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“Who the fuck is it?” Draven bellowed. His face was dark with frustration. Unable to act, unable to help.

“Now isn’t the best time,” I called, trying to temper his words and guessing it was probably some poor servant with a breakfast tray. Though it was far too early for breakfast.

“Open this door right now.” It was Lancelet. She hadn’t stopped pounding, merely shouted above the sound of her own thudding fist. “Or I swear to the Three, I’ll break it.”

Her voice was pitched high with desperation.

There was only one thing I knew that could bring her to such a state.

One person.

Guinevere.

I scrambled across the floor, feet still sticky with blood, and opened the door.

“What is it? Has something happened to Guinevere?”

Lancelet nodded, her fist still half-raised. “She began convulsing. Kasie and I... We brought her here. They’re down in the Great Hall.” Her eyes widened as she looked past me to where Draven was lifting Ulpheas’s body into his arms. “Ulpheas! But how...? I thought he was in Tintagel.”

“He was,” Draven said grimly, coming towards us carrying the courtier’s limp body.

Lancelet looked at me. “Did he come to, you know... harm you?”

I shook my head. Somehow, I already knew that wasn’t a possibility. Except for one slipup, long ago, Ulpheas had been loyal to Draven. “No. He came to warn us.”

Draven’s head swiveled. “How do you know that?”

“Let’s get downstairs,” was all I said. “I’ll tell you more there.”

When we got to the hall, Guinevere was already back on her feet, one hand resting on Kasie’s shoulder. She looked as if she were recovering from great pain.

Tuva perched on her shoulder, chirping softly, as if the bird were concerned for her priestess.

Others had joined them. Galahad, Sir Ector, Dame Halyna, and Gawain stood about in a cluster, looking anxious.

As soon as I entered, Guinevere’s eyes met mine. I caught a look of sympathy.

Then the room erupted into chaos as everyone noticed Draven behind me, carrying Ulpheas’s body.

“How is this possible?” Sir Ector demanded. “He was in Tintagel.”

“He’s a stitcher,” Lancelet said, rolling her eyes characteristically. “But that’s what I said too.”

Sir Ector furrowed his brow. “Was it an attempt on their lives?” He glanced at Draven and me. “Did you do this?” I knew he was asking if we had slaughtered Ulpheas in self-defense.

I shook my head. “No. He was like this when he arrived. I believe he came to try to warn us.”

“Warn us of what?” Galahad asked, coming up beside me. He grimaced as he looked at the blond-haired man’s body. “Poor Ulpheas.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “It was the last thing he did. He must have pushed himself incredibly hard to manage to stitch such a distance after he was already so gravely wounded.”

“Can we get a message to King Mark? Find out what’s happening over there?” Dame Halyna said, her voice cool and reasonable. “Perhaps this was all some sort of accident.”

I shook my head. “It’s impossible. Crescent isn’t set to return until at least tomorrow.”

Crescent, an experienced stitcher as well as Gawain’s husband, had gone on a double mission. First, he was to journey to Lyonesse and pay yet another visit to Lady Marjolijn, plying her with his customary charm into accepting one of our stitchers as King Mark had done.

With a stitcher in every court, we would have a connected network and be able to alert one another in the event of an attack. Just as I believed Ulpheas had been trying to do tonight.