“Indeed.” He studied me for a moment too long. “That trial certainly weeded out many of the knights.”
"Yes, it did."
I wasn't sure what he was getting at or if he was getting at anything at all. Perhaps he was simply making conversation? Somehow, I didn't think that was Mordred's way.
"Water magic has always intrigued me. Yours... is unusually fluid.”
I felt like a mouse being played with by a cat. “I have found it's best to work with water’s nature, not against it.”
There was something unreadable in his black eye—a movement just behind the pupil, like something ancient watching from within. “You’re from the North, yes? From Fenwick Vale, if I'm not mistaken?" I nodded, even though I wasn't from Fenwick Vale. But I wanted to keep Camelot as far away from the scent of the real Guinevere as possible, so I couldn't say I was from Eldenvale.
"Curious," Mordred continued. "That region yields few water mages of note.”
I kept my expression placid. “Yes,” I replied smoothly. “Though I am told water mages are rare in any location."
"I suppose they are." Mordred’s thin lips curved into something resembling amusement. "As I am told, you do not hail from a noble family?"
I swallowed hard but nodded. "That is correct."
"Then your parents are?"
"Simple sheep farmers, my lord."
"But your abilities were clearly applauded enough to draw the attention of the noble who sponsored you in these trials?"
"Yes," I nodded.
He frowned. "A Dame—"
"Dame Yseldra."
He frowned again. "I don't believe Dame Yseldra has overseen any of the trials thus far?"
I swallowed hard, knowing these questions were coming but finding them difficult to navigate, all the same. "No, my lord, she is of advanced years and quite… unwell."
"Ah, a pity. I daresay she would have been quite proud of you."
"I hope so."
Mordred was quiet for a few moments. “From what I recall, Fenwick Vale is rather near the Standing Stones?"
I felt my stomach drop. "It is, yes."
"Did you ever encounter anything…peculiarfrom across the border? Annwyn’s influence is... stronger there—in the North.”
The question was too precise to be idle curiosity.
“I’ve seen strange lights,” I answered carefully. “And I've felt things I couldn’t explain. But I've always avoided the stones and kept my distance from the border.”
“Wise. Though sometimes, what we run from... is exactly what defines us.”
With that, he dipped his head and moved on, robes whispering against the stone of the walkway that led back into the castle's courtyard. I watched him disappear into the shifting crowd of knights and courtiers, a chill clinging to me long after he'd gone.
But no matter. My focus returned to the Labyrinth—and the others who had survived it. Try though I did, my thoughts kept returning to Sir Kay and his bleeding eyes. I was convinced the Labyrinth had broken something in him, but it hadn't defeated him. The blood streaming from his eyes hadn’t dulled his hostility—if anything, it had sharpened it. That made him volatile—a man who clings to his worst nature is more dangerous than one trying to resist it.
Most concerning, though, was the aftertaste the Labyrinth had left in my own mind.
The final chamber—the vision of Arthur and Merlin—still echoed inside me. I’d always believed my mission was clear. That Merlin, despite his flaws, stood for a just future, and Arthur… did not.
