Page 65 of Vale of Dreams

“They fought hard to get all of their friends away,” I say.

“Of course,” Tana says grimly. “They didn’t want one of them caught and interrogated.”

“Well, keep an eye out for a bunch of Iron Legion assholes limping tomorrow,” I say.

“Nice moves with your blades, Nia,” Serana says, dabbing Darius’s cut with alcohol. “Hard to believe you’re the same girl who showed up here less than a year ago.”

“It wasn’t as good as Tana’s teapot maneuver.”

“She’s the legendary Teapot Dame,” Serana says. “Sworn to strike down villains with her kettle and cups.”

“You can laugh, but if the tea in that pot was hot, his face would have melted off,” Tana points out.

“Who’s laughing?” Serana says. “Tomorrow, I want you to start teaching me all you know in the dark arts of tea violence.”

I grin, breathing out a sigh of relief that we made it relatively unscathed. No matter what Mordred said, coming here was the right call.

I glance at Darius as Serana sews his wound closed. It’ll leave a scar, but he’ll recover. Running a hand through my hair, I say, “I can’t stay. I have to get back to Brocéliande before my maidservant notices I’m gone.”

“Ooooh,” says Serana in a high-pitched, fake posh voice. “My maidservant.”

Tana’s eyes shine as she touches my shoulder. She leans in closer, whispering, “Watch your back. The cards show me endless danger for you.”

I pull back and smile at her, trying to look as if this doesn’t rattle me. “Endless danger? Must be Wednesday.”

As I’m taking the stairs back down to my boat, I hear wild, raucous laughter coming from one of the common rooms. There’s only one person whose laughter sounds like a braying hyena.

Tarquin.

I stop dead in the middle of the hall. I should be running outside, but I’m certain Tarquin was behind that attack.

I pivot and march through the torchlit hall to the common room. I push it open and hide in the atrium, where a red velvet curtain shields me from their view.

When I peer around the corner, I see them. Tarquin, Horatio, and a bunch of their lackeys sit at an oak table, several empty wine bottles between them. Torchlight wavers over their drunken faces and the stacks of books all around them.

“I’d fuck the tall one,” Tarquin says. “What’s her name? Serana? Yeah, I bet she’s proper filthy. You can just tell, can’t you? She’s into proper weird stuff.”

“She looks like a biter.” Horatio guffaws. “I’d go with the creepy one. The one who acts like she knows the future. Bet she takes it up the khyber.”

“I bet she’d see syphilis in her future if she took you up on that, mate,” Tarquin says.

A bunch of their friends jeer and make fun of Horatio.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” Tarquin says. “That ship has sailed. No one will be taking any of them up anything.”

My jaw tightens. With every moment, with every word from their lips, I’m feeling fonder of Mordred’s goal. Kill the Pendragons.

It’s not so mad after all, is it?

“Why has that ship sailed?” a drunken female voice calls from the other side of the room. “Did they leave?”

“Oh, yes.” Tarquin laughs. “They left.”

There’s something familiar in the woman’s voice, and I shift a bit closer so I can see her in the shadows.

My heart sinks.

It’s Mom.

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