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Arthur would not be included.
Instead, my brother's body would be put to rest in a quiet, private ceremony. There would be no funeral procession, no forced show of public mourning. The pain of Arthur's perfidy was still too raw for any of that.
Camelot needed time to heal from the collective guilt and pain of Arthur's reign.
Beyond the peace talks, there were other pressing questions to be answered. How had they done it? How had Gawain, Hawl, and Crescent gotten the entire Siabra army to Camelot in time? And how had Guinevere and Galahad narrowly avoided being caught in the web of Tyre’s—Cavan’s—treachery?
A day into their mountain journey, Gawain and the other Siabra had been beset by a powerful blizzard that threatened to trap them in a narrow pass. According to Ulpheas and Crescent, there hadn’t been any other choice. They could have stayed and waited out the snow, possibly for days or weeks while rations ran low and the cold slowly destroyed morale.
Or they could take a bold risk...and stitch.
Ulpheas had been the first volunteer.
When he had returned, unharmed, they had begun transporting the others. Anyone who volunteered, horses and all. A few chose to remain. These were instructed to return to the ships and help to guard them. But most had decided to take their chances, and to Crescent and Ulpheas’s relief, there had been few losses despite the vast distance. By the end, they were fatigued and near collapsing, but they had done it. They had transported an army to the outskirts of Camelot.
But such a heroic feat would hopefully not be required again. Upon hearing their story, Draven had commanded Crescent and Ulpheas to begin a new project—the creation of gates linking Myntra to Pendrath. The fae of old had created the first ones, he’d said. Why couldn’t we learn how to do so again?
As for Guinevere and Galahad’s success both at the tournament and last night, it seemed we had my uncle to thank. Despite Tyre’s insistence that all messages be passed through him, my uncle had been skirting that for quite some time due to suspicions of his own. Before he had come to my room, he had sent a brief, cryptic message to the rebels alerting them to the danger Kaye might be in.
He had not known about the children then. If he had, perhaps Arthur might have been stopped in time.
As it was, the rebels had swarmed out of their hiding places when they’d realized what was happening. At Guinevere and Galahad’s command, they had joined the uprising against Arthur’s soldiers alongside civilians who were doing the same. There had been many casualties—but along the way, some of the infants had been saved.
Now, trying to smile, I made my way across the room to the wooden table, with Draven by my side.
There were a few curious glances—at me and at the diverse group I was joining. The people of Pendrath were not used to seeing fae so openly. They were certainly not used to seeing horned men or talking bears.
But in time, I hoped they would accept all of the strangeness and newness for what it was. A new chapter for our kingdom. One in which differences no longer set us apart but made us stronger together.
“How is your arm?” I asked quietly, sliding into a spot on the bench beside Lancelet. Draven dropped down beside me, his hand briefly caressing my waist.
I reached out my hand to squeeze his.
“The healers saw to it. I’m fine,” Lancelet said so quickly, I knew she hadn’t even thought about the words. She grimaced, then looked at me. “Truly, I’m fine. Now.”
I nodded. I doubted either of us were truly fine after all we had gone through. But I was glad she felt well enough to claim to be.
“You did something with the sword when I was down in the arena to help me. Didn’t you?” Lancelet asked softly.
But she had not lowered her voice quite enough.
Lady Marjolijn with her hawklike hearing perked up down the table. “The sword? Ah, yes, we have heard of this sword Arthur found. The rumors are hard to believe. Did it truly wipe out hundreds of the king’s own people with a blinding light at this tournament?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not sure about hundreds, but yes, it did kill everyone in the first few rows of the arena when it was... in the wrong hands.”
“I’d say any Pendragon’s hands were the wrong hands,” Lady Marjolijn muttered loudly enough for me to hear.
My eyes flashed. “You need not worry about the sword. It will not be used against you. We plan to dispose of it.”
Draven’s fingers tightened around mine. He knew what I meant.
Lady Marjolijn’s face softened slightly. “Good.” She paused. “I hope you understand our position this morning. Concerning the child, I mean.”
She meant Medra.
Orcades and Arthur’s child could not, Lady Marjolijn and King Mark insisted, be permitted to rule Pendrath. Many at the Round Table on our side had agreed with them.
The people would revolt, Dame Halyna had said quietly, to have Arthur’s surviving baby become their queen when their own children had been killed. Medra would be a constant reminder.
