The artist finished inking Veyka’s Talisman. Arran took her hand, lifting it high above her and slowly spinning her so that all the spectators in the hall could get a good look. An appreciative murmur rolled through the crowd.
“She will survive.”
“The stones—”
“Damn the stones. Damn the Ancestors,” Cyara said softly. “We are the Knights of the Round Table. We will protect her. We will find a different ending.”
Lyrena said nothing.
Maybe she did not believe it. Maybe she was afraid to hope. Cyara did not care. She had lost her sisters. Become a monster to protect those she cared for. She would not lose another friend.
Lady Elayne and Lord Pant stepped up beside them and the murmurs softened. Lady Elayne’s voice sounded clear and bright over the assembly as she announced—
“Their Royal Majesties—High Queen Veyka Pendragon. High King Arran Earthborn.”
A heartbeat of wondering.
And then, as one, the residents of Eilean Gayl bowed low. Exposing their necks.
The sacred submission.
The traditional, formal acceptance of the High Queen and King’s reign.
Cyara watched Veyka’s throat bob as she fought down emotion at the sight.
Arthur would have used fire. A dancing flame at his fingertips, enough to heat but not burn, a symbolic show ofmagical dominance over each subject. But Veyka’s magic did not function that way.
As she watched, Arran and Veyka exchanged looks, both of their faces unreadable. They were speaking to each other without words, Cyara knew.
She inhaled, and Veyka disappeared. Exhaled, and she returned—with a mighty sword gripped in her hand.
Beside her, Lyrena’s shoulders started to tremble with silent tears.
Cyara bowed her head with the rest of them. She did not glance up until she felt the cool metal of Excalibur’s blade kiss the nape of her neck. And looked up into the eyes of a queen.
105
ARRAN
Somewhere around the third course, Veyka eased herself away from my side. It took her a few minutes to extricate herself. Every few steps, terrestrials stopped to bow. To place a fist over their heart—the greeting of one warrior to another. But eventually, she made it to the two-story tall arched doors of the great hall, eased herself over the threshold, and disappeared into the void.
Letting her walk away was torture. But the strength of the bond in my chest told me she had not gone far. As the feasting reached a pinnacle, I slipped out after her, following the pull of the bond into the night.
It led me past the gates of the keep, onto the darkened bridge that connected the island castle to the land of craggy emerald peaks around it. There were no torches burning along the stone parapets on either side. The original builders had not made a place for them, believing the fortress’ strength lay in its isolation. Lighting the way would only serve potential enemies. In the thousands of years since, it looked to all appearances that nothing had changed.
Except thateverythingwas different now.
I refused to think of it—to acknowledge it. There had to be another way. I could not have been reunited with my mate, both of us suffering so much, for it to end with… death.
I was willing to sacrifice myself on the altar of duty. But Veyka?
Never.
I would let Annwyn be swallowed by the succubus before I allowed it to happen.
Veyka turned, her hair catching in the moonlight, and all the air was sucked from my body. I could not breathe, for loving her.
Her forearms were braced on the parapet, her hips swaying softly to music that leaked from the castle beyond. The moonlight shone in her hair, on her skin, kissing the lines of her freshly inked Talisman.
