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Viviane spoke at last. Rising to her feet, she walked to the window and gazed up at the stars which were just beginning to wink in the darkening sky.

Moonlight glimmered in the sacred waters of the effervescent fountain.

“The Goddess has brought you all together for a reason,” she began, her voice ethereal and otherworldly .

Turning to Issylte, she said, “You were the only priestess capable of healing Tristan, poisoned by the Black Knight’s blade, because you had been trained by Maiwenn—in Ireland, home of the Morholt. ”

Facing Tristan, she continued. “And you were brought here, to Avalon—to the only priestess in the entire realm who could heal you.” She cast her gaze at Lancelot. “And you, my son—trained by the Avalonian Elves-–taught Tristan how to defeat the infallible Morholt.”

Her limpid eyes glowed with preternatural wisdom. “And, because you had lived in Avalon, you were able to return to this Island of Healing—so that Tristan would live .”

The Lady of the Lake sat down at the table to address all three. “The Princess Issylte has wanted for years to challenge Queen Morag.” Viviane gazed at Issylte, who nodded in agreement, her breath hitching with rapt attention.

“While her father lived, Issylte had no claim to the throne. Later, after his death, she had no army to challenge the wicked queen who ordered her death and usurped her rightful claim to the crown.”

The High Priestess turned to Tristan. “The Goddess brought you , the Blue Knight of Cornwall, here to Avalon—to meet Princess Issylte.”

Tristan and Issylte met each other’s gaze as they listened to the otherworldly Lady of the Lake.

“You, Sir Tristan, are the champion she needs to lead her army. The only warrior capable of defeating the formidable Morholt. And the only knight to have ever defeated my indomitable son .”

Viviane spoke softly to the two knights seated before her. “You both belong to a fierce Tribe of warriors who defend the sacred realm.” The weight of her prophesy hung in the air. “The Goddess Dana is finally revealing the fate— la fatalité— which entwines you three .”

Issylte was awed by the fierce, determined faces of the two warriors before her. My destiny lies with them.

The Lady of the Lake met Issylte’s gaze, her expression becoming grave.

“Frocin is very powerful and extremely dangerous. He is the leader of the dwarves—otherworldly beings, like the forest fairies. But, while the Little Folk defend the sacred forests of the Goddess and protect those with a pure heart,” she explained, glancing at Tristan and Lancelot, “the dwarves delve in dark magic, and seek to harm others with their malevolence.” Viviane took Issylte’s hands into her own.

“Frocin locked eyes with you in the sighting. He knew that you were watching .”

Issylte nodded fearfully, remembering the dwarf’s penetrating stare.

“Frocin is clairvoyant . Capable of reading the stars. But he also has a most unique gift.” The waters of Viviane’s deep blue eyes rippled with warning.

“When a fairy uses her sight , it leaves an imprint of magic. A trail that Frocin can trace.” Icy numbness rippled up Issylte’s arms. “The dwarf has undoubtedly tracked you here.”

Issylte’s stomach lurched. For the wretched stepmother who still hunts me. The wicked, relentless Black Widow Queen.

The Lady of the Lake rose to her feet. “It is no longer safe for you to remain here. You must leave Avalon.”

Flustered and shaken, Issylte stammered, “But…Avalon is enchanted with spells of protection. I’m not safe here?”

Viviane looked out the window to the sacred fountain, shimmering in the starlight.

“I have enshrouded the islands of Avalon with mists that keep us hidden from intruders. But Frocin, a powerful dwarf, allied with a dark wizard whose powers are unknown to me…” Viviane turned to Issylte, her serene face contorted with dread.

“No, you are no longer safe here. You must leave. Before the queen, her dark wizard, and evil dwarf come for you here in Avalon.”

Issylte was lost, her world turned upside down.

She needed to flee the wicked queen. Again.

The stepmother who’d already tried to kill her.

Twice . The wretched queen who forced her to leave her father’s castle.

Then Tatie’s cottage. And now Viviane’s Island of Healing.

The Black Widow who poisoned Issylte’s father.

Who murdered Gigi, Tatie, Bran, and Dee.

Who unleashed the Morholt and his Viking invaders upon the innocent victims of the slave raids.

By the Goddess, she needed to stop her evil stepmother! But how ?

She couldn’t breathe. Where could she go? Her limbs were shaking. “But where ? Where can I go to escape the dwarf, the wizard, and the evil queen?”

Lancelot jumped to his feet. “To la Joyeuse Garde!” The White Knight beamed at Tristan, his radiant smile a beacon in the dark. He was at once rejuvenated, renewed, refreshed. “Tristan, we’ll bring her— with us !”

The White Knight seemed to gain momentum as he spoke. “You can’t return to Cornwall. I can’t go back to Camelot. And she must flee Avalon.”

With his boyish grin, he offered the perfect solution. “We’ll bring her to my castle !”

His brain seemed to be churning, his strategy forming. “Tristan can train with my knights at la Joyeuse Garde until he regains his full strength.” Lancelot’s brilliant blue eyes gleamed with inviting challenge.

“Issylte will be safe with us. I’ll invite Esclados and Laudine—and a few other nobles, potential allies—to my chateau. So we can plan how to challenge the queen!”

Lancelot gripped his friend’s shoulder, his voice filled with hope. “Perhaps we can save your uncle—before it’s too late. And find a way to clear your name.”

Taking Issylte’s hands in his, Lancelot knelt before her, gazing into her eyes with his blue ones that so resembled Tristan’s.

“The Tribe of Dana can summon the army you need to defeat this evil queen that threatens us all.” He kissed her hand tenderly, his eyes meeting hers.

“You, my Emerald Princess, are the rightful Queen of Ireland. May the Goddess grant Tristan and me the strength to help you reclaim your throne.”

Tristan knelt before her, next to Lancelot.

He took her other hand and kissed it reverently, too.

“I will be your champion, Issylte. I will fight for you—beside you—as we challenge this wicked queen. Together, united, we’ll defeat her.

We’ll save my uncle, reclaim both of our crowns.

We’ll restore the good names of the White Knight of Avalon and the Blue Knight of Cornwall.

We’ll regain the respect of our kings. And establish peace throughout the Celtic realm. Together, we’ll prevail.”

She was swept up in a torrent of emotions. Thrilled at the prospect of finally challenging her wretched stepmother. Terrified at confronting the trio of evil—the dwarf Frocin, the dark wizard, and the Black Widow queen—which threatened them all.

She needed to flee Avalon—her refuge, her haven—as she’d been forced to flee her father’s castle, then Tatie’s cottage. And Ronan was returning to her!

Yet, Issylte was empowered by the chance to summon an army.

To have Lancelot and Tristan—the most powerful knights in the realm—lead the warriors of the fearsome Tribe of Dana.

To fight for her right to the throne. To save King Marke from the queen’s poisoned touch, which she had been unable to do for her beloved father.

Perhaps they could prevent Queen Morag and the dark wizard from poisoning King Marke and seizing the kingdoms of Cornwall and Lyonesse—Tristan’s inheritance and birthright.

Perhaps they could prevent Indulf and Frocin from resuming the slave expeditions which decimated kingdoms and left countless helpless victims. Perhaps they could restore Tristan’s good name, enlighten King Marke, and reunite the royal uncle with his nephew.

Perhaps King Arthur would be so impressed with Lancelot’s valor that he would proclaim him First Knight of Camelot once more.

And perhaps, after six long years, the Goddess had finally revealed her destiny.

In the breadth of a few seconds, processing all these conflicting emotions, Issylte determined that no matter where this path led, she must find the courage to follow it, with Tristan and Lancelot at her side.

Rising to her feet, she raised the two knights who knelt before her.

Her eyes brimming, she whispered, “Yes. We must go… together .”

Lancelot smiled proudly, grateful that she’d accepted his proposal.

“We’ll depart for Bretagne in three days.

I’ll send word ahead that we’ll be arriving soon.

In the meantime, Tristan,” he said, addressing the knight beside him, “let’s dispatch invitations for potential allies to join us at la Joyeuse Garde .

I can think of several whom I’d like to recruit. ”

He glanced at his mother and suggested, “Tristan has been training many of the injured warriors, helping with their convalescence. Encourage them to continue—and even train with the Avalonian Elves. Perhaps the victims will fight with us, as allies, anxious to claim vengeance for the lives lost to the Viking slave trade. They could be a most valuable asset to our knights.”

As they bid each other goodnight, amid kisses, tears, and hugs, the Emerald Princess, the Blue Knight of Cornwall, and the White Knight of Avalon looked forward to embarking on the journey and embracing la fatalité— the destiny—in which the Goddess had entwined them all.