Forcing another grin, Arthur said, “You don’t sound surprised. Mordred’s blade must have been dipped in troll’s blood.”
Neither Lucan nor Kel commented, but the dragon rose to check Mordred’s weapon.
“Worse than that, then?” Arthur blew out a harsh breath, waiting until a wave of pain passed to speak. “Gwen always warned that my stubbornness would be the death of me.” His laugh was choked off by another cough.
Kel walked back toward them, his expression grim. In the distance more of Morgana’s men spotted them. They were running out of time.
Arthur pulled off his arm band, handing it to Lucan. “Give this to Gwen. She’ll take the news better from you.” He knew he was dying.
“No.”
His friend pressed the band into his hand. “Promise me you’ll give it to Gwen. She’ll never handle it coming from anyone else. She loves you, trusts you. You can’t let my death destroy her.”
Lucan’s throat felt like it was on fire. He shook his head, knowing he’d never have the chance to tell Gwen anything. “I can’t—”
“Vow it!” Grip much too strong for someone slipping away right before Lucan’s eyes, Arthur didn’t relax his grip.
Lucan nodded, sinking one hand into the fur on Briana’s back, needing something to hold on to.
“And tell her…” A spasm ripped through Arthur’s body that left him panting. “Tell her that I waited too long to fight for her. My only regret.” His eyes closed, and he forced them back open seconds later. “I’ll find a way to be with her again.”
If anyone could manage such a feat, it would be Arthur. For the first time in a millennia, Lucan wanted to believe that the rebel king would awaken and reclaim Camelot.
“We can’t stay here,” Kel warned, moving to intercept the first of Morgana’s men to reach them. Briana leaped away to take down one of the approaching wolves racing to attack them.
Lucan glanced down at his hand, expecting to see the arm band Arthur had commissioned to match Gwen’s for their wedding, but found a scroll instead. His fingers closed around it and he shoved it into his pocket.
“Lucan!”
Kel’s warning broke through Lucan’s grief, and he turned. Pain ripped through him, and he stared down at the spear that pierced his back and exited through his stomach.
Briana roared, tearing through three men, and then she was at his side, covered in blood and in her human form once more.
“Luc.”
The spear moved, twisting inside him. Dazed and weak, he glanced down to find a vine and not a spear lodged in him. As quickly as it had appeared, the battlefield was gone and they were back in the chamber.
A chamber alive with slithering vines bent on ensnaring everyone.
The painted forest writhed with life, the vines twisting and snaking around the columns, now tree trunks.
Nessa’s head fell forward, her body marked by battle and bleeding cuts from the thorns. On the other side of the chamber, Vaughn eluded the vines in his wolf form, scrambling under the foliage and snapping his jaw at the ropes of vegetation that pursued.
Elena kicked at the one trying to wrap around her ankle, some of the vines catching fire from her magic. The last burst of flame she threw struck the ceiling and rocks and earth rained down through the canopy of leaves.
“Are you trying to trap us or burn us alive?” Kel fought the vines holding him prisoner next to Lucan.
Lucan twisted as far as he could, searching for Briana. He picked out the Fae, who managed to elude the vines, as well and the enchantress. Like Nessa, she was unconscious.
He scanned the other end of the room, still not spotting Briana. Had she been left behind?
Another vine wrapped around his chest, the thorns piercing his flesh. Fuck.
The pressure on his right arm lessened, and through a blurry haze, he saw Briana cut through the vine. White spots twirled across his vision, blending the ceiling and ground together until he wasn’t sure which was which.
The vine that pierced his chest retreated, and he helped Briana pull the rest of them off him. Nearby, the Fae chanted under his breath, his voice agitated, as a vine swayed in front of him, a cobra poised to strike.
The last vine around Lucan’s waist gave way easier than the others, almost as if it had lost interest in holding him prisoner. More vines abandoned everyone else in favor of cornering the Fae.
The chamber shook violently as another of Elena’s fire blasts struck a wall.
“She’s going to kill us,” Kel snarled.
Briana slipped an arm around Lucan. Not until the warmth of her pressed against his side, taking some of his weight, did he notice his legs had been moments from dumping him to the ground.
Weak from hunger, blood loss and now the poison in the thorns, he struggled to raise his voice above a whisper. “You need to stop Elena.”
The words left his mouth at the same time another burst of fire struck the column closest to Kel.
And everything went dark.
Briana came awake coughing, her lungs working to expel the dust that coated her insides. Her head fell back against the ground, and she took a minute to piece together what the hell had happened.
Keeping her eyes open took tremendous effort. So did lifting her arm. Whatever didn’t ache from being battered and bruised from the battle and vines, trembled with exhaustion.
Her eyes slid shut. Maybe if she just rested another minute… The cat growled softly in her mind, then louder. No sleeping then.
“Luc?” Gritty and heavy, her eyes stung as she kept them open to search the dark.
Something heavy pinned her right side. She pushed at it with her free hand, and the warm weight gave a little.
Lucan?
It took long moments and several deep breaths to slide him off her body, and she lay panting afterward, cursing the toxins in the thorns. She didn’t want to know what else the gods had planned for them if each challenge was meant to be more difficult than the last.
A sound echoed behind her, and she stilled.
“Who’s there?” She squinted in the dark.
A spark flickered, some of the vegetation catching fire. Kel.
He leaned against the wall, something protruding from his thigh. The scent of his blood smelled faintly sour, as did Lucan’s. Another side effect from the thorns, she assumed.
Ignoring the dragon, she used the rays of light to examine Lucan’s wounds. Like wading through water, everything took more effort, and she sagged back down when she finished feeling the extent of the wound on his head—probably from the cave-in. The chunks of rock and debris separating them from the others might as well have been the size of oil tankers for all the strength she had to move them right now.
Sitting up once more, she shook Lucan’s arm, willing him to wake up. The dark had never bothered her before, but she’d never been in the dark and in the catacombs at the same time.
The edgy chill sinking into her bones left the cat anxious.
Kel grunted, and she glanced over her shoulder, watching him yank at whatever impaled his leg. He hissed out a breath, his big body shuddering. Even if she thought his dragon form could push through the barrier without collapsing the roof entirely and burying them alive, it was doubtful he could shift with his leg so badly damaged.
The firelight faded until only the coals glowed in the dark. She thought he meant to leave them in the dark, too exhausted to unleash enough of the dragon to breathe fire, but the room lit up again moments later.
Lucan’s eyes were still closed, his face free of the tension and pain when he’d been with Arthur.
Lucan was Lancelot.
How had no one ever told her that? Stories of Arthur’s best friend were legendary in both Avalon and the human world, even the ones about him trying to steal the heart of Guinevere.