Chapter 24

Gwen sat up in bed, her heart pounding in her ears, panting for air.

She was covered in a cold sweat. Every nerve in her body was electric, and she was on high alert from all the adrenaline pumping through her like wildfire.

Eod army-crawled across the bed on his belly so he could flop his head down onto her lap, looking up at her with giant, concerned eyes. "Mom okay?"

Taking a deep breath, she shut her eyes to count down from ten. She was going to have her first panic attack in a long time if she wasn't careful. It was right there, shrinking her vision. Digging her hand into Eod's fur, she petted the animal, using him to help calm her down.

Maybe it wasn't magic that was curing her panic attacks.

Maybe it was the dog.

I told Dad he should have let me get a dog.

The thought made her laugh weakly. Leaning down, she kissed Eod's head. "Mom's okay. Mom is going to have to shout at Dad, though."

"Uh oh." He lifted his head and licked her cheek. "But dog love Dad."

"I love Dad too." Eod's worried and sappy tone of voice was going to make it very hard to stay pissed at Mordred. But she was sure he'd remind her really quickly exactly why she was so mad. "It'll all be all right."

Taking a breath again, she let it out in a rush, her panic quieting down enough to let her remember what had just happened. Grinn had terrorized her so badly it…must have forced her awake through the spell that Mordred had placed her under.

Holy shit, my panic attacks finally serve a purpose. How nice.

But that made her wonder—had Grinn done it on purpose?

Had he really been there and known that was going to work?

What if he was just a figment of her imagination, and that meant she knew somehow it would wake her up?

Or, maybe he had been there but actually wanted to maim her, and it was a happy accident?

Option four was that he hadn't been there, and she was just terrorizing herself for shits and giggles.

All options were deeply and equally ridiculous, but one of them had to be true. She supposed it didn't really matter either way. It'd be nice to know if Grinn was really alive and back in hell with his family, she supposed. Even if he was a total asshole.

"I—"

She paused as the sound of a dragon flying overhead, the heavy whumf of wings, was followed by a dark shadow blotting out the sun for a brief moment. A heavier ka-thud and the screech of metal that was Tiny's shriek told her that she had woken up either just in time or too late.

"Eod, you have to stay. This is dangerous. I'm serious." She pointed at him sternly.

The dog whimpered but laid his head back down and seemed like he was going to obey. But she had a feeling it wasn't going to last. With a sigh, she shook her head. "Fine. Stay with Mae."

"Dog protect food lady!"

Smiling despite the situation, she jumped out of bed, still dressed from the night before. She looked down at the ring on her finger. She had to get it off. It was an emergency. Yanking on it with her other hand, it didn't budge. It wasn't too tight; it should come off easily—but it was stuck on her as if built into her hand.

Maybe she could melt it. Holding up her hand, she ignited it. Focusing on her power, she tried to burn as hot as she could. She watched as the fire shifted colors. Red, to orange, to yellow. She gritted her teeth. It needed to be hotter. Picturing her frustration and her anger, she watched the flame turn white. Then blue.

The iron ring was unchanged. It should have at least heated up, changed colors—something. Anything. Putting out her flame, she touched the ring. It was cold.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

A magic ring that wasn't meltable, removable, and was a glorified Gwen off switch. Great. She figured it wouldn't be that easy, but she had to try. Shutting her eyes, she sighed. She didn't have time to fart around with trying to un-magic it off.

And that left only one option.

This was going to hurt.

A lot.

"Fuck you, Mordred. Fuck you."

Galahad had battled Mordred a thousand times. He had seen what both the mortal man and the elemental had been capable of in combat.

This…was like fighting a stranger.

The odds were against the Prince in Iron. Three against one. But it was like battling a force of nature. The man Galahad called friend had fought with rigor but with restraint—with a calm that had been pervasive and brought from discipline and practice.

This Mordred fought with a wild and unhinged fury. Galahad was driven back by the brutally painful impacts of Mordred's sword against his, the clang of metal sending a reverberating jolt up his arm. But he was not simply fighting with sword and steel—he was fighting with iron.

All the while, the sounds of chaos and war raged outside the castle. An army of iron versus an army of elementals. The elementals would win—eventually—but could they do it in time before it was too late? He had to push his thoughts to the background. This fight was taking all his focus.

Zoe dashed out of the way, barely avoiding being cut in half as Mordred hardened his cape into iron panels and swiped at her, the heavy whoosh at odds with how fast it moved.

But that was not all. Metal spikes—jagged, rusted, and cruel—shot up from the ground at them. The Mordred of old might have demanded a fair and honorable fight to the death. Not engaged in such chaos with all the mannerisms of a rabid animal.

Galahad was bleeding from a wound underneath his shoulder pauldron. Percival was limping. Zoe was unharmed, but her expression revealed how frightened she was. Her ability to pull the life out of the air around Mordred did little good when the man was encased in iron.

This was the creature they had feared all along. This was the man they had sought to keep from rising to power. And in doing so, they had released him.

What fools we have been.

But Galahad could not think of regret. He could not think of how he had created the monster before them—this rampaging nightmare. Because one wrong move, and it would all be over, and he would be left to reminisce over his decisions in the ever after. If one waited for him.

The sound of metal on metal was deafening. No one could manage to gain ground. Only Caliburn gave Mordred any manner of trouble, as the impacts from the blade sent him back a step. But it seemed that the Prince in Iron had a solution to the issue.

"Enough of this!" Mordred snarled as he gestured at the blade, clenching his clawed gauntlets into a fist. Iron shot up from the ground, wrapping around the blade like vines, dragging it to the dirt. The blade struggled to be free, but the laws of Avalon were clear.

Iron defeated all. Contained all.

Such power was never meant to be wielded in such a way. And this was why.

Percival took the opportunity to seize on Mordred's apparent distraction and dashed forward, swinging his own blade for the prince's neck. But the decision was rash.

"No!" Galahad jumped forward, but it was too late.

Mordred caught Percival's blade in his metal gauntlet. Percival gagged in pain as Mordred tightened his fist. The metal creaked, bent, then shattered, leaving Percival only holding onto a splintered shard attached to a handle.

The Prince in Iron was not done. He grasped Percival around the throat, tightening. "You were always such a waste of time."

It seemed Percival was not to be without a last word. He drove the shard of his sword into Mordred's side, finding a gap between two of the armored panels.

Mordred snarled in rage. Dug his claws deep into Percival's neck. "You shall die as you lived—as a thorn in my side."

He tore out the Knight in Copper's throat.

Zoe screamed and moved to aid the fallen knight, but Galahad stopped her. "It is too late, my love."

"But—"

"No." He would not let her draw too close to the murderous prince.

Mordred released his grasp, his hand dripping in gore, his nightmarish armor spattered with the spray from Percival's wound. The Knight in Copper slumped to the ground, blood pooling on the dirt around him, his expression hidden behind his helm the only remaining dignity afforded the dead man.

Galahad felt his stomach churn. He had spent over a thousand years with Percival. They were not friends, but they had been like brothers. "Enough, Mordred. Enough."

"Do you think I will mourn him?" Mordred laughed darkly. "Please give me more credit than that."

Zoe was crying silently, tears rolling down her cheeks as she looked upon Percival. "Let this end, Mordred."

"Yes." The Prince in Iron yanked Percival's broken sword from his side. It was tipped in blood, but it had not bit deep enough to even slow him down. Mordred tossed it aside as if it were nothing more than a toothpick. "You are right. It is time to end this."

The time to mourn Percival was over. Because if Galahad did not focus, he would quickly be joining his brother in death. Galahad readied his stance.

Mordred took a step forward. "And then there were two."

"There has to be another way!"

"There isn't, Mae." Gwen was already trembling at the idea. "Trust me, I don't want to do it either—but I don't have a choice. I can't go out there with this thing on my hand, he'll just knock me out again. And if I don't hurry up, everybody'll already be dead."

The cook wailed, and shook her metal head, pacing away. "I can't! I can't. I can't do this."

"I know, Mae—I know." Gwen smiled at her, trying to be as reassuring as possible. "It'll be okay. I'm asking you to do this. It'll be a favor."

Gwen put her left hand on the chopping block, curling all her fingers in except the one wearing the ring. It wasn't exactly easy, folding her hand in such a way, and she had to cram her fingers against the edge of the chopping block so hard it was painful, to give Mae a clean shot. Or, at least, her best chance at a clean shot.

She held the butcher's knife out to Maewenn, handle first.

She wanted to puke.

But this had to be done.

With a choked sob, Maewenn took the handle in her shaking hand. Gwen really hoped Mae didn't miss. The cook took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. "Are—are you sure? You…you could ask Mordred to simply take it off."

"He's in the middle of murdering Galahad. I'm pretty sure he's busy." This was the last thing she wanted to do. But she didn't have a choice. "Please. I have to stop him. He's out of control."

Mae nodded. "Okay. Okay." She put her metal hand on Gwen's wrist, holding her steady.

Gwen shut her eyes and braced herself.

There was a pause.

"I'm so sorry, I can't!" Mae put the cleaver down on the block with a clunk. She walked across the kitchen to hide her sob.

A metal hand rested on her shoulder. Tim. He had been hovering near her, nervously watching the whole scene play out. Then he reached for the butcher's knife.

"Oh no, no, no, no—" Mae waved her hand at the rusted half-finished guard. "That's worse!"

"I trust him." Gwen smiled up at Tim. "Go ahead."

Tim nodded, squeaking as he did. It was clear he wasn't enthusiastic about the situation, but he took the cleaver and moved to a better position.

Gwen took a breath. It was weird, loving someone you couldn't trust. But she supposed Mordred was already living that life. Turnabout was fair play, yadda yadda.

Mae twisted her hands as Tim readied himself. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." Gwen shut her eyes. "Just don't tell me when he's going to do it, I'd rather not kn?—"

Her mind flashed white.

The pain was total, instant, and overwhelming.

Her stomach flipped. She felt woozy. The floor rushed up to meet her, but somebody caught her. Her head felt fuzzy and a thousand miles away. She barely felt the burning-hot end of a kitchen tool pressing against the stump of where her finger had been a second before, cauterizing the wound and stopping the bleeding.

She'd heal fast. She was a witch of Avalon.

But it wasn't like it'd regrow.

Shutting her eyes, she tried desperately not to pass out. Tim was the one who had caught her. Mae was talking to her gently and stroking her hair. Eventually, she could make out what she was saying.

"You're okay. It's done. It's all over. It's gone."

"Not over," she muttered as she tried to blink her way back to reality. Mae was cleaning the chopping block frantically, scrubbing at what must have been her blood. "Only just begun."

Tim reached up and took a goblet of water from the counter and helped Gwen drink it. It did wonders to settle her stomach, even if she did wish it were wine at the moment. But that'd come later.

Finally, she worked up the nerve to look at her left hand. Her ring finger was gone. Just a stump, right below where the ring had sat. It was a good shot, honestly. "Thanks, Tim. Thanks, Mae."

Tim shook his head forlornly. It clearly wasn't a favor he was proud of. He helped her stand up, sitting her back on the stool. Mae began wrapping her hand in gauze.

There it was.

Her finger.

Sitting on the counter.

Ring still stuck on it.

It should have been upsetting, seeing it. She should have puked. But instead, she felt…nothing. It wasn't hers anymore. It was just a thing.

But that wasn't true. She didn't feel nothing.

She felt something all right.

Rage.

Anger, plain and pure and total, was burning in her chest. She didn't think she'd ever been so furious in her entire life.

"Enough." Her one word stopped Tim and Maewenn. They stared at her. Maybe it was the way she had said it. She didn't know.

But what she did know was what came next. "This ends now."

Grabbing some of the gauze, she wrapped up her severed finger, and headed for the door.

This ends now.

And Gwen was going to be the one to put a stop to it.

One way or another.