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I’m desperate for this connection as I scream at him mentally that I’m trapped by a cliff. And just in case that doesn’t work, I conjure a vivid image of the cliff, trying to communicate the picture, even if he can’t hear my thoughts.

Is it really you, little telepath?Six resonant words, humming with dark fury, and then he disappears from my mind.

He’s cut me off.

The loss of the connection feels like the breath leaving my lungs.

He knows everything now. He’s knows I stole from him in the Château des Rêves.He knows I’ve been lying to him the whole time.

An ache opens in my chest, worse than the knowledge that I’m about to die. Stupidly, I’d hoped he would come for me even if he knew the truth, but my betrayal is too deep. How can he let a traitor like me live?

A sharp whistle cuts through the air, and an arrow splinters on the cliffside above my head.

With my heart hammering against my ribs, I duck behind a jagged boulder, pressing myself as small as possible. Terror coats my tongue as I breathe in short, sharp gasps.

No one is coming to help me.

But as I crouch there, curled up like prey, something shifts in my thoughts. With the heavy fog out of my mind, I can feel the pulse of magic flowing through me, stronger than ever. The veil I’ve been using to shield myself from Talan must have been leeching my magic, smothering my powers all this time, but it’s gone.

My magic roars to the surface.

When Tana first told me I was the Lady of the Lake, I didn’t know what it meant. Mordred had promised these powers would grow in Brocéliande, surrounded by a world of magic. Magic feeds on magic, blooming from the soil of enchantment here. But onlynowcan I truly feel the Lady of the Lake’s powers cascading through me, a waterfall of strength.

I’m not alone after all.

An ancient, unbreakable bond connects me to the Ladies of the Lake who came before me, a magical current flowing through time and merging with Nimuë’s spirit. This is her home now, and her body lies buried in the soil of Brocéliande. Her magic lives in the ground beneath me. Her spirit rushes through the trees and shimmers on the forest rivers.

But it’s Morgan’s power, too. Before she ruled as queen, she was the Lady of the Lake. Now, her magic ripples through my body.

All three of us—Nimuë, Morgan, and me—are entwined, our forces churning together.

I am no longer just Nia Melisande, hunted and alone. I am a covenant of three. A sisterhood. A triple spiral carved into the stones, strong as the oaks, old as the rocks. Fathomless as the lake itself.

As the magical current flows into my soul, my senses grow sharper, Fey-like. I am the living keeper of Lake Avalon’s power.

I hear Vidal and the other attackers creeping toward me, their pounding hearts and labored breaths. My senses drink in every detail: the thick scent of their hair oils, the faint creak of leather, the smell of mead on their breath. Four of them with murder in their hearts, thinking to catch their prey unaware.

I crouch, listening as they inch closer.

Their hearts boom like war drums heralding their own deaths.

BOOM.

Gripping my sword, I leap from my hiding spot.

BOOM.

These Fey move as if wading through treacle—sluggish, doomed. My blade sings through the first man’s throat before he blinks. Blood sprays, shimmers of bright crimson in the sunlight.

BOOM.

My sword carves through a raised arm, and the soldier’s eyes widen in shock.

BOOM.

I kick the first man’s body into the two behind him.

BOOM.