Page 33 of Lady of the Lake

“Yes,” Raphael says quietly. “We’re going somewhere nice.” As she leans into him, he glances at me over her head, his gaze steady. “And you, Nia, you need to stay here. Both of you need to know when the night is over.”

My jaw clenches. “Will you have a little faith in me for once?” I say, my voice tight. “I’ve been cleaning up other people’s messes since I was a kid.”

CHAPTER 16

Serana, Tana, and Darius walk me across the bridge leading to Nimuë’s Tower, where my boat waits for me in the mist. Our footfalls echo, and the water laps against the bridge. In the cold, foggy night, unease settles over me. Now, when we walk around Camelot, we’re all fully armed. Because of the Iron Legion, even the place I call home isn’t safe anymore.

I didn’t have as much time here as I would have liked—no time to curl up in my own bed with a cup of tea to catch up with them.

I heave a sigh. “I’m not sure I should have left Raphael alone with my mom.”

“He’s a tough bastard,” Serana says. “I’m sure he’ll be able to handle your mom. At least, I think so.”

“What exactly did the knights say to you?” asks Darius.

The distrust I felt at the meeting sticks in my throat. “Nothing particularly helpful. It was sort of a one-way information session, from me to them.”

I want this walk with them to continue forever, but we’re already crossing into Nimuë’s Tower—the round room, where moonlight streams onto the ancient altar and dusty books.

Serana coughs. “Tana, I’m not trying to be rude, but that new incense you have smells like a sewer, and it’s clinging to all of our clothes.”

“Yeah, my boyfriend keeps complaining,” adds Darius.

As we step down the stairs, Tana sighs heavily. “Fine, but only because this is the first guy you’ve dated that my cards didn’t suggest was a fuckboy.”

Darius grimaces. “Don’t say that. You know fuckboys are my type.”

“When do I get to meet this guy?” I ask.

As we reach the boat at the bottom of the stairs, Serana clears her throat, and Tana and Darius become quiet. The waves lap gently against the boat, and mist billows around us.

“What?” I ask, a smile still on my face. “I don’t get to hear more about the non-fuckboy?”

“Well,” Serana says, “we have to talk about Mordred before you go.”

Ice floods my veins. I don’t dare say a single word.

“You don’t have to say anything, or even nod,” Serana continues. “You just have to listen. A while back, you showed up and warned us about an attack by the Iron Legion.”

“Your warning and help probably saved our lives,” Tana says.

“But there’s no way you could have heard about the attack in Brocéliande,” Serana says. “You had to have a source closer to Avalon Tower.”

“And then Tana pointed out you never really told us much about the first time you met Mordred,” Darius says, “but shedidremember a scar on your palm.”

Reflexively, I glance at my palm and the faint white scar that crosses the skin.

“That’s a Hemlock Oath scar,” Tana says. “They’re hardly used anymore. It’s an ancient ritual. The Fey performing it would likely be centuries old. Like Mordred.”

“We assume part of the oath is you can’t talk about the oath,” Serana says.

“We haven’t told anyone about this,” Darius hurriedly adds. “Not Sir Kay, or Raphael, or anyone.”

“But we wanted to tell you that we know you made some kind of deal with him, and you probably can’t talk about it,” Tana says softly. “More importantly, that whatever it is you’re doing with Mordred, we trust that it was necessary.”

My eyes mist. I don’t know if saying anything would make the oath kill me, so I remain silent. I’m not even sure if nodding will get me killed.

“We’re here for you, okay?” Serana says. “Whateveryou need from us. Even if what you ask doesn’t make any sense to us, we’ll do it.”

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