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“He’s right, Morgan, and you know it,” Dame Halyna said reasonably. “Everyone knows you don’t want the position, but Kaye can’t accept it and Medra is... well, she’s not a possibility.”
Not after Tintagel and Lyonesse had bluntly stated they would never accept Arthur’s daughter as queen.
Which suited me fine, as Kaye would one day be a fine king, with his niece cared for and protected by his side.
“It’s our job to keep you safe, whether you like it or not. Sir Ector is only pointing that out,” she finished.
I knew she was right.
“I accept that you all believe I’m the only choice.” I steeled myself. “And I accept that some of you may even believe that Kaye will never wake up. Even so, there are only two people here who can ride those exmoors. Two people the exmoors will accept. And you’re looking at them.”
I met Draven’s eyes. “If we leave now, how long will it take us to get there?”
“I admire your tenacity,” Hawl’s voice boomed out. “But the female’s wing is hardly healed.”
I turned to see the Bearkin striding in, flour dust covering their furry arms.
“I know you care for her, Hawl,” I answered. “For both of them. As do I. More deeply than you can know. But this is our ally we’re talking about. We cannot let King Mark stand alone. Sunstrike and Nightclaw will understand that. We have no choice.” I looked at my mate. “Besides, I’ve thought of an idea. Sunstrike’s wing is newly healed. If she’ll permit it, I’ll ride her, and Nightclaw will take Draven. That should lighten Sunstrike’s load a little at the very least.”
Hawl shook their head but said nothing. But Draven nodded.
“Now, how long?” I asked Draven again.
“It’s hard to say. But they fly at incredible speeds. It was unbelievable how swiftly they passed over those mountains on our way to you.”
“Brightwind is farther than the Ellyria Mountains from Camelot,” Galahad pointed out. I wished he hadn’t.
“Hours are better than days,” I said firmly. “They could be under siege as we speak. But for all we know, the real battle may be yet to begin.”
Sir Ector cleared his throat. “If the court stitcher arrived like this, it suggests King Mark was directly attacked. We must prepare ourselves. The king himself may be dead. Tintagel may already be lost.”
If that were the case, then Pendrath would have lost its best ally. The one most likely to trust us. The kingdom that had allowed our stitcher into his court, a move that was supposed to provide them with added protection.
I could only imagine how Lyonesse would react. If Brightwind fell, unfairly or not, Pendrath would be at least partially blamed.
“I know that,” I answered. “We still need to go. Now. Ulpheas spent his last breaths getting here to beg us for help. For all we know, King Mark sent him. If the king is dead, well, then at the very least, perhaps we can help the king’s family.” King Mark had a wife and children. Among them was his heir. They would be sheltering in the city’s royal palace.
Unless their enemies had penetrated that far already.
I refused to believe it.
“King Mark wouldn’t have sent Ulpheas if there was no hope. Surely most of us standing here have some knowledge of military history. Sieges can go on for days, weeks, even months. Just because Ulpheas is dead doesn’t mean the city has already fallen. There’s still hope,” I insisted.
Though, conveniently, I avoided acknowledging that the Three only knew how Ulpheas had taken that arrow to the throat unless he’d somehow been in the very heart of a battle.
“For all we know, he didn’t send Ulpheas at all. We really have no idea what happened,” Dame Halyna pointed out. “We’re making a great number of assumptions right now.”
I clenched my jaw stubbornly. “Then Draven and I will fly over to Tintagel, check things out, and fly back again if all is well. Sound good?”
Dame Halyna’s lips quirked. “Oh, Morgan.”
“You couldn’t hold me back if you tried,” Hawl growled. “I’ll be marching come dawn, with or without you, humans.”
“Oh, I’ll be right there with you,” Lancelet declared. “And my horse can outrun you, Bearkin.”
“Sir Ector has found me a steed that will hold my weight, so don’t hold your breath,” Hawl retorted.
Lancelet snorted and seemed ready to continue the verbal jousting, but I interjected impatiently.
