Page 119 of Lady of the Lake

As we fight, my mind is half on the bag of vials. I want to stay in front of the viruses, protecting them. Wrythe could soeasilyend all this now if he just smashed the bag, but I don’t think he knows what’s in it.

He’s cornering me now. Steel whooshes through the air, and sparks fly between our blades.

I scan for an opening, a brief touch that will allow me to invade his mind, but there’s nothing—just his face, out of reach while he wields his sword.

“We should have never let your kind in here,” he spits. “Enemies within our ranks. Rotting our Pendragon heritage from the inside out.”

Swing. Thrust. Parry. It’s a wild dance, and I’m trying to keep up with the pace.

“You needed us,” I say through gritted teeth.

“An atrocity. Mordred’s daughter in Avalon Tower’s halls. A disease.”

“And you sabotaged the chance to kill Auberon!” I shout.

Lunge. Riposte.

“Diametric powers! Twisted. Wrong.” Thrust. “And they gave you anAvalon.Steel.Torc. An abomination.”

Each of his words is punctuated by a vicious swing that pushes me further back against the wall.

I parry a thrust, but he twists, sharp and sudden. My sword tears from my grip and clatters to the stone.

I’m at the edge of the turret now, and terror deafens my thoughts.

Talan is moving toward me, carving his way through another knight, and I can feel his terror and panic for me.

Slowly, Wrythe raises his sword until the blade kisses my throat. My focus snaps back to him, my heart stuttering. I lean away, nearly toppling over the edge of the parapet. Fear courses through my nerve endings.

Then Talan’s sword bursts through Wrythe’s chest from behind, ripping through his heart, and Talan stands above him like a god of vengeance.

Wrythe gasps, his mouth slack. Blood spills down his chin as his wide, pale eyes lock onto mine and fade.

Talan drags his sword from Wrythe’s back, and the Seneschal crumples to the ground like a discarded rag doll. Lips curled, Talan stares down at him.

I throw myself at Talan, and he pulls me close, crushing me against his chest. He’s holding me like I’m a magical talisman, something sacred to keep the nightmares away.

“You’re okay,” he breathes into my hair. “You’re okay.” It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

But then he sucks in a sharp breath. His body tenses, and his hand goes to his stomach. He winces, and I realize he’s bleeding.

The world tilts beneath me. “How deep is it?” My words are sharp, panicked. When I look closer, I see how bad it looks, a slash right thorough his abdomen.

“Iron,” he grunts. “Iron poisoning.”

I hold him up, my mind reeling. Most of the knights have fallen now. Raphael is injured, gripping his bleeding head, but he looks like he’ll make it.

But Talan has gone pale, and the look in his eyes—agonized and distant, like he’s already halfway gone—that lookundoesme.

Mentally, I’m unraveling as Talan leans back against the parapet, holding his gut. “Nia, you have to destroy the plague. Now.”

“We’ll destroy it together,” I say. It comes out as a shout, as if I can just scream it loudly enough for it to be true.

He shuts his eyes and shakes his head.

Panicking, I turn to look around me. Death, everywhere. Nivene is fighting the last Pendragon standing.

Talan slumps against the wall, the light in his eyes going dim.

---