Chapter 2

The feeling of the sun against his face was something Galahad would never tire of. After missing it for so long, it felt like a blessing to have it returned to Avalon. He sat upon a rock in front of Zoe's home, leaning against the thatch and plaster wall of the ancient structure. The wooden strapping that the plaster was smoothed over showed here and there through the worn surface, revealing its structure to be little more than twigs mixed in with whatever the original builder could find—horsehair, hay, and the rest.

The holes for windows had no glass but only thick fabric drapes to hold out the weather and block the light when needed. The chimney had a faint cloud of white smoke that always seemed to be drifting from its top. The roof was thatched, and he often needed to patch holes that formed with time. Zoe often teased him for rarely needing a ladder to access it.

The building would look crude to some. But to him? It felt like home.

The surface was warm against his back—he was not wearing his armor. He had no need of it and hopefully never would again.

If he never had to lift his sword once more, he would live out the rest of his years a happy man. Zoe was inside, humming as she made tea for them, the scent of the woodsmoke and the steeping leaves mixing with the crisp fall air.

Galahad was happy.

Or rather, he should have been.

Yet, like a single dark cloud blotting out the sun in an otherwise beautiful blue sky, something was wrong.

Galahad felt as though he was adrift amongst his dreams. For so long, this had only been a place he could visit again while sleeping. Only there had his love been with him, though she had been a figment of his mind.

This had been his wish for over three hundred years—to see her again. And to be free of the curse that Mordred had placed upon him? He never thought it would come to pass. But here he sat, free of the Prince in Iron. Free to be with Zoe. Free to do as he wished.

Free.

Then why was there such an ache in his heart?

He had served his dues. He had done all he could to stay true to his honor. It was not his fault that Mordred was trapped within the Crystal—it was justice. But the look on Gwendolyn's face as Zoe and Galahad departed the keep with the Crystal in tow…did not feel like justice.

Was it not fair, though? There was no question that it was—after all that Mordred had forced others to endure. Galahad had suffered for three hundred years without Zoe at his side.

So the question remained—was fairness enough?

It did not feel that way.

Perhaps he simply mourned for Gwendolyn. Perhaps it would pass in time, as all grief did. Shutting his eyes, he let himself bask in the warmth of the sun. In the chirping of the birds in the trees. In the life and the magic that surrounded him.

A gentle touch on his shoulder roused him. He must have dozed off. Smiling up at Zoe, he took the cup of tea she was offering. "I am growing old."

"You were old when I met you." Zoe chuckled as she sat down on the rock next to him, leaning against his arm as she sipped her own tea. "No, my love, you have simply been so tired for so very long and only now have been allowed to rest. Your vigil has ended."

"Perhaps you are right." He sipped the tea. It was more floral than the type he had grown accustomed to in the keep, but he was neither surprised nor disappointed. "Whatever will I do with myself?"

"Enjoy your life. Perhaps grow a garden." She leaned her cheek against him.

"That would be lovely."

They sat in silence for a long moment before Zoe, as she was always wont to do, prompted him to speak his mind. "What troubles you?"

"Is it so very obvious?"

"In short? Yes." He could hear the smile in her voice, though he was watching the leaves in the trees sway in the breeze.

"I cannot help but sympathize with what Gwendolyn is tasked with enduring." Galahad let out a long sigh. "It is not a fate I would wish on anyone."

"She is resilient. She will survive." Zoe straightened up so that she could drink her own tea. "Perhaps her heart will change—perhaps she will come to love another. She is young. And her closeness to Mordred was manufactured."

Galahad frowned down at his love. "You are suggesting that her love was not legitimate?"

"No—simply that the heart is flighty in its youth." Zoe smiled sadly at him. "I was not your first love, nor were you mine."

He supposed that was fair. How tragic for Mordred, in the end—to be granted so precious a gift, only to have it taken from him by time. Or, perhaps, by madness. There was no telling what would emerge from the Crystal. Though many had seemed to come out the other side of their imprisonment intact, there was talk of those who…had not been so lucky.

Then there was the complication that the Iron Crystal was Mordred's own creation. Being trapped inside a cage of his own making might change the weight of its curse. Either for the better—or the worse.

There was no way to know. Not for another thousand years. And Galahad doubted he would live that long, by chance or by choice.

Bowing his head, he kissed the top of Zoe's. "Let us talk of cheerier topics."

"Agreed." Zoe's smile brightened. "How—" Unfortunately, her words were cut off as someone came from the woods. It was a familiar figure, and one Galahad was not keen to see. And judging by the frown quickly etched on her delicate features, neither was Zoe.

It was Lady Thorn.

Galahad stood, instinctually placing himself between Zoe and Thorn. He could summon his armor and his sword quickly if required, but he hoped it wouldn't be. "Greetings."

"At ease, soldier." Thorn grinned, her missing teeth making the expression more threatening than reassuring. "I come to talk, nothing else."

"Wonderful." Galahad could not keep the sarcasm out of his voice, though admittedly he did not try very hard. But he did relax his shoulders. "What do you want?"

Thorn approached, uncaring for the rocks under her bare feet. Her hair was as unkempt as ever. "It is time to choose a ruler for Avalon. The throne has been empty for too long. To keep the peace, someone must wear the crown."

Galahad felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. "And let me guess…"

"No need." Thorn's grin widened. "I come seeking your support. I am the obvious choice—well—so is your wife, but she lacks the conviction or the desire."

"You speak for me now, do you?" Zoe stepped beside him as she spoke.

"Am I wrong?" Thorn challenged, planting her hands on her hips. Zoe hesitated long enough to give the other woman her answer. "There we have it. I remain the obvious choice."

"I disagree with both your insistence that Avalon requires a monarch as well as your self-serving goal to become it." Galahad shook his head. "I shall not support you in this blatant grab for power in Mordred's absence."

"Would you doom this world to more infighting and chaos? To repeat itself, endlessly, as we have always done? No. Mordred was right in one thing—this world needs someone to guide it." Thorn squared her shoulders.

Galahad could not help but arch an eyebrow. "And you believe yourself to be that person. I cannot agree. No, Thorn—my answer remains as it was."

Thorn grimaced and spat on the ground at her feet. "And what of you, Gossamer Lady? Do you stand with your knight?"

"I…" Zoe sighed, her shoulders drooping. "Yes. I shall continue to be neutral—or shall strive to be."

"There is no such thing in this world as being neutral,Zoe," Thorn sneered. "Simply cowardice. If you attempt to stand against me, I will not hesitate to strike you down. And I will remember who my friends were when the time comes."

"Noted." Galahad disliked being threatened. "You have said your piece. Now, begone."

"As you wish. Fools. Fools, the both of you." Thorn turned her back on them as she walked into the woods. "Perhaps your brothers will see sense."

Galahad doubted that Bors, Gawain, or Percival would throw their fates in with the elemental. But who was he to say? They were their own men—and now, after over a thousand years, finally allowed to make their own decisions. He would not interfere. It was not his place.

"Come, my love." Zoe took his hand gently in hers. It was so small and soft compared to his own. Like a work of art. "Think on it no longer."

Nodding, he followed her into her home. Oh, how he felt suddenly weary of it all. There was a tiredness that crept into his bones at the thought of what was to come. He had hoped, foolishly, that the elementals would value the freedom they had nearly lost forever. That perhaps they would learn.

Yet he knew Thorn was right. Chaos was inevitable. And from that chaos, an order would seek to impose itself.

He did not know who would win.

But he knew he wanted no part in it.

"You summoned me, my lady?"

Gwen snorted in laughter as Bert bowed dramatically, folding an arm in front of him with a flourish. "Knock that off," she said.

Bert chuckled as he sat down at the table next to her. "I had to. Just because it clearly makes you so uncomfortable."

"It's just weird. And I'm not a lady. I'm just some girl from Kansas." She shifted and folded a foot under herself before sitting back down. "So. Um." Better to just rip off the bandage, she figured. "Walk me through what happens if we successfully free Mordred." It wasn't swaying her from her goal—not at all. But she wanted to know what was going to happen to her when she did.

Bert let out a rush of air. Which was entirely for show, seeing as he didn't really breathe. Funny how much behavior was really just buried in social cues. "Oh, boy. Well. I don't know for certain."

"I know. But you've been here forever. You've seen things from not just an elemental-versus-elemental standpoint. You're the source of the best advice I can get."

Wonderful. A talking, metal-pumpkin-headed scarecrow was her most reliable source of information.

Fuck her life right about now, seriously.

Bert looked off into the distance as he thought it through. "First, the elementals will come for you. All of them. Unified in their hatred—and fear—of Mordred." He paused as if afraid to say what was coming next.

"Go on."

"And they might not be wrong." Bert shook his head. "Mordred was ready to kill them all before being stuck in that Crystal. And who knows what his opinion will be when he comes out? Not to mention, a unified war against him will give him the excuse he needs to justify mass murder."

Gwen considered his words. "There's one difference, though. I can stop him. I can't stop the elementals. He'll listen to me—they won't."

Bert stared at her. He didn't need to be able to show expression for her to sense the doubt in him. If he had eyebrows, one of them would probably be arched.

"I know it's risky. You're right, there's no telling if he'll come out of the Iron Crystal in one piece. But I can't do this alone." Doc was gone. Mordred was gone. Galahad was gone.

"You aren't alone, Gwen. You have us."

"A bunch of—I'm sorry—squishy villagers. And like, what? Fifty of you, so far? You'll get destroyed. I don't want all your deaths on my hands. I know people will die, that's inevitable. But at least the elementals have a choice. They can stand down or they can attack us. If they stand down, we'll leave them alone." Gwen tried to sound confident. Mordred would have to listen to reason, she'd make sure of it. He was a rational man. He understood the cost of war and spending lives. He wouldn't needlessly slaughter everyone.

Right?

Right.

She had to go on that. She had to believe that. She had to trust the man she loved. The man who wanted to marry her. The man who was probably slowly going insane trapped inside a prison of his own making.

"And if he doesn't stand down?" The scarecrow leaned on his stuffed elbows. "What then? If we get him out of there, and he goes on a rampage and doesn't listen to you?"

"Then…" She chewed on her bottom lip. "Then I'll stop him." She shut her eyes and clenched her fists. "Before you say it—I know what I'm saying." Her voice wavered and almost cracked. The idea of having to kill him…the final betrayal. He wouldn't see it coming from her. He would never expect her to go that far. "If he's out of control, I'll put him down."

Bert was silent.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. Or, at least, she assumed she did. "I'll stop him."

"I'd love to believe you, I really would. You're our savior—our only hope for peace. For how life in Avalon was meant to be. I'll stand beside you until the end. But freeing Mordred is an enormous risk."

"I know. But it's a risk I have to take. I'm sorry."

Bert sighed, his stuffed-hay shoulders slumping. "I don't honestly disagree with you, that's the worst part. I just wish I did."

The smile she gave him didn't last long. "Well, don't worry. I still have to figure out where he is and how to set him free."

Bert huffed. "Nothing's seemed to stand in your path before."

"I hope you're right." She wished she shared in his confidence. "I really hope you're right. Now, I just need to come up with a plan."

Because all her plans had gone so well for her in the past.

Mordred could feel the echo of his thoughts in the void around him. He could not hear it, but he could sense it. A never-ending reflection of a reflection that extended in all directions around him, fading into nothingness like all the rest.

Every memory.

Every emotion.

Every piece of himself, shown back to him, again and again and again…

Hope. Fear. Hatred. Boredom. Loneliness.

The faces of all those he had known. Of all those he had lost. Of all those he had forgotten, dredged up from the recesses of his mind.

All that he was, laid bare. Like a series of impossible corridors stretching from him in all directions, above, beneath, and all around. A maze in which he could see every corner and turn in unison.

It was impossible. A figment of his mind—or what was left of it.

An echo. Back and forth and back and forth, around and around again. He was reflecting against the Iron Crystal—sinking deeper into the magic that he had used to create his own prison. He wondered if this was an experience that was unique to him. He assumed so. Though he supposed it did not matter.

"Mordred!"

A voice, calling to him in the shadows. Her voice. Was it real? Or simply another ghost of a memory? He could not respond. He had no corporeal form. No way to even dream of one. He could simply wish her nearer, wish her there with him.

"Where are you?"

He willed himself to respond. Wanting her to find him, there. Somehow, despite the impossibility of it. No, not wanting—needing.

A memory found him, not his Gwendolyn. A memory of his mother.

"Remember who you are, boy." She glowered down at him, her dark eyes like onyx against her pale skin and raven-black hair. There was always a mystery about her, a sense that there was something lurking within that gaze. Something terrible. Something powerful. Something that schemed.

Morgana was fae, after all. Or, at least, that was what she told those who questioned her power. Her magic was strong enough.

"But you will not tell me who I am, Mother." He frowned up at her. "You will not tell me who fathered me."

"It does not matter. You are my son. And that is more than enough for you." She knelt and took his face in her palms. Those onyx eyes bored into him, revealing everything. Seeing through him. "And it should be enough for you now, locked away in that damnable creation of yours."

Wait.

That was not the way the memory had gone.

He was but a child when this had taken place. "I…"

"You are the son of Morgana. You are Mordred, the dread prince. The rightful ruler of Avalon. The throne was always meant to be yours. Avalon chose you, not that insipid brother of mine. For you are the one who had the strength to do what is needed." Morgana's expression was unwavering. Unflinching.

Perhaps this was a product of his imagination.

Or perhaps it was real. A ghost of his mother, come to haunt him.

He supposed it did not matter.

"Find a way out of this cage. And take the throne, as you were meant to so long ago." Morgana stood, towering over his small frame. "Become the King in Iron. Fulfill your destiny. Destroy them all."

Dream or ghost, he did not know, but it all faded away, returning him to the echoes of his mind. He did not know which he preferred. But one thing was becoming very clear.

He was going insane.

It was maddening.

Heh.

Finally, they will all be right about me.