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“And now it falls to your friend,” Caspar said quietly.
“She is not going to die in the arena. I’ll get her out even if it means... well, making some enemies,” I finished lamely, not knowing how much to disclose even at this point.
My uncle’s eyes were shrewd. “A bold vow. If you think you can take on Arthur, his general, and his men in such a public setting.”
I swallowed. “Excalibur will kill her.”
“Will it?” My uncle’s expression turned pensive. “Tell me about the sword.”
“Tell you?”
“I know you were the one who freed the blade. How did you do it?”
“Vesper,” I began. “One of the people traveling in our party. He cut me, spilled my blood into the lake. Then he pushed me in.”
“Sounds like a charming fellow,” my uncle observed.
I made a face. “Almost as charming as my dear old uncle who poisoned me.”
“Touche.” The old man sighed. “And then?”
“Then I went through—I don’t know—some sort of a portal. I found myself in a room filled with treasures.” I hesitated. Did I mention my sister now? I pressed on. “Excalibur was there. I took it and then... I got out somehow.”
“Your blood opened the chamber.”
“I suppose. Yes, it did.”
“Excalibur was resting in a stone, you say? Yet you were able to pull it out.”
I nodded. The blade had slid easily. Like a knife through butter.
My uncle looked pleased. “It’s as I thought.”
“What?” I asked impatiently.
“The sword,” he said, with equal impatience. “It’s attuned to you.”
I stared. “So Arthur can’t use it? Ever?”
“Perhaps if, as you say, he experiments enough, sacrifices enough, he may eventually find someone who can bear it and utilize it without doing so being immediately fatal. But I doubt he’ll ever be able to fully access Excalibur’s powers or, more importantly, be able to control it in the way that such a weapon has the potential to be used.”
“And how is that?”
He shrugged. “A question for historians and academics. A fascinating topic.”
“But here, now? Do we have any answer?”
“It won wars, Morgan. Clearly the weapon has incredible might.”
“It won wars for mortals and for fae.”
“Wielded by Vela herself, so it's said.” My uncle’s voice was soft. “And now it fights for you.”
“I don’t have it. It doesn’t fight for me,” I snapped.
His gaze turned hawkish. “Try to make it.”
“Make it? What is that supposed to mean exactly?”
