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Somehow, the blade was in my hand. I stared down at it.
In that moment, I hated the sword. Just as I hated the grail. Just as I would hate the spear—whenever I finally found it.
And yet... I loved Excalibur, too. How could I not? The sword had saved me. It had saved Lancelet for me.
It was a part of me.
But it was also a part of my father. Forged by the gods under sacred skies.
I lifted my head to the skies and screamed, the blade twisting beneath my hands.
I screamed in rage, in sorrow. I screamed in guilt.
“Ferrum deae,” I screamed to the heavens. “Ferrum deae.”
Iron of the goddess.
Mine. Not yours, Father.
When I finally looked back down, Excalibur was no longer a sword.
Instead a sickle rested in my hands, curved like a crescent moon.
CHAPTER 27 - MORGAN
I was still standing there, staring at the temple entrance with the curved blade in my hand, when there was a crunch of footsteps on the rocky ground behind me.
“I can go,” Draven said quietly. “If you wish to be alone...”
I turned and looked at him. Truly looked, as I had not done in days. So wrapped up in my own grief that I had selfishly spared no mind for his own. So determined was I to take the weight of guilt upon myself for Gawain’s death that I would not give him more than a glance, for fear he would, what...?
Turn on me? Reject me? Accuse me?
Now, as I looked into his face, my heart splintered into a thousand pieces.
Because there was no blame or condemnation in those familiar green eyes. Only pure, heart-rending grief.
He had lost. Oh, how he had lost.
Love was more than sharing pleasure. It was taking on another’s pain.
I had not done that with Draven. I had not even tried.
Seeing him now, standing there, alone, so alone, all of my doubt vanished, and the only grief I could think of was his.
“Did you know that I will love you forever? That I would die for you?” I took a small step towards him. “I will love you for a hundred thousand years. And then a hundred thousand more after that.”
Nothing would take away what I had found. Nothing would take away the man who stood before me.
Every hour of my life. Every breath, every whisper, every step I took had brought me towards him.
And now that our hearts had found each other—now that our very blood was one—I would never let him go again.
Carefully, I placed the sickle on the ground beside me and took another step towards him.
Love, real love, was standing by his side even when I didn’t think I deserved to be there. Real love meant sticking around even when all of the sorrows and horrors made me want to run the other way.
I brought my hands up to Draven’s cheeks, cupping his face and tugging his head down to me.
