“The ancient archives in Wydrin. As I was standing here, trying to find the path, I recalled the moment I’d first stumbled upon the inscribed rocks.”
“Rocks?” Marc furrowed his brow.
“Yes. Over a hundred, all inscribed with strange symbols. I spent days arranging them, having no idea what the symbols represented. I remember staring blankly for hours sometimes, but I followed my instincts until all the stones were in their proper place. I couldn’t read it then, but just now, when I saw the memory, I saw the words represented on those rocks.”
“All right. You said it’s a trap that lures people in with a promise. Does that mean what we need is not in there?” Marc asked.
“No. What we need is in there.”
“The blood of Arthur.”
“Yes, and what it promises to give, it will give. All I need to do after is escape.”
Marc drew his brows together. “I? You mean we.”
Trystan gave his head a subtle shake. “No. I must go alone.”
“Trystan—”
“I won’t risk either of you.”
Emrys did not argue. If evil could not escape then he would not escape. He was certain the darkness rooted in his blood would seal his fate. Marc, on the other hand, had nothing holding him back other than Trystan.
“And I won’t risk losing you,” Marc retorted.
“Are you certain, Trystan?” Emrys asked.
“I am.”
“Then we will wait for you here.”
“You cannot be serious?” Marc snapped at Emrys before turning to Trystan. “What if you cannot find your way back?”
“I need you to trust that I will.” Trystan stepped in close to Marc, clasping Marc’s hands, and whispered, “I will always find my way back to you.”
“Promise me.”
“I swear to you.” Trystan pressed a soft kiss to Marc’s lips.
Trystan pulled his lips away from Marc’s and took several small steps back, letting Marc’s fingers slip from his loosened grip. “I will see you both shortly.”
“Safe passage, Trystan,” Emrys said. “Come back to us.”
“I will.”
Trystan palmed the grip of Excalibur sheathed on his hip. He took a deep breath and stepped forward. The mist condensed, darkness enclosing in on him. Sound dissipated into nothingness. He glanced behind him. Nothing.
Trystan tried to stay focused, but the memory of what he needed to do slipped out of reach. The scent of chamomile and lavender wafted around him. He grew weary as he traveled deeper into the mist. A wide yawn escaped him, and Trystan struggled to recollect why he was here. Something important, but what?
A soft, deep voice echoed in the distance. “Angel.”
Trystan moved toward the familiar voice, longing to be closer, but his body craved sleep. Incoherent thoughts muddled his brain. He managed a few more steps before he lowered himself to the ground. Unable to fight the overwhelming desire to rest, Trystan lay down and his eyes slipped closed, the weight of everything forgotten.
***
Queen Mysel sat on her throne of stone and wood with her council standing in a semi-circle around the room. Teleri stood to her immediate right, followed by Nuadra and Firlorne. To her left were Princess Saiorse, Lôrît, and Aisling. General Îarik stood to the side, behind the Queen. Morgaine entered the room, escorted by one of the queen’s guards.
“Mistress Morgaine,” Queen Mysel said.
“Your Grace,” Morgaine replied, bowing before her.
“I have made a decision regarding your recent request. I regret to inform you that we will not be able to provide you the assistance for which you have asked,” Mysel stated.
Already impatient from waiting, the news enraged Morgaine. “You will regret that decision, Mysel,” she growled.
“Guards, please escort Morgaine to the outer caves.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll show myself out.”
Morgaine cast a glance to General Îarik, who nodded slightly. A red fireball formed in her hand. A moment later, it burst. Morgaine vanished into a cloud of smoke.
