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“No,” she said quickly. “He has no reason to. He knows what I can do already.”

Hector shook his head. “If you say that, then you don’t understand the true nature of his struggle. You’re better off far away. It will save you a great deal of pain.”

Tamsin pressed her lips together, breathing deep before she answered.

In truth, she wanted to scream with frustration.

After Richard, she hadn’t cared much about marriage.

That relationship hadn’t been a selling point for romance of any kind, but with Gawain, she’d known what it was to feel cherished.

To be in a partnership. She would rather be alone than settle for less, pain or no pain.

“I’m not going back,” she said. “For a lot of reasons, including Gawain, but also because that’s what Waller wants. He’d rather I ended up an obedient servant of Shadowring.”

“Who asked his opinion?” Hector growled.

Tamsin rubbed the vine tattoo around her wrist. “We had a long conversation during which he tried to shame me and threaten me, and when that didn’t work he said he’d make me an Elder if I gave him Merlin’s books.”

“He did what?” Hector demanded in a rising roar.

“He faked your funeral, you know, just so nobody would wonder where you’d gone. I think I’m safer here with the demons.”

With a huff of disgust, Hector folded his daughter in his thick, strong arms. “Hush, lass. We’ll knock his head in later.” He rocked her gently, rumbling words of comfort like a great bear cradling his cub.

An hour later, they were on the road to Camelot.

As a historian, Tamsin had read stories of the place—the name seemed to refer to a castle, a town, or a kingdom, depending on who was telling the tale—but serious human scholars treated it as a legend more than a fact.

Witches knew it had been real, but most of their records were lost during centuries of persecution.

Now Tamsin would see Camelot Castle—or a reasonable facsimile thereof—as no one had for centuries.

A thrill of anticipation washed away the strain of the morning.

She clung to Hector as they rode through the forest. On horseback, a war ax hanging from his saddle, he seemed utterly at home. It would take some time to work through her feelings, but she was beginning to enjoy this version of her father.

Gawain had ridden ahead on his great bay stallion. Now he returned along the track through the forest. “The path looks clear.”

“Good,” said Hector, and he urged the gray to go faster.

After another few minutes, they emerged from the edge of the trees, and there it was—Arthur’s castle.

It stood on a rise overlooking the surrounding land, the round, pale towers gleaming in the sunlight.

Tamsin craned her neck to get a better view over her father’s shoulder.

The crenellated walls and pointy towers were straight out of a storybook.

Hundreds of colored pennons snapped in the brisk wind, as if the place had donned its party clothes.

But like Gawain’s home, it seemed deserted.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“It represents all the Round Table stood for,” said Hector. “Arthur brought peace to the land from this place. Camelot was a promise he kept for a good long time.”

Gawain moved his horse beside them. “What next? I am curious to know how you have been here so long and yet have not located the tomb.”

Hector shifted uneasily. “Oh, I kept Arthur’s tomb in a stronghold not far from here until a demon drove us out.

I had gathered a library of grimoires and he must have smelled them all the way to whatever unholy haunt he hid in.

Some demons fancy themselves scholars and can’t resist a decent collection.

At any rate, he moved in and took the place for himself. I fled with the tomb and little else.”

“We met that demon,” said Tamsin.

“It killed Mordred’s fae army when they attacked the place yesterday,” said Gawain. “Did they come expecting to find Arthur’s tomb?”

Tamsin answered. “Nimueh said Mordred questioned the rest of his prisoners to death.”

Hector bowed his head. “A few knew I intended to come here. No doubt that’s how he tracked me.”

They were silent a long moment before Hector spoke again. “With a demon in the neighborhood, I took extra care. I hid the tomb in Camelot using the strongest spell I knew. The tomb’s not just invisible, it’s completely undetectable. I need a good seeking spell to find it.”

“If you were the one who hid it, why don’t you know where it is?” Tamsin asked.

“It’s the nature of the spell. When it hides something, it hides it.”

Gawain squinted at the castle on the hill. “Camelot is a big place. Will the spell lead us directly to Arthur?”

Hector nodded slowly. “Yes, the time a spell saves makes up for the risk.”

“What risk?” Gawain asked sharply.

Hector gave a rueful smile. “Magic attracts the attention of others. When you cast a seeking spell, you never know who else might be watching.”

Despite his caution, they were decided. The party dismounted and stretched their limbs after the long ride while Hector sorted through the spell books Tamsin took from her backpack.

Tamsin felt the pull of the surrounding beauty—the cool forest and sun-drenched meadows.

If this was anything like the real Camelot of old, she understood why Gawain spoke of it with such feeling.

The fact that he’d given it all up to save the future—her world—struck her more deeply than ever.

The next few hours would decide if his sacrifice had been in vain.

Sobered, Tamsin turned to watch her father. She’d seen her father do magic before, but now she felt a twinge of anxious anticipation.

Hector had selected the book with a dark blue cover tooled with gold leaf. He found the spell he wanted, read it through and then handed the book back to Tamsin to stow away again.

“You will see the thread of the spell,” he said. “Follow it as soon as it’s visible and send me a signal along the thread when you’ve found its destination. I’ll dismiss the spell and catch up to you.”

Tamsin didn’t like the idea of separating, but Gawain nodded his agreement. They mounted his bay and waited while Hector got to work. It took about five minutes before she glimpsed a pale blue ribbon of light snaking toward the castle, the air around it shimmering like a heat wave.

“There!” Tamsin pointed. “I can see it.”

Gawain followed her gesture, frowning. “So can I.” He urged the bay forward, and they cantered toward the castle grounds.

Already familiar with the twists and turns that led them up the hill and through the gate, Gawain rode with confidence, eagerness in every line of his body.

Tamsin held on tight. At that speed, all her focus had to be on staying in the saddle.

They thundered into Camelot’s courtyard, the bay’s horseshoes ringing on the stones. The blue thread of magic had thinned the farther they’d traveled from Hector, but Tamsin could see where it snaked into one corner of the yard, where a heavily carved door stood open.

“That’s the Great Hall,” said Gawain. He dismounted and lifted her down from the bay. “Let me have a look around before coming in.”

“I could provide a light.”

“The less magic the better, if spies are watching.” He drew his sword and marched toward the door.

Tamsin cursed inwardly as Gawain disappeared inside.

He was right about the magic, but it was hard to accept.

She was too much a twenty-first-century woman to stay behind while a man did the fighting, especially when she had effective weapons of her own.

The horse snorted, as if agreeing with her thoughts, and began cropping the grass that sprouted between the cobblestones.

Time passed. Tamsin looked at her watch impatiently, realized she wasn’t wearing one and then took her backpack from the horse’s saddle and started for the door.

Her stomach churned with impatience. This was Camelot—home of a king who’d led armies, battled demons and convinced the Round Table to travel through time.

Gawain spoke of King Arthur with affection and reverence.

Her father guarded Arthur even though the king had banished him.

Tamsin hadn’t known it, but Arthur and his deeds were a magnetic force around which much of her life had revolved.

It felt as if he had the power to make or break her happiness.

She wasn’t waiting a moment longer to clap her eyes on this man.