Page 43 of Lifeblood

Gareth stepped closer to protect one side. “Very much so. Are you going to be okay, Mordred?”

Mordred only scoffed. “We haven’t seen him in centuries.”

“Easy for you to say,” Lance spat, but his drawn brows, a frown on his lips, spoke an entirely different story.

“It’s not Arthur,” Tristan stammered. He looked beyond shocked. More than blindsided. “Itcan’tbe.”

Arthur. “As in Pendragon?”

Tristan nodded. A lump formed in my throat. I dredged up as much Arthurian lore as I could from the depths of my mind. Lancelot and Arthur had always had a rocky relationship because of Guinevere. And Mordred… A son. Nephew. Foster son.

Arthur’s murderer.

And yet, all of the demon kings were looking to this presumably undead demon as though he were still their leader.

Theirking.

Mordred’s eyes were two dark, stormy seas, his jaw locked hard. Still, Tristan remained unmoving as Arthur charged toward him.

Tristan held up his hands, which flashed gray for a moment, like stone. “Halt.” Energy zipped between his fingers—his magic tied to undeath.

Arthur kept running.

“Halt.” Tristan tried again.

It didn’t matter. Arthur’s pace quickened, each stride longer than the previous until it was almost entirely inhuman. My breath caught in my throat watching these titans of legend face off against one another. And I was very much stuck in the middle.

“Tristan!” Lance called one more time, but Tristan remained unmoving until Arthur was just within reach. The dead king swung his longsword, but Tristan held his ground, his entire arm flashing gray. Arthur’s sword met the…stonewith a sickeningthud. His sword arm shook like a cartoon.

“My king,” Tristan said as his expression became nothing but sadness. “What has she done to you?”

Arthur reared back and swung again without a single hint of recognition in his eyes.

Arthur was definitely undead. But how and why, not even the King of the Court of Undeath himself seemed to know.

Lance rushed forward and shot his magic out, forming a shield between Tristan and Arthur. Mordred took that moment to send shadow tendrils racing toward the undead king. They wrapped around his arms, legs, and middle, and around his sword, and grounded him. Gareth went to join the fight, but at the same time, a new wave of enemies poured through the front gates.

I turned on my heel and fired as big a magic flare as I could muster, burning several wraiths and blinding any mages. Gareth chose that moment to run toward them with fire streaming from his hands.

Between the fight with the horde at the door and that between demon kings, the entire tiny island that the High Palace rested on was nothing but chaos. Chaos and magic and impossibilities.

My breath ran ragged quick. I’d never used so much magic at once before—I’d never had a reason to. But my kings kept fighting, and so did I. I wanted answers, even though this was sonotthe time. Why had Morgan le Fay raised Arthur?Howhad she? And why was Tristan, someone who spoke endlessly with spirits day in and day out, somehowsurprisedby this?

And why now? It sounded like some sort of tenuous peace had been held between the Demon Courts and Morgan le Fay for so long now. What had changed?

The realization slammed home.

Me. That was what. Whether Morgan wanted my lifeblood blood for herself or was threatened by it, that had to be it. Or maybe she was afraid I’d very quickly help the demon kings release their curses.

Or both.

I wouldn’t let her have my blood.Ormy kings.

I left Mordred’s side to focus on the enemies at the gate. My magic couldn’t damage anything but the wraiths, but there were many of those. I ducked in and out of other attacks. Every wraith I took down, it seemed two more popped up. But I didn’t stop because I couldn’t stand the thought of doing nothing while the demon kings fought against a friend risen from the grave.

“Ava!” Gareth called as soon as he noticed I was gone.

I ignored him, caught up in my own very real battles. Blinding witches and the fae who had eyes. Burning wraiths with light. I wasexhaustedbut kept going anyway. To stop would mean death.

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