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Hywel scowled at the other dragon—Hywel had courtly manners, and Rolant sitting first was rude, especially to me—but held out his hand to us. Conall pulled my arm free of his first and stepped aside for Hywel.
You're just one woman; you can't have them all holding you at once, I reminded myself. And it was natural for Conall to defer to Hywel, both as a guest in his home and as a werewolf to a dragon.
"Has who?" Hywel asked, pulling out a chair for me.
"Nimue."
I fell into the chair at the pronouncement, and Laszlo released an audible gasp as Hywel rumbled with a low snarl.
"Birsha has our Lady of the Lake? Youlet—"
Rolant scoffed. "Don't be absurd, Hywel. I had no idea she was under any kind of threat. You may know the worst of me, but you can't imagine I would stoop so low as to riskher."
I'd heard plenty of legends about the Lady of the Lake, the enchantress who'd presented Arthur with his sword Excalibur, who'd been tangled in so many myths told when I was a child. But even the basilisk Marius had said Arthur hadn't existed.
"And the sword?" Hywel growled.
"Excalibur is real too?!" I blurted out, dizzy at the turning conversation.
Hywel and Rolant paused, glancing at me as if they'd forgotten my presence. Hywel studied me with an absent frown, and I suddenly realized howoldhe was, how old both dragons were—more ancient than I could properly understand, I supposed.
"The sword was broken hundreds of years ago in battle," Laszlo said slowly, sinking into a chair at my side, the feast laid out before us neglected by the conversation.
Rolant rolled his eyes and nodded. "Itwas. And then people went and made astoryout of it. And her. And all the silly little human warriors she fussed over. You know whatlegendsdo."
Hywel let out a heavy sigh, and at last he and Conall sat too. "The Sword of Victors healed?"
Rolant grunted. "And becameExcalibur.Silly to name a sword like that."
"A sword…healed?" I repeated.
Hywel hummed and reached for my hand under the table, squeezing it briefly and running his thumb over my wrist. "The sword was always an object of power. Nimue is high fae, next to a goddess in strength. She imbued the blade with magic, gifted it to those human men she foundworthy.Those legends about Arthur aren't based on one warrior, but rather many—knights and kings and lords. She made them a sword that would guarantee their victory in battle, as long as they remained worthy of the gift. But one after another, they all fell. Sometimes within years, sometimes decades. Infallibility tends to corrupt the noble natures of men."
"If the sword requires a noble nature, surely it's not in any danger from Birsha," Conall mentioned.
"One would hope," Laszlo murmured.
"Better never to underestimate your enemies, dear boy," Rolant said blithely to Conall.
Rolant looked hardly a day older than Conall, but the werewolf took the patronizing tone in stride, only briefly sharing a dry look with me. We were the children at this table, even me with my centuries of life.
"Birsha will make his play for the sword," Rolant said gravely. "Or he will try and force Nimue to make him something new. Something to suit his nature, or whatever champion he chooses for battle. However, if I were him, I'd do my best to take Excalibur out of the equation before your lot found someone to carry it to war."
Hywel leaned forward, elbows on the table, stare glowing. "He doesn't have it yet then?"
"Nimue has only been missing a week, by my reckoning. She won't give in so easily."
"How do we plan on finding a hidden, legendary sword?" Conall asked, eyebrows raising.
Rolant shrugged. "She told me where it is, of course."
Hywel snorted. "Outrageous."
Rolant glared at him and then muttered, low and quick, "Well, she didn't expect me to be able to carry it, did she?"
There was a polite pause of quiet, the faint clink of silverware being lifted at last, and then a sudden, startling burst of a giggle.
From me.
