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And as I looked across the grove into the throne room, I realized why.
Excalibur was gone.
My mate’s hand was empty.
The sword had vanished, and so had Nedola.
I had only enough time to take this in before the world around me resumed its pace.
Draven’s arm fell to his side, empty of the sword it had held just a moment before.
My father’s lightning sizzled on the altar.
And I pushed myself off the oak tree and stepped across the grass towards him.
Perun looked at me in disbelief, then confusion.
“Vela is dead,” I told him. “Excalibur is no more.”
His eyes honed in on the empty place at my waist, then he scanned across the room to where Vela lay dead, slain by a blade that would never again exist.
“Its power is back where it belongs,” I said. “Within me. As is my mother’s.” I flexed my hands ever so slightly. “And yours.”
Perun’s lips thinned. “So this is it.”
Draven took up a position at my side. Blades of shadow formed in each of his hands.
“The grail is gone. The sword is gone,” I said evenly. “Soon, you, too, will be gone, Father.”
“It’s over,” Draven added. “You’re alone. Soon all will be as it should be. You’ll be forgotten once again.”
My father shook his head. “Do you truly think you can subdue me so easily? Before we were worshiped, I lived alone in this world. The sword was a stubborn, stupid thing. The grail always fickle. But the spear... Ah, the spear. The most faithful of the three. The most powerful of them all. And that is all I need now.”
He slammed his hands down on the bloody altar, and with a chill, I realized what he had been doing all this time.
Charging the stone. Preparing to summon the spear.
“I call upon you,” he cried, raising his voice skywards. “Daughter of my daughter, the so-called spear of kings. Deliver vengeance to me now!”
He was calling her. Calling Medra.
I looked at Draven. His face had drained of blood.
We had to stop him. We had to do something.
I felt my newfound strength, felt the quiver of power in the markings that covered my body. I could fight. But just how did one stop a mad man summoning an infant to be his spear?
I cast out blindly with everything I had, not knowing what would emerge from me. Would it be fire? Ice? Darkness? Or something else?
A gust of wind as powerful as any storm of my father’s shot out from my hands, pushing my father away from the altar.
For a moment, he looked surprised. Then he laughed. “Too late.” He pointed upwards. “Look. She comes like the dawn. The child of my blood. My granddaughter.”
Draven and I looked up as the lightning that had been forming overhead parted like a veil.
A form began to take shape upon the altar, wrapped in a swirl of mist.
With bated breath, we stood, waiting for Medra to appear.
