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“I wonder if they’ve been attacked before. There can be safety in numbers,” Gawain observed. “We could offer to help keep watch.”

“Their leader—or whoever that man was—seemed to have a solid look to him,” I said.

Draven nodded. “I’ll speak with him later. See if there’s anything he needs. There aren’t many of us, but...”

I smiled slightly. But my mate hated to be useless. And staying put, even while our friend recovered, would drive him to distraction.

Hawl and I set up our tents. Then I helped the Bearkin prepare a simple meal while Draven and Gawain went to find the leader of the refugee camp.

Madoc was the man’s name. His wife, Amara, was the healer.

The camp was on the move. They had stopped only to rest a night or two before advancing westward. The same direction we were going—westward, then north into the mountains.

Extra help keeping watch was welcomed. Draven had already volunteered to take the first shift, Gawain informed me when he returned. Gawain would take the second.

By the time Draven returned, most of the camp was asleep. Of our group, I was the only one who remained sitting by the fire. Lancelet had gone to bed early, crawling into the tent she’d begun sharing with Guinevere.

I’d stayed awake with Hawl, cleaning up after the meal, then sitting alone with one of the books I had brought, reading by firelight.

My eyes were heavy, but I was determined to stay awake.

Draven kissed me, but I could see from his eyes he was weary. It had been a long day. And we were all worried about Guinevere.

I crawled into the tent after him, helping him undress, then pulling a blanket over him as his eyes closed.

For a while, I simply watched him sleep, smoothing his dark hair off his forehead and listening to the comforting sound of his breathing.

I thought of Medra. Just a tiny babe, slumbering back in her cradle in Camelot. Or had she outgrown the cradle? Perhaps she was in a crib now. Was it the same one Kaye had used?

I thought of the path we were on and the destination it led to. The Black Mountain. My father and siblings. My father’s court.

The spear. Rychel. Would they be easy to find?

What sort of a court could exist within a mountain? I couldn’t imagine.

But I must have tried. Perhaps I tried too hard.

Because some time later, Lancelet was shaking me awake.

“You fell asleep.” Her eyes were wide. “Did you...? You know.”

Dream.

I sat up groggily. Beside me, Draven was still asleep.

Lancelet glanced at him. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have come into your tent, but it was so quiet...”

“What time is it?” I demanded.

“Dawn. Guinevere’s still asleep. Gawain’s on watch. Hawl was just about to start breakfast.”

She was still eyeing me nervously.

“No,” I assured her. “I didn’t. Dream that is.”

Her face filled with relief. “Thank the Three for small miracles.”

I tried to smile, but inside, I was confused. Why hadn’t I dreamed? It had been the perfect opportunity.