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“But he knew what to say. He told me about you.”

My skin prickled. “What did he say?”

Draven shrugged, and I knew I wasn’t going to get a straight answer to that one. “He told me you liked to read. That you were lonely. Lonelier than you even realized.” He looked down into my eyes. “He told me you were in danger.”

“But how did he know all of that?” I pressed. “And why did he arrange for all of this in the first place? If you hadn’t come to Camelot, if we hadn’t left to find the sword...”

Draven nodded. “I’ve thought about it, too.”

We’d never have found each other. If it weren’t for my uncle.

Or was there someone else to thank?

“Your mother.”

My heart sped up. “What?”

Draven hesitated. “Your uncle... I think he must have loved your mother very much. When she died, he began to plan this. Set things in motion.”

“Did she know? Do you think she told him things?”

Draven nodded. “How else could he have known all that he did?”

Had my mother wanted me to find my true father? To take him down as Draven and I were now trying to do?

Or was I simply executing my uncle’s revenge scheme? One put in motion long ago.

Or was there another piece to this puzzle I was missing?

“Now it’s your turn. Answer something for me,” Draven said suddenly. “Who is your father?”

I looked at him as if it were a stupid question. “Gorlois le Fay. High King of the Valtain. You know this already.”

“I know that part, yes.” Draven was silent for a moment. “I also know he has the powers of a god. And your sister claimed to be the daughter of one.”

I knew what he was asking. And I knew what he was waiting for me to say.

But I wasn’t ready to say it. Not yet.

“I’m so tired,” I said desperately. “Can we go to sleep? Can we go back to the tent? We can skip the sheath. I’ll just carry it like this.”

Draven smiled slightly. “I don’t think your horse would like that very much. I’ll walk you to the tent, then I’ll go and find the leatherworker. You rest.”

Rest. After what Amara had told me that night, I wasn’t sure I could ever rest again.

But I simply nodded and let him lead me home.

The air was crisp and cool as we broke camp the next morning. Around us, the refugees were slowly packing up their things, loading wagons, folding tents, and cooking breakfasts over the fire.

Madoc and Amara walked about, checking on the camp’s progress and making sure everyone had something to eat. If a family did not, the healer or her husband would approach another group and see if they had anything to spare. Failing that, Madoc would rifle in a large satchel he wore and fish out some hard rounds of bread.

We had contributed all we could the night before. With one less mouth to feed, I had asked Hawl to bring our extra supplies to Madoc and Amara.

Now we were heading out. We would separate from the group and be on our own again. As I looked around at the tired faces of Rheged’s people, I prayed that they would suffer no further losses along the way to Camelot.

My horse snorted, breath visible in the early morning chill as we set forth on a narrow trail that wound its way past the abandoned village we had camped on.

As the day went on, our route curved northwards. The trees began to thin, giving way to sturdier shrubs and rockier terrain.