Page 77 of To Love a Dark Lord

Gwen stepped out onto the top landing of the stairs that led from the door of the keep down into the courtyard. The fire she had sent rushing through the air had been a warning shot. Her wings unfurled at her back, spread wide in threat. Her hair was made of fire, and it curled around her as she walked. But it did not singe her clothing. Funny, how she could control her power better when she was pissed. She was in no mood to play.

“Enough.” She didn’t shout. She didn’t need to. With that one word, everything seemed to pause. There was a crumpled body in copper armor bleeding into a puddle of crimson. Percival.

Galahad was skewered to the ground on a nasty and rusted iron spike.

Zoe had gone “dark,” her eyes black from lid to lid, her skin pale, veins the color of ink. Her wings were no longer that of a summer butterfly—but somehow seemed rotted and corrupted.

And judging by the sound and the movement outside, the elementals and Mordred’s army were still at war.

But with that one word, there was a skip in the beat of the action. One moment when everything seemed to hang as all focus turned on her. She was too furious to care.

On either side of her, walking from the keep, were Tim and Bert. Maewenn followed close behind. Even Eod was with her, staying close to Mae as Gwen had told him to. And, more importantly, far enough back to keep from getting scorched.

Her hand hurt like hell.

But it gave her a strange kind of clarity.

Mordred had turned to her, Zoe and Galahad forgotten. “Gwendolyn—how?—”

She tossed him the gauze-wrapped “package” she was holding in her injured hand. He caught it, looking down at it in his palm. She could not see his face. Hopefully, it was a look of pure horror as he realized what it was. “I got you a wedding present.” There was a shocking amount of coldness in her own voice. She was almost proud of it.

“I—” Mordred stammered. He sheathed his sword before slowly unwrapping the gauzed object that she had thrown to him. Upon seeing her severed finger, he looked away from it, closing his hand around the piece of her. “Gwendolyn—” His voice cracked. “Why? I love you. I was going to wake you. Why?”

“Are you serious?” A laugh of disbelief burst from her. “You were going to wake me after everyone was dead! And would you have ever taken that cursed ring off? Or, were you going to keep me on a leash for all time?” Lifting her good hand, she summoned the crown that Merlin had given her. “All because you want this so very badly?”

Mordred said nothing. Simply stood there in silence like an iron statue.

Gwen didn’t care. She’d deal with him later. She had other issues to contend with. Passing the crown to her injured hand, she walked up to where Caliburn was trapped in iron. She had no idea how she knew what to do. It was just in her, shining through the anger. A wonderful clarity that she was so very grateful for.

Grasping the hilt of the sword, she commanded the iron to dissipate. The sword hummed in her grasp—it almost seemed to vibrate with power. Before her very eyes, the blade changed. No longer the huge broadsword that Mordred had used, or the slightly smaller blade that Zoe had recreated.

Caliburn wasn’t simply one blade. It was whatever its owner wanted it to be. Whatever they needed it to be. She could feel it there, almost a sentience—calling out to her. And she answered it.

The blade shifted until it was something far more her size. The blade was decorated with twisting, swirling flames that climbed from the crossguard and up the flat of the shining steel. The crossguard itself took on the appearance of a dragon’s wings. And the pommel was a roaring head of the same lizard-like creature.

Caliburn was hers. Because she took it. Because it wanted to be hers. It was beautiful. And it sang, shining in the light.

“You have no right—” Zoe protested. “I am of Avalon, and I ruled here for a thousand years before you fools came to its shores. That crown and blade are mine!”

“You couldn’t just let me enjoy the moment, could you?” Gwen rolled her eyes before turning to Zoe. She was still standing in front of the wounded Galahad. Gwen could free the Knight in Gold—but he was also trying to kill her and Mordred, so…maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.

Zoe furrowed her brow. “You commanded the iron. You share in Mordred’s power?”

“I share in all the powers of the elementals. Maybe even yours.” Gwen smiled in false sweetness. “Wanna find out? Come here.”

The Gossamer Lady froze. Real fear flashed over her features. “We will rule together. Split the kingdom. You will take half and I will take half—the Queens of Avalon. I will teach you.”

“Let me think about that.” Gwen walked over to her, keeping Caliburn down at her side. She stopped, a few feet away from the other woman. “No.” She swung her sword for Zoe.

The Gossamer Lady disappeared in a blink. Which Gwen was counting on. She let go of the handle of the blade and commanded it to whip through the air.

She didn’t know how she knew where Zoe was going to reappear.

But she did.

And therefore, so did Caliburn.

Zoe reappeared the moment the sword pierced through her stomach. Just as it had pierced Mordred.

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