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“You don’t need to do this,” I said quietly. “I don’t want you to give this up, Guinevere. You should be High Priestess. It is an incredible honor.”

“One I will always remember. I was High Priestess. But that is not all that I am.” She touched a hand to my brow lightly. “Morgan, can you sleep?”

I wrinkled my brow. “Can I sleep? Of course I can sleep.”

But I knew what she was getting at.

“Can you sleep without dreaming? Can you shield your mind unaided?”

I was silent.

“You cannot. And so I will be your shield. Along the way, I will guard your mind. You need to be able to sleep untroubled. Avoiding stitching—yes, that’s a good start. But he will follow you however he can. You know this.”

“Fine,” I said tersely. I swept my arm out. “Fine. All of you. I suppose we can’t stop you. Even though none of you know where we’re even going.”

“To the heart of evil,” Hawl boomed out. “To the peak of doom.”

“Well, that’s certainly one way of putting it,” Draven observed, trying to hide a wry smile.

“There will be dangers,” Guinevere said. “But you have guides.”

“And friends,” Lancelet said, her face finally softening as she looked at me.

“The most persistent kind,” I said, forcing a smile and grabbing her hand to squeeze.

Gawain gave Draven a playful shove. “You have no idea how persistent.” He glanced at Hawl. “Of course, what I’m most looking forward to is Hawl’s cooking.”

“It’s a treat,” Draven agreed.

“Especially if they cook up that special recipe they once promised,” Gawain said, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Bugs have a lot of protein don’t they, Hawl?”

“Oodles,” Hawl agreed.

Draven groaned.

“Will you eat insects on the road, Guinevere?” I asked conversationally, seeing how far I could push the High Priestess. Former High Priestess, I corrected myself.

“I’ll eat whatever the Three see fit to provide,” she said calmly.

Lancelet blanched but said nothing.

“Well, we’d better get going,” I said, forcing a cheerful tone. “Dawn will arrive soon.”

“Better than breakfast,” Lancelet muttered.

We were on our way.

We crossed into Rheged just before dusk the next day.

Skirting the vast plains on which we had fought only days before, we had traveled along crumbling coastal roads to the north, following seaside cliffs and sandy beaches for the better part of the day.

At times, we came near the edge of the battlefield where huge piles of charred remains still smoked.

There had been too many bodies to bury. So those honors had been reserved for those loyal to Tintagel. The others had been burnt.

Guinevere discreetly slipped a scarf over her face when we drew too near the pyres. The rest of us simply stared grimly ahead.

As we crossed over into farmland, it seemed as if we might have passed through the worst of it and were leaving the battlefield and its bloody memories behind.