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Talan curses under his breath.

My heart skips a beat. “Are you sure?”

“I heard him give the orders myself,” Mordred says. “I see and hear every order that Auberon gives at Castle Perillos.”

Talan goes eerily still. “And does he know what my plans are?”

“He’s angry that you’re not there when he wants you. He might have disowned you. But no, I don’t believe he has any idea how much you hate him.”

Talan’s eyes narrow. “Good. That will make my job easier.”

Mordred claps his hands together. “But we have another pressing issue right now, I’m afraid.”

I can hardly keep up. “What?”

“There is a boat approaching,” Mordred says, clasping his hands behind his back. “With a few of your friends.”

I runout of the castle and rush down the old stone stairs. I race past Tarasque, who rests peacefully beneath the apple trees, her wing already healing.

By the time I get to the shore, Tana and Nivene’s little rowboat is already scraping over the rocks.

A lump rises in my throat, and I run across the wet stones to greet them.

As she steps onto the rocks, I grab Tana, and she hugs me back tightly.

“Thank the gods you’re alive.” Nivene gives me a clumsy hug involving an awkward and aggressive pat on my back. “I thought that dragon would bleed out and crash into the lake.”

“Tarasque is much tougher than she looks.”

Tana stares at the dragon. “Honestly, she looks plenty tough.”

“Where’s Darius?” I ask. “And Raphael?”

“They’re fine.” Tana grips my bicep, giving it a squeeze. “They’re trying to regain control of Avalon Tower. Almost all the Pendragons are dead, but it’s still chaos. There are still some Iron League cells within the towers. Two of them tried to assassinate Raphael early this morning.”

My heart flutters.

“And now they’re crow food,” Nivene says.

I nod. “So, right now, Raphael is in command?”

“Until Amon figures out the right protocol to appoint a new commander in Avalon Tower.”

My two friends look over my shoulder, suddenly intrigued, and I turn to see Mordred marching regally down the old stone steps.

“Oh, fucking shit,” Nivene blurts. “Mordred. Fuck. How old are you? You must be old as the rocks.”

“Is there something wrong with your friend?” Mordred asks.

Nivene clears her throat. “Sorry. It’s just…you really do look like the portrait in Avalon Tower. It’s a bit jarring. There’s a lot of them, really, and you’re murdering people in all of them.”

“How nice.” Mordred nods, folding his hands behind his back again. “I assume the painter captured my essence quite well.”

Tana flashes him a shy smile. “I’ve seen you in the cards many times, Sir Mordred.”

He nods slowly at her as if he can’t quite figure out what to make of that statement. “I’m a bit out of practice with this, you know. Chitchat.”

“Never got the hang of it myself,” Nivene says. “Anyway, with the death of the Pendragons?—”