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EPILOGUE
The cradle swayed gentlyback and forth. Inside, Medra lay wrapped in a soft, wool blanket. Her cherubic face was serene, her tiny rosebud lips softly parted. With her eyes closed, only the hint of her pointed ears revealed her mixed fae and mortal lineage.
I watched as the baby breathed a contented little sigh, then curled her tiny hands against her chest. Leaning over, I smoothed a downy lock of her hair. For now, its color was brown. Like Arthur's.
Across the room, in the bed that used to be Orcades’, Kaye slumbered.
The calico cat and her litter of kittens had been brought back up from the stables. It was stupid, really, but part of me had hoped that if Kaye could hear them, feel them... that he might wake up.
The kittens pounced and played and slept at the foot of Kaye’s bed. But he did not wake.
Draven touched my shoulder. “We should go now. They’ll be waiting.”
I nodded, then lifted a hand in farewell to Kasie, the healer from the temple who was watching over Kaye and Medra for us. She sat in a chair by the bedside, reading a book about herbal lore while her patients slept. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Medra’s wet nurse was due to arrive for another feeding soon. The baby had a voracious appetite.
“They’ll be fine,” she mouthed, so as not to wake Medra. She smiled and made an ushering gesture. “Go.”
I followed Draven out into the hall, my hand clasped in his much larger one.
We were going back to where, in some ways, you might say it had all begun...
The chorus of merryvoices and the rich aroma of spiced ale and hearty stew spilled out as we pushed open the door of The Bear and Mermaid. Inside, the tavern was alive with activity.
I glanced across the room and saw familiar faces seated at a long, wooden table.
There was Hawl, with their sleek, brown fur rippling in the firelight. Their intelligent, amber eyes glimmered with humor as they opened their muzzle in a loud, growling laugh.
Beside Hawl sat a robust, red-haired man with rugged features. Gawain grinned as he gripped a frothy tankard.
Leaning against his side was a slender, ebony-skinned man with a disarming smile and kind, intelligent eyes ... which lit up as he caught sight of me standing in the entranceway with Draven.
“Morgan!” Crescent shouted, standing up and waving. “Get over here.”
The blonde young woman across from him turned her head and paused what she’d been saying to look over at me with a small smile. My dear Lancelet.
Beside her sat Guinevere and Galahad.
And further down the table was Lady Marjolijn, sipping from her own large tankard of ale.
Of course, there had already been a more formal gathering than this one. Also at a very large table.
That morning, at the Round Table in the Temple of the Three, we had all sat down together—the rebels from Pendrath, the Siabra, and the representatives from Tintagel and Lyonesse.
Guinevere and Draven had taken up places on either side of me as we sat down at the Table. It had seemed fitting—the representative of the true temple and the Prince of the Siabra.
For hours, we had remained there, discussing everything from reparations to the release of prisoners of war. At times, things had turned heated. Understandably, Tintagel and Lyonesse were not so easy to satisfy after all they had suffered. But the reparations Pendrath would make were generous and would be supplemented by Myntra. Furthermore, I had done my best to reassure all parties that this would be a lasting peace and that all hostilities would cease immediately.
During the night, Draven, Sir Ector, and I had sent out riders to all of the Pendrath war camps, letting them know that Pendrath was withdrawing and surrendering unconditionally. Within days, the troops that had once fought our neighbors would be marching back to Camelot and then, hopefully, returning to their homes and their ordinary lives.
But it would be a long time before life could truly get back to normal.
Pendrath had experienced incredible losses.
We had lost our High Priestess, our queen, and our king.
But more than anything, the people of Camelot had to confront the bitter truth of their king's ultimate betrayal—his merciless decree to butcher their defenseless children.
Guinevere was already preparing to lead a memorial for the children, Merlin, and the queen.
