The one she’d flung across the hall.
She fired another burst of power at him, but he sliced at it and it burst into a dark vapor, no longer dangerous. She fired another. She tried an incantation to bind him, to blind him, to cook him from the inside out. He stopped every spell, breaking them apart, moving toward her as he swung.
Who was he? How was he stopping her magic? Was he going to kill her? Could he? Well, first she would make Arthur pay for all this. She snapped her wrist and the son he had with his queen grasped his throat and fell to his knees.
She was going to kill them all! Let her assailant stop all this! She waved her hand across the entire hall and everyone began to choke to death.
But like a pesky insect, the man with the sword slashed and smashed her spells to pieces before anyone died.
Oh! She’d had enough of him! She produced ropes and wound them around everyone’s necks at the same time.
They were dying. Some stopped writhing. A woman screamed mournfully. Guinevere. Morgan smiled.
And then she stopped, and everyone fell loose when Morgan felt the cold blade going through her warm body. She felt every inch of it. He was trying to reach her heart.
But it stopped short.
“Brother,” she heard Fin’s voice above her, “withdraw or I will kill your wife.”
He held a bow, arrow nocked, and aimed at the king’s daughter, Camelee. Morgan smiled at him. Yes, kill the one named after his beloved home.
“Fin!” his brother shouted. “What are doing? You are under her spell.”
Fin pulled back the string.
“Please, Brother! Look at me!”
Fin did. “I’m going to kill her.”
It didn’t work! Noooo! The sword plunged deeper, piercing her heart, ending her spells.
Fin dropped his weapon and covered his face with his hands.
Wolf pulled him into a tight embrace and then yanked his sword from Morgan’s body.
“Is anyone hurt?” he called out.
“You killed her,” Arthur said with awe in his voice. “It’s really over.”
“No,” Nim told them as a hush fell over the hall. “Her heart needs to be removed.”
Morgan listened. Nimue was right. She wasn’t dead. She sat up and turned to Fin, her spell over him broken. Did she not fulfill his dreams? Was there nothing tender in him toward her? “Which one of you is cold enough to do it?”
“I am,” her lover proclaimed and flung the sword at her.
She caught it in her hand, blade first, ignoring the injury. But he was on her in seconds. He fell atop her and looked into her eyes. She cursed herself. Did she love this human savage?
“Fin.”
He pushed the metal inside her with all his weight. “Farewell, Witch.” His words were tender and familiar, not insulting.
He cared. He wasn’t going to—
The blade went through her heart. He stayed where he was and cut it out of her chest and held it up.
The last thing Morgan heard before she was ended was a collective sigh of relief.
*
