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She jerked around to see one of the dead rushing at her, eyes blank as marbles. She shrieked from pure reflex and danced out of its way. Gawain stepped in its path, jabbing with the metal edge of the shield and following with a downward slice of his sword. Another zombie struck, shattering his shield. At that point, she lost every inhibition she’d ever had about using offensive magic. By the time Gawain had downed his new opponent, pieces of dead fae scattered the field.

Tamsin waited for the next assault, but it didn’t come. Instead, the remaining fae stood still as scarecrows. “What’s wrong?”

Gawain wiped his forehead on his sleeve. His eyes were wild. “They’re dead, not stupid.” He was backing quickly toward the water gate, never turning away from their attackers. Tamsin followed suit, a primitive voice screaming at her torun, run, run away!but knowing that would just remind the zombies to chase them.

The tactic worked until they were almost at their goal, when a raven swooped down, croaking. As if the call woke up the dead, the fae sprang forward once more. But by that time, Gawain had the small gate open and they were scrambling down to a tiny boat. Gawain pushed it into the moat at a run.

“Get in!” he ordered, splashing into the water.

Tamsin balked when her boots hit the water. She’d never learned how to swim.

“Hurry!” Gawain ordered, sheathing his sword. “Their bowmen are arriving!”

Tamsin gave up trying to keep anything but her backpack dry. After a determined bound through the water, she crawled into the boat and landed in a heap of soggy fabric. She’d made it just in time—the current caught the vessel and sent the boat drifting into a spin, carrying it away from shore. “Help!” she cried.

Gawain was right. A fresh contingent of fae were taking up position beside their fellows. There was a thrum and a sound like giant bees. Arrows splashed into the water mere inches from the boat.

“Gawain!” Tamsin peered over the side. He was nowhere in sight. For a panicked instant, she blinked against the brilliance of the sun on the water, and then ducked again as another flight of arrows spattered around her. This time two thumped into the light frame of the spinning boat.

To her enormous relief, Gawain’s hand appeared over the edge, followed shortly by the rest of him. He’d ducked underwater, and the mail shirt he wore glittered like scales as he climbed aboard. He made a muffled hiss of pain as he landed, and clawed his sodden cloak out of the way. A feathered shaft stuck out of his thigh.

“Oh, no.” Tamsin stared at the arrow. Gawain’s pain was her first thought, but underneath that was primal fear for them both.

“I’ve had worse.”

Gawain grabbed the oars from the bottom of the boat and locked them in place. Then he paused, clearly gathering himself. He was drained of color and his mouth was clamped in a tight line, as if holding the truth inside. Tamsin’s blood went icy. He was hurt.

“I can stabilize that,” she said. “That should help until we get to shore.”

“There’s no time.” Gawain plunged the oars into the water and turned the vessel toward the opposite shore. Tamsin twisted to look at the castle. The dead faeries were crowding around the water gate as if they were unsure what to do next.

“Can fae swim?” she asked tightly.

“Of course,” Gawain replied, his expression grim. “They’ll come after us soon enough.”

Tamsin summoned her power one last time. She had enough juice for one more fireball, so she made it big. She loaded it with all the confusion, annoyance, fear and frustration she had in her. It sailed, a falling star of power that flared with cleansing heat as it struck. Tamsin and Gawain ducked, shading their eyes. When she looked up, the bank by the castle moat was empty. She wondered if their foes were dead or merely hiding.

A long minute passed as Gawain rowed, but nothing moved. Her thoughts skittered away as she tried to focus on what she’d just done. Assault magic teetered on the edge of darkness. It was something her father had taught her but nothing that the Shadowring Elders condoned. It smacked of black spell casting, the very thing that Gawain feared.

A dark, hollow place opened up inside her, and she shivered.

Silence followed, broken only by the splash of the oars and the murmur of the water against the side of the boat. Gawain’s movements were jerky with pain. She didn’t attempt conversation, instead drying their clothes with what little magic she had left. The fabric went stiff and scratchy, but Gawain’s cloak—along with a sliver of magic—worked well enough as padding to keep the arrow in Gawain’s leg immobilized and the bleeding minimal. She offered to try the oars, but Gawain just gave her a very male look.

Rather than rowing them back to the orchard, he found the stream that fed the moat. They didn’t get far before they passed the carcass of a horse. By the color of its trappings, it had belonged to the army that had invaded the castle. “It bolted from whatever killed its masters,” said Gawain in a grim voice. “But it didn’t get away.”

Tamsin turned away. Injured animals upset her deeply. “Do we know what attacked it?”

“It takes something large to bring down a warhorse.”

Later, they came across a piece of a saddle floating downstream, but no other signs of carnage. They followed the stream until the water grew too shallow to navigate. By then, the sun was past its peak. Tamsin helped Gawain ashore and pulled the little boat under the cover of some low bushes. With Gawain leaning on her shoulder, they climbed up the bank to see where they were. The land looked wilder here, with rolling moors and the silver slash of a river fading into the distance.

“The sea is that way,” Gawain pointed.

“Do you know where we are?” Tamsin asked in surprise.

“Perhaps. I know where we would be if this were Camelot. If the Forest Sauvage holds true, my castle lies ahead. It will be the best choice for us to find safety and shelter.”

His voice held a note of cautious hope. Tamsin hitched her pack higher on her shoulder. “How far is it?”