Guinevere's Grail | ✓ [BOOK 2]

~ 26 ~

HERWERDE WAS STILL IN there, somewhere. Every village he terrorized, every poor child whose mother he executed, every soul whose pockets he emptied of change caused his heart to break a little more, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was a prisoner of his own flesh, his body a slave to a master he didn't know. There was nothing he could do, and it ached every time he deprived the world of another innocent life because he could not control his own blade.

Whenever Connor figured out where Kristofer was, Herwerde tried to fight. "You know how to raise a sword," he'd tell himself. And it never worked, because every time his foolish mouth would tell the King the best way to reach them, the quickest paths to take. There was no way to save the boy he loved like a son from danger anymore. Maybe he should've left sooner, but it was too late.

He was too late.

It felt all too easy now. His body had a mind of its own as he alone took down a small crowd, leaving no one but an old woman wearing nothing but rags, weeping in fear before Connor's feet.

"You know the way to the skyline," said the King, holding up a rough sketch. Ever since he figured out how to watch Kit, Herwerde hasn't been able to sleep. He laid awake every night, praying to every God he knew that the prince would stay as far away as he could.

The woman cried out when Conan pulled her arm back further against her back. "I don't! I've never seen it before, I swear it!"

"Herwerde," Connor growled, and his heart sunk. "Is she lying?"

He didn't know how he could tell such a thing, and he prayed he had his own will. Then he'd avoid the truth, tell him she wasn't lying, that she didn't know where the Grail was. But he knew Connor. He'd kill her if she was telling the truth. If she lead the way, maybe she would be spared, but Kit and his friends would not. Was one old woman worth it?

His body seemed to think so, because as it always did, his lips betrayed him. "She's lying," he said. "She knows the way, so you better not kill her for treason just yet. She can take us to Kristofer."

* * *

Selene's stamina never failed to impress Morgana. She and Kit were built of steel and stone, and no amount of stab wounds or dehydration or exhaustion could get them to stop. For God's sake, Kit had to pass out from a loss of blood in order to stop pushing his own limits. And for the first time, it seems, he'd reached that limit.

They were traveling through tall, windy mountains now, covered in clusters white trees and strong-smelling plants crawling with insects. Selene never had to stop and rest her arms, she held Giselle the entire time and refused to let go. He supposed it wasn't that shocking considering how long she could carry Kit through the sand, and he weighed as much as a cow. Giselle was so small and light, even he could carry her at his worst. It must've been the same as carrying a cat to someone as strong as Selene.

It was hard not to fuss over the Seelie. He didn't want to think about why Giselle was tired, he didn't want to get any ideas. She hadn't cried yet, she wasn't sweating. If she was sick, they'd know. She was just tired. No need for a remedy.

They traveled long into the night, until they reached a range of cold peaks surrounded by thick forests. Chalice and Eurion assured them they were close, that they would reach it by the next nightfall if they traveled fast. Morgana could hardly sleep, though, even despite his exhaustion.

Giselle was already asleep when Selene laid her down on the ground against a tree. The Lady didn't leave her side, but Morgana still worried. As long as he wasn't watching her, she was in danger.

They needed that Grail.

A familiar warm figure settled next to him, inches away from him but still close enough to feel. "She'll be okay."