Page 29 of Lady of the Lake

Twisting my body, I shove my hips through the opening, the window frame pressing against me on either side. As I squeeze through the opening, my cloak catches on a jagged piece of metal from the window latch, and I nearly lose my grip. My fingers tighten on the rope.

“Damn it,” I mutter, fumbling with the snag. I can’t get the fucking thing loose. Panic flickers at the edge of my thoughts. Will I be caught here, my ass hanging out the window above a palace fire?

I rip the cloak free with a sharp yank that tears the wool and nearly lose my balance. I find a foothold again. Already, the rope is burning my fingers. Finally free from the window, I lower myself into the cold air. My breath fogs around my face, and I try to move as quickly as possible.

Rappelling down, I reach the ground in a few seconds and land on the frozen snow. With the rope in my hands, I tug sharply at different angles, just the way I’d practiced back at Avalon Tower, until the grapple pulls free. It thunks into the snow a few feet away, and I quickly spool the rope over my shoulder before checking that the coast is clear.

From my dark corner of the courtyard, my route is blessedly open. I keep a fast pace, hugging close to the wall. As I make my way through shadows toward the weeping willow, my fingers and cheeks feel frozen, the cold wind wiping at my skin.

At last, I see it. Now, a small yew tree grows from the center of the stones, but that doesn’t matter. The portal is throughthe rocks, not the center. I dash straight for it, tugging at my Sentinel powers as I do so.

I lunge forward, fingers outstretched, and make a frantic leap into the portal.

CHAPTER 14

Iland hard on my hands and knees, the craggy earth biting into my palms. Wind howls around me. There’s no snow here, but the frozen ground stings my fingers.

Instead of the smoke-tinged, frigid air in Brocéliande, I’m outside the ruins of Mordred’s castle. Dizziness sweeps over me, as it always does when I leap through a portal. Slowly, I stand and lean against a rocky dolmen until I no longer feel like the earth is tilting back and forth beneath my feet.

When I look up again, I realize I’m not alone. My father, Mordred, is sitting across from me on a collapsed pillar, a goblet of wine in his hand. The wind toys with his dark hair, and he surveys me with an amused smile. Unnervingly, his eyes shift from pale blue to gold.

“The fake attack worked well,” he says. “Nice plan. Brutal, really. I see you are determined.”

“Did you watch the entire thing?” I ask, catching my breath.

“On and off. You know, seven men in total have died so far during your decoy attack tonight. Two soldiers and five members of the resistance. I wasn’t sure if you saw them all from where you were. But you, daughter, are just as ruthless as I am, and nearly as beautiful.”

I bristle. “I did only what I had to.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you? I suppose that you alsohadto marry the handsome prince with the pretty face?”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

He takes a sip of his wine. “There’s always a choice. Of course, you’ve united two ancient warring families, even if he has no idea. What a claim to the throne you have now—from two sides. Well, we can discuss all that later. Right now, you must hurry to your precious Camelot. The pompous knights of the Round Table are in the midst of a meeting. If you make haste, you might catch them before they go to sleep.”

“You’re listening to their meeting right now?” My stomach twists. I’m the one who planted his silver moth, enabling him to hear and see everything in Avalon Tower.

Here’s the worst thing about my situation: it’s not only in Brocéliande that I’m scared of having my secrets discovered. I can’t let the truth get outanywhere.

In fact, the only person who knows the truth about me is my deranged, morally questionable father, who’s sipping wine before me right now.

“Yes, though the meeting is a dreary business. That bastard Wrythe loves the sound of his own voice, doesn’t he?” He waves his hand. “Go on, daughter. We can talk when you’re on your way back.”

My chest twists at the way he calls medaughter. Because really, this alliance can’t last. I won’t do what I promised. With him, I’m ensnared in brambles, and I have to carve myself through the vines before the thorns sink too deep. I have to keep my blade sharp.

As I march through the abandoned castle, I try not to think about him alone here. I walk past his glittering banquet, over the grassy floors, refusing to feel sorry for him. There’s no room for that in my life, but my chest hurts.

From the half-ruined arches, I pad down a winding stone path to the lake, where I find the paddle boat still on the shore, waiting for me like a faithful puppy. I quickly untie it from the mooring and push it into the water, then leap inside and grab the oars. Shoving the oars in the water, I pull, rowing myself across the foggy waters of Lake Avalon.

When it comes to Mordred, I need to turn my heart into stone.

As I enterthe network of golden stone archways and amber spires that make up Avalon Tower, I want nothing more than to burst into my old room to see my friends, to curl under the blankets in my bed for a few hours.

But the knights are meeting now. I’ve come straight to Merlin’s Tower. Its white stones gleam in the night, washed under the silver moonlight.

I yank the door open, and the comforting scent of home hits me. The neatly waxed floors, the polished stone walls, the scent of spiced loganberry pies and roasted venison. Candles burn brightly in their sconces, creating an inviting atmosphere. It takes an enormous effort not to head for the dining hall, and I force myself up a winding staircase instead.

I won’t get a better opportunity to talk face-to-face with the knights. Loath as I am to see Wrythe, it’s the whole reason I’m doing this, but I’m already steeling myself for the condescension of the Pendragon clan, the allusions to my Fey blood. I halfway regret not going to my room to get my Avalon Steel torc.

---