Chapter 1

He wanted them dead.

He wanted them all dead.

Mordred knew that he was slowly going insane. Or perhaps he was not losing his mind—perhaps the voices that whispered to him from the dark abyss of his prison were truly there.

Though he could not make out their words, he knew they were mocking him.

It didn't matter whether the voices were real or figments of his fracturing sanity. The fact that he experienced them—the laughing, jeering yet understandable taunts—was very real.

He wanted them dead.

Yet no matter how hard he screamed into the darkness, at the nothingness, he could not make a single sound. He could not move. Was he even the owner of a body anymore, trapped inside the Iron Crystal as he was?

Did it matter?

Would any of it matter in the end?

It was too soon to surrender.

He had to steel himself. Had to brace himself for the agony that was to come. For he had something to return to. He had someone waiting for him. In the void, he could almost picture her.

Gwendolyn.

His Gwendolyn.

He could let himself dream of her. Of the touch of skin against his. Of her smile, of the sound of her laugh—of the warmth of her body next to his. He yearned for her. Ached for her. In his body, in his soul, and in his heart.

The love he had for her would sustain him.

For it was the only thing he had left.

Gwen needed to raise an army to free Mordred.

Turns out, that was a lot easier said than done.

"Bert." She put her head down on the surface of the large metal map table in Mordred's war room. "You're killin' me, smalls."

"I—first, I don't know what that means. Second, raising an army takes time." Bert sighed. "We're doing our best."

"It's been weeks." She shook her head.

"And some people have replied."

That was true. Everyone had left the keep after Mordred was put into the Crystal—even Galahad and Zoe. But in their place came a smattering of villagers in dribs and drabs in response to Bert's rallying call. "Fifty people isn't an army. I can't do anything against elementals with fifty villagers."

"But it's a start of an army." Bert put his mug down on the table with a thump. "We need to understand that people have lives they'll be giving up by answering. This will take time."

"I can't just…sit here and do nothing." She sat back up in the chair and ran her hands through her hair. "Who knows what Mordred's going through? Who knows how much time we have left?"

"He's at least in one place. He isn't about to die." Bert was clearly doing his best to sound reassuring. "We'll need the time to build the armor like you said—and weapons. Armaments. This isn't wasted time. And you'll need to figure out where they've hidden the Crystal."

Letting out a sigh, she pushed up from her chair. "Yeah, yeah…I'm going to go for a walk. See you in the morning."

"Sleep well, Gwen."

She waved at him as she left the room. She'd wish him the same, but he didn't sleep. "Have a good night."

As she walked, Gwen sighed again. She'd found herself in this terrible habit. She didn't know what to do with herself. There were plenty of villagers who had taken up semi-permanent residence in Mordred's keep since he had been imprisoned. They mostly kept to themselves, finding places in the giant keep to set up residence. A few of them had even started maintaining and using some of the outbuildings like the forge, the mill, or the stables.

Though nobody dared try to make use of the kitchen. That was Mae's domain, and she was not the kind to share.

Yet, somehow, the building had never felt more lifeless to Gwen.

And that was saying something.

Bert the scarecrow had become a sort of advisor to her, as she tried to chart her path forward. She knew these things took time, but it felt wrong to just sit around and wait. The elementals might come for her at any point. Or worse, they might just start murdering each other for fun, putting Bert's people at risk.

It was just so hard to focus. Gwen felt like something had been torn out of her chest. There was an ache in the pit of her stomach that just wouldn't go away, no matter how hard she tried to distract herself from it.

Mordred's absence might drive her to madness. Or at the very least, to alcoholism. She wished Galahad was still around; he might have been able to give her advice on how to deal with the loneliness. But it felt wrong to pester Galahad about the loss of the man she loved, now that Galahad was allowed to be with the woman he loved.

Especially since Mordred was to blame for Galahad being away from Zoe for so long.

Gwen was pacing the keep late at night, suddenly understanding why Mordred had such a hard time sleeping. She just couldn't sit still. She was anxiously waiting for something without knowing what that something was. It was a restlessness that wouldn't leave her thoughts alone.

If she was waiting for Mordred, she was going to have to wait a really long-ass time if she didn't manage to free him. Nine hundred, ninety-nine years and forty-six weeks and three days. But who was counting?

Her late-night pacing had become a nightly occurrence the past four days. It was to the point now that Eod didn't even lift his head anymore when she climbed out of bed. He would just roll onto his back, grumble, and stretch out to take up the extra space.

Yeah. This sucked, and it was going to drive her up a wall. She wandered into Mordred's study and went to his bar, pouring herself a rather large glass of whatever burning amber liquid there was the most of. She wasn't going to be choosy; it wasn't about the flavor. It was about knocking her out cold.

As Gwen sipped her drink and stared at the dimly lit study, she couldn't help but feel a profound sense of emptiness. He was out there somewhere—Mordred. Suffering, trapped inside the Iron Crystal.

Was it justice? Did it even matter?

The fire in the hearth crackled and popped, casting dancing shadows on the walls, but it did little to dispel the loneliness that enveloped her.

She swirled the glass in her hand, lost in thought. Gwen couldn't help but replay their last conversation in her mind, and her actions at the council that had decided Mordred's fate. She had chosen this for him over death.

With a heavy sigh, she walked over to his chair by the fire and sat down in it. It was huge, sized for him, not for her. The ornately carved arms were marred with scratches from his metal gauntlets. Slowly, she traced her fingertips along the gashes in the polished wooden surface.

Mordred was gone.

Pulling her legs up onto the chair with her, she snuggled into the upholstered back and shut her eyes. She could smell him—like metal, cedar, and a little woodsmoke.

How long would that scent linger? How long until it was gone? How long before all traces of him in the keep faded?

Gwen let herself be enveloped by the scent of Mordred that lingered in the chair, willing him to be there beside her. She could almost picture it. Could almost trick herself into thinking he was there and was just having one of his quiet brooding spells. But it was all just a ghost of the man she loved.

She knew that no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't change the past. What was done, was done. Mordred was a prisoner, and war was inevitably going to return to Avalon. The only thing that remained to be seen…was what Gwen was going to do about it.

Leaving Mordred imprisoned meant war that would never end.

Freeing Mordred meant worse war, but maybe an eventual end to it.

And for some miserable reason, it was for her to decide which was better. Climbing out of the chair, she decided she needed a snack. Something to go with all the alcohol. Heading through the corridors, she couldn't help but reflect on how normal it was all starting to feel to her. She knew the twists and turns. Finding her way to the kitchen was no longer a task, and the sight of the iron guards was no longer strange and frightening.

"I'm starting to think the keep is cursed," Maewenn said as Gwen walked in.

"Oh?" Gwen smiled faintly. "How so?"

"First, Mordred couldn't sleep, now you? Pah." Maewenn went to the open fireplace to place a kettle on a hook over the low-burning fire. "And you need tea, not alcohol, to solve that problem."

"If you say so." Gwen sat down on a stool. "I was actually looking for a snack, if you have anything kicking around." She didn't like having the cook fuss over her, but it was how the metal woman showed she cared.

"Always! You know me. Can't be happy if I'm not busy." The cook headed over to a table to begin preparing some bread, meat, and cheese. Gwen's favorite. She had always been a grazer, and picking at things like that was both tasty and distracting.

She ran her hand over the wooden surface of the table in the center of the room. It was immensely thick, the kind of slab that you couldn't buy in modern America anymore. And the edges and surface had been worn smooth by touch and use over the centuries, giving it almost a wavy appearance. It had the kind of patina that only came with age.

Gwen frowned. "I don't know what to do. Bert says it'll take maybe months until we have an army together. It's already been weeks. I'm pulling my hair out."

"I know, dear. I know. But everyone's relying on you to make the careful choices."

"Which I hate." Gwen put her head in her hands. "I can't tell you how sick I am of having these stupid decisions to make. Why me? Why can't this place just take ten minutes to let me catch my breath? I'm not a leader. I have no business being in charge."

"Well, that scarecrow and his friends seem to disagree." Maewenn placed a platter of food in front of her. It was way more than a snack, but Gwen wasn't going to complain.

"They're desperate." Gwen popped a grape into her mouth. "It's not like they have a choice."

"Don't sell yourself so short. And let your heart guide you—do what you think is right." The cook went to fetch the softly whistling kettle. "Do you want me to put any of Mordred's sleeping powder in the tea?"

"Hell no," Gwen said through a chuckle. "I'd rather not mess with that stuff again."

"Fair enough." Maewenn let out a sad laugh. "I do miss him."

"Me too." She kept picking at the food. "I haven't even gone into his room."

"Why not, dear?"

"I guess I'm kind of afraid to?" She shrugged. "It doesn't make sense, I know. He's not dead, he's just—gone." She sighed. "And it is a bigger, nicer room with a better view." She tore off a piece of the bread and ate it.

Maewenn set down a clay mug half filled with tea in front of her. "I think he'd want you to be comfortable."

"I know, I know. It's just silly."

"Not silly at all. Maybe it'd be good for you. Help you sleep."

"Or I'll be up all night crying," Gwen added on dryly. "I'm not sure how that'll help."

"Crying is exhausting. But it's cathartic, isn't it?" Mae huffed out a breath, which was funny as she didn't need to breathe. Old habits, Gwen figured. "I'm sorry. It's a terrible idea."

"No, no. It isn't." Gwen sipped the tea. It was tasty, she had to admit. "I'm just in a lousy mood, I'm sorry."

"No reason to apologize, hon." Mae walked around to her side and placed a metal hand on her shoulder. "But we'll all get through this. Somehow. And we'll do it together." The cook paused. "I don't know what good a rust bucket like me'll do, but I'll be here."

Gwen laughed and, reaching over, hugged the woman. It was like hugging a coat rack covered in pots and pans, but it didn't matter. "You're such a good friend. Thank you."

"Now, finish your tea on the walk. Go back to bed. Nothing gets solved tonight with you drinking yourself into a stupor." Mae patted her on the back. "Go on. Shoo."

"Fine, fine." Gwen smiled as she got up from the stool. "But I'm taking the cheese." She picked up the wedge of it and headed for the door. "Tea and cheese—a perfect combination."

"I could think of worse!" Mae called after her as she left.

Gwen supposed it could be worse. She had friends. She had a home. She had food. She was alive. That was a lot more than most people had in Avalon.

It wasn't long before she found herself standing at Mordred's door. The large wooden surface was carved with the same strange twisting, asymmetrical vines that he had favored. They reminded her of the metal door that had sealed off the Iron Crystal when it had been stored deep within the keep.

Bracing herself, she pushed the bedroom door open.

Part of her expected to find him sitting in his chair in front of the fire, or reclining at his desk, or lying in bed. None of those were true. He obviously wasn't there. But for that split second, she had wished so hard for there to be some kind of miracle.

She wasn't so lucky. This wasn't going to be that easy. Finishing the tea, she let out a wavering breath and closed the door behind her. Or rather, she was about to, before Eod popped his head into the room, sniffing at the piece of cheese in her hand.

Chuckling, she ruffled the dog's fur. "You have a knack for that. Here you go, buddy." She gave the dog the remaining piece. Eod gobbled it down happily before running and jumping up onto Mordred's bed, turning around a few times before flopping down on the fluffy down comforter.

"Where Dad?"

She cringed at the question. "He won't be back for a long while. I'm sorry."

Eod's ears drooped. "Mom sad?"

She was Mom now? That was sweet. Placing the empty mug down, she climbed onto the bed next to Eod and petted him. "Mom's just fine, especially with you here."

"Dog protect."Eod licked her face, before rolling onto his back for a belly rub.

There was a frantic knock on the door.

Oh, great. More nonsense.

Climbing out of bed, she answered the door.

Tim was on the other side. The rusted and unfinished guard was shifting anxiously from foot to foot.

She frowned. "What is it, Tim?"

He pointed down the hallway. Whatever the issue was, it was that way.

Motioning for him to lead the way, she followed behind him, wondering what kind of stupid nonsense she'd have to deal with now.

The great hall had her answer. Standing there, looking entirely out of place…was Lady Thorn. And she wasn't alone—there were two other elementals with her who Gwen didn't recognize. The woman was glancing at everything around her a little nervously.

Gwen arched an eyebrow. "Afraid the walls will attack you?"

"This place was his. There's no way of knowing. All this metal—all this iron." Thorn gestured aimlessly at the room. "It's disgusting."

Gwen shrugged. "I like it, and you don't have to live here. I don't see a problem. Why're you here?" She had a suspicion, but she wanted to hear it plain.

Thorn huffed. "No offer of wine?"

Gwen stared at her flatly and didn't answer.

"I have come to tell you I plan to take the throne of Avalon. I want you either to pledge allegiance to me or to stay out of my way. Or else." Thorn sneered, her yellowed teeth making the expression even less welcoming.

"Mm-hm. So you've come to my home to threaten me, that's nice." Gwen rubbed a hand over her eyes. She was too tired to deal with this.

"This isn't your home. Not this castle, not this island—you don't belong here." Thorn took a step toward her.

The iron guards that lined the room all shifted, placing their gauntlets on their swords.

"It seems they beg to differ. And so does the island of Avalon itself. It gave me this power. It chose me to be here." Gwen smiled at the other woman faintly. "You came here to threaten and insult me. Tell me why I shouldn't just kill you now? You're surrounded."

"It would be against the laws of hospitality. Of Avalon," one of the other elementals said through a grunt. She couldn't tell what kind of power Thorn's two sidekicks had—they looked normal. Ish. Normal for Avalon, at any rate.

With a sigh, Gwen turned around to leave the room. "Fine. Go away."

"You're a fool not to stand down," Thorn called after her. "Stay out of my way, girl. You don't know what you're up against."

Stopping, Gwen turned back to face Thorn.

And she laughed.

That seemed to unsettle the three elementals. Whatever they'd been expecting from her—maybe for her to cower, to apologize for everything, who knew—it hadn't been laughter. "Get out of my home. Oh! One last thing." Putting on as pleasant a tone and smile as she was capable of, Gwen added, "Go fuck yourself."

With that, she turned and left, heedless of Thorn calling after her to wait. No. She was going to bed. When she got to Mordred's room, where she'd taken up residence, she collapsed onto the bed next to where Eod was already snuggled up half asleep.

Bert had told her that she needed to wait for an army. That she needed to sit here and do nothing until she had a force to back her up. But at what cost? What was she losing with every second that ticked by with Mordred imprisoned in the Crystal?

She loved him. And he loved her. And how could she sit here with her thumb up her butt while he rotted and the elementals plotted her death?

She knew that a war was inevitable, that she would have to stand up for Bert and the villagers. But now?

How could she go on, pretending her soul wasn't shattered?

No.

No, she couldn't stand this.

She couldn't just go about her business like nothing had happened. Like Mordred's absence wasn't going to haunt her every waking moment of every day. She didn't know how Galahad had put up with Zoe being trapped in the Crystal. He was stronger than Gwen was—because she wasn't going to make it two months.

Freeing Mordred would start total war. She would be firmly picking the side of the Prince in Iron—which would turn all the elementals against her. Bert and his folks might still stay by her side, but it was doubtful.

Shutting her eyes, she took a deep breath. This felt like a stupid decision. But fuck, if it didn't feel like the right decision. And one that she was making on her own, for a change. She was sick and tired of people pushing her around. Of people leading her by the nose, forcing her to go along with their plans. She was done. Just done. No more.

She was going to free Mordred. She was going to face off against all the elementals of Avalon if she had to. She didn't care anymore. And she was going to do all of it because she wanted to. Because it was her decision.

No one else's.

She was the witch of Avalon, after all.

Maybe it was time she started acting like it.

Rolling onto her back, she reached a hand up toward the ceiling. Shutting her eyes, she closed her fingers into a fist as if grasping a veil of fabric up above her. Mordred was out there. They had spoken in their dreams a dozen times. And even though the magic that bound them might be gone, their bond was not.

He was out there.

And she was going to find him.

Now.