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She smiled faintly. The demon had finally given in, it seemed. He was as far away from her and Eod as possible, curled into a ball at the end of the bedroll. But at least he was out of the rain.
Some small part of her almost felt bad for him.
Almost.
* * *
Mordred did have to admit to himself that he missed the sight of the starry sky. The moon was full and beautiful, turning the field of swaying grass into an ocean that rippled with the wind like waves.
How he wished to take his dragon—Tiny—and go find Gwendolyn. She was injured. She had been harmed by a villager, and perhaps nearly killed.
How he wished to catch her in his arms and demand she never, ever do anything so foolish as betray him again. Their dreams together had only proven to him how much life she had injected into his days—how much joy.
But the question of the demon’s whereabouts was still his primary concern. He had to locate Grinn and take the creature’s head as a trophy before he could worry about what to do next. Or else, there would be little world for her to enjoy when all was said and done.
Footsteps approached. Heavy, but not with the gait of Galahad. Mordred felt the corner of his eye twitch. “What do you want, Percival?”
He had lived with his knights for sixteen hundred years. He knew what they sounded like.
“I think I should take a contingent of our forces and go into the city. Round up all the elementals we can find.” The Knight in Copper kept his distance from Mordred. It was probably wise.
“Oh?” Mordred kept his gaze out on the forest beyond. “And why should we declare war?”
“Because you declared war three hundred years ago when you formed the Crystal. Do you think they will just let us be?”
Mordred would almost be amused by Percival’s desire to see Mordred’s reign resume, if it weren’t for the fact that it was entirely based on the Knight in Copper’s desire to stay alive and in power. Cracking his neck from one side to the other loudly, he decided he was in no mood to talk to Percival. “No.”
“Then allow me to take your soldiers and—”
“You misunderstand me. My answer to your request isno.”He pulled his clawed hand into a fist where it rested on the stone balustrade, the points audibly scratching on the surface. “We search for the demon. Nothing more.”
“But—”
Mordred shut his eyes. “If you do not wish to be thrown from this ledge, Percival, I suggest you leave me be.”
The Knight in Copper was not a fool. He turned and left. Mordred understood his desire to start the fight before it came to them. It would be the wise choice, were victory Mordred’s sole concern.
It should be.
And perhaps a month ago, it would have been.
But there was a chance—slim and hopeless as it may be—that the world would find another way. That the elementals would see the past three hundred years as a warning of what would follow if they began their violent squabbling again.
Even if it meant that they were united against him, at least the world would know peace.
That had been his goal, after all…hadn’t it?
And if all the elementals required were a common enemy, he had certainly given them one, though he would argue they already had one in Grinn. But when was the last time anyone ever listened to him?
Turning from the balustrade, he headed inside. His other knights would return from their patrols soon, and he would have to listen to more questions and wary looks, wondering if he had lost either his mind or the will to live.
No, it was neither.
He was simply heartbroken.
The questions from his knights would have to wait until the morning.
Mordred decided he needed to get well and truly drunk.
