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My eyes drift shut, and I hear him again.

Vast, ruinous. Deep as the sea.

My eyes flutter open.Golden light is pooling across the floor like whiskey. I breathe in the scent of spring grass and cedar smoke and the light, delicate smell of wild cherry trees drifting on the breeze.

Mordred has left fresh clothes on my bed, and I have no idea where they came from. I’m guessing it involved magic. They’re beautiful, a gown of shimmering blue that glistens like the sea and a velvety cloak, dark as midnight.

When I sit up, I spot a cup of steaming tea on the table beside the bed. The scent curls around me, familiar, comforting. Tana’s tea. I’d know it anywhere.

I lift the cup and take a sip, the delicious heat soothing me. My throat is raw, but the fever’s broken. Already, my strength is returning.

Seems like I won’t die after all, but as for the rest of the Fey? I really need to do something about that.

The door opens with a low groan, and Mordred steps in. “Good,” he says, “you’re awake.”

“What time is it?”

“Midmorning.”

“Oh.”

“But you’ve slept a night, and a day, and another night.”

I take another sip. “I guess I needed it.”

“I found the tea in your pack in the boat. Thought you might want some. Also, I anchored your boat properly. Didn’t want it drifting back across the lake without you.”

“Thanks.” I eye him over the rim of the teacup. “Mordred, we need a plan. The Pendragons are going to kill all the Fey. I barely touched that virus, and it wrecked me.”

His gaze sharpens. “You need more sleep. You seemed half dead when you dragged yourself onto my island.”

The concern is strangely touching. After all those years spent wishing for someone to look after me, I never expected the parental care to come from him, an ancient Fey king known mostly for massacre and running his sword through helpless women.

“I’m not sure how much time we have,” I say. “And like you said, I’m forged from your blood and bones, the daughter of a king. You said I will crush my enemies. Remember?”

He nods slowly, the sun glinting in his golden eyes. “And what are you proposing?”

“I don’t know yet. I can’t go back to Camelot. I can’t go to Brocéliande.”

He takes a step closer, keenly interested. “And yet?”

“I won’t sit here rotting while Wrythe slaughters the Fey.Weare their protectors. You their king, and me their Lady of the Lake.”

He scrubs a hand over his mouth. “Good. Good. Morgan would not sit idly by, either, but what if youdidreturn to Brocéliande?”

My eyebrows rise. “I tricked the portal guards once, but next time, they’ll be ready. Talan surely told everyone I’m a spy. They’ll be looking for me now. They’ll murder me the second I step out of the portal.”

Mordred stares out the window at the lake, thinking deeply. He’s wearing a dark cape trimmed with lush, black fur that frames his head like a lion’s mane. “It might interest you to know there are no guards on the ley portal. No one’s there to kill you.”

I tilt my head, curiosity blooming. “There aren’t? I thought Talan would’ve made sure I couldn’t come back. Why wouldn’t he guard the portal?”

He shrugs. “I still have a moth in Brocéliande. I can’t tell youwhyit’s unguarded, only that it is.”

“Seriously?” I stare at him, and my heart flutters. “Maybe I can find what’s left of the resistance. Brados is still there, from The Shadowed Thicket.”

“Didn’t the resistance nearly kill you?”

“Yes, but now I’m sure that Wrythe gave them the wrong information.Hewants me dead. If I can connect to theresistance, then maybe I can take a team of Fey through the portal and stop Wrythe before he gets a chance to unleash the plague.”