Chapter 17

"I'm coming with you."

Mordred let out a breath, shutting his eyes. He had believed he had escaped without waking Gwendolyn, but he was mistaken. It was the middle of the night, and the moon was high, casting pale shadows as though the sun itself were caught in a dream. He had been about to climb onto the saddle of his stallion.

Dragons were not precisely the right method of approach for an assassination, after all.

Thorn was camped about a night's ride away from them with her forces. And he planned to end her before she attacked his keep for a second time. Once, he would have thought it cowardly—ignoble—to strike an enemy in the dead of night like a thief.

Now, he could not care less. No—that was not true.

He was rather looking forward to it.

Turning, he watched Gwendolyn pull on a thick coat that had two slits up the back to allow her wings to trail behind her like a cape. Her breath turned to fog in the chill, nearly winter air. Clouds were still moving in—there would be snow, soon.

"You should stay. You will not like what you witness."

Shrugging, she looked off into the field. "My dad used to say, ‘You can't eat your steak and pretend you don't know what happened to the cow.' I'm coming."

"A wise man. A shame I will never have the chance to meet him." He mounted his stallion, turning the horse toward the open gate.

"You're not going to argue with me?"

"I know better than to attempt to turn your mind from something it is set upon. I recommend you saddle a horse quickly, however—I will not wait long for you." Was he annoyed? Yes. Was he looking forward to Gwendolyn's reaction to watching him murder Thorn and whatever elementals were foolish enough not to run from him? No.

But she was correct. If she was to stand at his side, and be his queen, she should know. She should witness it firsthand, what it meant to rule. What it meant to keep Avalon peaceful.

He expected her to go into the stables and fetch her favorite mare. Instead, she held out her hand in front of her and, with a twist, summoned a horse from the ground. He watched and had to admire how far she had come since her arrival. She had been so terrified of everything, even her own powers.

Although, he did not miss the gleeful smile on her face as she looked at her handiwork as though it was a piece of art. Made of onyx, its eyes glowed a smoldering, fiery red. When it snorted, sparks flew from its nostrils. It was a mare, and smaller than his stallion, but no less frightening. The horse's mane and tail were like Gwendolyn's hair when she was ablaze—more fire than not.

She climbed onto its back, and patted it on the neck, not caring for the fire that touched her. "We're supposed to be scary, right?" She wiggled her fingers at him. "Spoooooky horses."

It took every ounce of self-control not to slap his hand over his face. "Come. We have a long night of travel ahead of us."

"Do you know where we're going?"

"Thorn is not…subtle." He kicked the sides of his stallion and headed off into the field, urging the animal to a gallop as soon as they were clear of the keep. He did not look over his shoulder to see if Gwendolyn was following. He was certain she was.

He also did not wish to mention that it was the scarecrow's scouts who'd told him of Thorn's location. He had already given the villagers enough credit. He did not need to give them more, lest Gwendolyn get ideas in her head about them being welcome to stay long term.

Which he would not allow.

Under any circumstances.

Build a town nearby? Very well. But he would have his home back, and he would not hear any arguments otherwise. Even if it did make Maewenn happy, and he had caught one of his guards playing with a pack of children. I am a miserable old bastard, after all.

They rode in silence, with the sound of nothing but the pounding of hooves on the compacted dirt of the road beneath them. Gwendolyn kept pace, following close behind and never falling back. She was an impressive rider. He glanced back at her now and then, simply wishing to catch another sight of the woman he loved, his firefly, so very much having come into her own.

She would be a force of nature in a hundred years, perhaps fewer.

He could only pray to the Ancients that he would be around when that happened.

Hours passed like that, before they reached their destination. He slowed his stallion before stopping at the edge of the wood where it met a field. "Please extinguish your horse, Gwendolyn. I do not wish to give away our position."

Gwendolyn stopped beside him and leaned over to rest against the neck of her onyx horse. The fire of its mane and tail went out as she did, leaving only gray-black hair in its wake. "Ow."

The chuckle that left him was one of amused sympathy. "We will ride back slower. Or perhaps we will fly home."

"My ass is going to be bruised for a month." She sat back up with a sigh. "Did we really have to do that?"

"Thorn may yet believe I am still a captive of the Iron Crystal. The more time passes, the less likely that becomes." He kept his gaze ahead of them. Snow was falling now, drifting in thick flakes to the frosted grass. But it did not obscure the faint lights of an encampment. He estimated a dozen elementals and hangers-on, or thereabouts.

Summoning his sword to his hand, he glanced at Gwendolyn. "Do you wish to remain here, or join me in the fray?"

She frowned, pulling her coat tighter around her. Snowflakes were landing on her but melting quickly. "I…I'll come."

"Very well. Then stay out of the way if you do not wish to fight. I will not reject your assistance, should you choose to give it." Manifesting the rest of his armor, feeling its familiar weight settle on him, he turned his attention back to the camp. The restriction of his vision by his helm had bothered him once. Now, it was easy to ignore.

Kicking his stallion, he drove toward the camp at a trot. The quickly falling snow was dampening the sound of his approach—perfect. He did not want to alarm his enemy until it was too late.

They would be easy kills. He would seek out Thorn first—cut the head off the proverbial snake. The others would likely scatter once their leader was dead. He might not be able to catch them all, but those who fled would serve to spread the news.

Mordred the Prince in Iron had returned.

And the elementals were safe from his wrath no longer.

Gwen followed Mordred, staying about fifty feet behind him. He was a nightmare against the darkness and the snow. Her eyes had adjusted, but it was still proper dark. With no moonlight or starlight, the only way she knew where to go was the fact that Mordred was somehow an inkier blackness against the drifting white snow and distant firelight.

Honestly, she heard him more than she could see him.

This was going to be a massacre.

She wanted to shout. To warn the elementals to run. But while Mordred had begrudgingly put up with her antics before, anything close to betrayal now wasn't going to go well for her. At all.

And she knew, deep down inside, that this was the right call. That Thorn was going to be, well, a thorn in her side for the rest of her life. There was no jail, no Crystal, that was going to keep that from happening.

Lady Thorn had to die.

Gwen just really wished it was otherwise.

But if wishes were horses, and all that jazz.

Speaking of, her ass hurt from riding all night. Next time, she was going to create a horse out of cotton or something softer than goddamn onyx. She just wanted to look half as badass as Mordred. Not that it really mattered, she supposed. But damn it if she wasn't sick of looking like a derpy sidekick.

Mordred slowed his approach to a walk as they drew closer to the camp. When they were a good thirty feet away, he dismounted. Against the brighter glow of the firelight, he cut a terrifying figure, all sharp and jagged edges, and his cape made the faintest whisper against the snow. She dismounted as well, patting her horse before following, chewing her lower lip.

Mordred disappeared into a tent.

It wasn't long before the screaming began. Ducking close to another haphazard shelter, Gwen watched as Thorn ran from within her tent. Thick ropes of briars burst from the ground around her, trying to shield her from the demon who had come to collect his due.

Mordred slashed through the vines, unstoppable as a force of nature. They barely slowed him down. When a nearby elemental formed spears of ice to hurl his way, he flicked his wrist, his cape coming up and hardening to iron. The ice shattered against his shield, no more harmful than snowballs.

The elementals clearly knew better than to fight Mordred when they were surprised. Gwen watched as each one emerged from their tent, took one look at what was happening, and ran for the woods. She knew it wouldn't be the last she saw or heard from them.

"You bastard! How—" Thorn jumped back as Mordred swiped at her with his sword once more. "You should be—" That was when Thorn caught sight of Gwen. Her missing, yellowed and misaligned teeth were bared in a hateful snarl. "You!"

Suddenly, Gwen was the center of attention. Thorn was coming after her, forgetting the oncoming Prince in Iron in favor of trying to kill her. Gwen burst into flames and spread a circle of fire around her. But the vines were growing back faster than she could destroy them.

Thorn's attention was split, however. She couldn't keep attacking Gwen and defend against Mordred at the same time. When Mordred closed the distance between them, making to lop off Thorn's head, she turned and ran.

"Coward!" Mordred hollered. He lifted his hand, palm up, before clenching a fist.

Spikes of iron, twisted and jagged, sharpened like blades, shot up from the ground. They were curved, rusted, and vicious. Gwen watched as they snapped around Thorn like a cage. The elemental had nowhere to go. Her powers were useless against the metal that warded against all magic.

Mordred gestured again, sending a spike of iron shooting from the air near him, impaling another elemental who was running at him. The weapon passed through his body, leaving a gaping hole in his chest where it shouldn't have been. Gwen recoiled at the sight. The elemental fell to his knees before collapsing to the ground in a growing pool of blood that stained the fallen snow.

The rest of the elementals were running for their lives. At least they weren't total idiots.

Mordred, seeing that the rest of his quarry had fled, turned his focus back to Thorn. "I would have given you an honorable death."

Thorn was cussing in languages that Gwen didn't understand, but the meaning was crystal clear. She spat on the ground outside the cage of iron. "What do you think you will gain from this? This is murder! You will unite all of us against you. Is that what you want?"

"Yes." Mordred stopped at the edge of the cage.

That was not the answer Thorn was expecting. Her anger sputtered for a moment before she resumed swearing at the prince.

Mordred ignored her. "The solution was always so simple…yet I resisted the temptation to end you all." He sheathed his sword. However he was planning on ending Thorn, it wasn't with the blade. "I am, shall we say, no longer compelled to spare your lives."

Thorn looked to Gwen, fear in her eyes. "And you are allowing this?"

"On a mass scale? No." Gwen sighed. "But for you? Yeah. Yeah, I am."

Thorn roared in rage, cussing out them both.

"I would ask for your last words. But I believe I already have them." Mordred lifted his hand again, palm up, fingers open.

"Wait!" Thorn screamed, throwing herself at the blades that made up the bars of her cage.

But it was too late.

Mordred tightened his fist.

Gwen had to turn her back to the scene as the blades mirrored the motion of his fingers. Thorn's scream was cut short as they sliced through her. Covering her mouth, Gwen tried not to be sick from the wet sound of the blades pulling back out of Thorn's flesh.

"It had to be done." She heard Mordred's boots crunch through the snow behind her.

"I know. I don't—I just—" She took a deep breath, trying to keep her dinner down where it belonged.

"Gwendolyn."

"No. No. I need a minute." She waved her hand. "I don't want to puke, sorry."

"Gwendolyn." Something in Mordred's tone had shifted. He sounded…pained.

Blinking, she turned around to face him. And all at once, everything changed. She barely noticed the corpse of Thorn lying in the snow behind Mordred. Because there was something else far more important directly in front of her.

Mordred.

And the sword that was jutting from his stomach. It had pierced through his armor. He was holding onto it with his gauntlet, but she could see the blood pouring from between his fingers.

"Wh—"

"I am sorry it came to this."

The sword wrenched out of Mordred. He collapsed to his knees, his hand pressing to the wound. Panicked, Gwen stepped between him and the person who had spoken.

Zoe.

The Gossamer Lady was floating there, wings flickering amber in the light of the fire. And hovering in the air beside her was a sword that looked very familiar. The last time Gwen had seen it, it was rusted and broken, but still no less formidable.

Caliburn.

"H-how—" Gwen stammered. Caliburn had been destroyed.

Standing beside her was Galahad, his own sword at the ready, resplendent in his golden armor. He was wearing his helm, and she couldn't see his face—or if he approved of what was happening. "Stand aside, Gwendolyn. Let us do this," he urged. "You do not have to die here with him."

"Fuck you." Gwen was shaking. Mordred might die, even if they didn't finish him off. She had survived an arrow wound, but a sword was something else entirely. How was she going to get him home? How was she going to get him to safety? She couldn't carry him. She couldn't fly them both there.

"I warned you," Zoe said to her husband. "She will not abandon him."

"I know." Galahad sighed heavily. "Gwendolyn, I am so very sorry."

"I don't—I was going to try to get him to spare you both. I—I had a plan." She cringed. That was partially a lie. She had time to come up with a plan, which was close enough. "Please, don't. Don't. You've made your point."

Mordred grunted from behind her as he fought his way to standing. He stuck his sword into the snow and leaned on it for support. "They will not listen to you, Gwendolyn. Our last stand is here and now."

If that was true, they were doomed. She couldn't take on Zoe and Galahad—and Zoe had Caliburn. Somehow.

She clenched her hands at her sides. It was up to her. She had to get them out of here. But how?

If only they could fly home.

Then it hit her.

If she could create a horse…

Spreading her wings, she focused her power. Her flames burned brighter, shifting colors as the temperature rose. Shutting her eyes, she manifested the creature she saw in her mind. If Zoe and Galahad were going to play dirty? So could she. She opened her eyes.

Galahad took a step toward her, ready to fight.

"Hey." Gwen smiled. "Look up, assholes."

Galahad paused before both he and Zoe obeyed.

And it was right then that an enormous dragon landed in the center of the camp. It was made of onyx, like her horse—but its wings were ablaze, like hers. It set the nearby tents on fire as it bellowed out a screech that shook the ground beneath her, sending a jet of fire shooting from its maw as it did.

If it landed on her former friends, great.

But that wasn't her focus. She turned to Mordred and took his arm. It would be like trying to move a tank. "C'mon—we need to go."

He didn't respond, but nodded, walking toward the dragon on unsteady legs. The dragon was meanwhile amusing itself by setting more of the camp on fire, screeching and roaring as it blasted wave after wave of fire after Zoe and Galahad. The two were retreating, but she didn't know for how long. And she didn't know if her dragon could stand up against Caliburn.

She tried her best to help Mordred up onto the back of her dragon, but it really was all his doing. He weighed easily three times what she did, and that was without his armor. But he made it, slumping forward on the back of the beast as she clambered up with him.

"Go!" she shouted.

The dragon didn't hesitate to obey, jumping into the air and taking them off into the snowy night sky with a fiery whoomf of giant wings. It knew where to go because she did. It was strange, having herself linked to a creature. She had sensed her connection to the horse, but it was smaller—muted. A dragon was entirely something else. If she paid too much attention, she could feel its wings like she could feel her own.

She extinguished her flames, quickly summoning herself some clothing so she didn't have to fly back in the nude. She really didn't feel like freezing to death a few hundred feet up.

She placed her hand on Mordred's back. She could see the gash in the armor where the sword had pierced through him. He was bleeding. Badly.

"Stay with me, Mordred—you can't die. Not now. Not like this."

"I do not…intend to."

"And if you're going to faint, faint forward—if you fall off, I—" She winced. "Don't fall off."

"Noted." He lowered his head, still hidden beneath his helm.

Undoing the buckle of his chest armor, she slipped her hand underneath and put pressure on the wound. At least from one side, anyway.

Shutting her eyes, she rested her forehead against him.

He couldn't die.

He just couldn't.

Ancients, if you're here—if you're listening to me—if you care…please. I love him. I love him, and I can't let him go.

Save him.