes. Oh, Kaye, you must be so careful when I am gone.”

His eyes began to water. “I wish I could go with you. Can’t you take me with you, Morgan? I don’t want to go with Arthur. Not anymore.”

“I wish I could. Believe me, I tried. Arthur will not let you go.” I gripped his shoulders gently. “Kaye, you must pretend you are in a play. Nothing between you and Arthur can change. Be the good brother you always are. Listen to him. Do as he says. Above all, you must stay safe. Stay safe and wait for me. I will come back.”

“I believe you,” he whispered, brushing the back of his hand over his eyes.

I pulled him towards me, holding him close, his small head resting against my shoulder.

“I love you. You know that, right?”

“I know.” His voice was muffled. “I love you, too.”

I kissed his forehead roughly, then rose to my feet. “Now you must go. I have to gather my things and change. You shouldn’t be here. Go back to your own rooms carefully. If anyone asks, you didn’t see me this evening.”

He lifted his chin stoically and nodded, then slipped out of the room.

My brave little Kaye.

I changed quickly, pulling on warm wool trousers, a thick tunic, and overtop a warm black hooded cloak.

My satchels were already packed. I quickly removed a few of the heaviest books, the ones I had envisioned myself reading by the fire at night after a long day of riding, surrounded by a lively group of guards and servants.

It would be a different journey. A lonelier one.

There was one thing I was forgetting. My medicine. I had put off taking it, thinking to do so before bed after the ball.

Now I turned to the desk where I had already brewed the potion and picked up the goblet. Downing the contents quickly, I picked up my bags and slung them over my shoulders.

My head, which had already been spinning, almost immediately began to throb.

I moved quietly back through the castle then out into the night, trying to ignore the pounding pain.

When I entered the stables, Whitehorn was already there. As I stumbled towards them, I could hear him arguing with Draven.

“The plan was to leave tomorrow. You can’t change that on a whim, Draven.” Whitehorn stood with his arms crossed, glaring at the Royal Guard captain.

Ragnar Whitehorn was a surly-looking man in his mid-forties, with steely eyes, a thick, rough beard, and graying brown hair. I had seen him around the castle before, usually in the company of Lord Agravaine. Or Florian.

“We’re leaving tonight,” Draven snapped. “The king is well aware. If you want to run back to your master and ask for further instructions while he’s in the midst of his revels, be my guest. But the princess and I are leaving. Now. As we have been instructed to do. It’s your own neck on the line if you stay behind.” He looked up as I approached. “Here you are.” He studied me closely, ignoring Whitehorn. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Wrong?” The question seemed loaded with irony, but I just shook my head. “Nothing. I’ll tell you later.” In all honesty, my head was beginning to throb so badly that I wondered if I would be able to stay astride my horse.

Draven grabbed my bags and carried them over to where Haya stood, saddled and ready to go.

His own mount stood beside her, a black stallion with a flash of white lightning between its eyes.

I raised a hand to gently brush Haya’s mane. “I’m sorry, girl,” I whispered. “What an awful night.” She whinnied softly.

Then, before I could even turn around, strong hands grasped my waist, lifting me up and into the saddle.

I looked over to see Draven mounting his own horse.

Whitehorn was leading a piebald over. A packhorse loaded with provisions had been tied behind the piebald. Whitehorn looked sour and displeased, but plainly he meant to come along.

“Stay behind the princess,” Draven commanded. “I’ll ride out front. We stop to rest when I say, not before.” He glanced at me and seemed to hesitate, before adding, “Best prepare for a long night.”

I nodded. We were leaving and that was all that mattered. Whether anyone would come after us... that was another question altogether.

The rain poured down in sheets as we rode through the deserted streets of the city. Any festivities still going on had moved indoors.

My hair had come out of its updo. Now it lay plastered to my face and neck as I followed Draven. I pushed it back, trying to twist it into a loose braid.

Draven led the way down narrow alleys and back streets, avoiding the main thoroughfares where city guards were likely to be patrolling.

As we neared the city gates, my heart quickened. I pulled my hood up to shield my eyes from the rain but also to cover my face.

But there was no need for concern. The guards at the gates had clearly been drinking all day and besides, they recognized Draven. With a shouted exchange of pleasantries, they waved us on without giving Whitehorn or myself a second look.

Despite all of my qualms, the pain in my head, and the unexpected horror of the night, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement.

We were out. We were on our way. Riding into the great unknown.

BOOK 2

CHAPTER 15

I studied Kairos Draven's solid, straight back as we rode, my mind wandering as I hunched miserably over my horse. The effects of the medicine were slowly starting to dissipate.

It was the first full day of our journey and evening was approaching. We had stopped to rest at dawn, but by “rest,” Draven meant let the horses drink and then carry on. He had pressed us hard and I thought he would have pressed us harder were it not becoming evident that our mounts could not keep up the pace.

We had not been followed. At first, I kept expecting a pack of soldiers on horseback to race over the hill behind us, shouting for me to return and meet the king's justice.

But no soldiers appeared.

By now, surely Agravaine would have noticed his son's absence. Or perhaps not. After a night of revelry, would Florian be likely to return home? Agravaine might assume his son was sleeping off a hangover in some dingy inn.

The body could not have been found yet, but how long would it take before it was discovered? What had Draven done with it in such a short amount of time?

Would Arthur send people after us if it was found or was his mission so important that he would let me go?

Perhaps they would not even tie me to Florian's murder. But that seemed foolish to hope for when Arthur and I had just discussed Florian's cruelty towards me. Who else would have such a strong motive?

We were riding through farmlands, the fields of crops bent and flattened by the force of the wind and rain. The going was slower as the road had turned to muck and the horses struggled to find solid footing.

As the hours passed, the rain finally began to ease, but the wind continued to blow. We rode into a narrow valley, the wind howling over us.

Finally, as the sky began to darken, we reached a small clearing sheltered by a stand of trees and Draven gestured for us to stop. Dismounting, shivering and soaked to the bone, I watched the two men set up a small campfire, and begin to heat up a crock of stew.

“There’s a small tent for you,” Draven said, catching my eye. “I’ll set it up this first time. Watch and learn how it’s done. You’ll do it from now on.”

I nodded. It had not escaped me how easily I had allowed him to command me. He had all but seen me kill Florian. Then he had disposed of the body.

He had seemed to know just what to do and in my state of guilt and confusion I had acted cowardly, relieved to let someone else handle the mess I had made, no matter who it was.

Now I was indebted to a cold-blooded killer. A man who Sir Ector had claimed did not hesitate to kill children.

Whitehorn did not seem much better, but at least he did not have a reputation for child-murder.

I stared numbly as Draven set up a small tent suitable for one bedroll and one person.

“You’re not paying attention,” he said quietly as he worked.

“What did you do with the body?”

He glanced around. “Hush. I would not speak of that here if I were you.”

I flushed. “I need to know.”

He eyed me. “If you’re worried someone might find it, stop. They won’t.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

A smirk formed on his lips.

“You think this is amusing?” I demanded.

“You’re such an innocent, little Princess,” he murmured, driving in the last tent peg.

“And you are anything but I suppose?” I snapped.

Our eyes met.

I flushed. Had I given too much away? Was this really what I wanted? To confront him with what I knew? Now? Here?

Did Whitehorn even know who Draven truly was? Would he care?

Draven stood up. “Your chamber awaits.”

He walked back to the campfire and took a seat on a tree stump, stretching out his hands to warm them.

Whitehorn had finished packing up the remains of our meal and now was boiling a pot over the fire.

“Princess Morgan,” Whitehorn called. He nodded to the pot. “Come and drink this.”

I sniffed. The aroma was familiar. It was not tea, but rather the concoction my uncle had crafted for me. How had Whitehorn gotten his hands on it?

I approached the fire slowly. “Where did you get that from?”

Silently, he held up a packet.

A look of disbelief crossed my face. “Who gave that to you?” I asked the question even while knowing there could be only one answer. “I have my own stores packed in my things. I have no need of yours. Besides, this is not the right day for it. I had my dose last night.”

“Regardless, the king says you’re to begin taking it every night once you leave the castle.” Whitehorn held out a steaming mug. “Drink up, Princess.”

I met his eyes and did not like what I saw. The bullying, arrogant demeanor was all-too familiar.

“Arthur did not tell me anything about this,” I said quietly. “The medicine already brings on terrible headaches. I don’t see how I can manage to...”

“You’ll do what your brother the king instructs,” Whitehorn barked, his lips twisting nastily. “Or there will be unpleasant consequences.”

I glanced at Draven. He was staring into the fire, a fathomless expression on his face. Was he listening? I couldn’t tell. Either way, it did not seem as if he’d be rushing to my aid.

I flushed, realizing I’d been expecting him to. I couldn’t have it both ways. He was either a coldhearted murderous liar who I should avoid as much as I could or... I realized I had no answer for that.

I put my hands on my hips. “What sort of consequences?”

Whitehorn sneered. “I’ve been told that’s entirely at my discretion. Your Highness.”

“I see.” I could easily imagine a wide range of possibilities, none of them nice. I took the mug, turned my back on Whitehorn and walking a few paces away, began to drink.

A few nights later, I lay in my tent, sleepless, my head blurry with pain.

We had been traveling for nearly five days. Yesterday evening we crossed the border of Pendrath and entered Cerunnos. The landscape of Pendrath had been lush and familiar, all fertile farmland and rolling hills.

But now we were passing through very different terrain. A rugged wilderness of ancient forests and towering mountains.

Five days and no one had followed.

Five days and I was past caring about Florian or Arthur's soldiers.

Five days of taking the new daily dose of medicine until my head pounded and my stomach roiled and I could no longer find anything worth caring about.

I stayed astride my horse each day. That was the best that could be said for me. I could not eat, I could hardly drink, and sleep was something I merely longed for.

I had seen Draven giving me what might be called concerned glances. But he had said nothing and I had offered no complaints.

I turned on my side, my bedroll hardly cushioning the rocky ground, and stifled a groan.

My kingdom for a lantern and a book. I could sit by the fireside and read, for the campfire was left burning all night. But Draven and Whitehorn had no tents. They slept under the stars in their bedrolls.

I did not relish the idea of sitting on a log reading while Whitehorn stared at me from his bedroll. It was bad enough that I had to endure the feeling of his eyes on me from behind all day long as we rode.

A low growling sound pierced through the quiet.

I froze. It came again.

I slowly pushed myself out of my bed roll. Lifting the flap of my little tent, I peered out.

I was not the only one who had heard it. Whitehorn was sitting up in his bedroll, casting his eyes about with a look of panic on his face that would have been humorous if I wasn’t feeling similarly unsettled.

Draven was the only one who seemed perfectly poised despite it being the middle of the night. He was already up and in a hunter's crouch, his hand on the knife at his belt, his other on the trigger of a crossbow.

I followed his gaze across the campsite and through the darkness to where a creature stood in the nearby grove of trees, illuminated by the flickering flames of the fire.

The creature was like nothing I had seen before. Its sleek golden-brown fur glinted in the firelight. Thick black stripes ran along its back and sides. It was huge. Easily the size of Draven's stallion, and its eyes were a piercing yellow.

As the three of us watched it, frozen in place, the beast growled, displaying a mouthful of sword-sharp teeth that looked capable of tearing through even the toughest of hides.

I glanced at where Haya was tethered with the other horses and prayed she would stay calm. This creature looked as if it could devour our horses in one mouthful each.

I heard the sound of a crossbow cocking and turned my head to see Whitehorn raising the bow to his shoulder.

“What do you think you're doing, Whitehorn?” Draven's voice was tense, as if he were speaking with his jaw clenched tight.

“Doing what you’re not. Shooting that fucking thing.” Whitehorn's voice was a ragged gasp. I could see his arm was shaking with fear.

The creature growled again and pawed the ground in front of it.

Draven shook his head slightly. “Lower the crossbow, Whitehorn. That's a fucking order. It's not going to hurt you.”

Whitehorn let out a grunt of anger. “This isn’t the army, Draven. And how the fuck would you know that?”

“Yes, how do you know that?” I hissed, unable to keep my mouth shut any longer.

Draven gritted his teeth. “It's female. It must have cubs nearby. We’ve camped too close. She’s just protecting them.”

Slowly, he lowered his own crossbow to the ground, his eyes never leaving the creature.

He raised himself from his crouching position, removing his other hand from the dagger strapped to his thigh.

Whitehorn and I exchanged a glance, sharing a rare moment of like-mindedness, as Draven took one step, then another, towards the creature.

The creature stayed where it was. As Draven approached, it was easy to see the impressive size of the animal. She stood at least six feet tall at the shoulder, with a muscular build. Her long tail flicked back and forth. There was a ball-like tuft of fur on its end.

“Look at those claws,” Whitehorn said hoarsely. “That thing’ll tear him in two. Then us. Then the horses.”

“Hush,” Draven commanded, hearing him. “She won't hurt us. She’s merely frightened. We've encroached on her territory, that’s all.”

He stepped closer to the animal, his back to us, and began to speak softly, too softly for me to hear, murmuring gently, his voice a soothing lull of words I could not pick out.

The creature stood in the dark, her eyes on Draven, her tail swishing back and forth.

It was hard to believe but she really did seem to be listening to him.

“That’s fucking enough,” I heard Whitehorn mutter.

A bolt whistled through the air, hurtling towards the creature.

But almost effortlessly, the animal leapt out of the way, her powerful hind legs propelling her high into the air with uncanny grace. The bolt flew past, embedding itself in a nearby tree with a dull thud.

I heard Whitehorn cursing and turned to look at him. When I turned my head back to Draven, the creature was gone.

“You stupid fool,” Draven said, striding towards Whitehorn. “What do you think would have happened if you had hit her?”

“She’d have died and I’d have gone back to sleep,” Whitehorn said cockily.

Draven shook his head. “But you missed. She might have sprung on you before you’d loaded another bolt. Or on to the princess. She chose not to. It was a warning, nothing more.”

Whitehorn’s eyes radiated malice. “You were talking to a fucking cat but I’m the idiot? I’m a hunter, Draven. That’s what I do. And you let that creature get away.”

“A cat?” I interrupted. “You called it a cat.”

“A monster of a cat, but it looked something like a cat to me,” Whitehorn muttered.

Draven’s eyes were thoughtful as he looked at me. His silver earring glittered in the firelight. “A legendary cat. Said to be revered by knights and warriors for its strength and speed. An intelligent creature, renowned for its unwavering loyalty. Those fortunate enough to have ridden one into battle were said to be almost invincible.”

My jaw dropped. “You’re speaking of an exmoor. A battlecat. Is that really what you believe that was? But they’ve been gone for centuries. They’re extinct.”

Draven lifted his eyebrows. “Are they? What would you call that thing we just saw?”

I nibbled my lip, trying to think of a more rational explanation. “A mountain cat of some kind? Native to Cerunnos?”

Draven tilted his head back and laughed. “If that’s what you prefer to believe, Princess. I’ve never seen a mountain cat big enough that a man could sit comfortably on its back and go for a ride.”

“There was nothing extinct about that thing,” Whitehorn chimed in sourly. “Though I’d like to make it extinct.” He patted his crossbow and sat down beside the fire, a brooding scowl on his face.

I supposed he was too frightened to go back to sleep and grinned.

“Well, goodnight,” I said, trying to sound blithe, and crawling back inside my tent.

I lay on my back, listening to the crackling of the fire, and closed my eyes, willing myself to fall asleep.

Minutes passed. Then hours.

The next thing I knew I heard someone moving away from the campsite and into the woods.

Probably one of the men going to relieve themselves. I scrunched my eyes shut again.

Finally, I slept.

I awoke to the sound of shouting.

Slithering out of my tent, my mouth dropped open as I saw Draven holding Ragnar Whitehorn in the air by the scruff of his neck.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Whitehorn bellowed. “Put me the fuck down.”

Draven ignored him and instead gave the collar he held a rough shake. “You killed it, you motherfucker. You killed it and its cubs. For what? To sell the pelts? Do you see any fucking merchants around here?” Draven shook Whitehorn again, like a dog might shake a rat. “Well? Do you?”

“I killed it before it could kill us,” Whitehorn yelled. “Because you were too stupid to do what had to be done. Stupid or craven.”

“That’s enough,” I said sharply. I sure as hell didn’t want to defend Whitehorn. But these two men were the only protection I had. Whitehorn was despicable. But wasn’t Draven even more so when it came down to it? “What’s going on here?”

“See for yourself,” Draven said shortly, inclining his head.

I looked to where he’d gestured, then gasped and put a hand to my mouth.

The exmoor’s head was mounted to a tree with a crossbow’s bolt. The feline’s body lay a little ways off on a bloody patch of grass.

There were three little piles of fur beside it.

The cubs.

“He killed it with poison,” Draven snarled. “In the night. While it slept. He killed her cubs, too. You fucking treacherous coward. She wasn’t harming you or anyone. I told you that.”

Whitehorn sneered–which was rather risky considering Draven still held him by the throat.

I had lost any sympathy I might have had for Whitehorn along with my appetite. I sank down on a log by the fire, wrapping my arms around myself.

“Draven is right. It was cowardly. To kill a mother and cubs. Good hunters would never do such a thing. And poison? Even the meat is spoiled now,” I pointed out.

“I have the pelts,” Whitehorn said smugly. “And when we reach a bloody town, I can sell them for a pretty piece of coin.”

“You’re leaving them here. You’re not bringing them with us,” Draven growled in Whitehorn’s face, making the other man cringe. “Not a single fucking pelt. Do you hear me? For one, the smell could attract more of those things. Is that really what you want? For another, you don’t deserve to keep them. She’s right. You’re not a hunter. You’re a spineless butcher.”

Abruptly, he let go of Whitehorn. The other man fell to the ground with a thud and a curse and scrambled up onto his feet.

Glaring at Draven, he spit at his feet. “You’d better watch your back.”

Draven gave him a look of absolute disdain. “Or what? You’ll poison me in my sleep? Stab me through the back? I wouldn’t be surprised, Whitehorn. But you would be. I’m harder to kill than you might think.”

He turned and stalked off towards where the horses were tethered.

I snuck another glance at the exmoor’s head, pinned to the tree. The yellow eyes were glazed and sightless. The pile of small furs were too awful to even look at. The female exmoor’s majestic gleaming coat was splattered with blood. What a horrific waste.

I pictured the exmoor returning to her cubs the night before, curling her body around them protectively and falling asleep. Then waking up to find she had been shot with a poisoned bolt, a strange man looking down at her, as her helpless cubs writhed and died.

“He’s right. You really are a monster,” I said softly, as Whitehorn sat down across from me and helped himself to food from the pot hanging across the fire.

Whitehorn shot me a level look and gave me a grin that revealed rows of grimy teeth. “Takes one to know one, Princess.”

CHAPTER 16

I could feel Draven’s eyes on me as I sipped from my mug, the hot liquid of the medicine swirling down my throat.

Liquid pain was what I might as well call it, I thought bleakly.

Just as one dose began to finally wear off and the pain subsided, I would have to take the next. There was no longer a break between like I had been used to.

I swished my mug, putting off the inevitable moment when I would have to finish the contents.

As we traveled deeper into Cerunnos, I couldn’t stop thinking about the exmoor we had seen. I knew the land was not entirely unpopulated, but as we rode day after day without seeing another living soul it was easy to feel we were passing through a place no human eyes had ever seen.

The landscape was wild and untamed. Rugged wilderness stretching out before us for miles and miles in every direction. Each day we rode deeper into ancient forests, where the trees were thick and towering, their trunks covered in thick vines and mosses. They seemed to have stood there for millennia, pristine and untouched. The air was always fresh and silent, except for the chirping of birds and buzzing of insects.

It was easy to imagine Cerunnos as a place where a creature like the exmoor might live unbothered and undiscovered.

At least, until we arrived.

I wondered if there were more exmoors. Part of me wished to see another. Part of me thought it was not worth the risk. Not when the trigger-happy Whitehorn was along for the ride.

Besides the exmoors, what other mysterious creatures might be lurking in these forests or in the high mountains we could sometimes glimpse far off in the distance?

“Why not skip it for a night if it bothers you so much?”

I looked up to see Draven standing above me. His arms were crossed over chest.

I glanced at Whitehorn. He was sitting on the other side of the fire, watching us closely.

“She can’t do that,” he called out loudly, not bothering to hide the fact that he was listening to every word we said. “Do you hear me, Princess? Drink up.”

“I swear if I hear those words cross his lips one more time I’m going to slap the man,” I muttered.

“Shall I punch him for you?” Draven offered, his eyes gleaming.

I glared. “Tempting. You’ve been looking for an excuse to do that, haven’t you?”

He gave an elegant shrug. “I don’t need an excuse.” He looked down at my mug again. “This... medicine. I don’t understand. If it harms you, why do you drink it?”

“It’s a double-edged sword. It suppresses...” I coughed awkwardly. “Undesirable traits, which I may have inherited from my mother. But it also has the unfortunate side effect of causing me a little pain.”

Draven frowned. “It seems like more than a little. You hardly eat. You don’t sleep.”

“How do you know if I sleep?” I exclaimed. “Are you watching me?”

He snorted. “I sleep a few feet away from you. I can tell when you’re tossing and turning.”

I realized I might have woken him up with my constant movement at night. To my embarrassment, I remembered groaning in pain the night before.

“I’m sorry if I’m keeping you awake.”

“That’s not the issue. The issue is that you seem to be getting worse. If you don’t eat and you don’t sleep, soon you won’t be able to stay on your horse. You’re losing strength.”

“Oh, I see. That’s all you’re really concerned with. Ensuring I make it to the end of the mission.” I was cranky. With every sip I took, my head was beginning to pound again, the throbbing growing greater and greater.

Not to mention that I knew he was right. It was getting worse. I was getting worse.

“What sort of undesirable traits could you possibly have to suppress, anyhow?” Draven asked wonderingly. “So your mother may have been fae. There are many folks who would be happy to have such a lineage.”

I looked up at him skeptically. “There are? In Pendrath?”

Oh, right, Draven. You’re not from Pendrath, are you? I wanted to add that, but bit my tongue. Where was he from? Some place where having even a little fae blood was not increasingly considered an intolerable quality? It must be a nice place. Perhaps I’d like to visit.

“Or at least if not happy, not unhappy,” he corrected. “The temple prefers acolytes with magic, don’t they?”

I nodded.

“So why suppress yours?”

“I’m not suppressing magic,” I snapped. “Merlin tested me when I was small and I have none.”

I didn’t mention that the last time she had tested me I was twelve and I had been taking the medicine for a long time. Nor had I thought it worth mentioning to Merlin. What good would the ability have done me, anyhow? I already stood out like a sore thumb. “Nothing good is being suppressed, Draven. I simply don’t wish to discover I suddenly have a tail or claws or... or horns or fur or some such.”

Draven looked blank for a moment, then he laughed loudly. “Fur? A tail? Where did you hear that? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“And how would you know what the fae of old looked like?” I said rebelliously.

He shrugged. “What did your mother look like?”

I stared at him. “She was beautiful. Golden hair.”

“Well, then. That doesn’t seem so bad.”

“You do realize I was not permitted to take the throne because of my tainted bloodline,” I reminded him, my voice very quiet.

Of course, it had also been the decision of a man with questionable discernment. But I was not about to mention that.

“Would you stop that?” It was Whitehorn. He had stood up and was now looking at Draven angrily. “Stop trying to get in her head. She’s doing what she’s told. Just as she ought to.”

“Like a good, obedient little princess,” Draven said softly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Isn’t that convenient for you?”

“You have no idea what kind of a monstrosity she’d be save for that concoction she takes each night. Why, she has the hair of a crone.”

“And that bothers you, does it, Whitehorn? You are offended by a woman’s hair color?” Draven said coldly.

Whitehorn scowled. “Hair is one thing. Teeth and claws are another.”

“This is pointless,” I said softly. “I’m doing as I’m told.”

I lifted my mug and began to drink.

“She’s making herself sick drinking that stuff and you know it, Whitehorn,” Draven said angrily as he watched. “In a few more days she’ll be in no condition to ride. Do you have it in mind to play nursemaid? Because I don’t. And we won’t get very far either.”

“She’ll get accustomed to it,” Whitehorn insisted. “Her body is adjusting, that’s all. The king says she must take it, so she must. That’s all there is to it.”

A sheen of sweat had broken out on my brow as I finished the mug. It fell out of my hand as I stood unsteadily.

“Goodnight,” I managed to mumble as I headed to my tent.

Draven said nothing as I departed.

As I lay sleepless in my tent, trying not to wake the two men with my tossing, Draven’s suggestion stayed with me. What if I went back to taking the medicine only once a day as I had used to? Why did I suddenly need an increased dose? Draven was right, I would soon be useless. Then what?

Most of all, did I really want to be completely incapacitated around two men like Draven and Whitehorn?

The road stretched out before us as far as we could see, its smooth stones worn down over the centuries.

Worn down by whom, I wondered. Passing travelers? Travelers far older than we. For from the look of the land we had been passing through, travelers were rare to these parts.

I slid off Haya and knelt down by the stones. They were weathered and cold to the touch, flecked through with veins of lichen and moss that grew in the cracks and crevices between them.

At first the road appeared to be a faint line on the ground before us, a trick of the light that filtered dimly through the trees. But as our horses plodded down the dirt path we had traveled on for days and we drew closer, we could see that the line was a series of large, flat stones, each one carefully cut and fitted together.

A stone road was not such an unusual thing in itself. Towns and cities had them. Sometimes they would stretch for a ways into the nearby countryside.

What was strange was finding the road here, so far out in this primeval forest. A road that looked as if it had been constructed millennia ago, a relic of a bygone age that had somehow survived the ravages of time.

I caught sight of Whitehorn looking nervously around him. I thought I rather understood how he was feeling. Over the past two days, we had entered a new part of the forest. The trees now stood so tall above us, their branches so thick and dense, that we could hardly see the sky. Weak sunlight streamed down through the layers of leaves, dappling the stone road below with shifting patterns of light and shadow.

“We take the road,” Draven announced. He seemed entertained by our unease. “It’s fae-made, of course.”

“Fae-made. Bah.” Whitehorn spit down from his horse onto the stones.

I jumped back, disgusted. “Is there no other way?”

“Not unless you wish to backtrack nearly a week and then go through the mountains,” Draven said pleasantly. “What’s the problem? This route is still traveled.”

“By whom?” I asked quietly. “We haven’t seen another person since we entered Cerunnos.”

Draven didn’t seem concerned. “We’re taking a less used route, that’s all. And Cerunnos is a much less-occupied land than Pendrath. It’s not as suitable for farming, as you’ve already seen. But you’ll see people in time. When we start to near Orin’s Gate, there will be towns and villages.”

I blinked. “Orin’s Gate? We’re going there?”

“We’ll be passing near there,” he corrected. “There’s no reason for us to enter the city itself.”

He glanced at Whitehorn, who had dismounted and evidently decided this was as good a spot as any to wander into the trees for a piss. I looked away.

Draven lowered his voice. “Your head. How is it? Can you continue a few more hours?”

I looked up at him, then realized I had been unwittingly massaging my temples with my fingers. “I’m fine. We can continue as long as we need to.”

He frowned. “You’re not fine. I saw you this morning. You could hardly mount your horse.”

I had hoped no one had noticed that. Haya had been very forgiving when I’d stumbled, then nearly fallen at her side. I’d stood, panting for a few moments, before finally being able to pull myself up and into the saddle.

“I’m fine,” I said again, more stubbornly. “Stop watching me.”

Draven gave a growling laugh that sent shivers dancing over my skin. “You’re under my care. It’s my job.” His eyes narrowed. “Tell me again why you won’t consider reducing the medicine. If you’re afraid of Whitehorn, don’t be. I’ll make him see reason.”

I highly doubted that was possible. But then again, by “reason” Draven probably meant “use his fists.”

I hesitated.

“What? What is it? You’re really this afraid of claws and a tail, are you?” Draven gave a wry chuckle.

“It’s not just that,” I said softly, glancing at the line of trees for any sign Whitehorn was returning.

“Then what is it?” His voice was sharp, impatient. “This is madness. Surely you can see that. You’re hurting yourself.”

My eyes flashed. “Madness? Or the king’s wishes?”

“Can’t it be both?”

I looked up quickly. Our eyes met.

“That’s treasonous talk.”

Draven snorted. “We’re a long way from Camelot. I think we’ll be fine.”

I thought of the royal house of Rheged. What were a few slaughtered kings and queens and royal heirs to Draven after all?

“You wouldn’t care either way, would you?” I said sarcastically before I could stop myself. Then I plowed on. What did it matter? Maybe if I told him, he’d understand. “You can’t tell Whitehorn.”

“I can’t tell Whitehorn what?”

“Just promise me.” Was I seriously asking an assassin to make and keep a promise to me? I sighed. “Yes or no?”

“Yes. Get on with it.”

I bit my lip. “It’s not just the... physical traits... that worry me. The medicine protects against other things as well.”

He was frowning. “What other things?”

“Changes to my mind. My desires.” I looked around hurriedly and lowered my voice still further. “You’re well-read. Well-traveled. You must have heard of such things. The bloodlust that some fae had.”

“Bloodlust?” Draven seemed amused. “They were warlike, certainly. But so are humans.”

“I mean, more than desiring war.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “In one of the texts I found in the castle library, the fae were said to... to drink human blood.”

“Nonsense,” Draven said loudly. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Ever. And as you yourself said, I’ve seen and read more than you.”

“I never said you’d read more,” I replied, feeling rather indignant.

Draven ignored me. “Is that really what you’re afraid of? Turning into a blood-drinking monster? Put such a thought out of your head once and for all. It won’t happen.”

“How do you know that?” I shot back. “What if it did?”

For a moment he looked at me in silence, then he laughed. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You’d drink Whitehorn in his sleep?”

“Drink Whitehorn... Ew, that’s disgusting.” I wrinkled my nose.

Draven shrugged. “There? You see? You have no inclination towards bloodlust. And never have I heard of the fae doing such a thing. Besides, you were fine before your brother started this nonsense with the extra dose. So go back to what you were doing before.”

I looked down at the stones at my feet broodingly and kicked at the moss. “Perhaps. I’ll consider it.”

“You haven’t eaten or slept properly in a week, but you’ll ‘consider it’?” Draven rolled his eyes. “Excellent. I hope you’ll do so before you’ve lost the capacity for intelligent thought altogether.”

I glared at him and opened my mouth to retort, but just then Whitehorn appeared, still yanking on the flap of his breeches.

“Well, let's get on with it,” Whitehorn barked impatiently.

We rode through the trees until nightfall.

My head throbbed, my stomach gnawed at itself, and my mind churned endlessly over what Draven had said.

CHAPTER 17

Sometimes when I laid awake at night, I counted how many people had died because I existed.

It was not as soothing as counting sheep may have been.

Especially since recently the list had swelled.

I would have been a monster indeed to not have thought countless times of the seven heads that had lain in the box Arthur had forced me to open.

Yaryna and six others.

Baudwin and the two men in the alley by the market.

Florian Emrys. Deserved or not, he was dead by my hand.

My mother.

And of course, my own father.

After the period of rare kindness that had followed my mother’s death, he had turned back to his former ways. Without my mother to use as a scapegoat for his fists, I was an all-too-easy target.

Then came Ettarde. For a year or so, I had a reprieve.

I'd never once asked Arthur about that time. He hated to speak of his mother. Any mention of her was a reminder of his initial illegitimacy that he still resented to this day.

After Ettarde was executed, my father began to include Arthur in his cruel punishments.

Only when Enid became queen did the blows pause for two years.

I’ve never known if that was because for once in his life, my father was actually content or because Enid convinced him to stop. Or because she became his new victim.

I liked to hope it was one of the first two.

When Enid died giving birth to Kaye, my father was grief stricken, yes. But also furious.

Like a particular brand of men all too often do, he turned that fury onto his children.

We wanted his love. He gave it in sparse helpings, preferring to dole out larger quantities of punishments instead.

Eventually he became excessive. There came a day when I feared he would actually kill Arthur.

He had beaten my brother so badly that he could hardly open his eyes.

Even now, I could hardly bring myself to recall it.

Arthur, lying there on the ground, bleeding, his eyes staring up at me dully while I cowered and cried by the wall, pleading with my father to stop. I could see he had already given up and resigned himself to death.

I could have let him die that day. Perhaps most other children would have.

But instead, I rose to my feet and threw myself at my father–something I had never dared to do before. I had always been too frightened to ever try to strike back as he struck us.

But on this day, I threw my small body against his vast one, pummeling my fists on his back as he kicked his booted foot into Arthur’s belly again and again.

Arthur’s eyes had closed. I remembered screaming, “You’ve killed him.”

My father pushed me off him, throwing me to the ground as if I were nothing more than a piece of fluff.

That was one of the last things I remembered.

Now Arthur had become a living embodiment of my father.

And now the fear that Kaye would be next, that something terrible would befall him while I was away from Pendrath, was so great that I lay on my back at night feeling as if I were smothering.

The next day we came across our first arch.

Standing several stories tall, the massive archway must have been at least fifty feet high and spanned the entire width of the ancient roadway on which we traveled. The pure white marble from which it had been constructed was crumbling in spots and mossy in others. Yet some of the carved reliefs which covered it could still be picked out.

I stared up, my head tilted back as our horses passed beneath, transfixed by scenes which depicted the fae in all their former glory. One of them showed a great battle, with the fae fighting against hordes of dark and monstrous creatures.  Although everything was carved in white stone, the fae figures I could see resembled the ones on the left side of the temple mosaics–tall and proud, beautiful with fine features and sharply pointed ears. No fangs, feathers, or fur to be seen here.

I wondered when the creatures the fae were shown fighting had lived. Then I wondered how old the archway actually was. Five hundred years? A thousand? Longer?

Another relief depicted a celebratory scene after the triumphant battle. A great feast, with music and dancing, with the fae reveling in joy and mirth.

Whitehorn scowled his displeasure at being so close to a fae-made ruin, but I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and wonder as I gazed upon the arch.

It was a glimpse into another world, one which had long since passed. A world where magic and wonder were part of everyday life. A world with a beauty and allure all of its own. One which I could not imagine being a part of. Or ever belonging to.

When we stopped that night, the inevitable at last occurred.

I fell from my horse. And when I landed, I could not seem to make myself get up.

My head spun. My body was weak. I could not lift my arms or get my bearings. I was reminded of the effects of the drugs Florian had poisoned me with, but this was worse.

Because I had done it to myself.

The two men had led their own horses a little ways ahead to tether. Whitehorn was the first to notice me. He cursed and came to stand above me, his arms folded over his chest.

He looked down at where I lay, my eyes half open, my vision hazy. I felt as if I were a sack of rotting supplies. One he was not sure he wanted any longer.

I closed my eyes. Perhaps I could just sleep where I lay in the muck. I could feel the dampness seeping into my clothes. I started to shiver.

Then Draven was there.

His voice was loud and angry as he cursed everything and everyone he could think of, or so it seemed at the time. The stars, the sky, the king, and, of course, Whitehorn. Most of what he said was too foul to repeat.

Then I felt strong arms scooping me, lifting me up into the air. I was placed beside the fire. A blanket was unfurled and placed over me. A rolled blanket slipped beneath my head.

I stared into the flames, too weak and in too much pain to care much about what happened next.

Hours passed. A strong hand was placed under my neck, lifting my head with surprising gentleness, while a cup of water was put to my lips. I lapped at the water, most of it trickling down my chin to my throat.

Draven was so near. Closer than he had ever been to me before. He smelled strange and familiar all at once. He smelled of leather armor and horse saddles, of woodsmoke and musk. There was something else there.  A hint of spice. Sandalwood and cinnamon. He smelled good. Deep and earthy. I stole another sniff, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

His hand lowered me back down to the makeshift pillow and I heard him step away.

There was silence for a few minutes. The wind in the trees overtop the only sound.

Then, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing with that?”

It was Draven. He sounded angry.

“What does it look like? I’m preparing her dose. She’s in no condition to do it, is she?” Whitehorn sounded unnaturally calm.

I lay, waiting, wondering what would come next.

Then, a smacking sound and the ringing of tin against wood.

“What did you do that for?” Whitehorn. It was his turn to sound furious.

The medicine. The cup. Draven must have knocked it from his hands.

“She’s not drinking a sip of that shit tonight.” Draven’s voice was a threatening growl. “Just look at her. She can’t even move. What were you going to do? Pour it down her throat while she choked to death? Do you understand what comes next? Do you?”

“What?” Whitehorn’s voice was sulky, as if he didn’t really want an answer.

“She’s dying, you idiot. Can you get that through your thick skull? The stuff you’re giving her is killing her.”

“That’s not possible. It’s medicinal. The king himself commanded...” A scuffling sound. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing with that?”

“What I should have done a long time ago,” Draven snarled. “Sit down before I make you sit down.”

I forced my eyes open, blinking rapidly in the glare of the firelight.

Draven stood a few feet away from Whitehorn. He was holding the small canvas bag which contained the medicine Whitehorn carried in his pack.

I watched as he sniffed delicately at the bag’s contents. His brow furrowed, then he frowned. Holding the bag in one hand, he dug his other hand in, fishing around, then pulled out a handful of the herbal concoction and shook it in his palm.

“Put that back. It’s not your concern. You shouldn’t be touching that,” Whitehorn complained as he watched resentfully.

Draven ignored him. I felt an odd twinge of pride at the way he brushed off the other guard’s orders, while knowing to do so was to risk my brother’s wrath upon our return.

But then, did a man like Draven concern himself with the wrath of kings?

“Do you know what’s in this?” Draven’s voice cut through the air like a knife.

Whitehorn gave a lazy shrug. “How would I know that? Why should I care?”

“Why should you care? Perhaps because if she dies on our watch, this mission is over.” I watched as he stepped closer to Whitehorn, his tall figure looming over the seated guard as he held out something in his hand. “Look there. Those are iron shavings mixed in with the herbs. Did you add those?”

“Course I didn’t,” Whitehorn blustered, staring at Draven’s palm. But he looked as if he were telling the truth.

I was shocked. Iron shavings.

Folklore claimed the fae were said to be averse to iron but more than one source I had read said that was superstitious nonsense.

The metal had never hurt me before. I’d handled axes made of iron. Helmets. Gauntlets. Why, the horses’ shoes were iron.

“Iron doesn’t... hurt the fae-blooded...that’s a myth.” My words emerged slowly, my voice a parched mumble.

For a moment I wondered if Draven had heard me. Then he turned towards where I lay, breathing heavily. The veins in his neck stood out like thick cords. His emerald eyes flashed with fury, glowing like the exmoor’s.

“Drinking pure iron would hurt anyone. Fae or not. It would kill a normal human to ingest this much.”

So I should already be dead, I wanted to say. What a miracle I was not. My eyelids flickered. My eyes longed to close. I refused to let them. I wanted to know what would happen next.

“Why would the king give me something that would kill her,” Whitehorn said sullenly. There was a pause. “Unless that’s what he intended.”

“I doubt it. It’s possible he wished for her to be like this for the remainder of our journey. Ill and immobilized.” Draven dumped the scoop of medicine back into the bag. “But if so, he should have told me what he had planned. She’s in no state to ride like this. Either way, this ends now. A corpse can’t get the king what wants.”

Then he looked across the fire. Our eyes met. I watched as he held the bag aloft a moment, then tossed it up into the air.

Whitehorn let out a furious shout, his arms darting out, but it was no use.

The bag flew through the air and landed in the fire.

A sharp odor of burning herbs and a metallic tinge filled the air. The burning concoction smelled potent and powerful and wrong. I tried to hold my breath.

In a few moments the air had cleared.

Whitehorn stood across from the fire, his face red with frustration as he stared into the flames.

“She won’t be drinking any more,” Draven said quietly. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

I heard the warning for what it was. Whitehorn’s eyes narrowed.

Draven nodded towards me. “Now go to sleep, Princess. In the morning you may find you’ve recovered some of your strength. If not, we’ll camp here until you do.”

I struggled to push myself up on my elbows, to answer him and say I was fine, but it was no use.

And besides, the truth was clear.

I was not fine.

What had Draven said? That I was dying? Was this what dying felt like?

His words rang in my ears long after the two men had gone to sleep.

“If she dies on our watch, this mission is over.”

“A corpse can’t get the king what wants.”

Was that all I was to him? A tool to be used? And when that tool was broken and slowing him down, Draven took decisive, brutal action because that’s what a man like him did. It was only a coincidence that this time it had worked somewhat in my favor.

I told myself not to let it mean more than it really did. Draven didn’t care about what happened to me. He only cared about fulfilling his contract to the king and getting the sword back to Camelot.

Still, when I closed my eyes I pictured over and over again the bag of medicine flying through the air and into the fire. I smiled. And I slept.

I woke to a hand clapping over my mouth. It was clammy and dank and smelled of old sweat.

Not Draven.

“Stay quiet,” Whitehorn hissed. “Don’t move a muscle.”

A cloth gag was pushed into my mouth and tied behind my head. I felt Whitehorn’s hands on my back as he shoved me onto my side, pulling my hands loosely behind me and tying them with rope.

It was night. The stars were out. The fire had nearly burned out.

My eyes darted across the campsite. Draven was a large shadow on the ground. He lay on his side. Was he sleeping? Or worse?

“We’re leaving,” Whitehorn muttered. “Nice and quiet. I’m not going to hurt you. Once we’re far from here, I’ll take the gag out. I promise.”

I nodded because it was clear he expected me to. But in my mind, I had my doubts. I didn’t trust Draven, but that didn’t mean I trusted Whitehorn either. He’d been willing to let me die if that meant following orders.

He tugged me to my feet and began to lead me to where our horses were already saddled and waiting in the clearing nearby. Draven’s horse stood nearby, still tethered.

Haya and the packhorse had been tied behind Whitehorn’s piebald.

Good, that would slow us down. Give Draven time to catch up.

If he was even still alive.

We reached the piebald. Evidently I was to ride with Whitehorn.

I turned my head to try to look back again at where Draven lay but Whitehorn gave me a rough yank and pulled me forward.

“Enough gawking. Get up there.” Whitehorn began hoisting me up.

A growl came out of the dark. The sound was so low I thought I must have imagined it at first. But beside me, I felt Whitehorn freeze.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered.

Plainly he had forgotten I was gagged.

Whitehorn was quiet, listening, waiting. When the sound didn’t come again, he made a noise of frustration, then resumed lifting me onto the horse.

The growl came again. Closer this time.

Whitehorn cursed and let go of me, his hand going to the hilt of his blade. He was so close to me I could swear I felt the man trembling.

But the forest returned to its former quiet. Whitehorn swore under his breath.

Without even attempting to be gentle, he hoisted me onto the piebald. My face hit the pommel, knocking me hard in the cheek. I tasted blood in my mouth, but managed to sit up and get my balance.

Whitehorn was moving away. He walked over to Draven’s tethered horse.

I knew what he was about to do. I squirmed in the saddle, pulling at my bindings, but it was no use.

I watched as Whitehorn pulled a sharp knife from his belt and raised it in a swift motion, the metal gleaming in the starlight.

The stallion made a soft startled sound and then the knife slid across its throat.

As Whitehorn turned away, the horse fell to the ground.

I screamed against my gag, but the only sound that emerged was a muffled groan. I twisted my body, wrenched at my bound hands, horrified and helpless as Whitehorn walked quietly across the campsite and over to where Draven lay, the bloodied knife still in his outstretched hand. It was no use, the bonds were too tight.

I lowered my head to the pommel, shifting my body back in the saddle as far as I could go, pushing my gag against the rounded knob.

The gag loosened slightly. I pushed against it with my tongue, my teeth, spitting the cloth out just enough to be able to widen my jaw.

Whitehorn was crouching down, the knife hovering over Draven's still form.

A knot of fear clenched in my chest, I opened my mouth, my voice breaking through the quiet of the night. “Draven!”

Whitehorn's head whipped towards me and in that moment, Draven moved.

Rolling out of his bedroll, his own sword flashing out in the moonlight as he sprung to his feet, landing in a cat-like crouch.

My jaw dropped. There was no way he had been asleep. No one could move from sleep to wake that quickly.

Draven shifted his sword in his hand, leaping forward with a preternatural grace. He was a large, hulking man but he moved with the grace of a much smaller one. Had he been holding back with me in the sparring ring, I suddenly wondered.

I enjoyed seeing the contrast between them. Whitehorn, smaller and skulking like a coward, gnashing his teeth over his lost chance to stab Draven so easily in the back.

A malicious gleam in his eyes, Whitehorn let out a grunt of anger, unsheathed his own sword, and darted forward.

The two swords clashed together. The sound of metal on metal filled the night air as the two men traded blows, each trying to get the upper hand.

Draven was a talented fighter. I knew this from experience. He was larger and more muscular than Whitehorn.

But Whitehorn was quicker than he looked and he did not lack skill in swordplay. He was also not beyond playing dirty, kicking out his legs and slashing his sword at Draven's knees.

I watched in disbelief as a wide grin spread over Draven's face and he leaped backwards just in time.

“Always knew it was going to come to this, Whitehorn.” He panted slightly as he feinted and rolled. “Been looking forward to it, if I’m telling the truth.”

“Damned right,” Whitehorn spat, trying to push forward. But I wondered if he was really as confident as he was trying to seem. After all, he’d preferred the coward’s way to this. “Right back at you.”

But Draven was stepping up his attack. He drove Whitehorn backwards, then back once more, until the other man was pinned against a huge tree.

Whitehorn stumbled, his eyes wide with shock and fear. I felt a jolt of glee. He was trapped.

But I had underestimated Whitehorn's cowardice.

As Draven moved forward, sword raised, Whitehorn flipped around the trunk of the tree and bolted into the forest. Running like a hare from a fox.

Draven didn't hesitate. He chased after, into the trees, into the darkness.

I sat alone on the piebald, my hands still tied, my heart in my throat, listening to the muffled clanging of swords in the distance.

A cry came from the trees. Then silence.

I waited in the dark, alone and increasingly afraid. Who would return? Whitehorn? Draven?

Or no one at all?

After what felt like an eternity, Draven reappeared. Baring his teeth like a wild animal’s, he grinned up at me as he crossed the campsite. He had just killed a man, so why did I feel a strange pull, low in my stomach, as I watched him approach?

“You’re fucking enjoying this,” I said accusingly.

His eyes took in my bound hands. Walking over, he slid a knife across the rope, splitting the knot, then helped me from the horse. “Not all of it.”

I stumbled, my arms numb from being tied, my body still weak, and he caught me around the waist.

He led me back over to the campfire and gently pushed me down onto a bedroll, then began to gather more wood. When he had stoked the fire to a roaring blaze again, he crouched down before me, concern on his face.

I realized I was trembling.

Draven lifted a hand to my forehead. “You’re burning up.”

He left, only to return a moment later with an armful of blankets which he draped over me. Then he went back over to the fire and hung the kettle over it.

“You need to drink. If only we had willow bark, or elm.” He glanced around us, looking at the trees. “But I don’t want to leave you here alone,” I heard him mutter.

He walked a little ways away, inspecting the trees around us.

I watched for a minute, then my eyes began to close.

It had been too much. My poor body was rebelling against me, pushed too far by the events of the day and the night. My head swam. I felt myself starting to shake.

The stars in the sky were now everywhere. In the trees. Over the fire. Across Draven’s face. I closed my eyes but the stars did not disappear.

I wanted to tell Draven about the sound Whitehorn and I had heard. Wanted to ask for a cup of cold water. Wanted to ask for another blanket.

But darkness was falling. Slowly, the stars disappeared one by one.

CHAPTER 18

When I awoke, I was in my tent, but I was not alone.

There were arms wrapped around me. I could feel them, tight and heavy. My cheek was pressing against something rough and hard.

My eyes shot open.

My face was against Draven's chest. My head rested on one of his arms. It furled under me, hand pressed lightly against my back, while his other arm was slung over the swell of my hips.

I could feel the rise and fall of his chest, feel the hardness of his muscles, the taut planes of his chest pressing against the soft curves of my body.

I lay there, my heart beating fast, torn between the urge to run as quickly as I could and the desire to stay here, in this unexpected embrace.

I fought against the urge to run and tried to relax my breathing. I could not remember ever being held like this before. There was a comfort to it I had not expected. A sense of relief and safety.

Which was utterly ironic considering who and what this man really was.

Even so, Draven had saved me. Helped me with Florian. Stopped Whitehorn from taking me.

Yes, he had done so to serve his own interests. A corpse couldn’t get the king what he wanted. But ultimately, I felt safer as his prisoner than Whitehorn’s.

Draven had said I had a fever. He had cared for me, and put blankets over me. Even now, I slept in his arms because he had been trying to stop my shaking and keep me warm. I shifted and realized I was soaked through with sweat, my tunic sticking uncomfortably to my skin. Yet he hadn’t shied away, even while I’d oozed buckets of sweat and who knew what else all over him. I wrinkled my nose in embarrassment.

I felt better than when I had fallen asleep. Even after a few hours without a dose of medicine, the effects had faded a little. Perhaps Draven was right and they would eventually wear off completely.

Draven stirred in his sleep and letting out a groan, pushed against me. I froze, my cheeks suffusing with heat.

The gesture was innocent. He was asleep after all. But it was also unmistakable.

By contrast, my own reaction was anything but. My body’s first urge was to thrust my hips right back against his.

I bit my lip, looking at Draven’s face, inspecting his straight nose, strong jaw, and high cheekbones.

The man might be morally reprehensible, but there was no denying he was the definition of handsome. I had never met a man who possessed such a dark beauty. The small hoop of silver he wore through his left ear. The way his dark hair fell over his forehead. The way his lips, full and sensuous, were half-parted as he slept. Even in his sleep, he was heart-tuggingly attractive.

Looking at Draven made me think of all that I had missed out on. All of the pleasures Lancelet was so apt to remind me I had never indulged in.

There was so much I hadn’t done. So much I hadn’t felt.

In this tent, in this moment, I had to admit my body yearned to be touched.

It was downright embarrassing. If I could react this strongly to a ruthless killer then maybe Lancelet had been right. I should try to experience more before it was too late. Before I was locked up in the Temple of the Three and sworn to celibacy.

There was still time. Sure, I was on a quest that had a high chance of ending with failure and death. But as I lay there, looking at Draven, I swore to myself that if a chance arose, I wouldn’t scorn it. I would seize it.

I could feel the heat radiating from his body, and smell the scent of him. But now I realized it was mixed with something else. Something sharp and metallic.

Blood.

I pushed away from his chest, scanning his body. There. Below his breastbone. A dark stain on his linen shirt.

Before he had killed Whitehorn, he’d been wounded.

Draven was stirring again. His eyes flickered once, twice, then opened.

I watched as they widened in surprise to see me. Then understanding dawned.

“Good morning, Princess.” He managed to grin and yawn simultaneously, then ran a hand through his hair, touseling the black locks into a state that was wild. Wild yet appealing.

I suddenly felt with every particle of my being the full awareness that I had slept wrapped in his arms.

Blushing furiously I pushed myself away, struggling to turn around in a very small space made for a single person. After some awkward rotations, I managed to face the tent flap and began to crawl out.

“Ouch. Not a morning person then.” Draven settled back down on the bedroll behind me.

“You’re bleeding,” I shot over my shoulder. “You’re wounded. When were you planning to tell me? Or had you even noticed?”

“I noticed. But it’s nothing. Just a scratch.” I heard him sigh, then heave himself up, and in a moment he had emerged from the tent. He stood up to his full height and I swallowed hard, wondering how on earth he had even managed to fit in the tent in the first place.

I realized he was inspecting me right back. His brows went up. “How are you feeling?” He stepped towards me and lifted the back of his hand to my forehead. “No fever. Good.”

I frowned, feeling like a child. “I presume that was why you encroached on my sleeping space.” I heard my tone. Ridiculously imperious.

“You were shaking so hard I thought you’d break a tooth,” he said, not looking the least apologetic. “You’re welcome, by the way.” He looked down at himself, then gave a little sniff.

Remembering my perspiration-soaked clothing, I quickly stood up. A wave of dizziness immediately washed over me. I took one step, then another, very slowly, until I’d assured myself I could do this. “I’m going to wash up.”

Grabbing a washcloth and clean clothes from the satchel outside my tent, I began to stalk into the treeline.

“Don’t go that way,” Draven called. “Not unless you want to step in something nasty.”

Something that used to be Whitehorn, in other words.

I gulped and veered a little, detouring around the spot and towards where I remembered seeing a pond the evening before.

The pond was larger than I’d remembered and the water was lovely and clear. When I returned to the campsite, my hair was damp and loose down my back and I was carrying my freshly washed clothes in a bundle. I felt better than I had in days.

Draven had hung the kettle over the fire and I could smell roseleaf tea boiling. A plate of toasted bread and cheese had been set out on a rock by my tent. My stomach rumbled as I looked at it.

Thank goodness Draven was a competent cook. I was suddenly reminded it was just the two of us now.

With a qualm of sadness, I wondered if he had noticed his stallion yet.

I glanced over to where Draven stood on the other side of the campsite, his back to me. He had not turned at the sound of my footsteps. He was very still.

“What is it?” I called softly. He raised a hand to hush me.

He stood motionless for another minute, then turned, shaking his head. “I thought I heard something. It was nothing.”

I settled down on a log by the fire with my plate of breakfast and a cup of steaming tea.

“So,” I said conversationally. “Just the two of us now.”

Draven sat down on a hollow stump across from me and poured himself some tea. “Cozy, isn’t it?”

“It’ll certainly be more peaceful.” I thought for a moment then cleared my throat. “After some careful consideration, I believe I will no longer be taking my medicine. At least, not for a while. Not until I’ve fully recovered.”

Draven raised a dark brow. “You’ve come to that decision, have you? Near death brought on a change of heart? Glad to see you’re not completely incorrigibly stubborn.”

I glared at him. “It was not near death. That’s a gross exaggeration.”

Draven shrugged. “Whatever you want to tell yourself. But I think you’re making the right choice.”

“Strange how that doesn’t in fact make me feel as if I am,” I said coldly.

He smirked.

Without pausing to think it through and change my mind, I decided it was time to clear the air.

“I know who you are, you know,” I said flatly.

“Oh?” He didn’t sound particularly concerned. “Didn’t you before?”

“I mean, not simply your name. Not just that you are Kairos Draven. Not just that you are the captain of the Royal Guard, I mean,” I said with impatience.

“How wonderful for you,” Draven murmured, stooping to refill his mug. “We slept half the morning away. We should leave as soon as you’re ready.”

“Your horse is dead, you know,” I snapped.

Draven took a sip of his tea. “I’ll get a new one in the next town we pass. Ride the piebald for now.”

“Because those are so common,” I muttered. “Towns, I mean.” Louder, I added, “You’re an assassin. With a ridiculously pretentious name. Who calls themselves the Void’s Edge, anyhow?”

There was silence.

“No one.” He took another sip from his mug. “No one calls themselves that. It would defeat the point of having an ominous title altogether.”

“You mean to say that your terrified victims cursed you with the title as they drew their last breaths, I suppose.” I began to braid my damp hair, trying to act as untroubled as possible.

He shrugged. “Something like that.”

“The women and children you mercilessly slaughtered,” I snapped.

He cocked one eyebrow.

“The babies who slept in their cradles as you butchered them.”

He rubbed his chin. “Babies? I’ve never had a contract on a baby. I suppose there’s a first time for everything. It would have to be a very dangerous baby.”

“You dare to joke about such a thing? After you slew the entire royal house of Rheged?” I demanded.

Draven tilted his head back and laughed. “Oh, so that’s what you’re referring to.”

I stared. Was this a common reaction from an assassin?

“You killed women and children,” I said slowly. “I know the whole story.”

“Did I?” He tilted his head. “Well, if you know the story then I suppose I must have.”

I felt irked. “Unless there is another version.”

I watched him take a slow sip of tea. “I doubt you’d care to hear it. After all, you know the whole story already.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Fine. So what now? Why did you come to work for my brother? Nothing better to do than play guide to a princess on a ludicrous mission to fetch an object that probably doesn’t even exist?”

“Oh, it exists.” Another sip.

“Strange that you’d go from the supposedly deadliest assassin on the continent to–what? Royal Guard captain? My brother’s errand boy?” I was trying to stir his pique, to rile him. To my frustration, it didn’t seem to be working.

He met my eyes. “I’m exactly where I want to be doing exactly what I need to be.”

Somehow I knew he wasn’t referring to sipping tea or even sharing a tent with a sweaty, fevered princess.

“You want something,” I said sharply. “You’re not simply doing Arthur’s bidding out of loyalty or the goodness of your heart.”

“Very good. And?”

I thought as hard as I could. My conclusions did not reassure me. “The sword. You think it's real.”

“Excalibur is real. I don’t think so. I know so.”

“So what if it is? How does our fetching it for Arthur... Oh.”

“Oh?”

I was worse off than I’d thought.

“You’re not bringing it to Arthur.” My voice was small. “You want it for yourself.”

Draven put his hands behind his head and grinned. “Something like that. Very good, Princess.”

“You wanted Whitehorn out of the way all along,” I complained.

“The man was an insufferable toad. I didn’t see us traveling together all the way to our destination, no. But when he had the gall to gag you and try to abduct you, well...”

“But you’re abducting me,” I said, my temper rising. “I shouldn’t be surprised if you decided to gag me if I say something you dislike. You’re no different than Whitehorn really, are you?”

“To my recollection, I’ve never gagged a woman,” Draven said, looking thoughtful.

“To your recollection!”

“At least, not one who didn’t wish to be gagged.” He shot me a roguish smile and I felt my heart speed up a notch.

“I will not even dignify that remark with a response though I’m sure you’re dying for me to ask,” I said, with as much poise as I could muster. I tried to imagine a situation in which a woman would ask to be gagged and decided I should not waste my imagination. Not when there were more important things to focus on. “Essentially, I am your hostage. You want the sword. For some reason I still don’t understand, you think you need me to get it.”

“Excellent summary. You must have made your tutors very proud.”

“And when I find it and I give it to you, what then? You let me go home?” I wouldn’t ask him to escort me back. I’d find my own way. Somehow.

“So easy,” he mused. “It sounds so easy, doesn’t it?”

“That wasn’t a yes.”I frowned. “I thought Arthur wanted you to kill me.”

Draven put down his cup. “I did receive the distinct impression he wouldn’t mind if you did not return,” he said carefully, not meeting my gaze. “But no, that was not explicitly part of my instructions.”

“Part of the instructions that the king gave you which you have absolutely no intention of following,” I said, throwing up my hands.

“Aren’t you glad I’m not? I’ll follow them as far as they align with my own pursuits.”

“I don’t understand why Arthur selected you to go with me if he didn’t even ask you to kill me,” I grumbled, hearing how ridiculous my words sounded.

Draven looked thoughtful. “I believe he liked the idea of terrorizing you. He believed we didn’t get along.” He met my eyes. “For some reason, I got the distinct impression he believed you didn’t like me.”

“We don’t,” I snapped. “I don’t!”

“And if you believed I was going to kill you,” Draven continued. “Well, so much the better for him. Then you’d be more eager to comply. At least, I suppose that was his assumption.”

“And you don’t require my compliance?”

“Oh, you’ll do as you’re told.” Draven’s voice was almost cheerful. “Because you can imagine many unpleasant alternatives.” He looked over at me. “I’m not going to kill you.”

I clenched my jaw. “How incredibly reassuring. If only you were a trustworthy individual. Then I might be able to actually believe you.”

Draven smirked. “It doesn’t have to be an unpleasant journey. Besides, what else can you do? It’s not as if you can find your way back to Camelot at this point.”

I glared, knowing he was right.

He rose to his feet. “Now, let's get moving. As we’re down a man, I expect you can step up and help break up camp, saddle your own horse.” He looked at me expectantly. “Unless you’re still feeling too poorly for that today.”

I nodded. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” He hesitated. “There’s one thing I need to see to, before we ride on.” He inclined his head to the woods where he had disappeared with Whitehorn last night.

I blanched. “Oh. Yes. Of course.”

Burying the bodies. That was what he was good at, wasn’t it?

I watched him walk away, then started tearing down the tent.

CHAPTER 19

I was quiet as we passed beneath the marble arch the next day, staring up at the carved images. It was the second we had ridden through. I wondered if there would be more.

“We’ll see more and more as we get closer to Valtain,” Draven said, as if he’d heard my unspoken question, turning his mount so he could look back at me. He rode in front for now, the pack horse tied to Whitehorn’s piebald.

Did Haya miss the black stallion that had been Draven’s mount, I wondered? I patted her chestnut flank gently.

“What of the Bloodlands? Are we nearing Orin’s Gate?”

Draven snorted. “Bloodlands indeed.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s all Valtain. Or once was. The Bloodlands are just a convenient name humans gave to the borderland between Cerunnos and the ancient kingdom. But it’s a made up place. Mostly because those in Cerunnos are too frightened to transgress it. I suppose calling it the Bloodlands makes it easier for them not to.”

“How do you know all of this?” I demanded sharply.

He snorted. “Who do you think is leading this expedition? I’ve traveled this way before.”

I should have guessed as much, but even so, I was shocked. “You have? When?”

A shrug was my only answer. Then, “We’re coming closer to Orin’s Gate. We’ll reach the outlying towns soon.”

My heart sped up with excitement. “We will? How soon?”

See other people? Eat food that hadn’t been cooked over a campfire? Perhaps even... No, a hot bath and a real bed were probably too much to hope for. I doubted Draven planned to let us sleep in an inn.

“Today or tomorrow. Soon.”

I looked back at the arch. Even from a distance amidst the ancient huge trees, the white marble glowed. In my imagination, I could almost hear the power of the fae humming from the stone.

“What are the people of Cerunnos like? Have you met many of them?” I asked curiously.

“What are people like anywhere? They’re people.”

What a non-answer.

“So, Valtain,” I said cautiously. “You believe it’s real? It hasn’t been swept into the ocean or something?”

Draven grunted. I sighed impatiently. He’d been taciturn this morning. It seemed as if that was the only answer I’d be getting from him.

As if on cue, the skies above us opened up and a light rain began to fall.

The glow of the campfire was comforting, even if it was still raining a little.

I held my hands up to the fire as Draven walked around the perimeter of our camp.

“What are you doing? What are you looking for?” I asked. I was sleepy and my clothes were damp and chilled, but didn’t want to crawl into my tent just yet.

Was it because I knew I’d be sleeping alone tonight? I shrugged off the thought.

Draven stopped pacing. “Something’s been following us all day.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “What do you mean?”

“It’s out there now. Watching us.”

I leaped to my feet, pulling my cloak tighter. “What are you talking about?”

“Hush.” Draven lifted a hand commandingly. “There. In the trees.” He slowly pointed.

I squinted. “I don’t see anything.”

Draven looked at me with something like disgust. “Terrible eyesight.”

“As if yours could be that much better,” I retorted. But he did seem to be focused on something as he looked into the trees.

“Ah,” he said softly. “There you are.”

“What is it?” I hissed.

He ignored me. Stooping down to the ground and picking up a fallen branch, he stood back up and threw it hard into the trees.

“What are you doing?” I protested.

“Scaring it away.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Go on. Get.”

There was silence.

“You’re talking to yourself,” I said sweetly. “Or to the trees. I’m not sure what’s worse.”

He ignored me. Cupping his hands again, he raised his voice. “I don’t want to hurt you. Now get out of here. Go!”

I waited, listening to the forest, for the sound of something, anything. A snapping branch. Footsteps.

Draven turned back to the fire with a satisfied expression. “It’s gone.”

“You can...hear something?”

“I hear everything,” he said, with infuriating smugness. “It’s gone for now.”

“Yes, I heard you the first time. But what was it?”

He sat down by the fire. “An exmoor.”

I gawked. “An exmoor? Like the one Whitehorn killed?”

An odd expression crossed his face. “Not quite.”

“What does that mean? Not quite?” I mimicked.

“This one’s not an adult,” he said quietly.

My hand flew to my mouth in shock. “You mean it’s a baby? One of the exmoor’s cubs? Has it been following us all along?”

Draven seemed to be considering. “Possibly. Exmoors are nocturnal. This cub has probably been tracking us for a while, catching up each night. Now that Whitehorn’s gone, it’s become more daring.”

“Poor little thing,” I murmured. “At least you avenged its mother.”

Draven looked amused. “Hardly little. It’s half the size of Haya and growing fast.”

Despite myself, I was impressed. “You could see all of that? Even in the dim light?”

He nodded. “Not sure why it would follow. Especially now that Whitehorn’s gone. If it wanted our food, it would have snuck in at night by now. I think it’s more curious about us than anything. It knows there’s no danger here. Not anymore.”

I wished I’d seen it. But I knew better than to say so. Draven would probably just laugh.

“I’m turning in.” I watched Draven lift his bedroll and blankets off the piebald and walk over to a patch of grass near my tent.

He was wincing.

“What’s wrong?” I demanded with a frown. “Is your wound healing properly?”

“It’s fine,” he said brusquely. “Nothing to concern yourself over.”

I watched him bend over to throw down the bedroll. He was grimacing as if in pain.

“You’re in pain. Of course, it’s my concern. If you can’t ride, then where will we be?” I said in a mocking tone. “Sound familiar?” I hoped I was irking him. “Let me see. Is it infected?”

He looked affronted. “I’m not showing you. It’s fine.”

“Riding on a horse for half the day can’t be good for it,” I said thoughtfully. “Perhaps you should rest tomorrow.”

He glared. “I’m not taking a day off just to rest. I hardly move all day as it is.”

“Fine. Ride all day in pain. Let the nasty wound Whitehorn gave you get infected.” I stood up and started walking over to my tent. “Goodnight. Hope you’re not dead by morning.”

Especially since, if he died, I’d be all alone out here.

With an exmoor nearly the size of a full-grown horse stalking us from the trees.

“It’s not infected. I heal quickly,” Draven snapped. “But...”

“Yes?”

If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said he looked awkward.

“We’re near a village. We should reach it by midday tomorrow. Perhaps a bit later.”

“I see.” Was he going to suggest we take a break? I prayed to the Three the answer was yes, but I was certainly not going to suggest it.

“There should be an apothecary or healer. Perhaps I’ll stop in. See what they say. Get a salve or a tisane or something.”

“A salve? Yes, that sounds wise. You should do that.”

I crawled into my tent, my mind already racing at the prospect of a hot meal in a tavern, a hot bath at an inn, perhaps even a new cloak for mine was quickly turning mildewed and sweat-soaked after weeks spent riding through this primeval forest.

In the morning, I noticed something that had nothing to do with Kairos Draven for once.

My hair was changing.

Not significantly. But there was a distinct silver tone where before there had only been a dull, bland gray. Now as I brushed it, I thought I glimpsed a sheen, a shimmer, that had not been there before.

It had only been a few days since I had stopped taking the medicine. Already my appetite had returned, I was sleeping better, and best of all, the horrible headaches had all but ceased.

Now my hair. Was this an unintended side effect?

If so, it was not an unpleasant one. Already my hair looked almost, well, pretty. A pearly silver. I could not stop looking at it. I braided it quickly and reminded myself that not all of the changes would necessarily be good ones.

“We’ll reach the town today.” Draven crossed in front of me, carrying his pack. His face was creased in a frown. It reminded me of myself, when my head had been wracked with pain from the medicine.

“How’s the wound?” I asked.

Draven’s nostrils flared with annoyance. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

I really did wish he’d show it to me then. Clearly it was not fine. He sounded like a familiar echo of myself.

As he saddled the piebald, I saw him grimace and wince more than once.

Stupid, stubborn man.

“What’s the town name?” I called.

He hesitated for a second. “Grimhold.”

“Apt,” I remarked.

He chuckled. “Not everyone is a fan of deep dark woods.”

“They are a little dark, I suppose. But they don’t seem ominous. I’ve already grown used to them. The trees are beautiful in their way. Comforting. And familiar somehow.”

Where had that come from? I felt Draven’s eyes on me and colored.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoy the forest so much because it stretches through the Bloodlands and into Valtain.”

“So much woodland. And completely untouched, too,” I observed.

“It’s been touched near Grimhold. You’ll see they’ve cleared parts of it. But still, those are miniscule areas compared to how vast the forest is.”

“And the fae built this road running through it, the arches we’ve passed,” I mused. “It must be ancient indeed.”

Draven looked as if he were about to say something, then simply nodded. “Lets ride on to Grimhold.”

He paused, frowning at me. “Your hair. It’s different.”

“Is it?” I asked innocently. I touched my braid. “How so?”

He shook his head. “Never mind. I thought... A trick of the light perhaps.”

I grinned behind his back as I followed him over to the horses.

That night, I dreamed Draven was in my tent again.

This time I was very much awake as he parted the tent flap and crawled inside.

I lay on my bedroll unclothed and eager for his touch.

He threw himself over me like a starving animal, his mouth ravaging mine, tearing at the soft plushness of my lips with his teeth, gentle and cruel at the same time.

His hands roamed my body, fingering my breasts, turning my nipples into puckered peaks that screamed for more.

One strong hand slid between my legs, moving into the slick dampness that betrayed exactly how much I wanted him.

I arched upwards as he dragged his tongue over the soft skin of my neck, rubbing myself against his hand, desperate to have those skilled fingers exactly where I needed them.

He snarled as I reached to grapple with the buckle of his belt, feeling him hard as stone through his trousers against my thigh.

He moved his lips to my ear.

“I burn for you, Morgan. You've set me aflame...”

“Then let the flames consume us,” I whispered back.

I woke with a jolt, covered in sweat, to the sound of an owl hooting in the trees above my tent.

I was very much alone.

CHAPTER 20

Grimhold was much less grim than I’d been expecting.

The town was small, perhaps a few hundred people or so. The buildings were wooden but painted in bright and cheerful colors that made them stand out against the dark background of the ancient forest that cradled the settlement.

The land for a few miles around the town had been cleared, the huge trees evidently being used in construction and limited trade. The wood must be valuable indeed. I wondered why the inhabitants of Cerunnos had not exploited the forest more than they had, stripping its bounty and shipping the timber to neighboring kingdoms for riches. I knew without question that my father and Arthur would have done so.

Even before we reached the wooden gates of the town, we could hear the sound of loud music and crowds of people.

“There must be a festival going on,” Draven muttered, as he slowed the piebald and rode beside me. “We’ll go in quickly. I’ll look for the healer’s shop, then resupply. If you need anything, you go and find it. We’ll meet at the tavern in the center of town. The Black Bridle.”

I nodded.

We dismounted and led our horses past the gates.

Inside, the entire town seemed to be out in the streets. The buildings had been decorated with flowers, garlands and ribbons. Laughing and shouting people streamed by, decked out in colorful clothing, their faces covered with masks in the shapes of animals, plants, and mythical creatures. I spotted a little boy wearing a mask over his eyes that reminded me of the exmoor and stared, wondering if it had been based on the real thing. As he turned and ran into the crowd, I saw a tufted tail bobbing behind him, tied around his waist with a string.

“Happy Khor’a’val,” a young woman wearing a turquoise bird mask shouted at Draven as she whirled past with a group of laughing ladies.

“Of course,” Draven murmured, staring after them. “They worship Khor here. I should have remembered.”

I looked after the ladies. “Who is Khor?”

“Vela’s consort.”

“Vela? The fae goddess? They worship fae gods here? But this is Cerunnos.”

“And in Cerunnos, they believe Vela and Khor made the world.”

I felt oddly offended. “Not the Three? Not even Zorya? The dawnbringer?”

Draven looked as if he were trying not to smile. “No, not the Three. The most inhabited parts of Cerunnos lie closest to Numenos. Fae beliefs and culture had more of an impact here than in the rest of Eskira.”

I looked around with interest.

“I hope the healer will be open,” Draven muttered. “There.” He pointed. “The Black Bridle. It’s already open. We’ll meet there. I’ll find you in an hour or two, all right?”

I nodded, then smirked. “Perhaps I’ll buy a mask.”

“Don’t you dare,” he said shortly. “If you don a mask, they’ll think you’re participating in the festival in all ways.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And that would be bad because...?”

“Because you’ll get in over your head,” Draven said with a scowl. “Khor’a’val goes all day and all night, for one thing. We’re not staying that long. And I’m not sure you’d want to get caught up in the wild revels that go on as part of the festival.”

I shrugged coolly. “Perhaps I would.”

Draven shook his head. “Cerunnos puts a spin on things that rivals even the fae lore. I’ll see you soon.”

And with that cryptic comment I watched him disappear into the crowd.

The shops were open, though many of the shopkeepers seemed understandably distracted. Not to mention tipsy. Everyone seemed to have a cup in their hand, full of a purplish liquid. I caught the sweet scent of berries and spice.

I made my way through the center of the town, stopping at a bookstore to exchange the books I’d brought and finished for a stack of unread ones. The bookseller seemed thrilled to be making the exchange. My leather bound embossed copies from the castle library for some tattered volumes with worn and ripped pages that had probably been sitting on the shelf for years, musty and unread. But I was simply grateful to have found some books that were new to me at all.

I slipped into a clothier’s and my eyes lit up. Grimhold may have been small, but their tradespeople were exceptionally talented. I picked up a long deep green cotton gown that cinched at the waist with a braided belt and touched the colorful floral embroidery around the keyhole neckline. The opening was cut so narrowly that I thought it would hide the marks from Florian unless someone was looking very closely. The sleeves were long and billowing, coming down in diamond points. I smiled as I imagined them trailing behind me as I walked.

It was utterly unsuitable for long days of rough riding and I wanted it.

I carried the dress over to the shop counter and then, before I could change my mind, picked up a black and purple eye mask with a design of green jewels, and added it to my pile of purchases.

A few minutes later, I emerged from the store wearing my new dress and the mask, feeling light and happy, as if I were simply another citizen enjoying Khor’a’val. Whatever that was exactly. The dress hugged me perfectly. Thanks to a less impressive array of food choices as well as the noxious effects of all of the medicine I had taken, I was a little slimmer than I was when we had left Camelot and most of the tunics I’d brought now hung on my frame loosely. The dress, on the other hand, seemed like it had been made for me and fit like a glove, the braided belt clasping my waist like the hands of a lover.

With that thought, I was off to the tavern. I was determined to sample the beverage everyone seemed to be drinking. I had heard one of the shopkeepers call it “khorva.”

As I passed through town, I caught a number of admiring looks, from men and women alike. An older woman touched my arm, pointed to my hair, and told me she loved my wig. I didn’t bother correcting her. If they believed the silver strands were simply a wig, so much the better.

Perhaps it was the festival or the lingering effects of the unsettling dream I’d had, but I felt like someone else as I walked through Grimhold. Mysterious. Unrecognizable. The mask was a part of it. Like wearing a hood over my hair, but even better.

I slipped into the crowded tavern and approached the bar, ordering a mug of khorva. When it came, I gulped it down. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was. The horses were hitched outside near a water trough, but I had forgotten to eat or drink since we’d arrived.

The khorva was delicious, fruity and sweet. I felt a warmth flood through me as I drank, like nothing I’d ever felt before.

I looked around me with contentment. The tavern was full of people–talking and laughing, dancing and drinking.

A band of musicians stood on a small stage in the corner, playing an entrancing tune. The dance floor around them was full of masked revelers, rocking and twirling and swaying. I watched the dancers longingly, sipping from my mug. The more I drank, the more I wished to be amongst them.

I paid for a second mug of khorva, sipping a little slower this time. I marveled at the effect it was having upon me. I had drank wine and other liquors before. I had even tried eleusia with Merlin.

But none had ever had the slightest effect. I had never even been tipsy.

Now I felt warm and tingly, heavy and light at the same time. I slipped a hand behind me and untied my braid.

Shaking my head to let the waves of hair flow loosely around my shoulders, I walked slowly towards the dancers.

They parted for me, hands reaching out and pulling me in among them. Every face a smiling one.

The music was beautiful. I had never heard such a tune before. The notes seemed to swirl around me, like vivid whorls of paint on a canvas. I could almost see the notes hovering in the air, could almost reach out a hand and touch them. A woman gently took my hand, twirling me in a circle, and I tipped back my head, giggling.

I took her hand, twirling her in turn. I felt a man's hand slip around my waist and swivel me to him. He let go when I was dizzy and spinning, my body gently swaying, and moved onto another woman, clasping her waist and spinning her.

The people here were beautiful. The music was beautiful. And I felt beautiful. I felt free.

My slippered feet seemed light as feathers as I spun and spiraled, swaying and flowing with the crowd, sometimes together, sometimes alone.

Suddenly, the music changed, slowing to a bewitching ballad. I changed the tempo of my dance to match the tune, swaying gently to the sound.

The floor had cleared a little and I could see the musician who was playing on the stage.

A young man held a brightly-painted red lute. His fingers strummed the instrument expertly. I watched with unblinking eyes, mesmerized as his hands danced lightly over the strings. The music was strange and spellbinding. All around me, the dancers had slowed, transfixed as I was.

The lute player had removed his coat and waistcoat. He wore only a thin white shirt tucked into a pair of black close-fitting trousers. My eyes trailed over him, taking in his slender hands, his lanky muscular form, all the way up to his face.

Our eyes met with a disarming jolt. He grinned and I felt myself grinning back without hesitation as I gazed into eyes that were a gleaming gold speckled with amber. The musician’s skin was the color of raw honey. He tossed his head back as he played, revealing more of a lean and angular face, all sharp beautiful edges. And his hair... A burnt-ochre color, like the flame of our campfire.

He was fae, I realized belatedly. Part-fae and incredibly beautiful. I let myself stare. It was clear he did not mind for he was doing the same. His eyes never left me. He kept them fixed on my face while his fingers plucked the lute. A small smile danced on his lips.

A hand caught mine. Man or woman, I couldn’t tell and didn’t care. It twirled me so fast I let out a shriek of glee, then let me go. I kept spinning, whirling around and around.

When I finally slowed and stopped, panting hard, my hands on my hips, my flying hair settling around my face, I saw that Draven had come in.

He leaned against the bar, a heavy lock of onyx hair falling over his forehead. Even in sturdy leather riding gear and a plain black cloak, he stood out from the crowd, his powerful frame pushing against the confines of the simple clothes. The muscles of his arms tightened as he crossed them over his chest, scanning the crowd with those disarming emerald eyes. When he saw me, he inclined his head to the door, gesturing that we should go.

I shook my head stubbornly and instead tilted my own towards the dance floor with a playful grin, indicating that he should join me instead. I wondered what had come over me, how I dared to suggest such a thing.

Draven did not grin back. Simply stood, looking at me, his angular jaw clenched as if it were carved from obsidian stone. Waiting.

I turned away, the khorva still pulsing through my veins, the music sending a throbbing hum through my entire body.

Warm hands slipped around my waist.

I looked up to see it was the young man who had been playing the lute. Tugging me gently by the hips, he pulled me back into the dancing throng.

A new song was playing, a deeper tempo, heavy and sensuous. I sashayed my hips, enjoying the feeling of warm hands on my curves.

“Tell me your name,” the half-fae boy whispered, his lips inches from my ears.

But I simply smiled and twirled.

He matched me with every step, moving with a feral grace, spinning me in circles, then whirling me back in until I hit his chest, my hand pressing against his taut form as I laughed and shrieked with delight.

I looked up at him, mesmerized by his uncannily beautiful face.

Minutes passed. Perhaps hours. How much time had passed since I entered the tavern? Hours? Days? I hardly cared.

The young man touched my mask. “Take it off,” he suggested.

I shook my head, grinning up at him.

He grinned back, clearly not offended by my refusal.

His hands moved lightly over my waist, caressing my hips, fingertips dancing over my skin just like they had danced over the strings of the red lute.

My lips were parted, my breathing had quickened. I’d never been so aware of my body. My breasts were tingling. The space between my legs felt heated and more than a little damp. I looked up at the boy, full of an intense longing. I thought of the way I had woken up in my tent. That sense of being bereft and alone.

I didn’t want to feel that way anymore, I realized.

My lips half-parted, my chin tilted up, I lifted my head to his.

I saw his eyes start to widen with understanding. His lips descended.

Abruptly, a hand was on my arm yanking me away.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded angrily as Draven pulled me to the bar.

“We’re leaving,” he said tersely. “Exactly how much khorva did you have?”

“A glass.” I saw my mug was still where I’d left it on the bar and reached towards it. But Draven was faster. He pushed it away.

I made a whining sound and glared at him. “What do you think you’re doing? I’m having a good time. Is that not allowed?”

He looked me up and down, faint boredom in his eyes, and in that moment I really believed I hated him.

He hadn’t noticed the new dress or my mask. Instead, all he said was, “You’re going to be so sick tonight.”

“I am not,” I said furiously. “And I want to stay here tonight.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not happening.”

“Why not? I like it here. I like khorva. I like Khor. I like Khor’a’val.” I giggled, putting a hand to my mouth.

Fine. Perhaps the khorva had gone to my head a little.

Draven gripped my arm firmly and propelled me towards the door. “We’re leaving. Now.”

I turned my head, trying to catch a glimpse of the lute player, but all I could see were the whirling colors of the crowd. Draven caught me looking back and grimaced.

He pushed open the tavern door. Outside night had fallen. The cool air hit my face. I breathed it in, feeling refreshed.

Then I closed my eyes. I was still spinning, but not in a good way.

“Oh, dear,” I said weakly, clutching at the railing of the tavern stairs.

“Dizzy?” Draven watched me with narrowed eyes.

“I still want to stay,” I said, lifting my chin. “I like it here.”

Draven shot me an exasperated look. “Yes, I believe you’ve said that before.”

I looked across the town square with interest.

Since we had arrived, a statue had been set up beside a roaring bonfire. The statue depicted a handsome young man carved in gold and ivory, with curling yellow hair, a muscular body, and a large, jutting...

“Oh, my,” I breathed. “That’s quite...”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Draven’s voice was wry. “It’s a fertility festival, Morgan. At night things can get rather wild.”

I let out a huff. “And you’d know all about that, would you?”

He cleared his throat. “I may have visited once before.” He looked at me. “I mean, if you really want to stay, we can stay. But you should know you don’t always get to choose your partners. Once midnight arrives, all of the citizens who wish to participate in the Khor’a’val rites gather in the square by the statue over there, strip off all their clothes and anoint themselves with colorful paint. Quite a beautiful sight really. And then once they’re naked and painted...”

“All right, all right,” I said hastily. “I get the idea.” I frowned.

Dancing was one thing. I wasn’t certain I was ready to strip naked and do more than dance with complete strangers. I thought of the young fae man and felt my cheeks growing hot. Maybe if they were a little more than strangers.

“I thought not,” Draven drawled. “Well then? Shall we?”

I followed him down the steps, trying to walk in as straight a line as I could manage. My head was clearing, but as for my stomach... that was another matter.

I eyed Haya nervously. “I’m not sure I can ride.”

“I suppose you should have thought about that before you decided to drink a jug of khorva,” Draven said with false courtesy. He came up behind me and threw me up into the saddle before I could protest.

I glared down at him. “It wasn’t a jug!”

“Five mugs-full then,” he said. “Whatever. You clearly can’t handle the stuff.”

“Liquor has never bothered me before,” I complained. “I’ve never even been tipsy.” I watched as he unhitched the piebald, then took up both sets of reins, and began to lead us towards the town gates. “Even in the temple, when Merlin had me try eleusia.”

“Eleusia?” Draven seemed impressed. “I’ve heard it can cause hallucinations. Heady stuff.”

“Maybe for some, not for me. I felt nothing when I drank it.” Only disappointed.

Draven gave me a thoughtful look. “And was that before or after you started taking that medicine?”

“After. I’ve taken it for years. This is the first time...” My voice trailed off. “Oh.”

“Yes, fascinating isn’t it? All of the things that a powerful concoction can do.” He sounded sarcastic. “Both intended and unintended.”

“Yes.” I thought of my hair. “So, I’m what? Susceptible now?”

“Like other mortals, yes.” This time his voice was decidedly dry. “Enjoy the wicked hangover you’re sure to experience.”

“Hush, Draven,” I said with false imperiousness. “A princess might almost think you cared.”

He was silent after that. Which was a good thing, too, for my head had begun to split into pieces.

CHAPTER 21

I wish I could say that such an idyllic evening was followed by an equally idyllic night.

Instead, I spent hours in the darkness, curled up with a bucket by the dwindling fire, heaving my guts out. Too tired and too sick to even crawl a distance away.

At first I pitied Draven, having to listen to me as he slept. But he lay down on his bedroll, shooting me a look of pity tinged with sardonic amusement, and then appeared to fall almost instantly asleep.

After a few hours, I envied him, lying there like a lump.

Eventually the spasms stopped and I was able to crawl into my tent, shivering and shaking, and fall into a fitful sleep.

When I awoke, I had been transformed.

Draven was bellowing for me to rise and shine.

Blearily, I sat up in my bedroll, rubbing my eyes. As I lowered my hands, I froze.

Markings covered both of my arms. Patterns twisting and curling, weaving together in a complex tapestry of lines and shapes. I traced the markings with my fingers. They glowed softly in the darkness of my tent, gleaming like silver paint.

I pushed the flap of my tent open and crawled out, feeling panicked and confused. Perhaps I was imagining things and in the light of day they'd be gone, simply a figment of my khorva-addled brain.

But as I emerged in the morning light and saw Draven glance over, then freeze where he stood, I knew they were no figment.

“What are they?” I demanded, rubbing at my arms, as if I could brush the markings off.

In the daylight, the silver was slightly less vivid but the patterns continued to shimmer and swirl.

Draven was still staring at me. Truly staring. Not just at my arms, I realized. At all of me.

I ran my fingers through my hair. It was full of knots and tangles. I pulled a handful over my shoulder and looked down at the messy tresses. My breath hitched in my throat. The color was even more distinctive than it had been the day before. A true silver, a liquid metal that glistened and glowed like the marks on my arms.

I looked down at my arms, my wrists, my hands, holding them outstretched in front of me, and realized the markings were not the only difference. My very skin had changed. It had taken on a paler, almost translucent quality. There was an ethereal golden tinge to it that had not been there before. I moved my arms this way and that, watching as the light made my skin gleam and shine.

"What is this? What's happening to me?" My voice was hoarse, my words a demand.

As if Draven would somehow have an answer for everything. As if he could possibly explain this.

Still, I looked up at him expectantly, my heart pounding.

He looked back at me, green eyes smoldering, then took a deep breath, and ran both hands through his thick black hair.

“I don’t see any claws or horns,” was all he said before turning away and beginning to saddle the horses.

I was so taken with my new self, so absorbed in looking at my skin, at the markings that covered my arms, that it took me until evening to realize all was not well.

Draven had pressed us hard. We had traveled the whole day with hardly a break.

As the sun set, we found a clearing and stopped to make camp.

I slid off Haya, eager to stretch my legs. But when I turned, Draven was still astride the piebald, his expression strange.

I stepped closer. He was looking ahead, into the trees, his eyes dull and glassy.

“Draven!” I reached a hand out to touch his leg, and he jumped. As he turned his head to meet my gaze, I saw the deep lines of pain etched on his face.

I cursed under my breath. Despite his attempts to dismiss his wound as a mere scratch, something was seriously wrong.

He slid off his horse, with none of his usual grace, and stumbled over to lean against a tree.

“Did you find an apothecary yesterday? Or a healer?” I felt a stab of guilt. I had been so wrapped up in my own problems that I had not even asked.

He shook his head, then cleared his throat. “They were at the festival. Shops were closed.” His voice was a gravelly rasp.

I licked my lips. “I see. The wound is troubling you more today. That's obvious.”

“I'm fine,” he insisted, exactly as I had expected him to. “I just need rest and food.”

“Very well.” I hesitated, then stepped up to try to take his arm. Glaring, he pushed me away–not roughly but with enough force that I knew not to make the attempt a second time.

Still, I was relieved. If he could glare at me with such ferocity, he was probably not about to die overnight.

I went about setting up the camp and making the fire, ignoring him as he sat hunched on a nearby log.

At least we had plenty of food. I had checked the pack horse and even if Draven had not found a healer, he had evidently managed to find stores selling fresh supplies. There were cuts of venison wrapped in heavy wax paper, root vegetables, and loaves of bread. Our sacks of barley, oats, beans, and other grains had all been refilled. Rounds of yellow cheese and links of smoked sausages filled another saddlebag, their pungent aromas making my stomach growl. If we had to rest here for a few days, we were well-stocked for provisions. My cooking skills were limited but I could make sure we didn’t starve.

When the fire was roaring, my tent was set up, and Draven's bedroll was laid out, I quickly chopped vegetables and a slab of venison, threw everything into a pot to simmer over the blaze, then stepped over to him.

“No food until you let me look at it,” I said firmly, pointing to his chest. “Now.”

I watched him hesitate. Then slowly, he lifted his tunic, his face twisting into a painful grimace.

Blushing slightly I watched as he revealed hard planes of rippling muscles and honey-bronze skin. But my admiration quickly turned to horror as I took in the sight of the wound just below his breastbone.

Wincing, he peeled the edges of his tunic back to reveal the extent of the injury. The wound itself was deep and jagged. The skin around it was red and inflamed, with blackened edges and dark veins spreading out from the gash like twisted roots.

I gasped. “By the Three.”

The flesh around the wound looked as if it were melting away. A foul odor emanated from it.

I was stunned by his stoicism. “You rode all day like that? How could you endure it?”

Draven shrugged. “I've had worse.”

I felt a surge of anger. “I don't see how that's possible or you wouldn’t be here now. It's infected. Terribly infected. And your plan was what? To ignore it? Hope it would go away? Stupid, stubborn man!”

He cleared his throat, looking awkward. “I usually heal very quickly. This–this is not usual.”

“You can say that again,” I agreed. I thought quickly. “Poison. Whitehorn must have used poison on the blade. Like he did with the exmoor. The coward.”

Draven nodded. “Probably bloodwraith.” He began to lower his shirt slowly, clenching his teeth.

I couldn’t help it. I flinched. “Bloodwraith? Bloodwraith is fatal,” I said tersely, my voice low.

“Usually. Not always. Good thing I'm strong.” He tried to grin and wound up coughing instead. A deep rattling sound from the center of his chest. I watched as he limped his way back to the log he had been sitting on. “Stew smells good. Ready to eat?”

“Don't change the subject,” I said, my voice hard. “What are we going to do about it?”

He coughed again and I saw the effort it cost him to even do that much. “We’ll be near another village tomorrow.”

“Grimhold didn’t have what you needed. What makes you think this place will?”

He took a deep breath. I could see the sweat on his brow. “I know this place. Been there before. There’s a healer. A good one.” He met my eyes. “We just need to get there.”

I bit my lip. “All right. Should we leave now? We could ride through the dark. I don’t mind if you don’t.”

He shook his head. “Sleep first.”

I watched as he ate his bowl of stew. The vegetables were still crunchy. Everything was too salty. But Draven ate automatically, spoonful after spoonful.

When he put down his bowl, I thought he would go over to his bedroll immediately. Instead he looked over at me.

“The markings on your arms.” He nodded to them. “What do you think they mean?”

“You’re asking me that?” I shook my head. “I was going to ask you that question.”

“They’re runes, of course. I’ve read about such things. But what they mean, who can say.” And yet still he studied them, his eyes scanning back and forth all the while, as if he were reading words from a page.

I crossed my arms over my chest and pulled my cloak around me.

“Your mother. Who was she exactly?”

The question surprised me. “She was the queen of Pendrath. Until she wasn’t.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly expecting more.

“Aren’t you going to get some rest?” I asked grouchily. I pushed a strand of hair from my eyes, still fascinated by the way it glimmered silver in the firelight, then sighed. “Fine. With every year that passes, I realize I don’t actually know. I don’t know much about my mother or about who she was at all.”

I looked at him over the flames. His skin was pale and clammy but at least he was no longer sitting so hunched over. A thick black wave of hair tumbled over one of his eyes, hitting just below one of his razor-sharp cheekbones.

“What do you mean?”

I struggled for words. “I mean it’s as if her life only began from the time she arrived in Camelot with my father. I was five years old when she died. She was fae, but I don’t even know what that means or how it was even possible. Where did she come from? Where did my father find her? Was she really full fae?” Or part–like the lute player I had seen yesterday. “I wish she had told me more about who she was before she died.”

“She probably wasn’t expecting to die so soon,” Draven said quietly. “And to leave you so soon.”

“She died because she was...” I broke off. I had nearly said she died because she was fae. But now I wondered if that was even true. Had my father killed her because he was simply drunk? Because he was angry at her for being fae? Or just because he wanted another woman? “She was fae and she died so easily.”

Draven frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

I studied the fire. “I was there. When she died.”

Suddenly, I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell someone what I had never dared to say before. “My father killed her. He had been drinking. He hit her, over and over again. Then he hit her so hard that her head hit the stone wall. And she died.”

I met his eyes across the fire, feeling unexpectedly furious. “She just... died.”

“And you expected her not to?” His green eyes met mine, piercing and intense as always, but also gentle. “Why?”

“If she was fae,” I burst out. “Then shouldn’t she have been able to stop him? To use... I don’t know, some sort of magic? Some kind of power? Shouldn’t she have at least been able to protect herself from a simple, frail, mortal man?”

“Maybe she couldn’t.” Draven hesitated. “Did she know you were there? Watching?”

Reluctantly I nodded. “I was underneath the bed.”

“Well, then. Perhaps she didn’t wish to retaliate. To hurt your father in front of you.”

“So it was better for me to see him hurt her?” I demanded, feeling suddenly unreasonably angry at everything and everyone, Draven included.

“Or perhaps she possessed no such powers, Morgan. Perhaps as you say, she was merely part-fae.” His eyes darted to the markings on my arms. He seemed about to say more, but shook his head.

“What?”

He met my eyes steadily. “What if she was like you? Suppressing who she was?”

I stared. “What? That’s not possible.” But I thought of the medicine. My uncle had claimed my mother had taken it. Why? To hide features she didn’t want anyone else to see? I touched my hair again, abruptly filled with unease. I thought of telling Draven that my mother had taken the medicine, then wondered if he would look at me differently if he knew. If he thought there was something terrible enough for two generations of my family to try to keep hidden. Would he want me to start drinking the potion again?

Draven quirked a dark brow. “No? Yet look at you. Taking that so-called medicine because you were a child and were told to do so. Or perhaps because you wished to please someone.”

I thought of my father, but stayed silent.

“Perhaps your mother wished to please her husband. Maybe she hoped doing so would bring peace to your family.”

“But it didn’t,” I said numbly.

Draven lifted a hand and pointed to my arms. “Could those markings be from her?”

I looked down at myself, staring at the runes.

“Someone made those, Morgan.” His voice was surprisingly gentle. “They didn’t just grow on you. Someone placed them there.”

I stared at him stupidly. “Who? Why?”

“Maybe you’re the only one who can answer that.” He grunted, a grimace crossing his face.

“Is the pain very bad?” I jumped to my feet. “Do you need help getting to your bedroll?”

He waved a hand at me. “I can walk.” He stood and I saw him pause to get his bearings. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

I sat by the fire alone a while longer, staring into the flickering flames. Then I let myself do something I had told myself I wouldn’t do.

I thought of Camelot and Arthur. I thought of Galahad and Lancelet. Sir Ector and Dame Halyna. I thought of the sparring ring and the practice yard and my room and my books.

I even thought of my uncle, Caspar Starweaver, Master of Potions, who had seen fit to poison his own niece when it served his purpose–and Arthur’s.

I thought of Florian and touched a finger to the fading scars on my chest. Were they all that was left of him? Did anyone miss him? Did anyone know what I had done?

But mostly I thought of my little brother. Kaye. I missed him, desperately. He was so young. With me gone, who was looking out for him? How was Arthur treating him?

I had to get back to him. We were traveling quickly, as quickly as we could. But suddenly it didn’t feel fast enough. I had to reach Valtain... If Draven said it existed, well, he hadn’t been wrong yet. And once we reached it and found the sword? What then?

Finding the Blade of Perun or Excalibur–to me it seemed impossible. Where would we even begin to look? But clearly Draven knew much more about the sword’s whereabouts than he was telling me. Just as he knew precisely what route we should follow to get to Valtain.

And once we found it? What then?

Arthur wanted it.

So did Draven.

As the weeks passed by, especially with Whitehorn gone, it had become easier and easier to see Draven as merely a traveling companion. Less enemy, more... Well, I wouldn’t have gone so far as to say friend. But less enemy.

But Draven was only here because he wanted to steal Arthur’s prize.

And if he did, I’d return to Arthur empty-handed–and face my brother’s certain wrath.

What would become of Kaye then?

I looked over at where Draven lay, very still and hunched under his blankets, and shifted uncomfortably on my log.

What if Draven died?

Would that be better in the long run?

In the short term, at least I would no longer be his hostage.

Did Draven simply see me as a tool to get the sword? Did he see me as a person at all?

And once I had helped him get it, what would he do with me once he had it?

He had claimed he had no plans to kill me. But was I really going to accept his claim at face value?

Perhaps Draven was not quite as ruthless as Sir Ector had claimed. But he was still a paid killer.

I looked at him sleeping, his chest rising and falling with each labor breath.

If I were as ruthless as Draven supposedly was, I could kill him now and save myself before it was too late.

He was weak. Injured. For all I knew, he would die no matter what I did.

But the thought of doing what Whitehorn had nearly succeeded in doing and sliding a knife in the dark into Draven’s sleeping back left me filled with disgust.

I could never do that to him.

If he was going to try to kill me, let me face him openly with a blade in my hand. I wanted to see the look in his eyes as he did it. He would find that a daughter of Pendragon did not surrender so easily. I would fight for my life. I would fight for Kaye’s, too.

My mouth felt dry at the prospect of fighting Draven to the death. No matter what he might feel for me–probably nothing or less than nothing–I had developed something towards him. I was loathe to name it. To even describe it as a feeling.

But... the thought of his death did not bring me joy.

Besides, I told myself, if he died how would I reach Valtain alone?

Draven must be carrying maps of some kind. I supposed I could find those. But what if I couldn’t interpret them or didn’t understand them?

And just how safe would I be traveling the rest of the way through the Bloodlands alone?

No. Like it or not, if Draven was using me, I had to use him right back.

I needed him to help me reach the Blade of Perun. Excalibur. Whatever the weapon was called.

But once we got to the sword, I wasn’t giving it up as easily as he seemed to think I would.

I would hold onto it no matter what the cost. I would return it to Arthur.

And then, I would protect Kaye with my life as I had promised his mother I would do.

If that meant leaving Camelot altogether, so be it.

CHAPTER 22

In the morning, Draven didn’t get up.

Every morning, he woke up before I did and then shouted for me to wake up if I dared to remain sleeping for too long.

Now I stared at him in horror wondering if he was dead and thinking guiltily of the terrible thoughts I had in the night.

Then I saw his broad back as it trembled and shook. He wasn’t waking up because he was too fevered to do so. Just as I had been.

I walked up and crouched carefully beside him, touching a hand to his damp forehead. I was no healer, but even I could tell when a man was burning up.

I packed up the camp and readied the horses, thinking all the while.

When I went back to Draven the second time, I wasn’t gentle. I shook him as hard as I could, yelled in his face, cursed, threatened.

And then I did the only other thing I could think of. I doused him with a pail of cold water.

He sat up, shaking droplets from his dark hair, his face a mask of fury.

“What the fuck...” He was still trembling. I felt a wave of pity for him but shrugged it off. He wouldn’t want my sympathy. He probably wouldn’t have even wanted my help. But too damn bad. He was getting it.

“Get on the horse, Captain Draven,” I barked, trying to sound like Sir Ector. “Get on the horse now, before you pass out again. That’s an order.”

He stared at me, for a moment looking at me as if he had no idea who I was.

Then slowly, he pushed himself to his feet.

The pain had returned to his face and his eyes were bleary with fatigue. “Which horse?”

“Which horse?” I repeated. I looked at the horses. I had saddled the piebald, but I needn’t have bothered. There was no way Draven could ride it alone.

“Get on Haya. I’ll sit behind you,” I instructed. Quickly, I tied the piebald behind the pack horse.

Draven clambered up, his large frame taking up most of the saddle. It was a good thing Haya was such a sizable mare.

I pulled myself up behind him, wedged in against his back, and grabbed the reins, wrapping my arms around him. It wouldn’t be a particularly comfortable ride, but if I let him sit behind me, he might fall off and then how would I get him back up? At least his way I might be able to catch him if he started to tilt.

Draven’s back was wet and clammy with sweat, and he was shaking uncontrollably. I pulled a second cloak from my saddle bag and wrapped it around him as best I could, then leaned against him.

“Do you remember the way to the village you told me about last night?”

A slight nod.

“Do you think you can get us there?”

Another nod. “Follow...the road.” He broke into a hacking cough.

“That sounds easy enough,” I muttered, and urged Haya into a trot.

Dusk was falling by the time we reached the village of Nethervale.

Very quickly I realized this was no ordinary town. Nestled in the thick woods, the village had been constructed amongst the forest rather than apart from it. As we approached, the trees thinned a little, revealing a collection of dilapidated shacks and tents, cobbled together from scraps of wood, metal, and fabric.

Passing the border of the village, larger buildings loomed over us along a long stretch of street. Ramshackle taverns and brothels stood along the main street, alongside more prosperous-looking structures with fresh paint and colorful signs advertising weapons and armor for sale. A number of blacksmith shops were still open, their furnaces roaring, their hammers ringing out a familiar beat.

Shops selling potions and poisons stood alongside them and seemed to be full of customers. Evidently in Nethervale, weapons and poisons made for thriving business.

Despite the growing darkness, the village was bustling with activity. The majority of those we passed seemed to be engaging in enterprises of the nefarious sort. The streets were populated with all manner of unsavory-looking characters. I watched as a towering brute in tattered leather armor carrying a massive battle-ax staggered drunkenly out of a tavern, while across the street a thin, haggard woman with a scarred face clutched a sharp knife in her hand, eagerly eyeing passerby. Urchins and beggars huddled together in darkened alleys, glaring suspiciously up at us as we passed.

“What sort of a place is this?” I hissed at Draven who sat hunched over in front of me. “You’ve brought us to a thieves’ den!”

I wasn’t really expecting an answer. He had been silent most of the day. But at least he had managed to stay in the saddle.

But to my surprise, Draven lifted his head a little. “Head for that inn over there.” His voice was raspy and cracked. “We’ll be staying the night.”

My heart leaped. We might be robbed in our sleep but at least we’d have a chance of a hot bath. I wasn’t about to tell him so, but Draven desperately needed one.

I wondered if I’d have to help him in, then wished I had wondered no such thing as I tried to push out the vision which immediately intruded into my mind.

I looked doubtfully over at the building Draven had pointed at. A nondescript structure that blended in with the buildings around it, like any inn in any small town out in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Or in the midst of a primeval and probably fae-haunted ancient forest.

“The Noble Knight? Will they have a healer?”  If anything, the inn looked a little more ramshackle than the buildings around it.

“The best in Cerunnos,” Draven croaked. He shifted in the saddle letting out a groan, and I hurriedly guided the horses over to the hitching post in front of the Noble Knight, then watched as Draven half slid, half fell off Haya.

He took a deep breath, then forced himself upright and met my eyes. “Follow me,” he said gruffly. “Listen, don’t speak.”

“That seems a little rude.” But I followed him up the wooden steps.

As we stepped into the lobby, I sucked in my breath.

This was no ordinary inn. From the outside, the Noble Knight may have had a simple wooden exterior and thatched roof, but inside...

Inside, the ceiling soared upwards to an almost unbelievable height where an ornate crystal chandelier hung from a gilded chain. The lobby’s walls were lined with velvet paneling. Rich purple damask curtains hung from the windows, shutting out the light. The floors were carpeted in thick patterned rugs that reminded me of Lyonessian designs.

I stared upwards. “It's not possible. The ceilings can't be this high.”

“Keep your voice down,” Draven murmured with a frown. “It's an illusion, of course.”

I stared at his back as he walked across the room. Of course. As if illusion magic was so common across Eskira. I had never once seen such an elaborate illusion. Not even at the temple.

Draven managed to cross the lobby with surprising poise, his heavy footsteps muffled against the luxurious carpeted floors.

I watched him approach the front desk, a polished and carved thing of beauty, where a handsome woman in a scarlet silk gown stood, her dark hair swept up into an elegant bun.

She smiled as he neared. “It’s been a long time, Kairos.”

“You’re looking well, Laverna. I see you have a new chandelier. Business must be good.” A new chandelier? I wondered what had happened to the old one. And just how often had Draven visited this place? One could not get much farther off the beaten path than we were.

Laverna looked him up and down coolly. “Thank you. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for you.”

Draven grimaced. “My companion and I are in need of a room.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out something bright red and coin-shaped and slapped it down on the desk in front of her. I tried to peek past him but couldn’t get a better look before Laverna placed her hand overtop it. “I have a second token, should it be needed.”

Laverna nodded at where I stood. “She is your guest? One token will do.”

She swept the red piece off the desk. “You remember the rules of our sanctum?”

“Of course,” Draven said smoothly. Very smoothly for a man who had barely managed to stay on a horse all day.

But when he glanced back at me, I could see the effort this exchange was costing him. His forehead was slick with sweat. If I could see it, surely so could Laverna.

“And shall I send up the healer when he returns?” Laverna said, plainly not an unobservant woman.

“Please do.”

“Very good. You’ll be in the Moonstone room.” She smiled slightly. “I’m sure you remember it.”

“I do. Very well.”

They looked at each other for a moment and I felt an odd pang of jealousy. Had they been lovers? Here in this inn? In this Moonstone Room?

Well, it was no business of mine. Draven was no one to me. Merely my captor and assassin.

And the man I had to keep alive if I wanted to get back to Kaye.

I followed Draven over to a winding staircase in the corner and admired the gleaming oak bannister.

“Not your typical country inn,” I muttered. He walked slowly up the stairs. “Shall I carry you, noble knight?”

He paused to glower at me.

“Your glare is still reliable at least,” I said sweetly. “Shall I fetch the luggage, Sir Draven?”

I was taken aback when he nodded. “If you don’t mind.”

“What are the rules?” I asked curiously. “The ones that woman mentioned.”

“Oh, no weapons, no brawling, no loud noises. That sort of thing.” He walked slowly down a red carpet lined hallway until he reached a door with a small white circular stone embedded in its center. “Here we are.”

The room was surprisingly spacious, with high ceilings–though not quite as high as the ones in the lobby–plush carpets, and extravagant gold and silver wallpaper. In the center of the room was a large four-poster bed made of dark mahogany covered with white linens and fluffy pillows.

The room was situated in a corner of the hotel. Three tall windows ran along one wall, while opposite the bed a large bay window overlooked the street below.

Subtle signs indicated this was not a typical inn for travelers. The lock on the door was heavy and reinforced. The windows were bolted shut. Even the bed frame had been bolted to the floor. I wondered at that. Perhaps I had mistaken the tone of the place and it was not actually criminal but rather... Something else. Was this where a woman had asked Draven to be gagged, I suddenly wondered, and then felt a red heat sweep across my cheeks.

I went back down the stairs slowly, trying not to think any other disturbing thoughts. In a village that seemed to be mostly populated by thieves and rogues, I wondered about the safety of our horses and our other possessions. But the inn did not seem to possess a stable, so the horses would have to stay where they were.

I eyed Draven’s crossbow and the leather weapons’ kit he always kept strapped to his horse. My own bow was stowed on the pack horse, out of sight. Ever since the incident with Whitehorn, I kept a small dagger on me at all times–either strapped to my thigh or tucked into a boot.

But Draven had claimed weapons were not allowed in the hotel. I decided I would risk the dagger, but not the crossbow or other items.

Carrying the bow and leather bag into the hotel lobby, Laverna glanced up.

“Weapons in the cabinet over there.” She pointed to her left. “The horses will be safe outside. No one troubles the Noble Knight. Not unless they want serious trouble from us in return.”

I nodded and stowed the weapons, then hoisted our luggage over my shoulders.

When I entered the room with our bags, Draven was already sprawled out on the only bed, still fully clothed.

I crossed over to him and let out a curse. It must have taken all he’d had left just to walk up the stairs. He’d pushed himself too hard and now was looking worse than ever.

His face was flushed, and when I put a hand to his cheek the heat emanating from it shocked me.

I dropped our bags by the wall, and walked over to a basin of clean water that had been left behind a painted reed screen to wash my hands and face.

Then I went back to Draven, unbuttoned the brown leather vest he wore over top of his tunic, pushed it aside, and began to tug his shirt up.

Lifting it over his stomach was no problem. It was when I reached the wound itself that the tunic began to stick. The wound must have been pussing and bleeding all day as we rode. Now it was glued to his skin. If I kept pulling, it would be painful. Not to mention I’d take some of his skin with it.

I went back to the basin and wet a clean cloth, then gently soaked the shirt until I was able to peel it off.

As I lifted it, I let out a hiss of revulsion. The smell was worse today. The wound looked even redder, if that were possible. The flesh around the wound reminded me of a melted candle.

How could a healer possibly fix this?

The best in Cerunnos, Draven had said. I gritted my teeth and marched to the door of the room.

Downstairs, Laverna was still at the front desk.

“When will the healer be back?” I asked directly, walking up to her.

She lifted her head from a piece of paper she had been reading from, and I realized she leaned much more towards beautiful than handsome. The red silk dress she wore hugged her curves in all the right places, plunging low at the neckline and revealing ample cleavage and glowing ivory skin.

I was suddenly conscious of my sweat-soaked clothes, my dusty boots, and my tangled hair. The runes on my arms might be a small claim to beauty with their silvery glimmer, but I had decided they would only draw unwanted attention and so had been careful to wear a long-sleeved tunic and a cloak overtop.

“Soon.” She gazed back at me, her eyes clever and curious. “Where are you traveling to? I haven’t seen Kairos Draven in these parts in a long time.”

“Yes, well, he’s been busy,” I said lamely, praying she wouldn’t ask more questions. “Is the healer nearby? Perhaps I could go and fetch them myself.”

“His wound is as bad as that, is it?” She leaned forward, her slender arms pressing against the counter, her expression more interested than empathetic. “I could smell the taint even from here.”

“The taint?”

“Infection. Corruption.” She leaned a little closer, her voice a purr. “Death.”

“Lovely,” I muttered. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a wonderful way with people?”

She smiled a little. “I’m surprised Draven was stupid enough to get himself hurt.”

“I don’t think he was planning on it.”

“He would never have made a mistake like that before. He was too good for that.” She eyed me keenly. “I see you don’t have any injuries.”

“Yes, well, he was protecting me,” I admitted.

Laverna raised elegantly arched brows. “How fascinating. And who are you that he would risk his life over? Someone important, I suppose.” Her eyes flicked over me, long lashes dancing against the planes of her pretty skin. “You’re not his usual type.”

“I’m not his type at all,” I said hotly. “It’s not like that.”

Laverna laughed, a tinkling bell-like sound. I had to admit it was rather pretty. “Oh, my darling, I know. That’s obvious.”

I couldn’t help it. I glared. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She stopped laughing and smiled. “Draven likes his women a little more... experienced.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not a cutthroat or a thief,” I said with false politeness. “Like everyone else in this place.”

“No thieves in the Noble Knight,” Laverna said, waggling a slender finger. “Only the finest clientele.”

“Oh, right. In your ‘sanctum.’” I rolled my eyes. “The healer? Please?”

“I’ll send them right up, as soon as they return. I promise.” Laverna settled her hips back against the wall and began to study her nails. “If you’re that desperate, I could always take a look.”

She snapped her hand open and a delicate, shimmering butterfly fluttered over her palm.

She flicked it open a second time and small flames danced and flickered, consuming the butterfly into nothingness.

She closed her hand into a fist and met my eyes.

“Impressive,” I said honestly. Still, there was something about this woman I didn’t trust. “But I’ll have to ask Draven.”

And since he was currently passed out and probably dying, that was a resounding negative.

“I’ll get back to you,” I said, over my shoulder, as I moved back to the staircase.

“And I’ll send the healer up as soon as they return,” Laverna called.

I ground my teeth and pushed open the door to our room. While I had been downstairs, darkness had fallen. Draven was still on the bed, his breathing ragged.

At least he was breathing.

We didn’t have time for this. Draven was burning up and I had no way of helping him.

There was a shattering sound and the window to my left erupted in a burst of glass as something whistled past my head, landing with a thud in the wall behind me.

When I turned, I saw a heavy bolt embedded in the gold and silver wallpaper.

CHAPTER 23

For a moment, I was too stunned to move.

Then another bolt whizzed through the window and I surged into action, crouching low to the ground, trying to make myself as small a target as possible.

My heart raced as I scanned the room, searching for any means of defense. I had my dagger, but was not about to throw that out a window at whoever was shooting at us.

My eyes landed on the bed. Draven! He was completely exposed.

I crawled over and yanked on the edges of the velvet quilt he lay on, pulling as hard as I could.

“Sorry about this,” I grunted, as the bedding began to give way. One more pull.

Draven began to fall off the side of the bed. I gripped the edges of the blanket as hard as I could, trying to soften his landing.

There. The blanket slid across the bed and Draven’s prone form landed with a heavy thud on the floor.

He didn't stir. He didn’t even open his eyes.

I hunched over him, filled with pure panic. If Draven was awake, I was sure he would know what to do. But with him like this, I couldn't even run out the door.

I mean, I could have. But in that moment I knew without a doubt that I wasn't going to leave him, even if it would mean saving myself.

Not even if he was my captor or a ruthless assassin or by the Three something else even worse.

Because somehow I knew that he would never leave me.

I scanned the windows, trying to catch sight of where the next attack would come from and as I did fear gripped my stomach. Across the rooftops of the nearby buildings, I could see the figures of men spread out, all holding crossbows. They had surrounded our room from both sides and looked very prepared.

The sound of wood splintering filled the air. I whipped my head around to see a man in dark leather armor rappelling through the broken window with a rope. He dropped to the ground with a thud, a crossbow in his hand.

My mind went blank.

I watched as he raised the bow, aiming the deadly bolt directly at me.

The bolt released. I watched as it came through the air towards me, and was filled with an unnatural calm.

I moved to the side, feeling a jolt of pain shoot through my body as the projectile grazed my arm, then I heard the bolt land harmlessly in the mattress behind me.

I didn't even look down to see where it had grazed me. Somewhere in a distant part of my mind, I knew there would be blood and pain later on. But right now, instead of feeling weakened by the injury, I felt only a rush of adrenaline.

Something was happening to me. Something I couldn't name.

My fingers were tingling. My body trembled.

Fear was rapidly transforming, mingling and merging until it joined forces with something else.

I furled my hands into fists and felt a rush of energy coursing through my veins.

The entire room was suddenly humming with a vibrant, pulsing power.

And I was the center of it all.

My attacker's eyes bulged as he looked at me and for a split-second I wondered how I appeared. He fumbled as he reloaded the crossbow, then raised it again.

I lifted my hands.

I watched the man's face break into a smirk of satisfaction. I understood. He thought I was helpless. That my hands were my only weapon, and that I had raised them in a pathetic gesture of surrender.

I understood, because for a moment, I had believed I was helpless, too.

Now I wasn’t so sure.

The man’s finger moved over the trigger.

I kept my hands steady, still not fully certain what was going on.

A wave of searing heat was filling my palms. There was no pain. Only a strange warmth.

The bolt flew towards me.

Flames erupted from my hands, engulfing the bolt.

It froze in midair, burning like a fiery comet.

I raised my hands higher, crouching low on my knees, and the bolt flew backwards. Back to its home.

I watched my attacker's eyes widen in disbelief as the bolt moved with an even greater force than which it had been discharged, penetrating his leather armor and piercing through the center of his chest.

The armor around the bolt burst into flames.

I watched in horror mixed with fascination as the intruder dropped to the ground, screaming in agony, flailing and writhing.

I could hardly comprehend what was happening.

A commotion came from outside. I leaned around the bed, peering out the bay window, and saw a man dressed in green leathers fighting with one of the attackers across the rooftops.

With a punch to the jaw, he dispatched his opponent and ran across the roof, dodging crossbow bolts and pulling small knives from his belt as he went. He threw them with effortless coordination, never pausing his step. Transfixed, I watched as he took down man after man, moving with incredible grace and speed.

The sound of shattering glass rang out, pieces flying across the room. I ducked and covered my head as the glass fell around me, then glanced back at Draven. The pieces had fallen a few feet away. He didn't appear to have been harmed–by any of this. But it was only a matter of time. We couldn’t stay here. I had to get him out.

I turned my head. A second man had crashed into the room, shattering a window. He didn't spare a glance for his fallen comrade who lay on the floor, body still smoking, and instead lunged towards me, a glinting sword in hand.

I raised a hand, flicking my wrist in a way that reminded me of the movement Laverna had made when she conjured the butterfly. A burst of flames shot out, knocking the man backwards with a scream.

I looked down at my hands. They were untouched. No hint of flame or fire, no smoke, no charred flesh.

What was happening to me?

Whatever it was, it was far beyond Laverna's tricks in the lobby. But unlike her, I felt as if I had little control over it.

Nor could I depend on it to last. Whatever power was filling me might vanish as quickly as it had appeared. Then where would we be?

The attacker on the floor was still screaming, his body wracked with flames. I didn't want to look but I did anyhow, forcing myself to witness the destruction I had wrought. The man had turned onto his stomach and was trying to crawl away. But I could see it would be no use. His time was running out. His body was on fire from head to toe. I could smell burned flesh, hair turning to ash. He reached out a desperate hand and grabbed at the curtains. I watched in horror as flames licked up his hand and ignited the drapes, burning and spreading across the fabric more quickly then I would have thought possible.

I glanced at the pitcher of water on the dresser but knew it was not nearly enough to douse the flames. They would soon spread, moving across the walls, the carpet, the ceiling. It was only a matter of minutes.

We had to get out of there.

I crawled over to Draven and knelt beside him.

Unbelievably, he had slept through all of the noise. His face was pale and still taut with pain, his lips twisted in agony.

A scuffing sound from behind me told me another attacker had entered the room. I could smell the smoke from the curtains. Hear the crackle of flames as flesh and fabric burnt. My heart raced. A thousand questions flooded my brain. What should I do? How did I get us out? Where would we go once I did?

Before I could even think about it, I reached out a hand to touch Draven’s forehead.

Time slowed to a sluggish crawl.

I was frozen, my hand pressed to Draven's burning skin.

A wall of light and energy filled the room.

I heard the remaining windows around us crack and burst. The man who had just entered behind me let out a single primal scream of pain and terror and then was silent.

The room filled with a deafening roar.

And then a gust of air hit me, pushing me forward, knocking me onto Draven’s chest, with the force of a tidal wave.

The room around us was lit up as if a thousand candles burned within it. An aura of energy radiated outwards, surrounding us, surrounding me.

I heard a shattering, splintering noise and the wall to our left that held the bay window blew away. It simply blew away. As if it were a mere feather.

I suddenly felt afraid.

Of what? Of myself.

What lurked within me, concealed, and terrifying? What horrors waited to come out from inside of me?

This power had saved me, yes. But I knew better than to believe it was under my control.

I felt a current passing through me where my hand lay pressed against Draven's skin.

Something from me was moving into him. But the feeling went both ways.

I could feel Draven's pain, sense his injuries as clearly as if they were my own. My body was reacting of its own accord, the current flowing from me stronger and more focused, like a beam of light piercing through darkness.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The aura of light vanished.

We sat in a burning room, the crackling of the flames and the howling of the wind drifting through the opening where the wall had been the only sounds.

I sat in a daze, smoke billowing over me.

“Morgan.” I looked down to see Draven’s eyes were open. His voice was a harsh croak, as if rusty from years of disuse. “By the Three, what’s happened to you? Your arm is soaked in blood.” His eyebrows shot up. “The room. It’s on fire.”

“Yes, I don’t think your friend is going to want us back anytime soon,” I said weakly. “Do you think you can stand up?”

“Need a hand?” a male voice asked.

I whirled around to see a man perched on the ledge of one of the broken windows.

“You!”

The flames flickered, casting dancing shadows along the wall, as the lute player jumped lightly down to the floor.

He was an otherworldly vision. His hair a wild tangle of amber curls, his eyes a rich, liquid gold that sparkled like a fine ale. He was dressed for battle, clad in a coat of mail, silver links glistening overtop a thick, forest-green tunic. A quiver of red-tipped arrows hung at his back and he held a bow loosely in one hand. Rows of small knives were strapped across his chest. His sleeves had been rolled up to reveal strong forearms and sun-kissed skin. Snug trousers made of a sturdy green fabric emphasized the length of his lean legs, and were tucked into tall, black leather boots that came up to his knees.

As he crossed the room towards us he moved with a lithe, feline grace I had only seen before in one other man.

“You look as if you came prepared,” I said coolly, gesturing to his weapons.

“From what I glimpsed from the rooftop over there, you weren’t exactly defenseless yourself.” His lips curved slowly into a grin, and I felt a flush rise to my cheeks.

“Who is this?” Draven demanded. I turned to see he had pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Who are you?”

The lute player bowed with a flourish. “I’m the man who helped save your life.”

“Helped” was a nice touch. I still wasn’t quite sure what I had done. And neither was Draven, I realized. He had seen none of my displays. Perhaps that was for the best.

The wind blew a gust of smoke into our faces, reminding me of the precariousness of our situation.

“We need to get out of here,” I said between coughs.

“Name first,” Draven growled.

“Maybe you don’t care if you burn to death in a fire, but I do,” I snapped, then remembered the attackers’ bodies. I glanced across the room at where charred figures lay, hardly recognizable as human anymore. Would Draven notice them? Would he ask how they had gotten that way?

The lute player had followed my gaze. Now he spoke hastily. “Vesper. My name is Vesper.”

Was he trying to distract Draven? If so, I was grateful.

“That tells me nothing,” Draven complained.

“How quickly you’ve recovered your strength,” I observed, rolling my eyes. “You can interrogate him later. We’re leaving.”

I pushed myself to my feet. My legs wobbled beneath me. My arms felt like jelly, hanging limp by my side.

I had planned to help Draven rise. Now I stood there, trying not to keel over.

Vesper stepped up swiftly. “Allow me, if you will.” Grasping Draven’s arm with a fluid motion he pulled him up with surprising strength. Draven grumbled all the while, of course, protesting that he did not need any help at all.

“You do and you will,” I said shortly. “Stop wasting time. Let him help you and lets go.”

I unbolted our door and peered out into the hall. It was empty.

We hurried down the stairs, across the lobby, and were about to push open the doors of the inn when they opened before us. Laverna strode in.

She was wearing the same crimson gown but had done something to the skirt, tucking it between her legs and into her belt like a makeshift pair of trousers. Dark lace stockings rose from black shining mid-thigh boots. She carried two swords, one in each hand. There was blood on them.

“Your horses are still here,” she said, meeting my eyes. “I told you they would be.”

I gaped at her, longing to ask questions.

“Your inn is on fire.” My voice came out like the croak of a toad.

But Laverna only nodded. “I saw.”

Her eyes widened a little as they landed on Vesper standing to my side, his arm slung around Draven who had been remarkably silent as we made our way downstairs, evidently still too weak to protest as much as he desired.

“Are you going with them?” she asked Vesper.

He nodded just as Draven’s head shot up. “Absolutely not.”

I felt my traitorous heart skip a beat. He was? He wanted to?

Vesper ignored him. “My horse should be where I left it. She usually is.”

“Good. Go quickly. More will be on the way.”

Then Laverna marched past us, into the burning inn.

CHAPTER 24

We left the town as fast as our horses could gallop, Vesper in the lead.

After a few failed attempts at hoarsely shouting at him to leave, Draven lapsed into silence and took up a place at the rear with the piebald. I took it that meant Vesper was leading us in roughly the right direction.

Hours passed as we raced down the ancient stone road. I prayed to the Three that Haya would not stumble and break a leg in the dark.

At first my senses were on high alert as we followed the winding ancient highway. The sliver of a crescent moon peeked out from behind the thick, gnarled branches of the trees, casting a glimmer of light onto the path as we made our way back into the dense forest.

In time my mind began to wander as we rode through the night, the only sounds the occasional hoot of an owl and the rustle of leaves. Who had attacked us at the inn and why? How could they possibly have known we were coming?

I thought of Laverna. She had recognized Draven and known who he was. But they seemed to be friends. And hadn't she helped us?

She had known who Vesper was, and appeared to think it a good idea if he came with us. I hadn't been about to challenge her on that, for selfish reasons entirely my own. But why had she thought so? And how had Vesper been able to come to our aid so swiftly?

I thought of how he had leaped across the rooftops as I studied the lean shape of his back. He rode a steel gray mare with a dark mane, his bow slung over a worn saddlebag.

He was obviously much more than a simple lute player.

I glanced back over my shoulder at Draven. Shockingly, the man actually tried to smile reassuringly back at me. He was still pale, but he was riding his own horse. He was upright and alive. He had woken up, literally in the nick of time.

Briefly, I thought of my hand on his forehead, his skin hot beneath my touch, the room bursting into light, windows shattering, walls fragmenting... And then I forced the memory away. I didn't want to examine what had happened back at the inn too closely. Not right now.

My body felt weak and empty, like an urn of water that had been drained dry. Suddenly I could not wait to sleep.

We made camp a few hours later.

Vesper and I gathered firewood while Draven tethered the horses. None of us seemed in the mood for a late night campfire chat. I set up my tent quickly and slid in, pulling the blankets up to my chin.

For once, sleep came quickly.

In the morning, I woke up with my dagger gripped in my hand, uncertain of where I was.

Then I remembered. I was back in my tent. Back in the Three-forsaken, never ending woods.

For a moment, I felt bizarrely angry that I had not gotten to sleep in a real bed or have a bath in a tub that would cover more than just my ankles like the shallow forest ponds did. As if that were somehow the worst of my problems when I had just killed three men the night before, set an inn on fire, and barely escaped with my life.

Then a whiff of fragrance blew into my tent. The sweetest scent I had ever smelled. All other thoughts flew out of my mind as my stomach rumbled pitifully.

I came out of the tent with the speed of a rabbit and found Vesper already awake and flipping flapjacks over a cast iron griddle.

He gave me a slow lazy grin and my stomach switched from hungry rumbles to pathetic pitter-patters.

“Hungry?”

“I’m starving,” I said, sitting down cross legged in a dry patch of pine needles and holding out my hands for the plate he passed over.

“Good. Your friend over there doesn’t seem to like me much, but he doesn’t seem to have a problem eating what I cook. He finished off the first dozen.”

I slid my fork down the center of a stack of three thick flapjacks dripping with butter, then paused. “Dozen?”

“Dozen what?” Draven asked.

I looked up to see him standing between some trees. He was dripping wet, evidently having just returned from cleaning up. The tunic he had been wearing the day before was slung carelessly over one bare shoulder. It looked as if he’d tried to wash it.

His damp raven hair fell around his face, framing his chiseled features. A day's worth of stubble shadowed his jaw. Somehow, even after being completely incapacitated so recently, he had already regained that dangerous edge he possessed.

As he stood at the edge of the campsite, water droplets cascading down his naked shoulders and chest, I couldn't help but stare. Despite all we'd been through together, I still felt small and vulnerable in his presence.

I forced my head away, then whipped it back as a realization struck me.

That glorious glistening chest had nothing but rivulets of water running down it.

The wound was gone.

I stared. My mouth opened, but as I tried to form words I caught Draven shaking his head at me, almost imperceptibly.

“A dozen what?” he repeated.

“A dozen flapjacks,” Vesper answered, flipping the iron skillet and tossing a golden cake into the air. It landed back in the pan with a delicious sizzle. “You devoured the first twelve I made. I was just telling your friend here.” He paused and looked between us thoughtfully. “Or is she your sister?”

“Sister!” I blurted out. “I am not his sister.”

“She’s not my sister,” Draven said coldly. “Question time is over. Good breakfast. You can leave anytime. We’re moving on.” He strode over to his bedroll and started packing it up.

“Draven!” I exclaimed. “That was rather rude.”

Vesper shrugged. “It’s all right. The man doesn’t enjoy questions and he doesn’t have a sister. I can leave well enough alone.” He winked at me. “Now as for you. I’ve told you my name. Will you be returning the favor?”

I felt a little of Draven’s suspicion infecting me. “You came to our aid very swiftly last night. We’re grateful. But why did you help us? In a town like that, I certainly wasn’t expecting anyone to come to our rescue. There were so many men. You might easily have died.”

“I don’t die easily.” He popped a piece of flapjack into his mouth, revealing perfectly white teeth. “And I don’t like ambushes. That’s what that was. A sneaky, cowardly ambush.”

I turned to where Draven stood listening. “Do you have any idea who those men were?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Would he tell me in front of Vesper, even if he did, I wondered?

“They were practically in uniform. Each one wearing similar armor. Their crossbows were almost identical, too. A mercenary group of some kind, I’d wager.” Vesper eyed Draven with interest. “Who’d put a bounty on your heads?”

“A great many people, I have no doubt,” Draven replied, sounding remarkably unphased. “Sure you didn’t just eliminate your competition?”

Vesper gave a careless shrug. “If I’d wanted to take you both out, I could have done so last night. You snore, you know.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant Draven or me. Or both. I felt myself blushing frantically.

“So much for the Noble Knight being a sanctum,” I observed. “Though I suppose they attacked from outside the sanctum’s boundaries. At least, until those men came flying in through the windows...” I stopped, not wanting to relive those moments.

“They came in through the windows?” Draven’s voice was harsh. “How many? What did you do?”

My eyes flickered to Vesper’s. He was looking at me with a knowing expression.

“She fought them off. She held her own. I could see everything from the rooftop across from you,” Vesper said quickly. “Excellent work with that...” He paused significantly.

“Dagger,” I said swiftly. “Thank you.”

Draven frowned but said nothing. “I’ll saddle the horses.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” Vesper quipped.

Draven turned back, a scowl on his handsome face. “Not yours. You can saddle your own. And then find your own path while you’re at it.”

“There’s really only one path through this part of Cerunnos, in case you haven’t noticed,” Vesper replied. “And I’m traveling south. I suppose if you were traveling north, we might indeed part ways this morning.”

There was silence for a moment.

“We’re heading south,” Draven said tersely.

“Ah. I figured as much. Since you didn’t seem to protest when I led us in that direction last night.” Vesper smiled serenely.

Draven glared at the lute player and I almost giggled. At least now he’d have to split his glare between the two of us. I wonder if there was enough to go around. “Where south?”

“Oh, quite far south. Quite far indeed. All the way through the Bloodlands and into Valtain.”

Draven looked unimpressed. “We’re traveling that way as well.”

“My, what a happy coincidence.” Vesper beamed. “We should travel together. I assure you, I possess a wide range of skills. You’ve already heard my lute playing. I also sing. There’s nothing like a minstrel to brighten up a campfire at night. I have a little talent with a bow and with knives, as your fair companion has already seen.” That was a humble understatement. “I make a mean griddle cake and my rabbit stew is nothing to scoff over.

“We don’t require any additions to our party,” Draven said, just as I helpfully exclaimed, “That sounds wonderful!”

I grinned as Draven glowered. “Well, what’s the harm? He’s traveling the same way. It’s not as if we can really stop him.”

“Can’t we?” Draven’s voice was cold. “What a coincidence indeed. There are so many travelers to the Bloodlands these days. It’s quite the tourist destination.”

I couldn’t help it. I knew he was being sarcastic, but I snickered.

“Look, you’re obviously recovering from...” Vesper waved a hand at Draven. “Some illness or other. Why, your companion could hardly get you off the floor last night. You still don’t look quite your hale self today, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“It’s true,” I added helpfully. “You’re still pale.”

Draven glared at both of us.

“I came to your aid last night and I’d do so again in a heartbeat,” Vesper said. Was it my imagination or were his eyes lingering on me as he said those last words? I felt a rush of heat to my skin. “I’ll share the chores and provide a little entertainment. Where’s the harm in traveling together for a while?”

“We ride hard each day,” Draven barked. “We don’t dawdle or take breaks. We don’t stop to sightsee.”

“I’d never dream of asking you to sightsee,” Vesper said with an impressively straight face. “A man like you? Never.”

“Fine,” Drave said darkly. “Since you won’t leave when asked and as my only other option is to kill you, which I know she won’t like...”

“Your sister?”

“My companion,” Draven growled. “Since my companion would evidently prefer I didn’t kill you.”

“That would be very nice,” I said, as calmly as I could, my heart beating fast. “Especially when he’s so talented with breakfast.”

Were they really going to come to blows? I imagined exaggerating the story when I retold it to Galahad and saying two half-naked griddle-cake-scented, dazzlingly handsome men had been fighting over me.

“I won’t kill you yet,” Draven said, emphasizing the last word. “But if you do anything to...”

Vesper raised slender hands. “I know, I know. Anything to threaten your lovely companion or harm you in any way, it’s the hanging life for me.”

Draven nodded tersely. “Precisely.”

Lovely? Vesper thought I was lovely? I shoved another forkful of flapjack in my mouth and endeavored to chew delicately.

There was quiet for a spell.

“So, if she’s not your sister...”

Draven let out a low growl of exasperation.

“I’m his apprentice,” I said quickly. “He leads. I follow. It’s very simple really.”

Vesper raised his eyebrows. “His apprentice? Really?” He glanced at Draven. “And as you were staying at the Noble Knight and you seemed familiar with Laverna...”

“He’s an assassin, yes. I’m in training to be... an assassin,” I babbled.

I ignored Draven. He had lifted both hands to cover his face and was none-too-subtly stifling a groan.

Vesper nodded as if it all made perfect sense. “I see. Well, shall I call you ‘apprentice’? Or perhaps ‘assassin’s apprentice’?”

“My name will be fine.” I hesitated. “It’s Pen.”

Draven was watching without saying a word, but his mouth was pressed into a thin line. Apparently assassins did not ordinarily take apprentices.

“Pen,” Vesper repeated. He smiled. “It’s very nice to finally meet you, Pen.”

“Thank you. I take it you don’t mind traveling with such nefarious company?” I ventured.

“Oh, no,” Vesper assured me. “After all, I assume you only take contracts for valuable targets? Kings, queens, and the like. Perhaps a cheating husband or two. No one who doesn’t really deserve it.” He gave me a wide grin.

“Precisely,” I said weakly. “Serving the noble cause of justice, that’s us. For coin, of course.”

“Of course. Plenty of coin.”

“And what do you do, Vesper?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Me?” Vesper said cheerfully. “Oh, I’m a wandering minstrel.”

“A wandering minstrel... who is deadly with knives,” I said slowly.

“And who just happens to be traveling to Valtain,” Draven added.

“Well, I do a little treasure-hunting on the side, as it were. Do you have any idea what sorts of riches the fae left behind when they abandoned Numenos? No? Neither does anyone else. That’s because no one’s dared to set foot in the place for a hundred years or more.”

Something about his words reminded me uncomfortably of Arthur. I recalled the greedy look in my brother’s eyes as he spoke of fae-made treasure, the magic-infused items no human alive could still craft. But Vesper was nothing like Arthur.

“So you’re searching for lost fae treasures?” That sounded remarkably close to what we were doing, though I had no plans to say so.

“And why do you think that is?” Draven demanded. “Why does so much fae treasure sit untouched?”

Vesper tilted his head to one side. “People fear the unknown. Predictable, really.”

Draven rolled his eyes. “There’s a little more to it than that, I think.”

Vesper chewed his bottom lip. “The leaders of Cerunnos have also declared the Bloodlands and beyond to be off-limits.”

Draven snorted. “Cerunnos has leaders?”

Vesper grinned. “Of a sort. Albeit disorganized. Well? What do you think are the reasons? Clearly you have something in mind.”

“Let's see. Wraiths. Harpies.” Draven began to tick each item off his fingers.  “Goblins. Kelpies. Fenrirs. Trolls. The occasional wyvern.”

“Fenrirs,” Vesper scoffed. “You don't really believe those exist, do you?”

Draven looked affronted. “I most certainly do.”

I was distracted by the mention of goblins and trolls but still managed to interject. “What’s a fenrir?”

“Monstrous wolves,” Draven explained. “But like no wolf you’ve ever seen. Once they were dog-like pets. Domesticated by the fae. When the fae fled or retreated, many were abandoned. Now they reside in the Bloodlands and Valtain, living unnaturally long lifespans. They’ll eat whatever they can find.”

“I assume that includes us.” I shuddered.

“They don’t exist, so you have nothing to worry about,” Vesper assured me. “Just a traveler’s tale that’s been greatly exaggerated.”

Draven shot him a look of annoyance but continued, “Then, if you somehow managed to get past all of those hazards, there are the so-called treasures themselves. Highly dangerous in untrained human hands, not to mention that the fae were vindictive and known for their love of cursing items to ensure they could never be used by anyone else. Oh, and that's if you’re able to even reach Valtain in the first place without getting lost in the Bloodlands. There are no known maps still in existence. Few are willing to risk their necks to that extent for the chance of cursed treasure.”

Vesper leaned back against his log. “Curious.”

“What is?” Draven asked.

“So many reasons not to visit Valtain and yet it seems as if that’s precisely where you and your companion are also headed.”

“It’ll be an excellent training ground for Pen,” Draven said coolly.

“Do all assassins make their apprentices face off against goblins and harpies?” Vesper asked.

“No, but Pen is...unusual.”

Vesper stole a look at me, a half-smirk on his handsome face and I gulped. I knew exactly what he was remembering when he heard that word. “She certainly is.”

“To be honest, I had no idea half of those creatures actually existed outside of books,” I babbled, trying to quickly change the subject. “And if they do, why do they only inhabit former fae lands? Why haven’t they entered human domains?”

“They’re starting to,” Vesper said. “The Bloodlands used to be something of a boundary, but recently Cerunnos has seen creatures make their way as far north as Orin’s Gate.”

“Which we’ll be bypassing,” Draven interrupted.

“If there was a bounty on my head, I’d bypass Orin’s Gate, too,” Vesper agreed.

“But why do trolls and goblins and the like only live in Valtain?” I asked, still not satisfied.

“The fae knew how to deal with such creatures. When you have high-powered abilities like the fae did, a little wyvern isn’t going to trouble you. For the most part, the fae left the creatures alone and it was a harmonious balance. But that’s not to say the unseelie never lived beyond fae lands. They did. But... they’ve dwindled in the last hundred years or so.” Vesper shrugged.

“And we’ll be seeing such creatures... soon? Are we nearing the Bloodlands?” I asked, suddenly feeling as if there was no hurry.

Draven and Vesper exchanged a look that for once wasn’t full of malice.

“We should reach Orin’s Gate by... what? Nightfall tomorrow?” Vesper suggested.

“We’ll detour around it,” Draven declared. “But yes. That sounds about right. We’ll be in the Bloodlands within a day or two after that.”

“Oh, good. I can hardly wait,” I muttered. A little louder, “So, they call it the Bloodlands not because the land is blighted but because of all the blood these creatures spill? So it really does run with blood, in a sense.”

Draven shook his head. “You’re frightening yourself for nothing. Chances are we won’t see any of these creatures. Most are probably extinct. Or at least few and far between.”

“Like exmoors?” I suggested.

Draven frowned. “Exmoors aren’t even in the same category. They’re noble creatures. They don’t hunt humans for prey.”

Vesper was looking at Draven appraisingly. “Can I take it you’ve visited the Bloodlands and gotten as far as Numeos in the past?”

Draven got to his feet. “This conversation has gone on long enough. We’re wasting the morning away. Come, Pen. Time to go.” He stomped over to the horses.

I shrugged my shoulders at Vesper and went to pack up my things.

CHAPTER 25

Vesper strummed the strings of the lute as he sang,

Oh, sweet fae lady, of beauty so rare,

Eyes like the moon and skin like the air.

In love's embrace, we danced 'neath the stars,

But our love was fated to leave only scars.

For love between mortal and fae,

Is a dance with death, no matter the way.

But still we loved, with hearts entwined,

Till fate did take, what love did find.

“What maudlin nonsense is that? I’ve never heard such a stupid song in my life.” Draven’s nose wrinkled as he sat by the fire peeling an apple with a sharp blade.

Vesper paused. “It is maudlin nonsense.” There was a twinkle in his eyes. “And yet like every sentimental ballad, there’s also a kernel of truth.” He glanced at me and winked. 

“And what’s the truth in that one?” Draven snorted in disgust, then stalked off towards where the horses were tethered, still peeling his apple and muttering to himself about idiotic love songs.

I was silent. The song reminded me of my parents. Had their relationship begun with love? Real love, whatever that was? Did they know that it would ultimately become a dance with death? And had it turned out that way simply because one was fae and one human?

“You look sad, Pen,” Vesper said softly. “Shall I stop playing?”

“No, not at all. I love your singing,” I said quickly, then colored. “I mean, you’re very talented. You must be popular in the towns you frequent.”

Vesper shrugged casually. “I do well enough, I suppose.” He glanced at Draven, then lowered his voice. “I’ve traveled alone and with various companions. Caravans of merchants, solo travelers, other minstrels. I can’t say your Draven over there is a particularly cheery companion...”

“I’m so sorry,” I said automatically. “It’s just his way...”

“No, don’t mistake me,” Vesper interrupted. He grinned at me, showing beautiful white teeth. “You more than make up for it.”

I stared. “I do?”

Vesper nodded and lowered his voice. “You’ve been going through some changes, haven’t you? Since I first saw you at the tavern in Grimhold.” He gestured to my hair. “It was pretty before. But now? It’s like pure starlight.”

I blushed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Vesper was still looking at me consideringly. “And your skin. It’s more golden than I remember. And those markings on your arms...”

“Yes, I suppose there are a few differences,” I said quickly, tugging at the sleeves of my tunic. “I’m part fae, you know. Like yourself.”

My eyes flicked over him quickly. His sharp ears. His burnt-ochre hair.

Vesper was part-fae but so much more. He was a creature of pure wonder and I felt strangely bewitched by him. As the flames crackled nearby, my heart sped up as he looked at me with a gaze that felt almost like a caress.

I swallowed hard.

“I see. I’ve never known a part-fae to develop fae features so late, but I suppose anything is possible with us.” He grinned and I smiled back nervously. “But it’s more than just your appearance. At the inn...” He glanced around. Draven had still not returned. “You were truly remarkable, Pen.”

“I don’t know what you think you saw,” I said hurriedly. “But I’ve never been able to do anything like that before. And probably won’t again.”

Vesper studied me. “You were frightened and panicked. Quite understandably. It’s rare, but I’ve heard stories of part-fae who were able to cast magic in moments of terror or sheer desperation.”

“Yes, that’s probably what it was,” I said, nodding my head eagerly. “I was terrified and panicked. If it even was magic at all.”

Vesper tilted his head. “I’d say setting a man on fire with nothing but your hands is nothing if not magical.”

“It’s not the sort of magic I’d ever imagined having,” I said quietly.

“Not particularly pretty perhaps, but damned useful at the time. You saved your own life. You saved his life.” He nodded in the direction Draven had wandered off. “He doesn’t even know it, does he?”

I remembered Draven saying how quickly he usually healed. Did he think that was all this was? That his body had simply fought off the bloodwraith poison and finally won?

“I don’t think he remembers much from that night.” I met Vesper’s eyes. “If he did, he’d probably be more grateful towards you.”

He laughed. “I doubt that. No, he doesn’t like me much. I’ve encroached on his territory. But that’s all right.” He gazed at me, his amber and gold speckled eyes frank and intense. “Because I like you, Pen.”

I stared back. “You do?” My voice was hoarse.

“I do. Walk with me?” He jumped to his feet, set down his lute, and held out his hand. “If that’s allowed, I mean,” he said teasingly. “Do you have to ask permission first?”

I hesitated. “Not permission, no... But it is night and...”

“I swear to protect you.” Vesper put a hand to his heart, his expression solemn, and my heart skipped a beat. “Not that you need it. You could probably protect both of us easily.”

I looked around. Draven had vanished. We usually didn’t stray far from the camp. Never out of earshot. I wondered if he’d be alarmed when he returned and Vesper and I were both gone.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Vesper said softly. I realized he was still holding out a hand to me.

I took it, letting him pull me up. His grip was strong and sure.

He led me into the woods without letting go of my hand, the moon our only illumination.

I felt light-headed and dizzy as he pulled me along.

I knew I was walking into danger. Not the sort that carried a crossbow or a sword. No, this was another kind entirely. One which might set me aflame rather than the other way around.

From the first time Vesper had looked at me in the inn, there had been a wildness and a pull in his gaze that made my heart race. Tonight he was looking at me with something more. A hunger. A longing.

I recognized it because I felt it in turn.

There was something about him that drew me. A strange power. Was it because we saw something of ourselves in one another?

Or was this simply a superficial attraction? I thought of Lancelet and all of her conquests. Why shouldn’t I indulge in one myself? I’d be careful to keep from getting my heart broken, of course. I remembered the embarrassing dream I’d had of Draven. Maybe that had simply been my body’s way of telling me to stop ignoring my desires. After all, if I was daydreaming about my assassin guard, something must really have been amiss.

As we walked, I couldn't help but steal glances at Vesper. It helped that he not displeasing to look at. His hair glowed like embers in the darkness. I found myself admiring the lean lines of his body.

I felt a twinge of guilt at leaving without telling Draven. But I couldn't help myself. I knew he would never have said yes. And by the Three, I wanted to know more about this man, to see where this strange and dangerous attraction would lead.

Above us the moon and the stars shone down, illuminating the woods. Vesper held my hand firmly, guiding me through the twisting trees. I could feel my heart pounding with anticipation.

When he stopped and turned to me, he was smiling. His eyes were soft and gleaming with starlight.

Still holding my hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed my palm.

"Do you know how beautiful you are, Pen?" he murmured. He took my hand and placed it over his heart. I could feel it pounding beneath my palm, the steady rhythm echoing my own.

My breath hitched in my throat. I took a step closer, letting his scent fill my nostrils. Fragrant pine, campfire smoke, the pungent leather of his boots.

“When I first saw you in the tavern in Grimhold, I could hardly keep playing my lute.” His grin was almost shy.

I felt as if I were in a dream. Was this really happening? To me? To Morgan Pendragon, the gray-haired princess who would go to the Temple of the Three unkissed, untouched by any man? Was I really standing in this woodland at night with a heart-wrenchingly handsome man murmuring poetic praises to my beauty?

I thought of Florian and something wrenched inside of me. Vesper was everything Florian was not. Everything I had always wanted but had never thought I could possibly deserve. Yet here he was.

There was a heat simmering and sparking inside of me. I looked into Vesper's eyes and what I saw reflected there was sheer desire.

Vesper moved closer and I took a step back into the darkness, my body brushing up against the trunk of a tree. I breathed in his scent. I felt his warmth, reveled in his presence, so tall and lean and wonderfully masculine. The heat was stoking, building, like a flame feeding off kindling.

He leaned forward and I felt his lips tickle my ear. “Do you know what I want to do, Pen?” he murmured. His hand came up the side of my neck, stroking my skin gently.

I could barely find the strength to shake my head.

“Your lips are a temptation I can't resist. I want to claim you, Pen. Make you mine. I have since the moment I first saw you.”

His lips fell against my neck, brushing across my skin with a slow, stunning lightness that left me breathless.

He kissed down the column of my nape, sending a scorching heat radiating through me. I longed to wrap my arms around him, pull him even closer.

“When you were in danger the other night,” he whispered against my skin. “I thought I might never see your face again. My blades flew through your enemies, but not fast enough. When I arrived there you stood. Burning. Glowing. Utterly transformed. Utterly gorgeous.”

I shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. He seemed to understand.

“But now you're here. Safe in my arms.”

He lifted his lips from my neck and took my face in his hands, his thumbs tenderly stroking my cheeks as he leaned in, meeting my mouth in a kiss.

His lips were sweet. Like rich honeyed-wine. Like the tang of wild berries. Like nothing I'd ever tasted before.

His mouth was gentle but persistent, coaxing my lips apart as his tongue swept inside me, tasting, exploring.

I moaned against his lips. My body was on fire. I gripped his shoulders as we kissed and felt his hands move to my hips, encircling my waist and pulling me closer against him until there was no space between us left.

The heat of his body against mine was a tantalizing lure. The kiss promised endless possibilities that made me dizzy to envision. I wanted to fall to the forest floor and pull him down with me.

When his hands moved up my waist, cupping my breasts through the light linen tunic, I gasped and he froze.

“Too much?” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“No, not at all.” I shook my head swiftly and pressed my lips back against his. “Don’t stop. Any of it. Kiss me again.”

He caught my bottom lip between his sharp white teeth, nibbling playfully, then licking my lips lightly. His thumbs found my nipples, rubbing across them gently, and I arched my body upwards against him, sinking my fingers into the soft curling hair at the back of his nape.

His mouth was on mine, claiming me, possessing me.

And I? I was desperate to be claimed.

Oh, I had touched myself in my room in the castle, in the shelter of my tent at night. But this... The sensations were beyond anything I could have imagined. Kissing Vesper was an irresistible pleasure that I never wanted to end. He was all lean hardness pressing against my soft flesh. His touch was a painful enticement and I craved much more.

The sound of someone clearing his throat loudly came out of the darkness.

Immediately my lips broke from Vesper’s.

Draven!

“I think your...friend...came looking for you,” he whispered, his lips twisting up in a wry smile.

A flush of embarrassment filled my cheeks. I nodded. “I should go back.”

“Because he’s summoned you?” For a moment his eyes flashed with annoyance, then he nodded. “Very well. I’ll walk you back.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Draven’s voice carried over from where he stood in the dappled moonlight beneath a tree, his arms folded over his broad chest. “Let’s go, Pen.”

“I think the lady can decide for herself,” Vesper said, his voice deceptively soft.

Draven growled. A sound low in the back of his throat. I felt my skin prickle. “The lady is under my protection.”

“I’ll go with him, it’s all right. We’re all going back to the same place, anyhow,” I said quickly, putting a hand lightly on Vesper’s arm.

I towards Draven, my heart pounding in my chest.

Would he rebuke me like a child? Tell me I’d done something wrong?

But all he said was, “We hardly know him, Morgan.” His voice was low, just loud enough for me to hear.

Then he sighed and I caught him running a hand through his thick black hair. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

I nodded, relieved that he was going to leave it there. An odd guilty feeling had taken hold of me from the moment he had found us.

We walked the rest of the way back to camp in silence.

Even so, I fell asleep with a finger to my lips, smiling.

CHAPTER 26

All that week, I felt lighter than I had in a very long time.

Vesper and I were quiet around each other. But there were stolen glances. Small touches. A whisper here and there.

Draven ignored it all, out of annoyance or grace I wasn’t sure. It didn’t really matter. I was grateful. Three was suddenly a very awkward number.

We rode through the day and reached Orin’s Gate just as the sun was beginning to set.

After weeks of traveling amongst the lush dense forest, today the landscape had finally begun to change, giving way to more open and rocky terrain.

Now we stood on a cliff's edge, overlooking the city. A mountainous panorama stretched out before us as far as I could see, with jagged peaks like troll's teeth jutting upwards towards the sky.

The capital city of Cerunnos sprawled out beneath us. Orin’s Gate was mostly a jumble of sturdy stone and wood buildings, but there were a few more imposing structures including ornate spires that stretched skywards. Smokestacks from the gold and copper mines that surrounded the city and brought Orin's Gate its wealth belched out thick plumes of smoke that trailed high above the buildings. Even from this distance, I could see the streets swarming with activity, with merchants hawking their wares and horse-drawn carts laden with ore moving through the streets.

I snuck a glance at Draven but he was already reining the piebald around. With a sigh, I followed as he led the way back down the cliff and away from the city.

We rode hard until we’d used up the remaining daylight, Draven clearly wanting to get us as far away as possible from the crowded city. We followed the fae road as it made a broad arch around Orin’s Gate and led back into a slightly less dense woodland, skirting along the mountain range that lay beyond the city and to the west.

When we made camp that night, we had reached the border of Cerunnos. The next day we would ride through the Bloodlands. A few days after that, we would reach Valtain.

Supper that night was a quick affair. Draven looked more exhausted than usual and after a quick glance at me, retired to his bedroll, lying down some distance away with his back to us while Vesper and I remained by the fire.

For a while Vesper strummed his lute.

The music was soothing at first, but gradually the melody intensified, the notes weaving a plaintive song that made me feel a deep and aching longing. I couldn't take my eyes off Vesper, everything else fading into the background as he plucked the strings of his instrument.

There was something otherworldly about the way he played. The music seemed to reach into my very soul, beguiling and bewitching me.

He seemed to be lost in his own music as well. His eyes closed and and his head tilted back, as his fingers moved faster and faster over the strings of the lute.

Eventually, he set the lute aside, rose and crossed over to the log I was sitting on. “May I?”

I scooted over and he sat down, closer than he needed to. So close our thighs pressed together.

“I’ve missed you. Stay up late with me, Pen?”

I nodded, and felt my body relaxing. I pressed into him a little, enjoying the hard warmth that met my body, leaning my shoulder against his.

I stole a glance at his profile. He was so handsome. I could smell his already-familiar scent. Part of me longed to rest my head on his shoulder and just close my eyes.

I yawned.

“You’re tired? Do you need to go to sleep?”

His hand had slipped into mine, almost unnoticed. Now he turned my hand flat, and began to rub his thumb slowly over my palm, making small circles. It felt incredible. I made a little sound of pleasure and Vesper gave a low chuckle.

“You like that?”

I nodded, watching his eyes gleam in the firelight. “Tell me about you, Vesper.” I snuggled into him a little, closing my eyes as he massaged my hand. “Who are you?”

He gave a little start. “Who am I?” He laughed. “That’s a tough question to answer in one night, isn’t it? Could you?”

I opened my mouth then closed it again, remembering who I was supposed to be. Pen. The assassin’s apprentice.

“Mmm,” I said, noncommittally. “Tell me something about you then. Just a few things. Like... Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

He was quiet. Then, “I have a sister. A younger sister.”

“I have a brother,” I said thinking of Kaye. It took me a moment to remember Arthur. I thought of him as a brother less and less these days, I realized. “Two younger brothers. One is only a year younger than I am so I hardly think of him as younger at all.”

Vesper nodded.

“Do you get along with your sister?”

Vesper’s hand trembled slightly in mine. “I do. Especially since it’s just she and I now. Our mother passed away a few years ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said immediately. “My own mother died when I was very young. How old is your sister?”

Again the pause. “She’s twelve. When my mother died... Well, we didn’t have much to begin with. My sister went to stay with relatives. I work and send money back to her.”

“Do you see her often?”

He shook his head. “Not as often as I’d like.” He met my eyes. “What about you?”

“This is the longest I’ve ever been away from my brothers.”

“But they’re with your father, I suppose?”

My turn to hesitate. “No, he’s dead, too. They’re my half-brothers, actually. But I don’t think of them that way. I mean, as anything but my family. My full family.” Though I knew now that Arthur would never feel the same. But Kaye? I hoped he still did and always would.

“Your father married again? I see.”

“Yes.” I took a deep breath. “Twice.”

He raised his brows. “Three wives, three children?”

“Exactly. My last stepmother, she was very kind. She died giving birth to my youngest brother.”

“You’ve lost a lot of family,” Vesper observed.

“I suppose I have.” I thought of Enid. Lovely sweet Enid, Kaye’s mother. How different things might have been if she had lived rather than died giving birth to her son. Would she have been able to protect Kaye better than I had done? Would Arthur have listened to her as he never had to me?

“You must be a very strong person. To have lost so much. Now to be out here, alone like this, so far from your family.”

The conversation seemed to be waning. I searched for something else to say, feeling awkward and nervous.

Then Vesper touched my cheek. Instantly, a bolt of heat went through me. His touch was both tender and dangerous, a lethal combination. Especially when someone was as innocent and inexperienced as I was.

I looked into his golden eyes. His fingers traced my cheekbones, rough yet gentle. He cradled my jaw with one hand, and then, with a sudden boldness, tilted my chin up and claimed my mouth in a searing kiss.

Once again I was lost in the sensation of his lips on mine. His fingers moved to the back of my neck, toying with the wisps of loose hairs at my nape. My body shuddered as his fingers skimmed lightly over my sensitive skin, eager for his every touch. The brush of his thumb sent a quiver down my spine.

He broke away. “Walk with me, Pen?”

He pulled me to my feet. My knees were embarrassingly shaky.

We made our way a little distance into the woods. Not too far this time. Close enough that I could still see the faint glow of our fire. Far enough away that we wouldn't be seen or heard. I hoped. My stomach was a turmoil of butterflies. I prayed Draven would stay sound asleep.

I knew it was brash and reckless, but amidst all of the horror I had been through over the last few months, Vesper seemed like a shining beacon of good.

All I wanted was more of whatever this was, blooming so rapidly between us. More of him. For him to hold me in his arms and kiss me and tell me it was all going to be all right. If I were being honest, part of me wanted him to tell me I’d never have to go back to Camelot again. Or forwards to Valtain either. That I could just stay here, with him, forever.

Of course, I knew that could never be the case, but it was a nice fantasy nonetheless.

I felt a twinge of guilt. I had lied to him from the start. Who would want to be with someone like that?

Vesper pulled me up against him, leaning back against a tree. “Every thought in my head is of you, Pen. I can't get enough of you.”

“I know what you mean,” I whispered back, my heart pounding. Surely such small and harmless lies wouldn't matter. Someday I could tell him the truth. If he cared for me, he would understand, wouldn't he?

I breathed in the smell of him. Fresh pine and cool mountain air.

The tip of his tongue brushed my bottom lip, parting my mouth, and sweeping in. I tasted him, woodsmoke and pepper and the sweet caramel flavor of the ale we'd been drinking with our supper.

He pulled me tighter against him, my breasts against his chest, my hips against his hard thighs. My body felt tight. I had never been so aware of my breasts before. Heavy, aching. Nipples hard and pressing against my tunic.

“This isn't like me,” I murmured against his lips. “I don't do things like this.”

It was true. But there was a first time for everything.

He pulled back. “And you think I do?”

“Well, don't you?” All of those towns and taverns, all of those raucous festivals.

He tilted his head consideringly, then grinned. “Not as often as you might think.” He kissed me lightly. “Nothing like this.”

"Like this? What is this?" I whispered.

He shook his head slowly. “I don't know. But it's intoxicating. I want more. Don't you?” He studied me, his golden eyes shining in the moonlight. “You've really never done anything like this before?”

I shook my head shyly. “Is that... all right?”

He gave a low laugh that sent flutters through my belly. “Many men would say it was more than all right.”

I felt a prickle of unease, but he lowered his lips to mine, kissing it away. “But I'm not that kind of man. Still, best to start slow.”

He ran his hands lightly down my back then over my hips, reminding me once again of how close our bodies were.

His lips caressed mine, the kiss stronger now, hot and coaxing. His hands held me firmly against him, and then, with a sudden movement, he moved around, flipping me so that my back was pressed against the trunk of the tree. His mouth met mine again, parting my trembling lips, hard and demanding.

With one hand, he held my waist while with the other he cupped one of my breasts through my tunic, rubbing his fingers across the soft muslin and over the hard bud of my nipple. I shuddered and trembled, thankful for the tree trunk holding me up.

“What are you doing to me?” I whispered, arching slightly against him. “Whatever it is, don't stop.”

He didn't answer, instead giving me a feral grin and then kissing down the front of my neck, over my tunic until his mouth reached my breast. Through the fabric, he drew my breast into his mouth, licking and sucking, bringing my nipple to a hard painful pucker.

Slowly, his hand moved down to my hips, my thighs, gently pushing them apart. He found the spot between my legs and drifted his fingers almost leisurely across my breeches. I gave a little moan.

“I want to make you feel so good, Pen. Has anyone ever touched you here before? Like this?” He cupped his hand against the warm mound between my thighs.

For an instant, I thought of Florian. No, that was nothing like this. And thank the Three, it had not gotten this far. I shook my head, my lips trembling.

Vesper grinned wickedly. “Good. Then I'll be the first. Do you think this feels pleasant?”

I could hardly find the strength in my body to nod.

He stepped a little closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Then imagine how good this will feel.”

And then he slipped his hand inside the front of my trousers. I gasped, my body arching against him as his slender fingers found the hot center between my legs and stroked my wetness, parting me, opening me, then sliding a finger inside.

I clasped his shoulders desperately as he stroked, fingers sliding in and out, circling my wetness before sliding out, a slow insistent thrust. He was gentle, so slow and gentle. His fingers stroking and flicking, as my body parted for him, legs spreading a little, hips lifting against his hand, desperate to take in more of him.

I felt rush after rush of heat flow through me. My cheeks were so hot I was grateful for the darkness. My eyes darted past Vesper's shoulder to where the campfire still flickered in the distance, and briefly I imagined Drave waking up and coming upon us.

What would Draven think to find me like this, with Vesper’s hungry mouth upon my breast and his hand between my thighs?

But there was no stopping now. My body needed this, hungered for this with an urgency I would never have been able to imagine before tonight.

Vesper's fingers thrust into me with a sweet rhythm, and I moaned again, pushing against him hard.

“So good, Pen,” he murmured, nuzzling my neck. “You feel so good. So wet. I want to be inside you, Pen. Can you imagine how good that would be?”

By the Three, I could. I really could. I suddenly imagined it. Vesper's length pressing into me, fucking me against the tree, and for a moment I thought I would well and truly faint.

“But not tonight, Pen. Not now.” His voice was soft, his lips brushing against the skin of my neck and sending shivers of pleasure through me.

And then he shifted his fingers, his thumb pressing against that place I had touched in the private of the night, that throbbing, painfully pleasurable spot. His thumb circled over it, pressing and rubbing, and there. I let out a choked sob as a rapturous bliss began to spread through me in fierce rolling waves.

“Come for me, Pen.” Vesper's tongue trailed over my neck, his teeth worrying against the softness of my ear. “Come for me now, lovely.”

And then I did. The sensation cresting over me, straight through the core of my being, sending me shattering into pure ecstasy.

I cried out, burying my mouth against his shoulder, feeling his fingers thrust one last time.

His other arm was around me, clasping me tightly to him, and I leaned against him, my fingers digging into his back, feeling the soft wool of his shirt.

As he pulled his hand out, he raised his fingers to his mouth and slowly licked, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Exactly how I thought you'd taste,” he said, a half-smirk on his beautiful mouth.

“Oh, and how is that?” I said, tossing my head a little and desperately trying to regain my equilibrium.

He flicked his tongue over his fingers again and I thought my cheeks would melt from embarrassment. “Like the nectar of the goddesses. Honey and spice. Sweet. Tart. Delicious.”

And then he kissed me, rubbing his tongue against mine, letting me taste exactly what he meant.

He let out a long, low sigh and then stepped back. “I think that's enough for tonight.” He gave a rueful grin. “Let's get you back before your bodyguard comes searching.”

“He's not my bodyguard,” I said, a little piqued. It seemed too close to the truth.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me along, wrapping his free arm around my waist. I gave a little yelp, then giggled.

“Well, whatever he is,” Vesper said. “He clearly doesn’t think I’m good for you.”

“Maybe he’s not wrong,” I said saucily.

“Oh, he’s not wrong.” Vesper pulled me to a halt and kissed me long and hard. “But that’s why it’s so good, Pen. Everything wrong is.”

When we got back to the campsite, Draven didn’t seem to have moved. I slipped into my tent and fell instantly asleep.

The next day we entered the Bloodlands. At first, there was nothing particularly ominous about the landscape despite the off-putting name. And the long list of monstrous creatures Draven had so inconveniently dropped into my imagination.

But as the day went on, the landscape grew more stark. The trees still loomed around us, but they had thinned out, grown darker and more twisted. The lush moss and grass that I was used to seeing disappeared, replaced by hardened soil and scattered rocks. Even the air was thick with a stench that pricked my nostrils and made me wince, reminding me of the decayed scent of Draven's poisoned wound.

Only the smooth white stones of the fae road stayed mercifully the same.

Perhaps the Bloodlands were not blighted or cursed, but they were not particularly welcoming. I understood why travelers avoided the land, despite the treasures that might lie just on the other side. I wondered if this was what Valtain would look like. Desolate and abandoned.

That night, Vesper went into the forest and emerged with a brace of rabbits. They were gangly, scrawny things but once spitted and put into his famed stew, they were tasty enough. After supper, he picked up his lute and strummed softly, playing wordless melody after melody, his eyes never far from my face.

I sat with one of my books, pretending to read, but listening to the music instead. Every night that Vesper played his lute or sang, I fell spellbound. My heart raced with each passing note. As he ran his fingers over the lute strings, I felt as if they were dancing over my very skin instead, stoking and igniting a fiery longing.

The music had no such similar effect upon Draven. He would stalk away from the fire each night as if the music pained him to hear. Decidedly not a music lover, I concluded. Perhaps if the lute strings had sounded like the crossing of steel blades, Draven would have been as mesmerized as I was.

Later that night, as I lay down on my rocky bed, I felt troubled. I was so far from home and somewhere along the way, I had apparently forgotten who I was, what my purpose was.

I tried to remind myself that Vesper could have no place in my future.

My duty lay in Camelot. If not to Arthur, then certainly to Kaye. My bond to him pulled on me like a compulsion.

I had to complete the task. Find the sword. Bring it back. And then things would return to the way they had always been.

That last part I had my doubts about. After all, I was conveniently avoiding what I had done to Florian.

Murdered the son of the king’s advisor in cold blood.

Would Arthur care that I had only been defending myself? Or did a harsh punishment lie before me, whether or not I returned with the fae sword?

Still, for a long time that promise to myself had been the only thing getting me through the long days and nights of travel.

Now I let myself briefly imagine a different future. One where Vesper returned with me to Camelot. I strode into the Great Hall with the minstrel-warrior on my arm, my shimmering silver hair and strangely marked golden skin immediately setting me apart from all those around me even more than the gray hair ever had.

And then? A minstrel rogue would never be permitted to wed the king’s sister. Even if he wanted to, a voice in my head whispered, and what if he did not?

I had eliminated the threat of marriage to Florian.

But that still left me with only one remaining option. The temple.

Nevertheless, the memory of Vesper’s lips against mine lulled me to sleep each night and the touch of his hands on my body, my hips, my breasts filled my dreams with a heat that lingered even when I arose in the morning.

CHAPTER 27

The air was filled with a cacophony of snarls and growls as I came swiftly awake in my tent a few nights later. The horses were screaming. I could hear Draven shouting.

As I crawled out of my tent with my dagger already in hand, my breath caught in my throat as I took in the scene.

We were under attack.

At first I thought they were wolves. Then I saw the huge snapping jaws and glowing red eyes. Not wolves. Something similar but something else. They were massive, gray fur matted and unkempt, jaws dripping with saliva, flesh sunken and decaying.

Two had taken down our pack horse and were busily ripping it apart, worrying the flesh from the horse's bones with sharp teeth as it lay screaming in agony.

I had seen all I needed to. I launched myself across the campsite, heading straight for Haya. When I reached her side, I grabbed my bow, then untethered her and slapped her side, sending her whinnying and racing away from the campsite.

I was about to do the same with the other two horses when the fenrir hit me from behind.

I felt sharp claws digging into my back and let out a cry of pain, my fingers clutching at the dirt as I desperately tried to pull myself away, out from under the heavy creature atop me. Sharp claws raked along my back, piercing through my tunic and slicing through my skin.

There was a sickly whining sound and the fenrir slumped on top of me, then was swiftly kicked away.

I looked up to see Draven standing over me. He yanked me to my feet, then whirled me around to look at my back.

“Fuck! By the Three, Morgan...” He was cut off as Vesper shouted for help from across the campsite.

I turned around, ignoring the stabs of pain coming from my back, refusing to imagine what might look so terrible that it would prompt hard-hearted Draven to look sickened, and raised my bow to my shoulder.

Vesper was fighting fast and furious, one fenrir looming on his left and another to his right.

Draven barreled past me, sword raised, a roar springing from his lips.

With shaking hands I nocked an arrow and let it fly. It spun past me, knocking the fenrir on Vesper's left to the ground. The beast let out a keening cry as Draven reached it and finished it off, delivering a death blow to its head. As he spun around, Vesper was already dealing with the second fenrir, his knives slashing through the air with deadly precision, leaving the wolf-like creature's body mangled at his feet.

I watched the two men stand, panting and exhausted, back to back, then let out a cry of warning.

“Draven, behind you!”

Four more fenrirs were creeping out of the treeline, apparently not put off by their brethren's demise.

One of them raised its head and howled, a piercing sound of hunger that echoed through the night.

There were too many of them, I thought, suppressing a panicked sob. And from deep in the woods I heard an answering baying.

The fenrirs sprung on the men.

Unearthly howls filled the air as two of the creatures immediately seized Vesper, dragging him to the ground.

I let out a scream of fury and fell to one knee, nocking an arrow as fast as I could.

I aimed at the closest fenrir. My missile flew true, striking it in the chest and tossing it back. Free from one of the creatures, Vesper pushed himself up, leaping to his feet, fresh knives in each hand. Blood poured from a gash on his cheekbone.

I shifted my view and saw Draven fighting the other two fenrirs, his sword thrusting in and out through fur, flesh, and bone. I ran to his aid, tossing my bow aside and raising my dagger.

“Get out of here, Morgan,” Draven bellowed as I flew towards him.

I ignored him and kept running.

A fenrir leaped up, clawing at his chest, its teeth inches from his face. I shoved my blade hard into the side of its head.

The fenrir let out a howl of pain. The creature’s blood spurted up from under my hand, splattering my face.

Draven shoved the creature away, but kept a grip on its scruff and in a split second his sword had slashed across the fenrir's neck, ending its life.

We formed a tight circle, the three of us against the two fenrirs, watching as they moved around us, red eyes glowing in the firelight.

“Two down, two to go,” I shouted, feeling strangely gleeful. The fenrirs were terrifying, yes, but I was not facing them alone. At that moment I realized something. I stood flanked on each side by two men I trusted with my life.

“I'm running out of knives,” Vesper yelled from beside me. I could hear the grin in his voice without looking. Bleeding or not, he was enjoying this.

A roar split through the camp. Louder than the fenrir's howls.

In unison, we turned towards the sound. The fenrirs paused and turned as well.

What creature could make such a terrifying noise? For a moment I thought we were about to be attacked by something much worse than the wolves.

A figure appeared out of the darkness, racing across the camp. It ignored the remaining two horses, heading straight for where we stood by the slavering fenrirs.

With another roar, it launched itself at one of the wolves, claws and fangs tearing into its flesh with a savage ferocity.

I struggled to take in what I saw. A young exmoor, its fur a rich golden brown, sleek and shining even in the dim light, its eyes a glowing yellow. The exmoor's claws and teeth gleamed, razor-sharp and deadly as it tore through the first beast, ripping its body to shreds.

When it lifted its head, I saw the second fenrir cower and shrink back, but it was too late. The exmoor moved, a blur of fur and claws, leaping onto the last remaining fenrir and decimating it.

When the wolflike creature was dead at its feet, the exmoor stood panting, looking up at us from eyes that blazed with fierce intensity. While this exmoor was not as large as the one that Whitehorn had killed, it was still impressive, standing nearly as high as a horse. As it watched us, its long tail swished back and forth, a soft ball-like tuft of fur on the end.

I swallowed hard. How did one thank such a creature?

Draven stepped forward.

His face was impassive as he approached the exmoor. Then, with one graceful movement, he sank to his knees. Dropping his sword beside him, he raised a hand and slowly stretched it out, almost like one might do to a cat or a dog.

I could hear Vesper breathing hard from beside me. His hand slipped into mine, squeezing hard.

But the exmoor simply looked at Draven from behind eyes full of intelligence, then stepped forward, soft paws treading on the bloodsoaked earth, and nuzzled the outstretched hand.

“Holy Devina,” Vesper murmured from beside me. I had never heard him call on any of the goddesses, but this seemed a fitting time.

I stood perfectly still, watching as Draven carefully moved his hand to run it along the exmoor's beautiful striped head.

“Fuck me, it's actually purring,” Vesper whispered.

It was true. A deep and resonant sound was emanating from the exmoor's chest, filling the campsite with a loud rumble.

For the first time since stepping forward, Draven looked back at us. To my shock, he was smiling. It was a remarkable transformation. His ordinarily scowling face had softened, his full firm lips curving upwards to reveal a set of perfect white teeth. “She's beautiful, isn't she?”

I nodded slowly. “Very much so.”

“How do you know it's a ‘she’?”  Vesper sounded interested.

Draven's expression was puzzled. “I just...do.”

He seemed about to say more when the sound of pounding horse hooves overshadowed the exmoor's rumbles.

A horse and rider raced into the campsite.

As the rider spotted us, she drew back on her reins, bringing her mount to a skidding halt.

“I've brought back your horse,” Lancelet said calmly, as she held out Haya's tether. She frowned as she saw my hand in Vesper’s. “Who the hell is that?”

CHAPTER 28

None of us got much sleep that night.

My back was slashed to ribbons, but thankfully, the cuts were fairly shallow. For once I was grateful not to have access to a mirror.

Draven took charge of tending to my wounds. Sitting me down firmly on a nearby rock, he carefully lifted the back of my tunic, and cleaned out the cuts with a flask of vinegar and strips of clean linen. His touch was surprisingly gentle. Even so, I winced as the acidic liquid hit the exposed flesh, digging my fingers into my palms.

“Talk to me,” I said through gritted teeth, looking up at where Lancelet stood nearby watching, her arms folded over her chest. “Tell me how this is possible. How did you get here?”

She looked different from the last time I had seen her, that night in the Great Hall.

I couldn't help but notice how gaunt she appeared. Her short blonde hair was pulled back from her face with a leather strap, revealing the shadows beneath her eyes. Her normally tanned skin was pale. Despite the exhaustion that was etched into her features, her beautiful blue eyes still glimmered with their customary brightness.

“It’s not possible,” she replied bluntly. “And if I told you how I did it, you probably wouldn’t believe me.” She glanced across the campsite at where Vesper sat cleaning his knives. He glanced up as our eyes landed on him and smiled. I felt a familiar warmth pool in my stomach. “Who is that?”

“That’s Vesper. He’s a friend.” I struggled to keep my expression neutral, but Lancelet had known me too long. Her eyebrows went up. I glanced at Draven, who was still bandaging my back, hoping he wouldn’t say anything embarrassing.

“We picked him up a few days back,” Draven said shortly. “He helped us out of a tough situation. I’m not sure I’d call him a friend.” He paused. “Though he’s pulled his weight. So far.”

“I see.” Lancelet studied me hard. “You trust him then?”

“I do,” I said quickly.

Draven snorted. “She trusts too easily.”

“Says the mercenary killer,” I retorted. “And that’s not true. I still don’t trust you.” That wasn’t fair. Also, my guilty heart told me it also wasn’t true.

Lancelet tilted her head, the hint of a smile on her lips. “Yet here he sits, tending to you like a nursemaid.”

“I believe he’s meant to keep me alive until we reach our destination,” I said frostily. “Don’t read too much into it.”

“And then?” Lancelet demanded, her blue eyes honed in on Draven. “You’ll find her harder to kill now that I’m here.”

Draven was unruffled. “Harder but not impossible? Is that why they sent you? Worried for their precious princess’s safety?”

I cringed. My eyes darted to Vesper. Surely he had heard what Draven said. Surely he would have questions. His hands paused briefly over the knife he was rubbing clean then resumed their work. He did not look up.

I bit my lip. “I’m no one’s precious princess, let me assure you. But what was so urgent that you came after me?” I shook my head in wonderment. “I can’t believe Arthur actually let you leave.”

Lancelet gave a derisive snort. “He didn’t. I was sent by a small contingent of concerned citizens. One that is worried about you and wants you back in Camelot again as soon as possible.”

I raised my brows. “A contingent of concerned citizens? Who exactly? Speak freely, Lancelet. Like it or not, we’re all stuck together out here.”

“Very well. Merlin and Sir Ector organized my departure. With some help from Dame Halyna. Among others,” Lancelet said. “They were able to find out where you were going and then set me on the right path.”

“I still don’t understand how you could have caught up to us,” I said slowly. “When did you leave?”

“About a week after you did. With Merlin’s help, I took a shortcut.” Lancelet’s expression said she did not want to get into it. Because Draven was there? Or because Vesper was listening in from across the campfire? He might look as if he were wrapped up in what he was doing, but I could tell he was listening to what we were saying.

He knew who I really was now. He knew me for a liar.

“By the time I got to Orin’s Gate, the mount I had left Camelot on was dead,” Lancelet went on. “I stopped to purchase another, then pressed on. For the last day or so I thought it was hopeless. That I’d never catch up to you. But then tonight... Well, you were surprisingly easy to pinpoint in the dark.”

“A fenrir attack will do that,” Draven said sourly.

Lancelet nodded. “The screaming horses were hard to miss. And then Haya bolted out in front of me. I knew I was close.”

“You look so tired,” I said softly. “Was the journey hard?”

Lancelot let out a deep breath. “The journey was. Well, it was something.”

“It must have been if you killed your first mount,” Vesper observed from across the fire.

So he was listening.

Lancelet glared. “I didn’t kill it. I assure you, that part of things couldn’t be helped.”

“How wonderfully cryptic.” Vesper’s eyes were on his knives which he was polishing to a fine gleam.

Which was just as well for Lancelet was shooting daggers from her eyes. “Is he usually so...?”

“Cocky? Entertaining? Infinitely endearing?” Draven offered. “He won’t leave, so don’t bother trying. He seems quite attached. To one of us, at least.”

I watched them exchange a significant look. Wonderful. Now there would be two of them to gang up on me.

I cleared my throat. “So your fatigue is simply from the journey? Nothing else?”

Lancelet’s expression turned wry. “I’m not the only one who looks different, Morgan.”

I touched my hair, suddenly remembering. “Oh.”

She looked me up and down, taking in my silvered hair, the golden tinge of my skin, the shimmering marks peeking out from under my sleeves. “Yes. ‘Oh.’ Care to explain?”

“I will. Later,” I promised.

“But me first?” She sighed. “Fine. But you won’t get much sleep once I tell you.”

“Tell me what?” My voice was sharp. “What’s going on? Did something happen to Kaye?”

“Kaye is fine. At least... as well as he can be, all things considered.” She met my eyes. “Pendrath is at war.”

I let out a small cry of surprise. “Rheged has attacked? So Arthur was right.”

Lancelet shook her head slowly. “No. Not Rheged. Lyonesse.”

“Lyonesse attacked Pendrath? But why?”

Something like sadness flickered over Lancelet’s face. “They didn’t attack us, Morgan. We attacked them. With Rheged’s help.”

I couldn’t help it. My jaw dropped. “What?”

“It happened just after you left. The group of guests from Lyonesse? Your brother instructed his Royal Guard to slay some of them. The rest were taken hostage. We haven’t seen them since, but I’ve heard they’re still alive.”

“Oh, Zorya,” I breathed.

“We attacked Lyonesse without warning, in the night. So deceitfully, Morgan. So cravenly.” Lancelet shook her head as if she could not bear the shame. “Arthur claimed Rheged was our ally. They supported us at first, sending troops in to fight alongside ours.”

“But?” I leaned forward, the pain of my back almost forgotten.

So much for the Royal Progress that Kaye had been so excited for. The trip to Lyonesse had never happened at all. This was what Arthur had really intended all along.

“But Lyonesse had an unexpected ally of its own,” Lancelet went on. “Tintagel came to its aid. Now Pendrath is waging two wars, with Tintagel to the north and Lyonesse to the south. When Tintagel attacked, Rheged backed off its support. Now Arthur fights alone. Both within Camelot and without. Believing himself betrayed, he lashes out at everyone and everything.”

“What do you mean?” I whispered.

Lancelet swallowed. “You know what he was already like, Morgan. Now it’s so much worse. The king has imposed martial law. There are curfews each night. He’s drafting men and women to bolster the army. You know how food was already scarce? Things haven’t improved. You think I look bad? You should see some of the children, Morgan. It would break your heart. The king seems to care nothing for any of this. He seizes whatever he thinks will help his cause–food, land, and anything else he sees as valuable. Anyone who criticizes or opposes the war faces harsh punishment. Either losing their goods and property or worse.”

“Worse? How much worse?”

Lancelet paled. “There are public hangings every day now. In each of the largest marketplaces. Beheadings if they’re a noble. Even one of the priestesses, who dared to speak out.”

“A priestess?” Draven’s voice was sharp. “Most of them are no more than girls.”

Lancelet nodded. “She was an acolyte. Galahad’s age. When she was arrested, her family was furious. Her father appealed to the king, but it was no use.” Her voice dropped to a hush. “Now he’s dead, too.”

I thought of the heads in the box. The hunters who had defied Arthur by trying to find food for their families.

“I hope there’s an uprising.” I could hear the fury in my voice. “I hope they defy him.”

Lancelet looked shocked. “You do?”

“He may be my brother, but he’s also my king. And my king is a tyrant, Lancelet. Nothing can possibly excuse this. Turning on his own people. Turning on Lyonesse. They were our allies and Arthur has betrayed them. Killing guests in his own home. It goes beyond the pale.”

Lancelet nodded. “That’s what Merlin said, too. She said the goddesses would see the spilled blood of the Lyonesse guests as the foulest violation of sacred law. The king has committed an offense against the Three themselves.”

“Did she tell Arthur that?” I asked, my eyes wide, part of me hopeful, part of me terrified.

Lancelet nodded slowly. “He had her whipped. Publicly.”

“No, no.” I felt hot tears fill the corner of my eyes. “Not Merlin. How dare he.”

Lancelet pressed on. “Arthur has stripped the temple of many of its treasures. He would even have violated the sanctum. I believe he tried. Perhaps fear of the Three finally stopped him before it was too late.”

I swallowed. “Perhaps.” I doubted it.

“Before I left, he was demanding a new temple be constructed for Perun, brother of the Three. In the meantime, Perun’s altar has been turned into the focal point of the temple courtyard. Arthur has instructed citizens to pray and leave offerings there first, then go to the goddesses if they feel the need. He encourages them to make blood offerings, small animals and the like.”

“That is sacrilege,” I whispered, feeling the color drain from my face. “The Three do not demand blood.”

“You asked after Kaye,” Lancelet continued. “He is in good health, but he is miserable, Morgan. We only know because he has stayed in communication with Sir Ector. The king has enlisted him in the army. He trains daily but is far from Camelot. Sir Ector fears the king means to send his brother to the frontlines. Arthur claims it will inspire the men to fight harder, but Sir Ector believes...” She hesitated.

“That Kaye will conveniently be out of the way. Possibly forever.” I stared at her. “This could not all have taken place in a mere week. You said the guests from Lyonesse were harmed soon after I left.”

Lancelet flushed. “That’s right.”

“So when did you really leave? The truth.”

She met my gaze. “About a month after you did. Less than one week ago.”

I let out a gasp. “How? How is that possible? Did you fly?”

She shook her head, her face pale.

“Then how did you get here, Lancelet?”

“You won’t believe me,” she whispered. “I hardly believe it myself.”

“I know how she did it,” Vesper piped up. His eyes were cool as he studied Lancelet. He set aside his knives and leaned forward, clasping his hands.

“Vesper.” Draven’s voice was like a warning.

“What? You’ve guessed it too, haven’t you?” Vesper demanded.

Draven shook his head. “I’ve read of such things, but it’s not possible.”

“Guessed what?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

“The arches. You must have passed through them as you followed the fae road,” Vesper said.

I stared. “We passed through them, yes. So what?”

He looked at me curiously. “Did you feel nothing as you passed through them?”

I shook my head impatiently. “They were beautiful. But feel? They were impressive, of course.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. Sometimes, part-fae will feel something from the arch as they go through. A vestige of memory, perhaps. A trace of the magic our ancestors once possessed. A sort of buzzing sensation. A hum. You felt nothing?”

“Nothing.” I stared. “Lancelet isn’t part-fae either.”

“No, neither was her horse,” Vesper said mildly.

“Vesper.” Draven’s voice was a growl.

I looked back and forth between them all in horror. “What are you saying?”

“The arches are gates,” Draven said finally, meeting my eyes. “The fae used them to travel vast distances.”

“But they’re not used now,” I said. “How could they be?” Then I thought guiltily of the powers I had displayed in Nethervale. Did they extend so far as this?

“Merlin sent me through one,” Lancelet said.

I shook my head stubbornly. “Impossible. There are no arches in Pendrath.”

“There are, actually,” she said softly. “There’s one inside the Temple of the Three. Underground. Very few have seen it. I came through it six days ago and emerged a two day’s ride from Orin’s Gate.”

I looked wildly at Draven. “I remember no such arch.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “We skirted around it, when we passed through Nethervale. I thought it was for the best.”

I stared at him. Was that because he had worried about how I would react to it, now that the medicine had fully worn off? But he hadn’t seen what I had done in Nethervale. He had been unconscious. Still, my hair, my skin, the markings. I supposed he had erred on the side of caution. I wondered what he was afraid of though. That I would accidentally vanish through the arch?

I looked back at Lancelet. “Merlin knew how to use the arch? How?”

Lancelet nodded slowly. “She’s more powerful than she lets on, Morgan. She can scry, too, though very few people know she has the gift. Sir Ector was afraid something had happened to you. He told her about...” She looked over at Draven and cleared her throat.

He rolled his eyes. “Your big bad guard?”

I blushed. “It’s all right, he knows that we know. Aren’t you wondering where Whitehorn is?”

I stole a glance at Draven. He sat by the fireside, his strong hands clasped together as he looked into the flames. Even in the darkness, his features stood out to me–the hard edge of his jaw, the familiar slant of his lips. He was rough, sweaty, and yes, tinged with a hint of wickedness. But when the fenrir had leapt onto my back, Draven had been there in a heartbeat.

Somewhere along the way, Draven had stopped being the most frightening thing that could happen to me. Oh, he was terrifying in his own way, of course. He was a powerful, lethal man. But I had stopped worrying about him turning that deadly power on me.

Lancelet’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t even thought of him to be honest. Where is he?”

“He’s dead.” I ran a hand over my face, abruptly beset with weariness. “It’s a long story. Arthur had instructed Whitehorn to have me increase my medicine dose. I was becoming ill, but Whitehorn wanted me to follow the king’s orders. No matter what.”

“She wasn’t just ill, she was dying,” Draven interjected. “Whitehorn didn’t give a damn.”

“So you killed him.” Lancelet smirked. “Not sure this would make Sir Ector feel better or worse.”

“Whitehorn insisted I keep taking medicine even though it was leaving me as feeble as an infant,” I tried to explain. “Draven said the opposite. He saw what it was doing to me.”

I felt a surge of gratitude and met his eyes, then immediately wished I hadn’t. They were deep pools of emerald and as they settled on mine, I felt as though he could see into my very soul. I glanced away quickly.

“I see,” Lancelet was saying. “Well, that explains what Merlin said.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“She scried for us. Looked into a basin of water and somehow, she saw you. She said you were all right, that he was keeping you safe. That Whitehorn was gone, but that we weren’t to worry.” Lancelet gave a shaky grin. “Sir Ector wasn’t convinced, of course, but I believed her. You should have seen Merlin’s face. She’d been just as worried, but once she looked into that basin, her face changed and she became so calm. Whatever she’d seen, she believed it was the truth. And so, so did I.”

“I was never sure what to make of Merlin,” I admitted. Now I wondered what would have happened if I had confided in her more. If I had told her about the medicine long ago. Would she have insisted I stop taking it? I couldn’t see that going well. It might have ended in a terrible confrontation between her and Arthur.

“Neither was I. I thought she was power hungry. That she wanted to be close to Arthur like Agravaine did. But that’s not it. I think she held out hope that she could influence your brother, yes. But for the good.” Lancelet rubbed her eyes tiredly. “Well, now that hope is gone.”

“We ought to get some rest. We should put in a full day tomorrow,” Draven announced, catching her gesture and rising to his feet.

“Wait.” Lancelet’s voice was sharp. “I’m not finished.” She met my eyes. “When Arthur had Merlin whipped, it only spurred her to defy him more, Morgan. Why do you think she sent me?” She looked around the campfire, her eyes resting briefly on each of us. “Do they all know? What it is that you seek?”

I stared. “What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t,” Draven said pointedly, nodding to Vesper. “Perhaps this would be better kept for another time.”

Vesper’s face shifted into a roguish grin. “But I’m ever so curious. Don’t send me off to bed like a naughty child. I’ll be good, I promise.”

I hesitated. “He’s followed us this far. He’s saved our lives more than once.”

Draven frowned. “Has he?”

“He just fought alongside you against those... things,” I reminded him.

Draven shrugged. “Like anyone would to save their own skin.”

“Stop. Enough.” I looked at Vesper. He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “I trust him. Speak freely, Lancelet.”

She shot Vesper a wary look but nodded. “Very well. I speak of the sword. I speak of Excalibur. You must not return with it. You must not give it to Arthur.”

There was silence around the campfire.

“What do you mean?” I said slowly. “That’s the very reason I’m here, doing all of this.”

Draven had the grace not to flinch when I glanced over at him. Was now the time to tell Lancelet that Draven had no intention of letting me give the sword to Arthur and wanted it for himself?

More importantly, now that Lancelet had arrived and Vesper was there, could I thwart Draven’s plan? Would they help me fight him, if it came down to it? I shifted uncomfortably and not just because of the wounds on my back. For some reason I didn’t want to examine too closely, I greatly disliked the idea of returning Kairos Draven to the status of arch-enemy. Like it or not, he had become something else. Something more akin to protector. I didn’t want to fight him. Even if he wanted Excalibur.

But would he want to fight me? Was he preparing even now to do so?

Before this, it had seemed like such a pointless thing to even worry about. Valtain had seemed so very far away. The sword hadn’t seemed real.

But now here was Lancelet, telling me Merlin herself had said I could not bring the sword back to Arthur. Clearly, Merlin believed Excalibur was very real.

“That’s why I’m here,” Lancelet said simply. “To tell you not to do it. Sir Ector agrees. Arthur cannot possess the sword.”

“So they believe it’s real?” I felt oddly shocked. Somehow a portal that could transport Lancelet halfway across Eskira was easier to accept than a magical sword supposedly capable of destroying the world.

“They do. The fact that Arthur seems to so strongly believe it is real is part of what I think convinced Sir Ector. But Merlin... I think she may have known about the sword all along.”

“Then why did she not tell me before I left?” I muttered.

“She didn’t know for sure then where you were even heading. And she said you would not confide in her when she asked you to.” Lancelet gave me a pointed look and I flushed. It was true. Would I have saved us all some trouble if I had?

“Sir Ector and Dame Halyna are the ones who...” She paused awkwardly. “Well, I think they’ve been going through Arthur’s things. Or getting someone else to do it. And then Merlin scried and that made things a little clearer. Besides, when you left, Arthur hadn’t invaded Lyonesse yet. Merlin didn’t know how bad things were about to get.”

“You’d think she might want Arthur to have the sword,” I said thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t that end the war? Help us win?”

Lancelet’s face was horrified. “Is that what you want, Morgan? For us to dominate Lyonesse? And Tintagel?”

“No, of course not,” I said hotly. “But what’s the alternative? Arthur has gotten Pendrath into a terrible position. I don’t wish for our people to suffer either.”

Lancelet’s face turned bleak. “I know. But giving him a weapon that’s supposedly capable of unlimited power. A weapon that would make him unstoppable...”

“That does sound like a nightmare,” I acknowledged. There were too many ways Arthur would immediately abuse such terrible power. “So who do we give it to? Does Merlin have a plan for that part? Perhaps she wants to wield it herself? It sounds like she might be capable.”

Lancelet shook her head, looking uncomfortable. “No...”

My face split into a wide yawn. “You know what. I’m exhausted and I don’t think I even care right now. This sword that everyone is so obsessed with... I don’t even know if I believe it exists. I wish I were home. Right now, in Camelot, with Kaye. That’s honestly all I care about. Not a stupid fucking sword that Arthur could use to destroy the world. I don’t even want to think about that part.”

“It exists,” Draven interrupted. He was glaring at me in an all-too-familiar way. So familiar in fact that the expression made me feel oddly comforted rather than put off.

“Well then? Tell us.” When he hesitated, I pressed him. “Look, you obviously know a lot more than you’ve cared to share so far. Are you ever going to let us in or are you really expecting me to walk into... wherever it is we’re going blind?” I threw up my hands. “Perhaps you don’t even know yourself. If that’s the case, I guess we’ll all be traipsing around Valtain for a very long time searching for this sword that may or may not exist.”

“The ruins of Meridium,” Draven said slowly, refusing to be riled. “That’s where we’re going. The sword called Excalibur was hidden there, in the midst of a lake.”

“The sunken ruins?” Vesper leaned forward, his golden eyes wide. “I’ve heard the stories. That’s where you’re going?”

“They aren’t all sunken,” Draven said, sounding peevish.

Vesper whistled. “Still, no one enters Meridium. No one. For good reason, too.”

“Well, we’re going. We have no choice. And it’s the sword we’re discussing at the moment, not Meridium.” Draven looked at me. “They say that long ago, the goddess Zorya created Aercanum and along with her brothers and sisters forged powerful items to give to the races of the world.”

“Which races?” Lancelet said, looking interested.

Draven looked slightly uncomfortable, but answered quickly, “There are only two. The fae and humans.”

Lancelet nodded.

“Well, depending on which source you read, a fair number of items were created, but three were imbued with more power than the others. The sword, the spear, and the grail. The sword was created by Perun. Marzanna made the grail. And Zorya made the spear. But when Zorya went to give the items to the rulers of Aercanum, Devina tried to stop her.”

“Why?” Lancelet demanded.

Draven’s face was grim. “She said such objects were too powerful to be trusted to mortals or fae. That they would cause more trouble than it was worth, essentially. I believe ‘endless war’ was the term she uses in most passages. Well, her brother Perun was angry that she had dared to interfere. He raised his sword high over his head, as if intending to strike his sister with it. Zorya cried out and the heavens cracked as Perun’s sword split it open.” He looked around at them. “Surely you’ve heard this story before.”

Lancelet and I shook our heads.

“Not this version,” Vesper said, with an intrigued expression. “Only the one with Vela.”

Draven nodded. “The fae have their own version of the story. But the basics are the same. The gods–whether Zorya or Vela–made the sword, the spear, and the grail.”

“But what happened when Perun split the sky?” I asked.

“Dark creatures came through. Beings not of Aercanum. And so we have things like trolls and harpies and the like,” Draven explained.

“And worse,” Vesper said.

A dark look came over Draven’s face. “True enough,” was all he said.

I had no desire right then to think about what the two men might consider “worse.”

“So what does the sword do?” I asked persistently.“It still doesn’t sound very real to me. A sword supposedly created by the gods...” I respected the temple, perhaps even more than I had realized. And with that came respect for the Three. But it was tradition, part of our culture. Not something I truly believed. If someone were to ask me whether Zorya was actually real or not? Well, I’d probably have had to say no.

“We know it’s real because it was wielded less than two centuries ago in a battle fought by the fae,” Draven explained, his face set in a stubborn expression. “A fae queen rode into battle carrying it. Numerous ancient texts say so. And there are stories of it being carried by others before that.”

“‘Less than two centuries ago’? And you think that’s reliable evidence that it still exists? That it hasn’t been lost? And what’s so special about it even if it does exist?” I heard my voice, cranky and tired. I was losing patience.

“Perun fought Vela with this sword. In some versions, he won. In others, she did. But regardless, this sword carries the power of the gods,” Draven answered.

I was speechless. In truth, I was shocked that he was displaying this much expected devotion and belief in mystical beings. I had not expected it.

“Whatever that might be,” Lancelet said cryptically.

“Well, obviously not something we want Arthur to have, whatever it is,” I muttered.

I narrowed my eyes at Draven. Just because I didn’t want Arthur to have this unimaginably powerful weapon didn’t mean I thought he should have it either. He must have understood what my look meant, for he grimaced and looked away.

“It’s late,” Vesper said softly, getting to his feet. He crossed over and reached down to grasp my hand and pull me gently to my feet. “This night has gone on long enough. You need rest. We all do.”

He let go of my hand and started to walk away from the fire, then paused, his golden eyes honing in on mine. “But wherever you’re going, whether this sword you’re all speaking of exists or not, you have my blade. You have my strength. They are yours, Morgan. Know that.”

The way he said my name sent a chill through me. He knew. And perhaps he even understood. It was more than I had hoped for. He did not sound angry, simply tired.

He strode away before I could respond. My mouth hung open. I could feel Draven and Lancelet’s eyes on me.

Vesper’s words had sounded like a vow. The kind a knight gave his king.

Or his queen.

I started to help Lancelet set up the tent she had brought near mine, until Draven told me to stop before I ripped my bandages open and helped her instead. Her tent was larger than my own so she suggested we share it. I was too tired to disagree. Besides, I decided, some female company would be a nice change.

Fetching my bedroll, I crawled in and lay down beside her, sleepily watching as she folded her clothes.

I thought of Vesper. In the space of a night, I’d become someone else entirely. And yet he didn’t seem particularly shocked.

Perhaps all it meant was that I wasn’t a very good liar. After all, Vesper was clearly more worldly-wise than me. When I had claimed to be Draven’s apprentice, maybe he’d known I was lying, right from the start. After all, as he’d pointed out to Draven, who took an apprentice into Valtain to train?

Who took a spurned princess from Pendrath into Miridmiun for that matter?

Lancelet finished putting her things away and slipped into her bedroll. I turned onto my side to look at her.

“I didn’t thank you for bringing back Haya,” I said quietly. “And I didn’t tell you how glad I am that you’re here. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” she whispered.

I studied her face. So thin and weary. “Do you remember that night in the Great Hall?”

“The night you suddenly vanished? Without even saying goodbye? How could I forget?” Her voice was dry.

“I’m sorry.” I hesitated, then asked, “What ever happened to the woman you danced with that night?”

I watched as she took a deep breath. “So much has happened since then. It feels like that night was years ago.” She shifted in her bedroll, tucking her arm beneath her head. “Arthur was furious when you left in the night, you know. So was Agravaine. And it was the strangest thing. Florian went missing that same night. At first I think Arthur and Agravaine thought he’d left with you, snuck off on a mission without the king’s permission. I was terrified they might be right. Can you imagine? Florian following along?” She shuddered.

I said nothing, but my heart was beating faster.

“Sir Ector said they considered sending men after you, but in the end decided not to bother.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Well, they found a note Florian apparently left. He said he’d decided to leave Camelot for a while and visit Tintagel.”

“Tintagel?” I repeated.

She nodded. “Strange, isn’t it? That he should leave the very night you did. In the storm, in the dark. And that he would suddenly have such a strong desire to visit a land of rocks and fisher people.” She gave a wry chuckle. “Rather awkward, too, now that we’re at war with them and he hasn’t come back. His father was absolutely furious, as you can imagine.”

“Yes. Very strange,” I said weakly. What would Lancelet say if I told her the truth? Her expression was so calm and knowing. I didn’t want to tell her about that terrible night and yet I didn’t want to not tell her either.

Suddenly I wondered if she already did know. Just how much scrying had Merlin done since I left?

I let my friend look into my eyes, without trying to hide anything that might be there. I let her see it all. My blood-stained conscience. My sorrow for what I had done, deserved or not.

After a moment, Lancelt slowly nodded. There was a sadness in her expression that had not been there before.

I watched as she flipped onto her back, resting her hands over her stomach. “Anyhow, the girl... The one I was dancing with. I don’t know if she’s dead or alive. She disappeared. I suppose best scenario, she’s in a dungeon somewhere under the castle. Rotting away. I had Sir Ector make inquiries. He couldn’t find her. But then, Arthur rather cut Sir Ector and Dame Halyna out of his inner circle.”

“Oh, Lancelet,” I murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter. She was just a woman. It was just a dance, Morgan. Yes, I liked her. Maybe I could have liked her a lot.” I could tell this was an understatement. “But it’s what Arthur did to her that matters. What he’s doing to everyone, everywhere. It can’t go on, Morgan. We have to stop him.”

“We will. For Kaye’s sake. For the people of Lyonesse. For all of them.” I listened to her quiet breathing in the dark for a moment. “What was it like to travel through the arch?”

She was silent for a while. “Honestly, it was awful. The first thing I did when I came through was throw up.”

“But what was it like as you went through? How long did it take? What did you see?” I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to know more. Part of me wished Draven hadn’t gone around the last arch. What if I could use them? What would it be like?

I heard her take a deep breath. “When you look up at the stars at night, do you ever imagine being up there? Flying among them? Through infinite space and blackness? Just pure nothingness, and you, a speck of dust among it all? That’s what it was like. I thought it might be beautiful. Or, I don’t know, a divine experience. I thought wrong. It was terrifying. How long did it take? An instant. A day. Forever. It was completely disorienting. I’m surprised my horse came through in one piece, with me still on it. Merlin said it might not.” She sighed. “My poor horse.”

“What do you mean? What happened to it?”

“The experience is too much for animals,” Lancelet said. “Merlin warned me it might be. The fae built the portals. They weren’t supposed to be used by mortals. Or even mortal horses, apparently.”

I felt a pricking in my stomach. “But you went through.”

“I had no choice. I had to get to you, quickly.” She hesitated. “Merlin said there might be... consequences.”

“What sort of consequences?” I asked, filled with unease.

“The horse only lasted a few days after traveling through the arch. I stopped riding it and mostly led it after the third day. I couldn’t just leave it behind. But it didn’t matter. Before we reached Orin’s Gate, it had already dropped dead. I pushed it off the path and covered it with branches and leaves. I didn’t want to just... leave it there.” She turned over to look at me. “I didn’t want to tell you, in front of the others. Rather grim, isn’t it?”

“It’s not the horse I’m worried about, it’s you. Why would Merlin send you through if it was so dangerous?” I was angry at her and terrified for her all at once. “I missed you, but I would never have wanted you to do something like this.”

“Well, it was my choice, wasn’t it?” Her voice was unexpectedly hard. “You weren’t there, Morgan. You don’t know what it’s been like back in Camelot for the rest of us.”

“I didn’t want to go!” I shot back.

“I know, but... If what you’re doing could help Pendrath and end the war, then I wanted to come. Who knows if we can trust these men.” I felt a gnawing anxiety as she spoke. “Draven may not have harmed you, but we know what he is and who sent him. And that other man... He’s handsome, yes, but you hardly know him. Why did he follow you?”

“I... he... we...” I stuttered.

She was quiet. “So it’s like that, is it?” She sighed. “You have terrible timing, Morgan.”

“I know,” I admitted. “But it wasn’t exactly my choice. It just... happened.”

“You like him?”

“I think I do, yes. He’s... different. Different from anyone I’ve ever met.” I thought of Vesper’s lips. His hands on my body. “You always wanted me to explore more. Shouldn’t you be happy for me?”

“I am happy for you.” She gave a low laugh. “But perhaps he’s not so very different. He’s like you. Part fae. Maybe it makes sense. You need someone like you in your life. Someone who can relate.” I felt her eyes on me. “But... Your hair, your skin. Those marks. How can you be so changed?”

“I still don’t understand it all myself. It happened when I stopped taking the medicine.”

“So, this is the real you,” she said softly. “Hidden for years. I don’t understand. What was your family so afraid of? You were always pretty, Morgan. But now? You’re downright beautiful.”

I flushed in the darkness, thinking not of how changed I looked but of the fire that had erupted from my palms, the burst of power that had blown out the wall of the inn. “They wanted to protect me, I suppose. I don’t think they intended to harm me.”

I wanted to believe that. I didn’t want to believe my uncle had deliberately crafted a poison he knew could kill me. Then I remembered the iron shavings in the bag Whitehorn had been given.

“Protect you? Or protect themselves from you?” Lancelet asked pointedly.

I didn’t know how to answer that. I had wondered the same thing. For a moment, I was quiet. “Does Merlin know? About me?”

“I’m not sure. But she believes you’re capable of more than you realize.”

I gave a wry laugh. “You mean like her? Does she think I was hiding it like she’s been doing?”

“I don’t think she meant you were hiding anything deliberately. And as for what Merlin herself hides, I think we should be grateful she’s been wise enough to do so. Can you imagine what Arthur would make of her abilities? What he would do with the arch if he got his hands on it?” She paused. “I didn’t want to speak of it in front of strangers. But Galahad...”

I sat up in the tent, my head brushing the soft fabric of the roof. “What about him?”

“He’s all right. Calm down, Morgan.” Her hand shot out to gently push me back down. “I mean, he’s mostly all right. It’s just more of your brother’s bullshit, to put it bluntly.”

“Tell me,” I demanded. “What has Arthur done? Did he hurt Galahad?”

She hesitated. “Not yet. But in the future, yes, it’s possible. He says men and boys who are... like Galahad... are impure and shouldn’t serve in the temple. Or in the army either. I’m sure women like me will be next.” She gave a little laugh, but I could hear the fear in her voice.

“Galahad wants nothing more than to be an acolyte,” I whispered. “He’s devoted. Absolutely devoted. He has more faith in one pinkie finger than you or I have in our entire bodies.”

“I know.” Her voice was tired. “He’s devastated. So is Sir Ector.”

“Perhaps Arthur will change his mind. Perhaps I can speak on his behalf. Pendrath has been a kingdom of tolerance for generations. All of our neighbors are, too. Does Arthur really mean to send us backwards?” Yet as I asked the question, I already knew the answer. There was no limit to what my brother might do to get what he wanted. And what was that exactly? Greater power. Greater territory. More of everything. And if the world burned around him while he took what he wanted, I didn’t think he would even blink twice.

“He wants to divide people. Sow as much animosity as he can. So that we’re turned against one another, instead of against him. But it won’t work, Morgan.” Lancelet’s voice was strong. “Because we have you.”

I felt a surge of apprehension. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She threw her arm over me and squeezed my shoulder gently. “Let's go to sleep. I’m exhausted.” She turned over, snuggling into her bedroll. “I hope you have better food,” she mumbled. “I’m tired of hardtack.”

A minute later and her soft snores filled the air.

CHAPTER 29

In the morning, the bodies of the fenrirs had been dragged away and Vesper was crouched beside the campfire, once again making flapjacks.

He had a stack already waiting, hot and buttered, piled high on a tin plate.

Lancelet was just helping herself to some of the golden cakes as I sat down beside her.

“Shhh,” Vesper said, catching my eye. He grinned so broadly I thought his handsome face would crack. “Don’t wake him.”

He nodded in the direction where Draven had set up his bedroll. I followed his gaze and my eyes widened.

The exmoor was sleeping back to back with the dark haired assassin. I could see the sleek gold-brown fur of the cat-like creature’s massive back, thick black stripes standing out against its massive body as it breathed in and out, slow and steady in its sleep.

As we watched, the exmoor made a mewing sound in its sleep and stretched out its front paws.

“Looks like Draven has a new friend,” Lancelet said, snickering from between mouthfuls of pancakes. “Does he usually sleep this late?”

“No,” I admitted. “We should wake him or he’ll be very annoyed that we let ourselves lose part of the day when we could be riding.”

“Aw, let the little kitten sleep some more,” Vesper cooed, his eyes dancing with playfulness.

I smiled back at him, but marched over to where Draven lay, stopping a good fifteen feet away for safety, then cleared my throat. “Draven? It’s morning. Wake up.”

At first I wasn’t sure he’d heard me. Then he gave a sleepy groan and stretched out his arms, much like the exmoor beside him just had.

Abruptly I was reminded of what a beautiful man he was. His body was honed for pure destruction, all long limbs and sinewed muscles.

I took a step back, glancing at Vesper. He was flipping another flapjack and pushing one stray amber curl from off his forehead as he laughed at something Lancelet had just said. His strong, slender hands drew my attention, reminding me of his talent with the lute and the blade. Among other more delicate skills. My heart skipped a beat as I looked at his finely chiseled features in profile.

Yes, Draven was handsome. Very much so. But he was dangerous. He was trouble and always would be. No matter how gentle and kind he could sometimes seem, no matter how much he surprised me, he would never be anything more than what he was. An assassin. A killer. A man who lied and took what he wanted.

I needed less danger in my life, not more. I needed... I needed someone like Vesper, to remind me what was good in life. To push the horrible memories away.

“I’m up,” Draven growled. I jumped a foot in the air. One of his eyes had opened. The other was still closed. He smirked. He was laughing at me, the bastard.

“Did you have a good sleep?” I asked sweetly. “With your new bedfellow?”

He frowned in confusion, then shifted a little, looking over his shoulder.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said softly. “How the hell did that happen? I’d swear she wandered off last night.”

“She must have crept back into the campsite when we went to sleep. Seems like she’s taken with you.”

Draven looked at the exmoor with something like regret. “She can’t follow us. Where we’re going, it’ll be too dangerous.”

I stared. “Too dangerous for an exmoor? But not for us?”

He ignored me and sprang to his feet. Beside him the exmoor stretched and yawned, looking up at Draven with a sleepy expression. I could swear I saw affection in that gaze. I smiled down at the feline.

“She’s beautiful,” I murmured. “Do you think she’d let me touch her?”

“You want to pet an exmoor?” Draven looked as if he’d never heard anything so ridiculous. “I’d wait until she comes to you unless you don’t mind losing a few fingers.”

“Shut up,” I snapped. I crouched down and held out my hand in front of me, feeling a little foolish.

“Promise me you won’t say ‘here kitty, kitty,’” Draven said, watching me.

“I would never call a beautiful, glorious beast such an ignoble name,” I said with dignity. Though I had been tempted. “Here, my beauty. May I touch you?”

The exmoor was studying me from behind narrow, slanted yellow eyes. She made a small chirping sound, just like the housecats that roamed the castle when they were feeling content, then lumbered to her feet and slowly came towards me.

I gulped. Up close, the exmoor seemed even larger somehow. The giant cat’s piercing yellow eyes looked back at me with cleverness and curiosity. My fingers shaking slightly, I extended my hand and touched the creature’s head, stroking gently just between her eyes. As my hand made contact, I was shocked by how plush the exmoor's fur was, so thick and warm, like the most luxurious velvet. Her eyes had closed into half-slits. As I stroked her head, I heard a familiar rumbling sound begin to emanate from her chest.

“She’s purring,” I exclaimed in delight.

“Stop taming the battlecat,” Draven said, looking slightly annoyed. “She’s a killing machine. Not a house pet.”

“Says the man who snuggled beside her all night,” I retorted.

Draven wasn’t capable of blushing. Was he? At that moment I wondered.

“It’s time to go,” Draven declared, turning his back.

“Thank you for the help last night, my beautiful one,” I whispered to the exmoor, before standing up and backing away. “You were magnificent.”

“What if she follows?” I asked, jogging after Draven.

“We’ll throw rocks at her until she stops.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’d never do that, so don’t even say something so cruel.”

“I can be cruel. Didn’t you accuse me of killing infants in their beds not too long ago, Princess?”

“Oh, we’re back to that again,” I scoffed. “You never actually denied it.”

“I don’t answer stupid questions. It’s time to go. Pack up.” He strode away.

“No pancakes for him?” Vesper asked, as I approached.

“He doesn’t deserve pancakes,” I said crankily. “Unbearable man.”

Vesper laughed, then his face sobered. “Look, now that we’re getting close to Valtain...”

“Now that we’re getting close to Valtain what?”

It was Draven. He’d come up behind me. I jumped for a second time that morning, unable to help myself, then glared up at him. “How did you even do that?”

“I have the ears of an exmoor and the tread of a fenrir,” he said with a smirk.

“I’d say comparing yourself to wild animals was fitting, except the exmoor seems highly intelligent,” I muttered. I turned back to Vesper. “You were saying?”

Vesper was looking awkward. “I’ve been to Valtain before. With Laverna.”

I was thunderstruck. “You have? Why didn’t you tell us before?”

He didn’t meet my gaze, instead lifting the empty pan from beside him and beginning to scour it with sandy soil, rubbing the grease away. “It isn’t a trip I enjoy recalling.”

“Why were you and Laverna in Valtain?” Draven’s voice was hard. “When was this?”

“A while back. Nearly a year. Laverna and I took a contract. A very lucrative one.”

I suddenly wondered just how well Vesper knew Laverna. I hadn’t realized they’d worked together so closely.

“A group of merchants thought they could turn into treasure hunters and make a tidy profit,” Vesper continued. “They’d heard the stories, the good and the bad. They had ambition and weren’t afraid of the danger. They had guts,’ll give them that. They wanted to make sure they had sufficient protection, so they hired us. Among others.”

“And?” Draven was studying him coolly. “You and your fellow mercenaries led them into Valtain and what then? You all got rich and now you’re heading back in for more?”

Vesper shook his head. “No. In the end, we guards outnumbered the merchants two to one. But it still wasn’t enough.”

“What do you mean?” Lancelet asked.

“I mean Laverna and I were the only ones who made it out of Valtain again,” Vesper answered.

Draven snorted.

“What?” Vesper demanded.

“Just that I’m not exactly surprised. Did you make it out with the treasures the merchants had collected? I’ll bet you did. That explains how the Noble Knight got its fine new chandelier.”

“We nearly died,” Vesper said heatedly. “We tried to protect the caravan but...”

Draven waved a hand. “Why tell us this? Why now?”

Vesper’s face was angry. “Because I’m trying to help you.”

“Oh? And yet the last people you tried to help didn’t survive with your help, did they? How reassuring,” Draven snapped.

“Stop it. Both of you.” I leaped to my feet. “Let him finish, Draven.”

“I tried to save them. I did my best. Their deaths are on my conscience. I know this. In the end, I hardly escaped with my own life. I have a younger sister to think of. The only reason I took such a dangerous job in the first place was for her.” Vesper met my gaze, and I nodded my understanding. He took a deep breath. “The reason I’m telling you all of this is because last night you mentioned Meridium.”

“Yes? And?” Draven crossed his arms over his chest.

“That’s where we were headed, too. We didn’t make it past the entrance.”

“And then what?” Lancelet sounded nervous.

“We were attacked. By harpies.”

Draven let out a chuckle.

“It isn’t funny!” Vesper said furiously. “They were wild. Vicious.”

“Harpies? You’re trying to scare us away from Miridmiun by talking to me about harpies?” Draven scoffed.

“I’m not trying to scare you away. I know you won’t change your minds. I’m just saying that we have to be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Draven said coolly. “And in case I haven’t made myself clear enough, these women are under my protection. I have no fears for their safety.”

Lancelet scowled. “I’m under no one’s protection. I don’t need it. Yours or his.”

Draven nodded. “As you wish. Nevertheless, she has it and that’s irrefutable.” He gestured to me.

I swallowed, wanting to be as fierce as Lancelet and say I didn’t need Draven’s help either. But the truth was, I had already learned that sometimes I did. So I said nothing.

“She has mine as well,” Vesper said stoically. “All of you do. We’re traveling together. My loyalties are to you and your party.”

Draven made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort.

“We’ll watch out for harpies. But if they come, they come. We’ll meet them head on.” He strode away.

I was glad he was so confident.

Vesper approached me, his hands slipping around my waist. I glanced around but Lancelet had followed Draven over to the horses.

“If anything should happen to you,” he murmured against my ear. “I couldn’t bear it. Promise me you’ll be careful. If I tell you to run, swear to me that you’ll run.”

I nuzzled my face against his, feeling his warmth. “I swear.”

CHAPTER 30

We came across the caravan the next day.

The landscape began to shift as we entered Valtain, jagged peaks and craggy rocks giving way to barren hills and dusty plains. The air around us grew dry and hot, and the sun beat down mercilessly on our heads as we followed the fae-made road.

I hadn’t seen the exmoor since the morning we had found it sleeping beside Draven. If it was still following, it must have been doing so at night.

I had imagined Valtain as a place that would be blooming with life, but Draven said we would have to pass through this desert-like terrain for a day or more until we reached the area where the remains of fae habitation began.

Signs of life grew fewer and fewer as we rode. Sparse patches of scrub brush and the occasional twisted tree were the only hints of greenery in the vast, sandy expanse.

Finally, late in the afternoon, we spotted the wreckage of a caravan. Not the one Vesper had accompanied, he was quick to point out. No, this one was far from any fae ruin or building of any kind.

A group of six large covered wagons lay overturned and broken in the sand, their contents spilled out every which way.

We drew nearer, riding quietly up to the ring of debris. The group of travelers must have been attacked at night, for there were no signs any fighting had taken place. Instead, the broken bodies of horses and humans lay scattered around the wagons, already half-buried beneath the sand.

“Fenrirs.” Draven’s face was grim. “It must have happened fairly recently or the sand would have covered everything over by now.”

I tried not to look too closely at the mangled forms as we approached and expected us to ride past in respectful silence.

“There won’t be any survivors,” Vesper said quietly, evidently thinking similarly. “There’s no point in looking. Let's ride on.”

But Draven was already sliding off his horse. He began leading it past one of the wagons. “We can restock our provisions. We’ll be grateful we did once we’re on our way back. If they have anything worth salvaging, let's find it now before the sand takes it. Then we’ll move on.”

“I wouldn’t mind a rest,” Lancelet admitted, sliding down from her own horse. “Your Draven pushes harder than I push myself,” she hissed at me.

She followed after him, leading her mount.

“There’s no sign of fenrirs,” Vesper reassured me, as I hesitated. “We’d hear them coming a mile away. They must have surprised these poor people in the night.”

I nodded. “I know.” The problem wasn’t that I didn’t want to stop, but rather that I did. My back was aching. My tunic was damp with sweat and sticking uncomfortably to the bandages. My lower half was screaming at me to get off the horse and lay down, preferably for a week.

Just then we heard Draven give a shout.

I met Vesper’s eyes and slipped down from Haya’s back.

As we rounded the corner of a broken wagon, my mouth fell open.

Draven stood in the center of the caravan campsite looking down at something across from him.

A little girl sat huddled on the ground with her arms wrapped around her knees, no more than five or six years old.

As we approached, she sat silently in the midst of the carnage, her eyes wide and unblinking as she looked at us.

Her skin was a rich, deep bronze. A tangle of tight black curls fell around her shoulders. Her features were delicate. A small button nose. Full cherubic cheeks that gave her a sweet and innocent appearance. She wore a tattered white dress, now covered in dust and rust-colored stains, and there were scuffed leather sandals upon her feet.

A tag was hanging around her neck from a piece of string with something written on it.

Draven was the boldest. The rest of us were too shocked to react. He strode over to the child and crouched down in front of her.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his voice cast low.

Silence.

“Where are your parents? Were they with you? Who brought you here, child?”

The last was a good question. Who would bring a child to such a desolate place?

There was no answer from the girl.

Draven tried again. “How did you escape the fenrirs? Did you hide? That was very clever of you.”

Silence again.

He reached carefully forward and fingered the tag around the girl’s neck. A scowl flickered over his face, then was gone.

“Odelna,” he said carefully. “Is that your name?”

The little girl was still.

“You can’t stay here, little one.” He looked over at us, his expression almost helpless. “She can’t stay here.”

Lancelet and Vesper looked too stunned to speak.

I stepped over to him, crouching beside him and tried to smile at the girl. “No, she can’t. She’ll have to come with us. Would you like that, little one?”

Draven met the girl’s eyes. “You can’t stay here. You’ll die if you do. We have food and water. We can take care of you.”

He glanced at me, as if he were questioning the truth of this statement already.

“Can we take her back to Orin’s Gate?” I asked immediately, knowing what he must be thinking. “Surely, we can’t bring her with us to Meridium. If it’s as dangerous as you say...”

His jaw clenched. “We can’t go back. And I won’t leave her here. She’ll have to come along.”

Lancelet threw up her hands. “That seems like a very bad idea.” Her face brightened. “Perhaps we’ll pass another gate...” Then it fell. “Though I suppose without Merlin, we wouldn’t know how to access it.”

Draven shook his head. “No, we wouldn’t. And even if we did, it would be no use. The arches here have been destroyed.”

“Really? By who?” I asked.

“It’s true,” Vesper spoke from beside me. “They were torn down. Perhaps the fae destroyed them when they were leaving this place. The only ones Laverna and I saw were in ruins.” He shifted on his feet, his eyes fixed on the little girl. “I don’t like this. How could she have survived this long? You don’t think there... might be something wrong?”

I wrinkled my brow. “Something wrong? What do you mean?”

Draven ignored him and leaning forward, gently picked up the little girl, cradling her to his chest. The child looked even smaller against his large body. She made no protest or any sound at all, simply let herself go limp as Draven carried her over to his mount.

Vesper raised his voice a little. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the child. “What if there’s something wrong with her? What if disease caused this? A plague of some kind?”

Draven paused. “A disease wouldn’t leave bodies in this condition. Nothing I know of would but fenrirs.”

“No, that’s true,” Vesper muttered. He scuffed a foot in the sand. “Still, it seems reckless.”

“Reckless?” Draven snapped. “Reckless to save a child from certain death? What would you rather we do with her?”

Vesper shrugged uncomfortably. “Leave her here with enough food and water to last until we get back. That’s what I’d do, if it was up to me.”

I stared at him. “But Vesper, you have a sister.”

“I do. And I sure as hell wouldn’t want anyone bringing her near a place like Meridium. The girl has survived this long. She’ll be safer here.”

“We can’t leave her here,” Lancelet said indignantly. “What if the fenrirs come back?”

“Well, how did she survive them the first time?” Vesper said, his tone stubborn. “She probably crawled under a wagon and they left her alone.”

Draven was looking at Vesper with an exasperated expression. “It’s a ridiculous idea and I’m not even going to argue with you about it. We’re not leaving this little girl alone here for another moment. She’s coming with us.” He narrowed his eyes. “Unless this really means a lot to you and you want to make something more of it.”

I knew what that meant. “No, he doesn’t,” I said hastily. I put my hand on Vesper’s arm. “Vesper, surely you see she has to come with us. Yes, it’s risky, but it’s better than the alternative. If this was your sister, she wouldn’t want to be left alone.” I lowered my voice. “Think of what that little girl must have gone through. What she’s already seen. Her parents are probably...” I gestured to the bodies lying in the sand around us.

Vesper nodded slowly. “I suppose.” He met my eyes and tried to smile. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”

“She can ride with me, if you like,” Lancelet offered. “You’re heavier than I am–” She indicated Draven. “It’ll be an extra burden for your mount. Put her with me. Then Morgan can take a turn.”

“Yes, that sounds good,” I agreed.

Draven carried the child over and once Lancelet was up, gently lifted her up.

Odelna made not a word of protest or assent. She simply looked at us from blank tired eyes.

“Do you want some water, sweetheart?” Lancelet asked, opening her flask and offering it to the child.

The girl made no movement to take it, but when Lancelet tipped it towards her mouth, the child parted her lips, allowing a trickle of liquid to fall in.

“Odelna is in good health considering how long she may have been sitting out here,” Lancelet noted quietly. “It is strange. But perhaps she was taking better care of herself before but then as the days passed, she fell into hopelessness, thinking no one was ever going to come along.” She shot a warning glance at Vesper. “I am by no means saying we should leave her behind here.”

“Anyone would be hopeless, seeing what she’s seen,” was all Vesper said. “Well, she’s safe now. I hope.” He swung his leg over his horse.

We rode on.

The rest of the day passed without Odelna saying a single word.

That evening, when we made camp, she wouldn’t eat.

“She gives me the creeps,” Vesper confided, as he sat beside me during dinner.

“How can you say that? Yes, she’s odd. But only because she’s been through something horrible,” I said, surprised by his reaction to the child. “Sometimes people respond this way. It’s unusual, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with her. She’s just a little girl.”

I looked at Odelna, her dirty clothes, her blood stained face, then got up guiltily and fetched a cloth. Carefully, I wiped her face clean. There was nothing we could do about her clothes right now. I had no wish to try to pry them off her and besides, there was nowhere to wash them at the moment.

Lancelet managed to get the little girl to accept more water but she would take no food.

When the little girl acted as if she had no idea what sleep was, sitting by the fire until she was nearly tipping over from exhaustion, I picked her up gently and laid her down in the middle of Lancelet’s tent.

For a while, Odelna looked up above her, eyes still wide, no sign she would drift off anytime soon. But in time, her breathing slowed and before long she was sleeping the deep slumber that only a child can achieve.

Lancelet leaned her head against her hand.“Who would bring a child into this place? Do you think she’ll start speaking to us?”

“I don’t know.” I thought of Florian and what he had put me through, then tried to imagine enduring something like that as a child. Slavering beasts attacking my family and devouring those around me while I watched, huddled under a wagon, wondering when I would be next. Abruptly, I realized I had been through something similar. While I hid beneath my mother’s bed watching my father beat her to death. “It could be a long time.”

“Do you think her parents were with her when it happened?” Lancelet whispered, as we lay on either side of the girl.

“For her sake, I hope not.” I thought of the look on Draven’s face as he noticed the tag around Odelna’s neck. The tag was still there–a small white piece of paper hung on a dirty length of twine tucked into the girl’s dress.

I gently touched a finger to the string. “I think she might have been a slave, Lancelet.”

Lancelet’s eyes opened in horror. “What? Why do you say that?”

“This tag,” I said, gesturing. “Draven noticed it, too. Why would a child wear a name tag around her neck? It seems odd. Unless she was on her way to being sold somewhere.” The idea filled me with disgust but I wanted to face the possibility.

“There are no slaves in Eskira,” Lancelet said with firmness. “It’s impossible.”

“What do we really know of Eskira?” I said thoughtfully. “Pendrath has no slaves, it’s true. Nor do Lyonesse or Tintagel. But Cerunnos might. And Rheged? What do we really know about Rheged? Not much. Besides...” I cleared my throat. “Merlin once told me that every despicable thing I could ever imagine was still carried out somewhere in Aercanum. If people are determined to possess others as slaves, they’ll find a way. Especially if they’re rich and powerful.”

“So she was kidnapped?” Lancelet said, resting her head on her arm. “That’s awful.”

“Maybe the fenrirs saved her from something even worse.” I touched a hand gently to the girl’s forehead.

“What are we going to do with her?” Lancelet asked. “After Valtain, I mean.”

“We’ll bring her back to Camelot with us. She could live in the castle as my ward.” I thought of Arthur and the way young girls so easily could become prey in the Rose Court. “Or I’ll ask Merlin to take her in, at least until she’s older. Then she can decide for herself what she wants.”

Odelna would have every choice possible in front of her. I would make sure of that, I decided.

The girl stirred in her sleep, tossing her curly head about, and I leaned over her. “You’re safe now, little one. We won’t let anything else bad happen to you. Go to sleep.”

I thought of Draven and how he had knelt down before the little girl and refused to leave her behind.

“He didn’t didn’t hurt babies,” I mumbled to myself as I turned over in my bedroll and prepared for sleep to come.

CHAPTER 31

“Arrogant bastard,” I muttered as I urged Haya.

Draven was pushing us all to the edge of our limits, determined to ride through every hour of daylight, stopping only to tend to the horses.

Riding hard and long was nothing new. And yet, something had changed in the past week we had been traveling through Valtain.

We had passed through the dusty plains and entered a landscape of lush green lands, sandy beaches, soaring cliffs, and thriving forests. But as we moved through these verdant vistas, I couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of foreboding.

The vibrant greens of the forests we rode through and the cerulean blues of the rivers and lakes we passed alongside held less allure than I might have expected. Something betrayed the peace and beauty of the landscape.

Was it simply the knowledge that the fae had once walked in these lands only to abandon them? They had lived here, built here. Was it the sounds of their footsteps that echoed in my ears, quiet and ghostly? Or was it simply the emptiness that felt ominous? The woods and trees spoke of secrets and stories better left untold.

As we reached the fae city of Numenos and prepared to travel through it in order to reach Meridium, my sense of unease grew stronger. I told myself it was simply my anxiety growing as we drew closer and closer to our destination at long last.

Numenos defied imagination. We rode through the empty streets in silence, its beauty leaving us speechless. White marble and glowing stone adorned every building. Each structure seemed more magnificent than the last, each one crafted with intricate carvings and delicate designs that spoke to the fae’s love of beauty and their attention to detail. Towers and spires soared upwards into the sky, seeming to almost touch the clouds themselves. We passed by abandoned markets, grand theaters, and magnificent villas.

Everything was empty, of course, as we had expected it to be. But a feeling had been left behind, hovering in the air. The pervasive sense that someone had just been there, and had suddenly left.

I saw a pair of faded silk slippers lying on a bench in one of the marketplaces, as if a woman had pulled them off and then not had time to put them back on. Fountains and statues were covered in ivy and clogged with weeds. Rotted fruit lay preserved in the abandoned market stalls. Trinkets and baubles still sat out on tables, covered with dust and cobwebs, waiting for customers that would never come.

Everything seemed to be waiting. The city breathed with a ghostly life.

I tried to imagine what life must have been like in Numenos when the fae still called it home.

But as we passed street after street, the realization came to me that none of this was mine. The truth of my fae heritage was now written all over my body, literally marked, and yet I could not feel farther away from these people than I did as I voyaged through their empty city. Everything spoke of an otherworldly beauty, of otherworldly lives. Lives of beauty and magic that I could not fathom. I could not imagine having anything in common with a pure-blooded fae. Nor them wanting to have anything to do with me, with my stunted magic and strange features.

Meanwhile, Vesper continued to mutter discontentedly about Odelna's presence, leaving Draven and Lancelet annoyed and myself confused. He had always seemed like a compassionate man. Yet he repeatedly suggested we leave the girl behind, with sufficient supplies, and return for her later. I even considered if he might be right, only to conclude that leaving a girl in such a forlorn place where we knew monstrous creatures roamed and she had no way to defend herself would be worse. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but at least with us she was not alone.

Odelna would still not speak to us, but after that first day she had conceded to eat–small portions, usually just once a day, but it was something. She rode with Draven and I mostly. He had even managed to get her to smile once. At least, he claimed he had and I chose to believe him.

We arrived at Miridmiun two days after passing through Numenos.

The ruins were hidden in a deep valley, surrounded by high cliffs. To reach the entrance, Draven led us through a narrow, winding canyon. Sheer rock walls surrounded us on either side and an unnatural darkness fell as we rode.

I kept expecting harpies to attack at any moment, from the high cliffs around us. From Vesper's disquiet, I could tell he was waiting for something of the sort as well.

But by the time we reached the entrance, my fears had eased. There had been no sign nor sound of anyone or anything.

The ruins were a breathtaking sight. Miridmiun had once been a fae city, though smaller than Numenos in scale. The entrance to the ruins were carved directly into the face of the enormous mountain. Etched into the stone were towering columns decorated with carvings and reliefs of fae warriors, ancient rulers, and even animals and birds.

I had expected the entrance to be gated or sealed, but instead a cavernous opening lay before us, flanked by columns covered with motifs of leaves and flowers, with roses by far the most prominent. Beyond the entrance, I could see a shadowy chamber that led off into the darkness.

As I stared into the gloom, Draven jumped down off his horse. Odelna, who had been riding with him, sat alone, small and quiet in the saddle, staring vacantly in front of her.

“We’ll lead the horses in,” Draven announced, taking up the straps in his hand.

Lancelet had just opened her mouth to reply when we heard the flapping of wings.

Harpies were all very well to read about in the pages of books. When Vesper had described being attacked by them, I had vaguely recalled illustrations depicting them as female-looking creatures with wings.

But as I looked up to see the shadows of dark wings overhead, my mouth went dry.

The intelligent eyes of women peered down at me, faces twisted into grotesque snarls. Instead of faces, they had sharp, pointed beaks which opened to reveal red mouths and long curved tongues. Their bodies extended down past exposed breasts and naked torsos, melding into monstrous avian features. Razorsharp talons glinted in the fading sun from. Only their feathers were lovely–gleaming iridescent colors that covered massive wings that each looked broader than a horse.

The harpies were circling overhead, descending lower and lower as they carefully avoided hitting the rocky cliff walls that surrounded us.

Suddenly one let out a blood-curdling cry and dove, straight down towards where Draven stood by his horse.

Instantly, he dove into action, yanking the little girl from the saddle and tossing her over his shoulder, as he pulled a dagger from his belt.

The harpy's sharp beak skidded across the horse's saddle. The creature let out a shriek of frustration and spun upwards, just as Draven's knife flew through the air. I watched as it slid through one of the harpy's wings, splitting it open. The harpy screeched with rage, but her torn wing brought her slowly spiraling down.

As he boosted Odelna higher up on his shoulder, Draven’s eyes met mine. “Get inside. Now!” he bellowed, leaning forward to slap a hand to the piebald’s hindquarters. The horse bolted forward into the cavernous entrance.

An instant later I understood his concern. A dark swarm had formed overhead, thousands of wings beating in unison as they circled overhead.

We clearly weren't going to win this fight, especially with a small child. I glanced at Vesper and saw him staring at Draven and the little girl, his face inscrutable.

We raced through the entrance, into the blackness, leaving the harpies behind.

As all light disappeared and Haya stumbled, I suddenly was terrified the earth was about to disappear from beneath our feet.

Then my eyes became accustomed to the dimness.

We were in a large chamber carved from stone. Behind us, the harpies were swooping and wheeling, their wings beating furiously as they lunged towards the entrance, cawing loudly.

I glanced at Odelna in Draven's arms. Her head was pressed to his shoulder but she seemed less afraid than simply long-suffering.

“They won’t usually enter a building. They hate being closed in. But we should still move further inside. A few might be bold enough to try to come inside,” Draven announced. He glanced at Vesper. “Is this where you were attacked?”

Vesper nodded. “We had the wagons with us. The harpies have shredded everything to pieces by now, but I saw the remains outside. When the harpies attacked us, the merchants didn't want to leave their belongings behind unguarded. Laverna and I urged them to get inside. Their hesitation cost them their lives.”

“Did you take down any of the harpies?” I asked curiously, unable to imagine Vesper simply standing idle with his bow.

“We took down ten between us,” he said modestly. “Three flew in after us. There.” He pointed across the chamber at a pile of gray rubble. In front of it I could see the white bones of the harpies he had slain.

“Impressive,” Lancelet murmured. “Those things... I can hardly believe they're real.”

“When there are only a few, they’re mostly harmless. But in greater numbers, they can be dangerous.” Draven gently lowered the little girl to the ground where she tilted precariously a moment before getting her footing. “We might have picked them off, but with this little one, I didn’t want to risk being swarmed.”

“I tell you they completely devastated a caravan of merchants and you say they're harmless?” Vesper complained sourly. He met my eyes. “At least we’re all safe. That’s all that matters.” He touched a hand to my cheek briefly and I smiled.

“None of the merchants survived? None ran inside with you when you urged them to?” Draven's eyes were hard.

I saw Vesper swallow quickly. “One,” he conceded. “One made it inside in time. He was already wounded. We tried to staunch the bleeding but he died. We buried him under a pile of rubble over there.” He frowned at the other man. “Do you want to see that body, too?”

“No need. I believe you.” Draven turned away.

“Ten harpies,” Lancelet marveled. She patted the bow on her back. “I was too startled to even get a shot in. I feel like a fool now.” She eyed the entrance way then grinned in Draven’s direction. “Maybe I should go back.”

“Don't even think of it,” Draven warned. “We're heading in now. Once we’re deeper into the ruins, there’ll be no chance the harpies will follow.”

He took the reins of his horse in one hand and Odelna’s hand in his other and started walking ahead.

“It's awfully dark up there,” I muttered as I tugged on Haya's reins and followed.

“Laverna and I didn't go past this chamber,” Vesper said softly. “The place gave us the creeps.”

I thought of something. “Draven, how do you know where to go?” He seemed awfully familiar with the building already, right down to knowing the harpies wouldn’t enter the place.

He turned back with a frown, then patted the pocket of his trousers. “I have a map.”

“Oh. Yes, that makes sense,” I mumbled.

“A map of the location of a god-made treasure? Does it?” Vesper pursed his lips into a thin line.

I scowled. “On second thought, when you put it that way.”

He put a hand reassuringly on my shoulder. “Never mind. We'll follow where he leads. But if he leads you into danger, I swear..”

“He won't,” I said quickly. “I mean, besides the fenrirs and the harpies...” I gave a little hiccup as I tried to suppress a manic laugh, but Vesper said nothing.

I slipped my hand into his as we walked through the shadows, crossing a dusty stone floor and entering a hall wide enough to easily accommodate multiple steeds walking side-by-side.

Behind us, Lancelet let out a low whistle. “This place is... truly something.”

We were following Draven and the child down a sloping hallway that led towards another entranceway up ahead. Around us, the walls were covered with fae symbols. The floor was paved with a smooth gray stone. I could smell dust and the faint smell of damp earth. From far away came the sound of dripping water.

“Is this place underground?” I asked, suddenly uneasy about following Draven so far down into the darkness.

“Not truly,” he called back over his shoulder. “Well, not far under. There are lower levels that go much deeper beneath us, but those have been flooded for decades.” Had the map told him that, I wondered? “We're headed straight across the ruins. We should be able to skirt the entrances to the flooded parts.”

I had opened my mouth to ask why we needed to skirt them when Vesper whispered, “How does he know? How does he know any of that?” He met my eyes levelly and I felt a prick of trepidation.

I was trying to think of a response that would make sense to us both when Draven beat me to it. “I'm very well-read. Ears of an exmoor, remember?” He smirked snidely, and tapped a finger to his ear before turning back to lead the way through the next carved entrance.

We started down another long hall.

“If you’re going to eavesdrop so indiscreetly, then be prepared to answer more questions,” I said. “Tell us this. Why was this place abandoned? Did it happen before or after the fae left the rest of Valtain?”

Draven walked forward in silence and for a moment I wasn’t sure he’d heard me. Then, “It happened just before. They left this place first.”

“Why?” I demanded, letting go of Vesper’s hand and picking up my pace to walk beside him and the little girl. “What happened?”

He was silent, then, “They were at war, you know.”

“What?” My mind was already racing back to the pictures on the temple walls that Merlin had shown me. The two very different sides of the fae. “At war with who?”

“With themselves, in a sense. They had become divided. Two powerful factions had formed. Two territories as well. One group had already left Valtain.”

“When?” I asked. “Where did they go?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

It mattered to my burning curiosity. “I suppose not, but what happened? What happened to cause the other fae to leave here?”

I could sense Lancelet and Vesper listening intently from behind us.

“There was an attack,” he said finally. “A brutal attack. It ended the war. After that, the fae of Valtain had no reason to stay. They fled this place first, then Numenos.”

“Fled?” I said sharply. “I thought you said no one knew why they’d left, but you make it sound as if they were running. What were they running from?”

I watched his profile as his lips curved into a frown. “Something bad happened here. After that, they didn’t want to stay. I’m not sure if they were fleeing the other group that had attacked them. Both were equal in power. Or if they were fleeing something worse.”

“What could be worse?” Lancelet asked from behind us.

Draven shrugged. “Memories.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s bullshit, Draven. What exactly happened here?”

He glowered from under heavy dark brows. “You’ve already asked that.”

“And you haven’t given us a straight answer. Yet I can tell you have it. I can see it there, lurking in the edges of your...” I stopped. I had almost said “mind.” “Eyes.”

A look of disbelief crossed his face, then he smirked. “Really? I doubt that very much.” He looked down at Odelna who walked by his side. “Besides, it’s not a story for children.”

“Yet you lead her by the hand into this place of death,” I accused.

This time the anger in his face was palpable. So was the shock.

I understood. I had never pressed him like this before. I had been content before now to simply follow, to accept his word as the law, never questioning. But now that we were here... Everything felt different. Everything about this place felt wrong to me and I wanted to know why.

I wasn’t going to let it go and I think he sensed that.

“Why do you say that?” he demanded, his voice sharp.

“I can feel it. All around us. Can’t you?” I looked back at Lancelet and Vesper. Vesper nodded his head. “Even before we entered. Something lurks in this land. It’s in the air. I can almost smell it. Something terrible happened here. I want to know what it was. And you’re going to tell us what you know. Now.”

Draven shot me a look that was almost thoughtful, then ignoring me, he stepped forward through the next entranceway.

I followed and together we walked into a massive chamber. High ceiling soared above us, opening into cut stone skylights that let in the fading daylight. I tilted my head up, reveling in the last light of the sun as orange and purple beams of sunset trickled down onto the gray slabs of stone.

High pillars stood all around us, supporting the massive ceiling, while banners and tapestries, torn and shredded, covered the walls, placed too high up for any human to have reached without a ladder. Along the walls were many openings leading into numerous passageways.

I saw Draven hesitating. Then he halted. “This was a crossroads, of a sort, for the city. We’ll camp here for the night. We can enjoy the last of the light and then make a fire.”

“The last of the light?” I said.

He nodded. “Tomorrow we go deeper in. Underground. Towards the center of the city. It will be...”

“Dark?” I suggested. “Yes, I think we’d guessed that.”

“We should reach the sword tomorrow,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed on mine. “We’re nearly there.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant the words as encouragement to me or to himself. They sounded so final.

Draven started to turn away, pulling a saddlebag off the horse.

“Not so fast,” I said irritably, ignoring the warning look Lancelet was giving me. Draven might have been acting like a boorish, well, exmoor, but I knew him too well to actually be intimidated by him. “You haven’t finished telling us what happened.”

He must have known from the look on my face that I was not going to let this go, because after a sharp exhale of breath and another look of annoyance, he started talking again.

“Look around. This was a meeting place. The fae would hold celebrations here. They were having one the day they were attacked. Everyone was gathered together.”

“So they were ambushed,” I said quietly.

“They slaughtered everyone? I see no signs of a battle,” Lancelet commented from where she stood listening.

Vesper stood near me, his arms crossed over his chest. He said nothing.

Draven shook his head. “It wasn’t that sort of attack. This was... something more insidious.”

“What do you mean?” I asked sharply.

“A plague,” he said simply. “They unleashed a plague.”

“How exactly would they have even done that?” Lancelet asked, her face pale.

Draven grimaced. “I suppose you’d have to ask the faction who did it, wouldn’t you? In any case, they released it into Miridmiun that day. Did they expect to wipe everyone out? Yes, I think so.” He paused. “There was an unexpected outcome.”

“What was it?” I demanded.

“The plague had never been used before. They weren’t certain what its effects would be. The fae are usually very resistant to illness and disease. They heal quickly, far quicker than humans. But this–this was no ordinary plague. They assumed some would suffer and some would die, yes, but not necessarily all.”

“So they allowed for a few survivors. How merciful,” I said sardonically. What could have occurred to cause such hatred between the fae themselves to the point where one group wished to so brutally annihilate the other?

“It was cowardly, yes,” Draven allowed. “But in war, people often disintegrate, becoming versions of themselves they never thought they could ever be. Even the supposedly honorable ones find themselves willing to do dastardly things. War leaves no honor. Only horror.”

It wasn’t what I’d been expecting him to say. He spoke as if he had seen the battlefield, seen such horrors firsthand. I supposed as an assassin, the hired blade of kings, he had seen many terrible things.

“And instead?” Lancelet stepped up beside me, her shoulder touching mine. I felt comforted knowing she was there, alongside me, in this place that suddenly seemed to hold so much darkness, so much evil.

Draven hesitated, then glanced at Odelna. The little girl had wandered a little ways off and was sitting quietly on a large block of stone.

When he spoke again, his voice was low. “It only harmed the children.”

I blinked. “The children? All of them? What happened to them?”

“They sickened, faster than you or I could ever imagine.” He spoke as he was trying to get the foul words out of his mouth as swiftly as possible. “From the smallest babe in arms to children as old as your brother Kaye, they sickened and they  died. They died swiftly, here, in this place. And then the fae took their children’s bodies and left Valtain.”

I heard Lancelet give a shocked gasp. My skin prickled with horror. “What kind of people would kill children? Why does no one else know of this?”

Draven shrugged. “I suppose they’re not as well-read.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Someday you’ll have to show me this incredible library you’ve been accessing all your life, Draven. The one that contains knowledge that even the priestesses of Camelot do not possess.”

Vesper was quiet, unpacking his bedroll and laying out his things for the night. He didn’t look at us, but I knew he was still listening.

“You might be surprised by what those temple guardians really know,” Draven said calmly. “And as for the library, travel the world as much as I have and you’ll learn all you need to. Now rest. Tomorrow will be a long day. Tomorrow we reach the lake. Then we find the sword. Then we get the hell out of this place. Easy.”

He turned on his heel and, marching over a little distance away, crouched down and began building a fire.

Lancelet was looking at me with a troubled expression. “Do you really think it’ll be as easy as he says?”

“Well, we’ve left the harpies behind, I suppose. So, there’s that.”

“I don’t like this place,” she murmured, rubbing her hands over her arms. “And it’s cold.”

She was right. As the sun disappeared from overhead, a chill was beginning to come from the stone walls surrounding us.

I shivered and fished for a wool sweater in my pack, pulling it quickly over my head, then untucking my braid.

“What a horrible story,” Lancelet said, as she followed me. “Do you think it’s really true? Could that have been what happened?”

I stared at Draven’s broad back as he formed a ring of stones and pile of wood debris, then pulled kindling from his pack. “I don’t know. It sounded terrible enough to be real.”

That night, even Vesper’s lute couldn’t calm my spirits at first.

I listened to him play after we had eaten a simple supper of bread, cheese, and dried fish that we had found at the caravan wreckage, and tried to feel the comfort that I usually felt from his presence, from the sight of his slender fingers dancing gently over the strings.

But all I felt was unsettled and agitated.

Was it because we were so close to the sword and because, in the end, I wanted nothing to do with it? I had never wanted to come here. I had never wanted to see the sword out. Perun’s blade, Vela’s blade, or Excalibur–whatever it might be, it held no allure for me.

And yet, hard as it was to fathom, Pendrath was at war. If all Lancelet had told us was true then Merlin and Sir Ector believed we needed the sword to gain some sort of advantage. Over Arthur or over our enemies? Because from everything Lancelet had said, Arthur claimed our allies were suddenly enemies. But the greatest enemy to peace in Pendrath might be the king who sat on its throne.

I shifted on the hard stone I sat on. I couldn’t imagine how bringing the sword back would help things. We’d only have to keep it away from Arthur. And how exactly were they planning on managing that?

Still, who could say just what Merlin might have up her sleeve? She hadn’t told us about the arch, after all. Not until she’d had to. What other knowledge might she possess about the sword’s true nature?

Vesper was still playing. He'd removed his leather jerkin and his white shirt clung to his skin, emphasizing the lean muscles of his chest and arms. His fingers moved expertly across the strings, weaving a soft and pleasant melody that reminded me of a children's lullaby my mother had sung for me as a child.

With a pang, I looked over at where Odelna sat. She had come closer to the group and now huddled on the ground near Draven, her arms tucked around her knees. Draven had placed one of his tunics around her shoulders and it covered her like a blanket. Her eyes were focused only on the crackling flames of the fire.

For the past few nights, Lancelet and I had taken turns sleeping with the girl. Tonight I would sleep in my own tent.

Had the little girl's mother sung her this same lullaby? Would she ever tell us what had happened to her? Had it been too terrible for her to speak of, to recall?

Back in Camelot we would find her a safe new home. Either at the temple, or with a real family. One that would help her to start over. A patient family that would take their time with her and accept that even if she never spoke another word ever again, she was worth saving and worth loving.

My breath hitched in my throat as I thought of my own family.

Kaye loved me, yes. But the rest ?

For the first time I allowed myself to say it, even if only silently in my own head. My uncle and brother didn’t really care if I lived or died. They only cared about what I could do for them. And when my utility was at an end, I was expendable and would not be missed.

Silver hair or gray, I had always been different. My changing appearance had not improved that. I would never belong. I would never be a true Pendragon.

I would never be the queen I had been born to be.

My own father had not thought I was worthy.

Was I still worthy of the temple? Or when I returned to Camelot, would Arthur decide that like Galahad and the others, I didn’t belong there either?

I looked across the fire at Vesper and he met my eyes, smiling slightly.

I didn’t have much, but I had this at least. This one small thing that was mine. This one thing that was good. I had Vesper.

I waited until one by one the others left the fireside and went to sleep.

When Vesper and I were the only ones left, I stood up and crossed over to him, then pushed the lute gently from his hands.

“Stay with me tonight? Don’t make me sleep alone.”

For a moment he hesitated. I saw the confusion on his face, then it was replaced by something else. I thought I glimpsed affection and desire. Was there a stronger emotion behind his eyes? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know yet.

He took my hand without a word and followed me over to my tent.

CHAPTER 32

We lay side by side in the cramped tent, the air heavy with unspoken words.

The fire still blazed outside, casting flickering shadows over the tent walls. In the dim light, I could see Vesper's golden eyes glowing as he looked back at me. We were so close I could feel his breath on my face.

“So...” I started to say.

But he was already moving towards me. Before I could speak, he captured my lips in a kiss. His mouth was hot and wet against mine. As his tongue explored every inch of my mouth, I moaned softly, closing my eyes. This. This was everything I needed. The closeness I had forgotten I could have. Vesper's lips, his body pressed up against mine. It felt so good, so right.

Hungrily, I started to push his shirt up his chest, running my hands over the taut muscles of his torso. Light amber curls ran up the center of his chest. I traced them with my fingers, moving my hands down his stomach, down to the top of his trousers and beginning to fumble with the buttons.

Vesper's hands were roving my body, tracing the curves of my hips, then settling on the soft swells of my breasts.

My body arched to his touch, responding eagerly. I wanted him. More than anything I had ever wanted before.

Our kiss deepened, building to a fever pitch, both of us lost in the moment...

And then a sound broke through the night, echoing off the stone walls.

I pulled back. “What was that?”

We listened.

The sound came again. A keening sort of cry.

I scrambled with Vesper towards the tent flap. Despite what Draven had said, what if a harpy did manage to get this far into the ruins? I had no wish to be pecked to death by those sharp beaks.

But as we stood up and looked around us, I saw it was no harpy but something else instead.

A figure had emerged from one of the passageways and was walking towards us.

A very small figure.

“It's just a child,” I said, starting to breathe a sigh of relief.

And then the figure stepped close enough that the firelight fell upon it.

Once upon a time the thing lurching towards us must have been some fae parent’s beloved little boy. Now it was something beyond even the darkest of nightmares.

The fae boy's small, frail body was contorted and twisted, limbs gnarled and bent at impossible angles. His pale blue hair hung in clumps around his face, matted and tangled with filth and gore.

As he stumbled towards us and the true extent of the child's condition was revealed, I heard a guttural sound of stark terror come from my mouth. The boy's skin was wrinkled and gray like the flesh of a rotting corpse. It sagged from his bones like a candle's melting wax. A sickening stench of decay and death emanated from the child in waves and I choked as I caught the scent of it.

The boy's face was the worst sight of all. His eyes were festering pits of blackness, rot trickling out down his cheeks, leaving me wondering how he could possibly see us at all. His nose had collapsed, leaving a gaping hole in the center of his face, while his mouth was a cavernous maw filled with jagged, putrefied teeth.

As I opened my mouth to scream for the others, an object flew past me with a whistling sound. I turned to see Vesper with his arm raised, then looked back at the little boy. A knife was embedded in his forehead.

We watched in fascinated horror as a dark liquid seeped from the wound and the child sank to his knees, then fell forward unmoving.

I was trembling, shuddering with revulsion. Vesper grasped me by the arms. “It’s all right,” he said, trying to reassure me. “There was only one.” He brushed a strand of loose hair from my eyes and kissed my forehead. “There was only one. It’s over.”

Around us the others were waking up. Lancelet pushed open her tent flap, followed by the little girl.

I saw Draven sitting up in his bedroll, staring at the boy’s corpse with an expression of utter disbelief.

“There was only one,” Vesper said again, raising his voice a little.

“What was it–” Lancelet started to ask.

And then the ground began to shake and the other children started to come out.

They emerged like rats from the doorways lining the room, some crawling, some lurching forwards, all moving towards us.

How long had these things–once children–lurked in the darkness, waiting? There was no doubt in my mind that these were the children from Draven’s story. But plague had not carried them off. Something else had befallen them. Something far worse. Something that should by all rights have been impossible.

I grabbed my dagger from inside my tent, quickly strapping it to my leg, then reached for my bow and quiver, as Vesper ran to his bedroll, scooping up his belts of knives.

Draven was shouting, telling us to stand together. He raced forward to take up a position in front of us, his sword at the ready.

At my back, I could hear Lancelet instructing Odelna to stay behind her. I turned to see her holding her sword and shield, her face a pale mask of terror.

All I could do was numbly nod, a pathetic attempt at encouragement.

The children descended upon us.

Draven whirled, slicing the head off the child nearest him with his sword. For a moment, the child's body writhed on the stone floor and my stomach heaved with nausea.

I slowed my breathing, forced myself to focus, then loosed an arrow. It flew across the vaulted room striking a girl in the chest. She looked no older than the living one hiding behind Lancelet who we had saved.

The girl stumbled, my arrow sticking out of her heart, and then, unbelievingly, continued coming towards us, her feet slowly dragging across the stones.

“Aim for the head,” Vesper shouted, his voice ringing out across the stones. “Aim for the head or we won't stop them.”

I nocked another arrow and drew back my bow string, then let it go. This time the projective burst through the little girl's head and she toppled to the ground.

I glanced back at Lancelet and saw my own dread mirrored in her eyes. I had just killed a child.

But if the child had reached us, what then? I was terrified that tonight I would learn the answer.

A group of children was nearing Draven. For a rare moment, there was something almost beautiful occurring. Draven moved his body with an effortless elegance that spoke to his skill and experience. His sword was an extension of his arm as he spun it through the air with deadly precision, flicking it cleanly through the neck of one unnatural child then another.

One leapt at him, surprising me with its sudden speed. Draven whirled, his blade flashing through the air in a blur of steel as he removed the child's head in one single, clean stroke.

I watched, transfixed, as he moved with a dancer's grace, every moment precise and calculated, as he did what he did best: Killed everything in sight.

“Morgan!” Lancelet's shouting broke through my daze. “Beside you!”

But Vesper was already in motion, his blades flying through the air as he met the pack of children closest to us head on.

I stood there for a moment, frozen, then raised my bow in the knick of time, loosing an arrow into the head of the child in front of me. Its skull split as it hit the ground. I couldn't tell if it had been a boy or a girl.

I glanced back at Lancelet. She had moved towards Draven, positioning the little girl between them.

“More are coming,” Draven shouted. “Prepare yourself.”

“There are too many of them.” Vesper's voice was panicked. Blade after blade flew from his fingertips, each one landing with perfect accuracy. But when his eyes met mine, I saw a hint of fear.

“Your powers,” he hissed. “Can you... access them?”

“I can try,” I whispered, my eyes widening. I had never consciously done so before. Even when the fenrirs had attacked, my instinct had been to pick up my bow, not open my palms.

As subtly as I could, I focused and pointed my hands at a child coming towards us.

I felt nothing. An itch on my palms perhaps. Nothing more.

The same panic I had seen on Vesper’s face began to fill my heart.

“Nothing.” I shook my head. “It’s no good. I can’t do this.”

“It’s all right,” Vesper said, his voice soothing as he slipped a blade into the child’s head, then yanked it out again. “We have to get you away from here.”

Dimly I was aware that he had referred only to me, not the others.

I looked towards the passages. More children were coming through. How many were there?

I thought of Draven's story. All of the fae's children. How many could there have been? Hundreds? Thousands?

Vesper caught me by the arm, dragging me farther away from the others as a group of children neared us, buying us precious seconds.

I pulled back my bowstring and an arrow sliced through the air, hitting a child with its back to us in the neck. It turned towards me, mouth still wide and ravenous and I let out a curse.

A knife sped past me and caught the child in the side of the skull. Vesper sped forward, pulling the knife out. He looked at the sticky blackened blade with disgust, then wiped the worst of it on his jerkin and returned to my side.

“Thank you,” I mumbled. The scent of dark blood and decaying flesh filled my nostrils, blocking out fresh air, blocking out clear thought.

“We have to go.” His voice was full of alarming urgency. “We can't keep this up.”

“Yes, but not without the others,” I started to say, and then I heard Lancelet scream.

I looked over to see a child lunging at Lancelet as she pushed Odelna out of the path of danger and towards Draven, who was fighting a group of the monstrous children who had come at him from the other direction.

As the child lunged at her, Lancelet stumbled backwards, falling to the ground, her sword clattering to the stones beside her.

“No!” I started towards her.

A clawed withered hand caught my wrist, sharp nails tearing at my tunic. Vesper drew me back just in time, thrusting  a dagger into the child’s skull, then yanking me by the arm, pulling me across the room.

“We’re getting out of here,” he shouted.

“No! We can't leave them.” I screamed Lancelet's name and tried to pull away, but his grip was too tight.

The child was on top of Lancelet now, its tiny fingers clawing at her leather jerkin. I watched as she fumbled beside her, desperately reaching for her sword.

I wrenched my arm, pulling free of Vesper and raised my bow, releasing an arrow. With relief, I watched as it landed in the child's head, knocking it off Lancelet's body.

Behind Lancelet, Odelna cowered against Draven as his blade flashed through the air, spraying blackened blood in every direction. He kept one arm protectively on her head as he fought with his other.

“They just keep coming,” I breathed, watching as a dozen or more children lurched towards Draven.

From the corner of my eye, I saw another child climbing atop Lancelet before she could finish getting to her feet.

I raised my bow, but before I could let it fly, I saw a small girl crawling along the floor beside us. Her sharp feral teeth were inches from Vesper's leg. I loosed the arrow and it landed with a revolting, fleshy sound in the center of the child's face.

But before I could feel anything resembling relief, I heard Lancelet scream.

More children had joined the first. She was covered by a writhing, rotting mass of them. I watched in horror as the girl who had climbed onto her chest opened her mouth, revealing decaying scissored teeth and sank them into my friend’s shoulder.

“Lancelet!” I started to run forward. “Lancelet, I’m coming.”

An iron-like vise gripped my upper arm, pulling me to a sharp halt.

“Let me go,” I shrieked at Vesper. “I have to go to her. Lancelet!”

“It’s too late. Look.” Vesper pulled me hard, tugging me across the room. I could hardly pay attention to where he was going.

I watched in disbelief as the children began dragging Lancelet across the floor towards one of the passageways from which they had come. Her eyes were closed. Blood poured from her shoulder.

I struggled as hard as I could against Vesper’s grasp but it was no use.

“Lancelet,” I screamed as loud as I could. “Draven! Help her!”

I watched the tall warrior’s eyes light up as he heard my voice. He turned to me, saw the direction of my gaze and followed it.

I choked back a sob of relief. He would do it. Draven would go to her. It would be all right now. Draven would save her. I knew he would.

But as he started to move across the room, a scream rang out.

It had not come from Lancelet. Nor from the nightmarish things attacking us. Nor from myself.

Odelna stood by the opposite wall, her hands pressed flat against it. Her mouth was open, the piercing scream still ringing out.

She was trapped. Children crawled towards her, their hands outstretched and grasping.

I watched as Draven took it all in–the little girl trapped by the wall, utterly helpless; Lancelet across the room, her eyes closed, being dragged away into darkness; me, pulling as hard as I could against Vesper who was trying to save me when I didn’t want to save myself.

Draven’s eyes met mine. I saw a terrible realization dawn, just as it was dawning for me. I watched as his face contorted momentarily into a mask of fury and frustration. Then it hardened into a familiar grim resolve.

“Go,” he shouted to me, his green eyes blazing, his deep voice resonating across the room. “Go. I’ll find you, Morgan.” I felt a shiver go through me. The words were a vow. A promise. I knew they were unbreakable. No matter what happened he would do as he swore. “Now go. Get the hell out of here.”

Then he broke the gaze, turned and rushed towards the children who had surrounded the little girl, his raised sword already sweeping through the air.

A sharp tug on my arm caused me to realize we had reached the opposite wall. A passageway led ahead, out into darkness.

“Come!” Vesper didn’t wait for me to say yes.

The children had reached the entrance to the passageway nearest them and were pulling Lancelet’s prone body through.

I screamed her name, screamed Draven's name, but it was no use.

Vesper raced into the stone corridor, pulling me behind him.

CHAPTER 33

My heart was breaking. I let Vesper pull me numbly along, losing track of time and space.

We ran from corridor to corridor, through what seemed like a labyrinth of stone tunnels.

When he finally stopped and let go of my hand, we were in a new chamber, different from the ones before. The rough-hewn walls had been carved out of the rock of the mountainous cliffs in which the ruins lay. Tall shelves lined the chamber, filled with leather tomes and weathered scrolls. A record-keeping room of some sort.

“We shouldn’t have left them. We have to go back.”

“And we will,” Vesper assured me. “Here.” Something was thrust before my face. “Take this. Drink first. You need strength.”

I took the flask, lifting it to my mouth before I could think, and swigging back large gulping mouthfuls of the cool water.

I choked, sputtering and coughing. Except it was not water.

“What is this?” The flavor was vaguely familiar. I tasted honey and cloves.

“Just some watered down mead,” Vesper said hastily.

I shook my head. “This is not mead.”

He wouldn’t meet my gaze, so in frustration I tipped some of the contents of the flask onto the floor. A shimmering golden liquid poured out onto the dusty stones at my feet.

“Eleusia,” I breathed. “You gave me eleusia. Why?”

Already I felt light-headed, my heart pounding in my chest. My lips and tongue tingled.

I looked around the room, taking in details I had not noticed when we entered a few moments earlier.

All around us lay broken weapons, shattered shields... and bones. Not the ancient bones of a century ago, but fresh white bones. Bones that had been gnawed until there was no meat left upon them. Human bones.

The floor around us bore deep gouges and scratch marks, signs of how hard the victims of those monstrous children had fought before finally being devoured alive.

“How did you know where to go?” I said, staring at Vesper. “You said you’d never been past the entrance. How did you know?”

Vesper hesitated. “I just ran forward. I knew I had to get you away from that place. As far as we could get.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Tell me the truth. You’ve been here before. Here, in this place.” I pointed to the skeletons surrounding us. “Who were they?”

He didn’t respond.

“Who were they, Vesper?” I demanded. I lowered my voice. “These are the caravan merchants, aren’t they? And their guards? You said you and Laverna never made it past the entrance, that the harpies killed the rest of the caravan. But there were no bodies near the entrance.”

“Harpies carry their prey to their nests.” He shrugged. “How should I know what happened to them?”

“Maybe. Maybe some were taken. But this room, this place. No, you’ve been here before. You knew just where to go when you led us away.” I looked at him in horror. “You knew about the children.”

The eleusia was beginning to make me sluggish. How much had I drunk before I realized it was not water? With Merlin, the amount had been a small tumbler-full. Hardly larger than a thimble.

The room around me was beginning to change, colors and shapes shifting and distorting.

“You were here for the sword,” I said, my head spinning. I put a hand to my temple. “You’ve been here before.”

I took a step towards Vesper. He caught me in his arms but there was nothing romantic about the gesture. Suddenly the touch of his hands on me was sickening.

“I told you we shouldn’t have brought the girl,” I heard him say sadly. And then everything faded to black.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying beside a lake.

I pushed myself up onto my elbows. We had reached the inner depths of the ruins. The ceilings of the room stretched up higher than I could see. Light came in from somewhere high above.

The water in the lake was dark and murky. As I looked into its reflectionless blackness, I felt a wave of unease wash over me.

I heard the sound of pebbles shifting on stone and looked up to see Vesper approaching. I tried to push myself to my feet, but it was no use. My head was still spinning.

“Good. You’re awake. This will be easier.” He crouched beside me, his face calm.

“What will be?” My voice was cold. “Where are we? Is this the lake Draven mentioned?”

“It is. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” Vesper’s voice was calm and soothing, but I was not about to be fooled again. 

He reached out a hand to touch my cheek and I flinched.

His expression changed to surprise. “What’s this now? I’m not going to hurt you.”

I stayed silent.

“I saved you, Morgan. I brought you here so you could get what you wanted, what you came all this way for. The sword.” His voice was almost reverent as he spoke the last two words.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before, Morgan. Don’t you know how I feel about you by now?” He leaned forward towards me, his lips inches from my face. “I love you.”

I stared back at him. Until a little while ago, they were the words I had been secretly hoping he would say.

Now I realized I didn’t believe a word that was coming from his lips.

“What did you do to me?” I whispered. I realized I wasn’t just talking about the eleusia. I meant all of it.

He reached his hand out again to brush my hair off my face, but I turned my head away, baring my teeth.

“Well, you have all the time in the world to say it back, Morgan,” he said lightly, ignoring the question. “But first you need that sword, don’t you?”

I heard a sound from the lake behind me, and turned my head. Ripples were forming on the surface of the glassy water.

“We’d better hurry,” Vesper muttered.

For the first time I saw the dagger laying beside him on the stones.

He picked it up, almost idly, then gestured for me to hold out my hand.

Behind me I could hear water lapping against the stone edge on which I lay, like gentle waves against a shore.

I hesitated and he smiled in a way that turned my skin to gooseflesh. “There’s nowhere to go. Do what needs to be done and I’ll be right here. Waiting for you.”

When I still would not hold out my hand, he lost patience and grabbed the one nearest him, stretching outwards.

“I’m sorry about this,” he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. But then, everything about Vesper had seemed sincere. On the surface.

He lifted the dagger and slashed it across my wrist just below where the swirling silver markings began as something broke through the surface of the water behind us.

Blood flowed from the thin cut.

Vesper leaped to his feet, grasping my wrist and pulling me roughly up beside him.

I had expected him to pull me away from the lake, but instead he tugged me forward.

The lake was churning. Black water bubbling.

I caught sight of something moving in the water. Something serpentine and tentacled. I shook my head, hoping it was the eleusia causing me to hallucinate and see what wasn’t there.

Then a tentacle lashed through the surface of the water, as thick as the arms of three strong men.

I stumbled back, my heart racing with fear.

“It’s really there,” Vesper said, his voice surprisingly serene. “You’re not seeing things.” He still gripped my wrist. “Don’t be afraid. All it needs is someone to put it back to sleep. And I think you’re the right person to do just that.”

He yanked me suddenly forward, pulling me to the edge of the stone ledge, then held my wrist out over the water.

Drops of my blood fell onto the lake’s surface and were instantly swallowed up in the murk.

“I don’t understand,” I started to say.

But already the waters were calming. The tentacled thing slipped back below the surface, ripples forming in its wake, then slowly fading away to stillness.

I watched as the water began to shimmer and gleam, dark murk becoming a glistening pearlescent hue.

“The lake opens for you. It knows who you are.” Vesper’s voice was unsettlingly excited. He turned to face me. “Go on. I’ll be right here waiting.”

Then he kissed me tenderly on the lips and pushed me in.

I fell through the surface of the water, my lips parting in a silent scream. At any moment I expected the cold water to envelop me, soaking through my clothes and drenching my skin.

But instead I simply... fell.

I fell through water that was not water at all, but a pearlescent haze of mist.

I had time to wonder if this was like the arch Lancelet had passed through.

I had time to feel the pang of shock and sorrow as I remembered she was gone.

And then my body hit the marble floor with a hard jolt.

My first thought was that I was in a palace. I caught sight of silken hangings and lush velvet furniture. The walls around me were lined with mirrors framed in gold. Above me, suspended from a glassy ceiling, were hundreds of softly glowing orbs, hanging from delicate chains of gold and silver.

I pushed myself up from the floor slowly.

In the center of the room, a large crystal platform rose from the floor. A fae woman sat upon it, watching me from behind magnificent violet eyes. Her hair was a wild tangle of amethyst and silver, flowing past her narrow waist. She was draped in a gown of glistening pomegranate silk embroidered with pearls and diamonds that sparkled in the light.

She was the most beautiful creature, human or fae, that I had ever seen and yet as she looked back at me I felt a sting of fear.

Surrounding the fae woman were dozens of stone pedestals, each with a different object on display.

I caught sight of a silver candelabra burning with a flickering blue flame, a glowing orb dancing with lights that looked like tiny stars, and a necklace set with an emerald carved in the shape of a dragon, jaws wide open to reveal teeth made of sharpened pearls.

And then, just past them, I saw the sword.

It was sunk into its pedestal, almost to the hilt. The blade was long and straight, made of a metal so dark that it seemed to absorb the light around it. Silver etchings covered the blade, forming a pattern of leaves and thorns.

The hilt of the sword was as exquisite as the blade, made of something finer than silver, paler and even more radiant, with a filigree pattern of vines winding around the grip. At the top of the sword's pommel rested a red rose, carved from the largest blood-red ruby I had ever seen.

I looked from the sword back to the fae woman.

Her eyes flickered curiously over me. “Do you know who I am?”

Mutely, I shook my head.

She tilted her head to one side, silver and gold hair cascading down onto the crystal platform. “And do you know what you have done?” Her beautiful lips formed the start of a smile. “Or better yet, do you know what I have done?”

I cleared my throat. “No.” My voice was raspy. I shook my head and tried again. “No, to both questions.”

The fae woman clapped her hands together. “How intriguing. And yet, here you are.”

She stood abruptly, and I took a shaky step back. She was taller than I had expected her to be. I was tall for a woman, but she was a few inches taller than I was.

She moved with a grace and confidence I envied, her silken skirts sweeping across the marble floor with a soft rustle.

“How long I have waited for someone to come,” she murmured. “And now that you have, you say you don’t even know me. An ignorant savior.”

I hesitated, then ventured. “Should I know you, Lady?” I felt uneasy, but reverent, too. I wasn’t sure why, but I was filled with a deep awe of this lovely woman.

She was the first full-blooded fae I had ever seen in my life.

The lady came closer towards me and I marveled at her beauty.

Her lips were a luscious pink like the petals of a rose. Her skin was moonlike, pale and luminous, so clear that I could see the faintest hint of blue veins running below its surface.

Despite her distracting ethereal loveliness, there was a sharp acuity to her gaze that made me nervous.

I could sense the magic radiating from her like a strong summer breeze. Her presence was a heady, intoxicating power and I was breathing it in all too eagerly.

She was the epitome of fae beauty and power and yet there was something about her that made me feel as if I were standing on the edge of a precipice.

Abruptly, I realized she was looking at me keenly, that hint of a smile never far from her lips.

“Ah, now I see. You have come here for the sword.” She waved a hand graciously to the rose blade behind her. “You may take it, you know. Blood calls to blood.”

When I must have seemed puzzled, she gestured to the cut on my wrist. “Take it and consider it a token of my thanks.”

I stood there, looking back and forth between her and the sword.

Slowly I stepped towards the platform.

“Go on,” she insisted, her eyes gleaming. “The sword is yours. You have journeyed long and fought hard for it. By right, it belongs to you.”

The words settled in my eleusia-addled brain. They seemed right. Yes, the sword was mine. Mine to take.

I walked towards the pedestal that held the blade.

There was something carved upon it, etched into the stone. I stooped down to read it.

Beware the dread curse of Three,

The sword, the spear, the grail’s mystery.

Blood calls to blood, the dark shall rise,

Forged by the gods under sacred skies

“Oh, ignore that stupid thing,” the fae woman called. “A foolish rhyme, written long before you were born. Take the sword. Nothing will not harm you, I swear it.”

I reached out my hands and grasped the hilt of the sword, then firmly tugged.

The sword slid out of the pedestal stone as easily as a knife from butter.

The woman gave a lilting laugh that made me think she may have been as surprised as I was to find the sword released so easily. “There, didn’t I tell you?”

I held the sword aloft, the blade gleaming beneath the orbs. It felt surprisingly light.

“The sheath is over there.” The woman pointed at the pedestal next to me.

A scabbard rested there on a marble slab, made of a fine supple leather dyed a deep shade of red that reminded me of a freshly blooming rose. It was embellished with stars made of tiny diamonds that twinkled like the night sky so brightly it seemed as if they were infused with their own magic.

I picked it up and slid the blade inside.

The fae woman was inspecting her chamber. “I cannot say I shall miss this place. No, I cannot say that at all.” She caught me watching her. “My name is Orcades, daughter of the High King Gorlois.”

She seemed to be waiting for some sort of recognition, but when I looked at her blankly, she continued with a languid sigh, “Princess of the High Fae Court, Mistress of Lights, Lady of the Enthralling Gaze, Slayer of the Siabra, Keeper of the Sacred Groves, Defender of Numenos, Mistress of the Sword and Bow, and Protector of All Who Dwell Beneath Meridium.”

Orcades studied my face. “No? None of that rings a bell, does it?”

I blushed. “The fae have been gone from Aercanum for more than a hundred years, my lady.”

“And memories are short, yes, I see.” She tapped a finger to her chin. “Still, I wonder... Who is this Arthur you concern yourself with? A king? Is he a mighty one?"

Briefly I felt tendrils reach out to me, like the soft touch of fingers. Not an unpleasant sensation, but still, I shuddered.

I gaped. “I did not mention him.”

“There was no need for you to. Tell me.”

“He is my brother,” I said, with some confusion. “The king of Pendrath, ruler of the city of Camelot.”

Orcades smiled serenely and I felt the tendrils withdraw. “Time to go. I have my own war to wage, you see. My enemies have slumbered in peace for far too long. When I wake them, I shall remember you with thanks. The blind girl who freed me from this infernal prison. Come. Shall I lead the way?”

Then she stepped closer towards me, peering at my face more closely. “Really, what a mess they have made of you,” she muttered. Her eyes sparked with a curious light, as if she had found something interesting. “Yes, I see why your blood was enough.”

And then, before Orcades vanished like a wraith, she touched a finger to my forehead and cursed me with a single word. “Remember.”

So I did.

I remembered my mother.

I remembered her running through the city of Numenos with me in her arms.

And then I gasped as the lavish prison around me vanished like a puff of smoke and I broke through the surface of the lake, water pouring down my face, holding the sword above my head.

CHAPTER 34

Vesper ran to the ledge and reached out his hands to pull me up.

“You have it. The sword. I knew you would find it.”

He tugged impatiently, pulling me out of the water, his eyes never leaving the blade.

“You wanted it all along. Why?” My teeth chattered as I stood dripping onto the stones. I pulled at my silver braid, hanging heavy and wet over my shoulder, trying to sluice some of the water out, holding the sheathed sword in my other hand.

The cut on my wrist was bleeding again. I watched as drop after drop slid down my hand and onto the blade.

For the first time, Vesper raised his eyes from the sword to my face. His expression was unreadable. “You of all people know what a hard world this is for those with fae blood. Why, your own family tried to keep what you were concealed. They poisoned you. Didn’t care if you died, as long as the truth of what you were remained hidden and secret.”

I blinked my eyes at him slowly. “Don’t talk as if you know who I really am, Vesper. You seem to know a little about concealment yourself.”

He gave a half-hearted smile. “I’ve had to become adept at it. To survive.”

“Is that why you lied to me all this time? Tricked me into thinking you liked me? Tricked me into thinking that you actually... cared?” My voice caught in my throat and I cursed myself for showing a sign of emotion. He didn’t deserve to see it. He deserved nothing from me now.

The smile dropped away. “But I do care. That wasn’t a trick. It was an accident.” He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I wish it was otherwise.”

He studied me admiringly and I felt myself recoiling from his gaze. “I mean, look at you. You’re beautiful, Morgan. Growing more so each day. And you’re the king’s sister.” His expression turned wry. “Not that that would have worked to my advantage.”

“You did something to me,” I shot back. “What was it? The lute? The pancakes?”

Vesper snorted. “Magical food? I’m not so skilled.” He shrugged modestly. “My skills lie with music and blades.”

It should have come as no surprise to hear him say so. Yet now I heard the deeper meaning.

“You mean you bewitch people with your music,” I accused. “You forced me to feel something for you.”

A hint of anger blazed in his amber eyes. “Nothing that wasn’t ready to be felt.”

I shook my head, feeling enraged. “You kindled it. You exaggerated it. Didn’t you?”

He shrugged coolly as if he didn’t care what I thought. “If that’s what you want to believe. The music...is a skill. Only those who are receptive become attuned to it.”

I looked at him with disgust. “And how many other women have been attuned to it? How many others have you tricked and seduced?” I felt cold with anger. “You knew exactly who I was all along, didn’t you?”

Vesper’s chin jutted out. “An assassin’s apprentice? Wandering through Cerunnos?” He laughed and shook his head. “Not that you aren’t skilled with a bow and a blade. But Draven? Please. He’s not the sort of man to take an apprentice. No, he was with you for his own reasons. Nothing more.”

I studied him darkly. “Two of a kind then, I suppose.”

Vesper crossed his arms. “I suppose you could say that. Though I doubt Draven’s motivations were as pure as mine.”

It was my turn to laugh then. “You believe your motives are pure? I look forward to hearing them.”

“I’ve never claimed to be pure of heart. I’ve done wrong in my time. I don’t deny it.” He smirked. “Perhaps it's what drew you to me.”

“Don’t say that as if it’s a virtue to simply admit it,” I snapped. “Your music drew me to you. What other wrong have you done besides tricking women into your bed? Do you mean leading the merchants into this place and then abandoning them to their deaths? That kind of wrong? I believe it’s simply called murder in most places.”

Vesper looked pained. “You’ll never understand what it is to suffer, Morgan. To have so little and to want so much. Laverna–now at least she knows a little about suffering.”

I stared at his handsome face, stunned into silence. He believed I had never suffered? Only now did I realize how blind I had truly been. How little he really knew me.

“How have you suffered?” I asked simply.

“I grew up dirt poor. The riches in this place. They could make someone wealthy for an entire lifetime.” His face became hard. “And your family? You’re not the only one they’ve made suffer.”

“What do you mean by that?” I demanded. “You’ve never met them...” I stopped. “Arthur sent you.”

He nodded. “He’d heard of Laverna and I. We’ve gained something of a reputation as delvers. We’re willing to go where few will step. And my sister? She happens to live with our aunt and uncle in Camelot. What do you think your brother did when he found out about that happy coincidence?”

“He threatened her. I’m sorry. But you set us up from the start,” I said quietly.

He lifted his hands. “I was a back-up plan. Your brother didn’t trust the men he sent with you, apparently. Considering Draven killed the other one, I suppose he was right to send me.”

“What was the plan exactly? If Whitehorn hadn’t died?” I asked.

“You were to stop taking that foul potion once you reached this lake. Then we were to wait until it had left your body and your blood was pure again.”

I gaped at him. “How could it ever be pure?” And how in Aercanum had Arthur known that it would be?

Vesper shrugged. “Pure enough to open the...” He twirled his hand. “Whatever that was you went through. It certainly wouldn’t open for anyone else. I’ve watched others try. And fail. Miserably.”

“You got all the way here before,” I said with comprehension. “Arthur knew that about you.”

“Your brother knows how to pick a lucky horse,” Vesper said with false modesty. “Laverna and I are... quite persistent. When it comes to lucrative objects, we don’t give up easily,” Vesper said smoothly. “Our backers have had bad luck in the past, sure. But we’ve always managed to get ourselves out of tight spots. By the skin of our teeth each time, but we did it.”

“How fortunate for you,” I said from between gritted teeth. “Though not for your backers who I assume you rob and leave for dead when things go ary. And Laverna? She’s what to you? Your lover?” I tried to speak as if I didn’t care, but in truth my heart had plummeted.

Vesper grinned. That grin that had once sent my spirits soaring now filled me with something very different. “Once. Not lately. She’ll benefit from this, too, though.”

“She gets a share of the profits? To help replace her damaged inn?” I guessed. “You hired those men to attack us that night.”

If he had been doing all of this simply to protect his sister from Arthur, that would have been one thing. But Vesper was profiting from this, too. It wasn’t just about family. It was about coin.

And no matter why he’d done it, he hadn’t had to do it the way he had. By violating my trust, my heart, my body. I curled my hands into fists as I looked at this man I had lain side by side with only a few hours before, our bodies intertwined.

Vesper wasn’t disagreeing. “I had to earn your trust somehow. Show you lute playing wasn’t the only thing I was good at.” He smirked, as if he was thinking the same thing I was–that he had shown me he was quite skilled at some other things, too.

How easily his plan had worked. How easily I had trusted. Draven had warned me, but in the end, I was never going to listen. I had fallen right into Vesper’s twisted arms. I felt like I was going to be sick.

I looked at Vesper clearly for the first time since he had pulled me from the chamber. How many hours ago had that been?

“The worst part of all of this is that you forced me to leave Lancelet behind. You forced me to leave all of them there.” I thought of Draven defending Odelna, a child not even of his blood, and something in my heart twisted. “I will never forgive you for that. Never.”

“She’s dead, you know,” Vesper said calmly. “They all are.”

My nostrils flared in anger. “That’s not true. You don’t know that. You traitorous liar. You swore to help us all and then you abandoned them.”

He shrugged coolly. “Draven was holding his own. If he left the girl behind like he should have done from the start then maybe, just maybe he got out. But your friend... There was nothing you could have done. If it makes you feel better to hear me say it then I’ll say it. She was done for. We couldn’t have saved her. She’s food for those... things... now.”

“You don’t know Lancelet. She’s strong. And Draven–he’s undefeatable.” I realized I truly believed it. “No. They made it.” I looked him in the eyes and shook my head in disgust. “You’re wrong about him, you know. He’s nothing like you. He’s a thousand times better. He stayed with Odelna. He protected her. She’s just a child and you would have had us leave her behind to die.” I heard my voice trembling. “He risks his life for the people he cares about. Not like you. You’re just a cowardly thief.”

He stepped towards me and to my surprise, his face was tinged with sadness. “You might be right. Or perhaps he was just saving you to kill you in the end. Did you ever think of that? Either way, Morgan, I was never going to ask for your forgiveness.”

And then he slid his dagger into my belly.

I sank to my knees clutching my stomach as he gently pried the sword from my hand then crossed over to the entrance way where we had come in.

I lifted my hand from my belly. The fabric of my tunic was soaked with blood. The wound was jagged but I couldn't tell how deep it was.

As I watched, Vesper took up a position behind a fallen pillar, leaned the sword against the stone, and then pulled something long and thin from his pocket.

Peering down the corridor, he let out a low whistle, then glanced over at me. “Well, you were right. At least one of them made it. They’re a ways off yet, but I can hear them coming.”

“What–what do you mean?” I managed.

He sighed as he looked at my hands covering my stomach. “You might make it, too, you know. It’s a shallow wound. If the children don’t hear you, perhaps you’ll get out.”

“How fucking generous,” I said through clenched teeth. “Who made it? What are you talking about?”

He nodded towards the shadowy passage. “One of your friends. Draven most likely. Footsteps sound heavy.” He cocked his head. “The children might finish him off before he gets here. I can hear fighting.”

“They’re coming? Here?” I stared at him in disbelief, then felt a smile cross my blood-streaked lips. Oh, Vesper was so fucking dead.

He must have recognized the expression on my face for he shook his head warningly. “Don’t get your hopes up. You don’t think I can actually let him live do you?”

I stared incomprehensibly until he raised the object in his hand and gestured to his throat.

A thin wire.

My mouth fell open. It was a garrotte.

Vesper wasn’t even going to attempt to face Draven with a sword. He would ambush him from behind the pillar, wrap the crude weapon around Draven’s throat, and then squeeze the life out of him as I was forced to watch.

If I wasn’t already dead by then.

I couldn’t let that happen.

I pushed myself up to my knees, then slowly began to struggle to my feet.

Vesper was eyeing me from where he stood. “I’d stay there if I were you.”

“Or what?” I snarled. “You’ll use that thing on me?”

“I don’t want to. But if I have to...” He fingered the wire.

“You didn’t have to do any of this, Vesper.” I thought of something. “Tell me the truth. Did Arthur really threaten your sister?”

“He knows she exists. That’s threat enough.”

“Do me the courtesy of telling me the fucking truth. You did this for the money, not for her. It was a convenient excuse you gave yourself, so you could feel better about...” I started coughing. When I raised my hand to my mouth, there was red upon it.

Vesper saw it, too. He looked away, his expression uncomfortable.

“Please. Don’t pretend to care,” I said with disdain. “Was killing me always part of the plan? Did Arthur request it?”

Vesper looked away. “He wants the sword. He didn’t care about who came back with it, if that’s what you’re asking. From what I understood, Draven was supposed to do it, but I never asked him and I guess that won’t be happening now.”

The words stunned me but I didn’t let him see it. Either way, it didn’t matter.

“I can’t let you kill him,” I said quietly. “I won’t.”

Vesper smiled. “I’m sure he’d be pleased to know you cared. At least someone does. Something tells me that man doesn’t have many friends.”

“The ones he does have are probably more honest than you,” I spat.

Vesper shrugged. “Maybe. But I doubt it. You think he’s better than me?”

I nodded slowly.

Vesper’s eyes narrowed. “We’re no different. Men like Draven and I. He was probably going to kill you, too. I know it was in his contract, no matter what he told you.”

I gritted my teeth. “That’s... not true.” I had a horrible thought. “Did he know? About you?”

Vesper sniggered. “Not a chance. I told you, I was the back-up plan. And by the time we got here, well... I wasn’t about to take a chance with Draven.”

“You were supposed to tell him Arthur sent you,” I guessed. “But you didn’t. Because you want whatever reward money my brother promised you all for yourself.”

“Draven’s a wild card, isn’t he?” Vesper said thoughtfully. “For a famed assassin, he doesn’t seem keen on fulfilling this contract.”

My stomach was heaving with pain now.

“But don’t fool yourself into thinking he’s superior somehow,” Vesper warned. “He wants the sword. And you and Lancelet weren’t just going to hand it over.”

For a split second I considered the words. Was that why Draven had let Lancelet be dragged off? Had he let her die so it would be easier to take the sword?

No. If that were the case, why save Odelna? Why not come after Vesper and I immediately if all Draven cared about was the sword?

I remembered the look in his eyes. It had killed him to have to choose. But he’d made the right choice.

He’d trust me. Because I had trusted Vesper, he thought I would be safe with him.

If only he knew how wrong I’d been.

Now Draven was coming for me.

And if he wanted the sword, I was ready to give it to him. Anything was better than Arthur getting his hands on it.

I stumbled forward a step and Vesper’s expression became annoyed. “He’s almost here. Stay back. I can’t have you distracting me. I’m not going to tell you again.”

I gritted my teeth, blood trickling from my lips. “I'm not going to let you kill him.”

I waited for him to say something flippant like “What are you going to do to stop me?” but instead he simply ignored me and peeked his head around the pillar to peer down the dark corridor.

Evidently he didn't see me as much of a threat.

To Vesper, I was just a dead girl walking.

I could feel the warmth of blood spreading across my tunic.

Was I a threat?

That remained to be seen.

Slowly I raised my hands.

At first, nothing happened. Just like back at the crossroads.

I felt disappointment fill me.

But I didn’t drop my hands.

I watched as they trembled. I was so weak, I could hardly hold my arms aloft.

I closed my eyes. Draven. I had to do this for Draven. And Odelna, if she was with him. Then we would go find Lancelet. Together.

The air around me grew silent and still.

I waited, channeling all my energy towards summoning the magic that had appeared without warning once before.

I felt a trickle. A slow and steady current building up inside.

Something was happening. I needed it to happen faster.

I put everything I had left into calling it forth. Begging whatever it was, this dormant part of myself, to come to my aid. Not for me. But for him.

In my mind, I whispered words of apology for pushing the power away for so long. I didn’t know. I didn’t know what you were. I’m sorry. I said it to myself, with my heart wrenching. I said it for myself, with a sob in my breast.

I would never deny it. Never again deny who I was, what I was. Never try to hide myself away for another person’s comfort ever again.

Vesper turned around. His beautiful face looked almost bored. “What are you–”

A burst of energy erupted from my hands, sending a shockwave through the stone chamber.

I reeled backwards, as Vesper’s body slammed up against the pillar hard. His eyes widened in surprise and fear.

He put a hand to his belt, pulling a dagger from it, then lifted his arm.

I let out a choked sob and raised my hands again, just as he released the dagger.

This time the magic surged forward with a force that was almost palpable, crackling through the air like lightning during a storm. A metallic tang filled my mouth. Blood or magic, I wasn't sure.

The energy hit Vesper, clothing his body in a radiant aura of light that pulsed with intensity. For a moment, it was beautiful.

At first, he seemed frozen in place. Then his body began to convulse as the energy tore through him, writhing as his mouth opened in a wordless scream.

The magic seemed to pierce every fiber of his being, searing through flesh and bone, ripping him apart.

I fell to my knees, tears flowing freely down my cheeks.

I could feel the warm blood seeping from my chest. I knew just what I would see if I looked down.

I closed my eyes instead. Shutting out the picture of Vesper's agony.

When I opened them again, he was gone.

A pile of ash lay beside Excalibur.

My vision blurred. My breathing was growing ragged.

I slipped backwards against the stone, my head hitting the ground with a dull thud.

The pain in my chest was bad now.

I closed my eyes. When I opened them, Orcades was there.

The fae woman from the chamber beneath the lake gazed down at me with a hint of pity in her lovely lavender eyes.

Then she walked over to the pillar and picked up Excalibur, weighing the heft of the blade in her hands.

“Ferrum deae. At last.” I didn’t know the meaning of the words, but she said them with immense satisfaction. “Now it begins again.”

The pain in my chest had lessened. It was changing to something else. An icy numbness.

From a distance I thought I heard the sound of shouting. A voice so deep and familiar it filled me with peace.

Orcades’ head swiveled in the direction of the sound. I watched as her lips parted in a savage hiss. “Siabra!” She looked over at me accusingly. “You came here with him?”

She crossed back over to me. Her rose-petal lips parted. “Would you have given the blade to the siabra? Then die knowing this, little sister–it will spill their blood instead.”

Before I could blink, she was gone.

I let my eyelids fall closed. In my mind, Draven’s voice rang out over and over, shouting my name. His voice was more powerful than the sea. More primordial than the stars. My name was on his lips as he promised unspeakable darkness to any who came between us.

Icy tendrils were spreading across my belly, my chest. I tried to move my legs and failed.

I thought of Vesper. Soft lips against mine. Holding my body close to his as we stood under ancient trees in the dark forest.

But the sweetness of the memories were gone. All I could see was his cruel face. The pile of ash.

He had been more like Florian than I could ever possibly have guessed.

I felt the tears still trickling from the corner of my eyes. I had thought I could run from Camelot, but my cursed life had followed me.

Something about me must be evil to have deserved all that I had endured. My own family believed I was an infection to be subdued and suppressed lest I contaminate them with my otherness.

No matter how far I traveled, I could never escape it.

Was this my final punishment for killing my father and allowing my brother to live?

I thought of Kaye. Who would tell him I was never coming home?

I thought of Lancelet, dragged into the darkness. Had she felt this same icy numbness as she had been slowly devoured?

Finally, I thought of Draven. For a moment the ice in my chest fell away and I felt the greatest stab of pain of all.

I wanted to tell him he had been right. I should never have trusted Vesper. I should have trusted him instead. I wanted to tell him that I did trust him.

But it was too late.

I thought of his arms around me as we lay together in the tent, my body wracked with fever. He had held me then, sheltered me and protected me.

I had never even said thank you.

The memory. With relief, I realized it was pure.

My eyelids flickered once, twice, as I let myself remember.

CHAPTER 35

The battlecat padded into the chamber with the warrior and child on her back. Her fur was moist with blood and gore, but she was purring in triumphant contentment. She had decimated all who had dared to stand between her and her warrior.

Kairos Draven, called Void’s Edge by some fearful fools, jumped from the cat’s back then turned to lift down the child.

His keen eyes took in the scene around him, from the pile of ash to the dark surface of the lake to the silver-haired woman who lay still and silent upon the stones.

A string of curses cut through the tranquility of the chamber as he sank to his knees beside the woman’s prone form, his sword dropping with a clatter.

The child called Odelna followed slowly behind.

“Morgan.” Draven’s voice was the harsh metal grate of a sword sliding from a sheath.

He cleared his throat.

“Morgan,” he said again.

The woman made no response.

“Look at the marks on her,” he murmured. “The atropa couldn’t remove them completely and she was forced to drink it for more than ten years.”

He sniffed at the air in the chamber.

“Someone used magic here. A great deal of it.” He looked back down at the woman. “Was it you?” He shook his head, his expression grim. “Someone knew you would be powerful one day, didn’t they? Just who are you really, Morgan Pendragon?”

He raised a hand and laid it over the woman’s heart. “Still beating.” His voice was husky. “So strong, despite everything. Morgan, do you hear me?”

He clenched his jaw. “Your bastard brother couldn’t finish you off, but that treacherous prick somehow managed this much. He’s not here now though, is he? What did you do to him?”

He glanced a second time at the pile of ash by the pillar, then rose to his feet and walked towards it. Leaning down, he picked up something from the ground. A piece of wire.

The little girl walked up beside him and slipped a small hand into his.

He looked down at her in surprise. “What is it, Odelna?”

“That was her name. Once, but no longer.”

The voice that emerged from the little girl’s mouth was not the sweet trill of a child, but the dry rasp of a crone.

For an instant, Draven’s face contorted in shock. Then his eyes cleared. “You. I should have known.”

He leveled his gaze at the child. “Is it really you? Odelna is...?”

“She left this body some time ago,” the ancient voice replied.

Draven nodded, then ran a hand over his face wearily. “And I saved you. When I might have saved her. When you might easily have saved yourself.” He looked steadily into the child’s eyes. “What was this? A test? A game?”

The little girl shrugged. “A bit of both.” She looked down at the woman on the floor beside them. “She’s dying.”

Draven swore. “I’m well aware.”

The child regarded him expressionlessly. “A little life yet remains. What would you have me do with it?”

Draven’s eyes flared. “A choice?”

The child with the old woman’s eyes gave a small smile. “Her power might yet be yours.”

He scowled back at her. “Not that.”

“You have no wish for it? And yet I see the lust for power in your eyes. Is that not why you desired the sword?”

He gazed at her coldly. “If you can see that much, then you know precisely why I wanted it. Where is the blade?”

The child gestured to the woman on the floor. “This one found it. Fetched it.” She pointed to the pile of ash. “That one took it. Killed her.”

“She’s not dead yet,” Draven growled. Yet when he looked down at the woman, he could no longer discern the rise and fall of her chest.

The little girl nodded. “Not quite.”

“Who has the blade?” he demanded.

“The one you would least wish to possess it.”

He nodded curtly. “It was always a possibility things would go that way.”

The little girl shook her head. “Naughty Siabra. You’ve made things worse. But can you really blame her? After what you did to her people. Her children.” The child’s eyes gleamed.

“Perhaps.” He met her eyes. “Time will tell. Things were never going to stay as they were.”

She frowned. “Fate will tell. Fate tells all.”

“Then tell me how to save this woman,” he said quietly. “I beseech you, Lady.”

The child cackled. “Now you show piety. Centuries too late.”

“I found you in the desert. I saved you. You who dwelled in an empty husk. If it was a game, you’ve had your fun. If it was a test, surely I passed. At the price of her life. Now you will help me,” he snarled.

The child nodded. “I will help you.” A pause. Then, “Take her hand.”

He hesitated. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Does it matter? The choice is yours.” The child shrugged. “Will you go so far for this woman? You need not.”

He eyed her sharply. “Something tells me you don’t want her dead either.”

The child gave a half-smile. “The thread may end here. Or it may twine together with another’s and go on.”

There was silence in the chamber.

“Blood calls to blood,” Draven said. Slowly he lifted one of the woman’s hands and held it in his own. “The ritual...”

“May not work,” the child finished. “You know what you risk.”

He studied the slender hand he held. “I’ll take the chance.”

“Very well. Blood calls to blood. You know what to do.” The child’s lips curled into a smile. “She may run.”

“She won’t have the opportunity,” he said shortly. “I’m taking her with me.”

He bent over the woman.

When he raised his head, there was blood upon his lips.

The child stepped back and lifted her small hands skywards.

A flash of white light appeared over the slumbering woman and began to spread outwards.

Draven stayed still, waiting for it to envelop him.

As the light reached where he stood, he dug his feet hard against the stones and stretched out his arms.

His body began to contort and change, human features warping and twisting into something dark and different.

The ears were the first to sharpen into points. Then small horns emerged, sleek and glossy, made of a black bone that seemed to absorb the light.

His hands shot out, fingers lengthening then tapering as razor-thin points materialized, the tips glistening with a deadly sheen as if they had been forged from molten gold.

“The Siabra finally shows his claws.” The little girl tilted her head slightly. “Will your people accept her?”

“They’ll have to. She’s mine now.” He bent down and gently lifted the woman into his arms.

The child watched, her eyes gleaming. “And what of her? Will she accept the bond?”

He ignored her. “What about you?” he asked coldly. “Just redressing the balance?”

“My sisters can’t have all of the fun.” The child smiled sweetly. “A gift to you then. Forged in blood and darkness. A bond that can never be broken.”

He looked down at the woman in his arms, her eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell evenly. “Never.”

THE END

Court of Claws, Book 2 in the Blood of a Fae series is coming June 30, 2023. Preorder Now.

Not ready to say goodbye to Morgan, Draven, and the world of Aercanum?

Wishing this book had even more steam?

Then head over to my website to sign-up for my newsletter and receive a bonus scene as soon as it’s available. This special scene offers a spicy “what if?” moment for Draven and Morgan that this true slow-burn romance simply didn’t allow for. (Sorry, dear readers, but more steam is coming. I promise.)

If there's another scene you're dying to see, send me an email and let me know!

author@briarboleyn.com

Grab the FREE bonus scenes and hear about the latest new releases, giveaways, and other bookish treats:

http://briarboleyn.com

TRIGGER WARNING LIST

Abduction

Abuse

Alcohol Consumption

Animal Death

Child Abuse

Child Death

Deceased Family Member

Domestic Violence

Drug Use

Poisoning

Violence / Gore

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: BRIAR BOLEYN

Briar Boleyn is the fantasy romance pen name of USA TODAY bestselling author Fenna Edgewood. Briar rules over a kingdom of feral wildling children with a dark fae prince as her consort. When she isn't busy bringing new worlds to life, she can be found playing RPG video games, watching the birds at her bird feeder and pretending she's Snow White, or being sucked into a captivating book. Her favorite stories are the ones full of danger, magic, and true love.

Find Briar around the web at:

https://www.instagram.com/briarboleynauthor/

https://www.bookbub.com/profile/briar-boleyn

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Briar-Boleyn/author/B0BLWFKHWC

https://www.tiktok.com/@authorbriarboleyn