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I hadn’t been brave enough to ask Guinevere the question directly. Perhaps she knew but hadn’t dared to offer the answer.

Draven watched me silently for a moment. “Let’s go and ask her today. After all, it’s better to know, isn’t it?”

“Knowledge doesn’t always equal happiness, Draven. You know that,” I said, bitterness filling my voice.

“No, but at least then you’ll be equipped. Prepared for whatever you have to do. Whatever you decide to do.” He hesitated. “If she says destroying the grail will somehow hurt Kaye...”

“Would I still destroy it?” I sat up in bed and wrapped my arms around my knees. “I have no choice, do I? They must be destroyed. All of them. The grail, the sword. The spear, wherever the hell it is.”

“They’re not all necessarily evil. The sword...”

“Yes, it helped me. When it wanted to. And only me. Think of all of the countless others that it’s killed simply because... what? They didn’t possess my exact blood type?” I felt almost guilty saying the words out loud, as if I were betraying Excalibur somehow, failing to appreciate what the sword had done for me, how it had saved me. “It might not be fully evil. But Arthur planned to use me, bound to the sword, to execute his plans. While the sword exists and I exist, that’s still a possibility.”

I let the words hang in the air, unspoken. Arthur was no longer alive. But another, much more malicious king was.

A king I had seen—or thought I had seen—once in a dream. A king who preferred to work from the shadows, pulling my brother’s strings.

Gorlois le Fay had never reached out to me. Never directly.

Did he even know I existed? Did he know where I was? What did he want from me, anyhow?

Whatever it was, I doubted it was a simple family reunion. Not after what Orcades had said.

Gorlois had somehow gotten the grail into Camelot and into Tyre’s disgustingly, deceptive hands. Or Cavan, as he was truly called. Cavan, the High Priest of Perun.

Had Gorlois ever truly wished to help Arthur magnify his own power? Or had it all just been a ploy of some sort? To sow chaos in Pendrath? To weaken Pendrath still further?

Or to get at me in a way I couldn’t even see yet. Was that what Kaye really was? A way to strike right across Eskira and into my very heart?

If so, I couldn’t critique the plan. It was working. My true father’s downfall and destroying the three objects were all I could think about most of the time.

No matter how hard Draven tried to distract me with other, healthier occupations.

Now, his hand brushed my chin, lifting my head. “Hey. Look me, silver. I’m still here. Where did you go?”

“I’m sorry. Distracted, I guess.” I tried to smile.

Medra let out a sharp, complaining sound that made it clear she was just about done waiting for this dull conversation to be over and for milk to arrive.

“We’d better go,” Draven said, his attention turning back to her immediately.

I smiled. A real one this time.

“Wait. I’m coming with you. We’ll find her wet nurse. And then breakfast?” I scrambled out of bed and started pulling out clothes from the wardrobe.

Draven and I had taken up residence in a suite of rooms across the castle overlooking the city. It was strange not to be in my old little tower room with its view of the gardens below.

But overall, it was a refreshing change. There were no old memories in this suite. It had been used for visiting noble guests. The room was richly decorated and well appointed like any suite in the castle, but it was also completely generic.

The new memories Draven and Medra and I had made in the suite were all good.

So far. Except my little nightmare.

I pushed that thought away. Because a nightmare was all it had been. Not a true dreaming. Just a simple nightmare. My own mind was trying to frighten me. Trying to sow doubt.

I wouldn’t let myself become my own undoing. Not when I had real enemies to contend with.

Draven had placed Medra back in the cradle for a moment where she was fussing as he strapped something to his chest. He let out a frustrated oath.