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“Very well. We will quarter our troops just outside of the city. Treaty talks can begin in the morning.”
“My brother Kaye is currently very ill,” I said quickly.
“Then you shall take his place or appoint a regent in his stead until he is recovered,” Lady Marjolijn suggested.
I nodded my agreement.
“In the morning then.” She turned away, and in a moment, a horn blew, and the troops from Lyonesse and Tintagel began to move out.
I turned to face Draven. He was empty-handed. I glanced behind us to see Galahad holding Medra. A bottle of milk had been acquired from somewhere and he was feeding it to her.
Guinevere had moved away from us. I looked over to the edge of the bridge and saw her removing the silk cloak she wore and draping it over Arthur’s body.
“She is truly full of grace,” Draven said quietly, watching with me.
I nodded. My throat was suddenly too constricted to form words.
My feelings were a maelstrom of contradictions. My brother's hands had been stained with the blood of countless innocents, Guinevere herself among them.
And yet for most of my life, I had believed him to be my flesh and blood. One didn't escape that so easily.
It was the greatest of ironies that in his final moments, my brother had almost returned to me and been forced to face the dark abyss he had become.
I took a deep breath. “The prophecy came true.”
Draven's eyes formed a question.
“He died because of Medra. He died believing he was saving her from something worse. From himself.”
“This.” Draven gestured to the retreating army across the river “It might have all been much worse. Your brother spared his city that much, at least. It was a better death than he deserved.”
I knew he was right.
“But now there is something much worse than Arthur to face,” he said quietly.
I nodded, slipped my hand into his warm and strong one, and together, we turned back to face our friends.
