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Tempest laughed. A tinkling sound that reminded me of Orcades’s melodic laughter.

“Foolish indeed. Your idea of goodness is as silly as a child’s.” She whipped red vines towards Draven, and he jumped back just in time. “With Orcades gone, a place opened up by our father’s side. Lorion and I won’t fail him as Daegen did.”

“Really? But Lorion already has,” I informed her.

Tempest’s eyes shot to my face incredulously. “You lie.” But she was already scanning the camp around me, just as Lancelet had done moments before, as if expecting to see Lorion approach at any moment.

“He’s not coming, Tempest. He’s dead.”

She paled slightly, distracted. Draven took advantage of it.

One of his shadow coils shot out, seizing her around the waist and lifting her into the air.

She screamed and sliced through the dark coil with a red tendril of her own.

I pressed my hands against my sides. My fingers itched to help my mate, to join him in this fight. I could cast flames. Take Excalibur and fight by his side.

But he had said she was his to finish.

She had killed his best friend.

I would not intervene.

But words—those were another matter. I could still distract her with my words, give him the opening he needed, just as he had always done for me.

“You’re all alone, Tempest,” I called. “Lorion is dead and no one is coming to help you.”

In answer, she shrieked and spun, throwing vine after vine of scarlet around her.

Lancelet and I ducked aside just in time.

It was working. I shot a meaningful look at Lancelet, and with a nod of understanding, she passed me Excalibur, then ran towards Hawl. Together, she and Guinevere grasped the Bearkin by the shoulders and began dragging them kicking and protesting away from the vicinity of the camp.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Morgan?” Tempest’s voice was shrill. Was she frightened? Or simply furious?

“I’m sorry, Sister. Was Lorion your favorite brother? Were you very close?” I drawled.

In answer, she tossed a long red thread my way. I blocked it almost lazily with Excalibur, bouncing it back towards her.

“Our father,” she hissed, “will be furious. Daegen, he could forgive. Daegen was a fuckup. Sent out only because you were underestimated. I told Father to let Lorion and me accompany him.”

“Oh, yes, and look how much better you and Lorion are doing.” I lifted Excalibur and studied the blade’s rose-studded hilt as if everything she said bored me to tears. As if I had all the confidence in the world. “One dead. One almost down. Right, Draven?”

“I am not dead,” Tempest screamed. “You believe it is so easy to destroy the daughter of a god?”

I went very still. Behind her, Draven froze, momentarily pausing his attack.

Tempest’s vines wavered around her.

“What are you talking about?” I breathed. “A fae high king is not a god.”

Her eyes flashed, and for a moment, I could see just how easily Gawain had been bewitched. She was beautiful, yes. Incredibly so. And her beauty was more terrifying than any sword.

“You don’t know everything, Sister.” The look of triumph on her face made me gasp. “Even now, our father moves to strike the thing you hold most dear.”

My mind raced.

Medra. She meant Medra.