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“How would you have us destroy it?” I replied. “Something tells me it won’t melt easily over a simple fire or even a blacksmith’s forge. We could toss it in the ocean or bury it somewhere, yes. But my father would still sense it out here. I know he would.”

“I tried a blacksmith’s forge, actually,” Draven remarked. “Left not a scratch on the blasted thing.”

“Why do you think it was made in the first place?” Lancelet demanded. “They say the goddess Marzanna...”

I snorted. “Do you really believe that?”

“Well, it certainly deals death,” she countered. “You have to concede that much.”

“Marzanna has never been considered evil by any means. She balances the scales between life and death. She brings a sweet and merciful end to many,” Guinevere said thoughtfully.

“Rychel thought the old stories could have some truth to them,” I admitted. “But she also thought the grail could be used to heal as well as destroy. Or, at least to perhaps undo the evil it had been used for.” I shook my head as I stared at the saddlebag. “I’ve never seen it used for good though. And it took Rychel away from us.”

Possibly forever.

I could have asked my father about her whereabouts. But would that have done any good? Or simply drawn attention to the fact that Rychel was important to me?

I suspected if he still had her, he already knew that. And if he didn’t, there was no point in asking. We would find her ourselves.

“We should get some rest,” Draven said, standing up. He gave me a pointed look, and I nodded, then glanced at Guinevere.

“I lay down earlier when the rest of you were still making camp,” Guinevere said, seeing my expression. “I’ve had a few hours of sleep. It’s your turn, Morgan.”

I knew she was vastly overestimating the amount of sleep she’d gotten.

The night before, I had stubbornly refused to shut my eyes... tossing and turning for hours, trying to stay awake until finally I had been unable to fight the weariness any longer and had fallen into a restless slumber.

When I awoke near dawn, I felt panicked at first, then filled with relief as I realized I had not dreamed.

I’d emerged from the small tent I shared with Draven to find Guinevere sitting quietly outside, watching the sunrise.

She had shielded me somehow. Sat in a state of vigilance and guarded me in some way I didn’t understand.

“We both need rest. Equal amounts,” I said stubbornly.

“I agree.” Lancelet came up beside me. “I’ll make sure she gets it.”

When it came to protecting Guinevere, I knew I could count on Lancelet. Even if it meant my own sleep would be short. Better than nothing.

“How are you doing it, anyhow?” I asked, as I passed Guinevere on the way to my tent. “How are you making the dreams stop?”

Guinevere smiled slightly. “One of the many mysteries of the temple, Morgan.”

I knew that meant I wasn’t going to get an answer.

A hooting sound came from a nearby tree, and I looked up to see Tuva sitting peacefully on a high branch.

“She hunts at night,” Guinevere explained. “Sometimes she’ll bring me gifts.”

“Gifts?”

“She means the kind a cat drags in,” Lancelet said sourly. “Dead mice and things like that.”

“Ew,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “How sweet.”

And for once, we all laughed together.

CHAPTER 18 – MORGAN