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“Yes. They’re sleeping. We can sneak out now.”
Draven narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”
“I... drugged them,” I admitted.
The sleeping draught I had pilfered from Amara’s tent had come in handy.
“The food?” Draven hissed. “I ate that, too.”
“I didn’t put it into your bowl. Only Guinevere’s and Hawl’s.”
“Not Lancelet’s?”
“No. She’s sleeping, but...” I hesitated. “I’m about to wake her.”
“She knew about this?”
“Only part of it.” I looked at him and felt riddled with guilt. “I’m sorry, Draven. I should have told you but... I couldn’t. I needed you to react... Well, you’ll see.”
The hurt in his eyes hadn’t faded but he nodded. “I don’t like it. But I’m coming with you. A thousand harpies wouldn’t be able to stop me.”
I forced a smile. “That’s the spirit. Hopefully there won’t be any harpies.”
I slipped out of the tent quietly and into Lancelet’s.
“This is it,” I whispered as she woke up. “You need to look after Guinevere and Hawl. They’re both asleep.”
“Tonight? Guinevere was supposed to let you sleep.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t give her the chance.” I explained what I had done and watched her expression turn troubled. “You need to stand watch until the sleeping draught wears off. Just in case.”
She nodded. “I understand. How long will that be?”
I hesitated. “I have no idea. They each had half a draught. A few hours, I should think? By morning at the latest. I suppose they’ll be groggy, but...”
“Morgan!” Draven was calling from outside the tent.
We scrambled out.
His back was to us, his sword drawn. “I heard something.”
“What?” I murmured, moving to stand beside him.
Lancelet quickly took up a defensive position by Guinevere.
I glanced at where Hawl lay over by the lake. Maybe this had been a terrible idea, I thought with a sinking heart.
“I’m not sure.” Draven was glancing all about, scanning the area.
I followed his gaze, listening intently. But the night air hung heavy with stillness. I could hear only the distant rustle of leaves and the soft murmur of the lake against the shore. Above us, the moon, obscured by fleeting clouds, cast intermittent beams that danced across the campsite.
Down by the water’s edge, Hawl groaned in their sleep, and I turned towards the sound.
There was a ripple on the lake, seemingly innocuous. I struggled to see anything out of the ordinary.
Hawl groaned again, and I took a slight step forward, keening my senses.
Then the moon emerged from its veiled sanctuary, and I saw it. A serpentine form materializing within the cascade of light.
