Kel shrugged as though it didn’t matter if Lucan understood his motives. “I get it, you know. She changes everything. Makes you feel like someone else, someone you used to be before you became the monster you hate more than everyone else.”
Lucan watched Kel look at the wall like the dragon had thought about climbing it more often than he had.
“She makes you almost believe,” Kel continued, “for just a minute, that if you can love her enough, maybe it will make up for your mistakes.” He met Lucan’s gaze. “And you’d do anything to make that minute last for an eternity.”
The unexpected exchange rattled around in Lucan’s head long after Kel had left him alone, the dragon’s insight hitting much too close to home.
She’s ours.
Ignoring both the wraith and the gut-wrenching certainty that he’d never be able to let her go, Lucan forced himself to think about the final round of the competition, and eliminating every obstacle standing between him and winning.
“You didn’t eat your breakfast.”
Briana turned from the balcony that laid Camelot out before her, and faced the sorceress who had stunned her by putting her in a guest room instead of a cell.
Morgana took a taste of something on the platter that sat untouched on the table near the massive poster bed that could have slept half a dozen people. “I can see why.” Her nose shriveled up, the gesture not detracting from the face that would have been splashed across every woman’s magazine if the sorceress had craved a life on modeling runways.
“I’m still here.” Had been since the others had been snatched away, leaving her at the sorceress’s mercy. Morgana hadn’t volunteered any explanation for how she’d interfered with the brand on Briana’s hip that the gods had claimed kept them in control.
A lie?
“Indeed you are.” Morgana sprawled on the lounge chair opposite the balcony. The sorceress looked…bored.
“Why?”
They’d already played this game, and Briana was no closer to figuring out what Morgana planned to do with her in the end. It was driving her crazy not knowing what was happening with Lucan. Had the compulsion to kill worn off or was he losing himself to the madness?
“You interest me.”
“The last time I interested someone I ended up in the Gauntlet.” She’d already shared some details of how she’d come to be in Camelot, not seeing the point in hiding it, and Morgana hadn’t been particularly surprised.
She snorted. “The Gauntlet changes nothing.”
Briana hadn’t mentioned the prize was Excalibur. Supposedly. She tipped her head, watching the sorceress bounce a foot. “Why did you kill Gwen?”
Morgana sat up, grinning. “No one has dared mentioned Guinevere’s name in my presence in centuries.”
“Do I win a prize?” she muttered, half hoping she might provoke the sorceress into revealing her intentions.
Morgana burst out laughing. “You are the first one to talk back to me in a very long time, kitty-cat. I’ve missed it.” Rising to her feet, the sorceress strolled around the room. “I see now why Maeve chose to include you.” It was the first time the sorceress had mentioned either of the gods behind the Gauntlet, and it couldn’t be a coincidence.
Someone had to be feeding her information. One of the competitors somehow? Or the gods themselves? Briana couldn’t imagine what the point of the latter would be, but little of the competition had made sense up until now anyway. How could she expect that Morgana’s possible involvement would be straightforward?
“So what’s in it for you, kitty-cat? You don’t strike me as the type to enter the Gauntlet for power.”
Briana cocked her head. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”
Morgana pursed her lips as though she wasn’t sure. “So not power or revenge,” she tacked on. Her shoulders drooped. “Don’t tell me it has anything to do with love.” She held up a hand. “Don’t even answer. Only a woman foolish enough to fall in love would pace around the room every other second like you’ve been doing since you got here.”
“I guess it’s not surprising that you’re spying on me.”
“What kind of hostess would I be if I didn’t?”
“Hostess? Some might say warden.”
Morgana pointed a finger at her. “You’re fun, and a little too bright to waste time micromanaging your brothers when you’re not playing with your glamour toys.”
“You’ve been doing your homework.” Whatever doubts Briana had about Morgana knowing much about her had been officially put to rest.
“Well I was thinking of hiring someone to upgrade my security system. I’ve recently had some unexpected trespassers.”
“I’m not sure you could afford me.” It seemed a safer response than asking if the sorceress had been sipping her own potions. There wasn’t a job in this realm or the next that she’d take from Morgana.
“You’d be surprised what I could offer you.”
Sensing that Morgana wasn’t about to elaborate just yet, Briana glanced at the untouched food on the table. “Will I have company at dinner as well?”
“Perhaps.” The sorceress smiled again, a chilling edge to her curved lips that kept Briana unsettled. “If you’re still alive by then.”
“Why haven’t you killed me already?”
The sorceress shrugged and it was the first sincere gesture Briana picked up on.
She took a seat on the lounge Morgana had abandoned. “How long did you keep Gwen alive?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Morgana winked, making it difficult to gauge whether the sorceress was trying to be likeable—which flew in the face of everything Briana thought she knew about her—or just screwing with her head.
The latter seemed the most likely.
She watched the sorceress pick up a few trinkets as she strolled around, the last one in particular snagging her attention.
“This was Mordred’s room,” Briana realized, voicing the discovery aloud.
“It was. It’s been empty far too long.”
Briana stared at her. What had possessed Avalon’s most powerful sorceress to set Briana up in her dead son’s bedroom? She wanted to attribute it to some creepy part of the plan to rattle Briana, but somehow that didn’t fit. Morgana was much too powerful to waste time manipulating people that way.
“You miss him,” she guessed.
Morgana arched a brow. “Am I portrayed as so unfeeling I couldn’t possibly mourn the son I adored?”
Briana hadn’t thought about it. She had been too busy, like every other gargoyle, mourning the loss of friends and family and trying to adjust to a life lived only in darkness, hours of sun warming only their stone exteriors.
“When did you find your mate?” the sorceress mused.
Rising, Briana turned toward the balcony where the sun had come up a few hours ago. “Recently.”
“And does he love you?”
There was no hesitation on her part. “Yes.”
Morgana crossed to the wardrobe that still held men’s clothing Briana now knew had to be Mordred’s. “How do you know?”
“How do you know the sun will rise tomorrow?” There was no way to put her belief in Lucan into words. She only wished she’d seen past her own fear and Lucan’s determination to protect her earlier. Maybe they would’ve had more time together.
“An interesting comparison for a gargoyle. So your mate, who loves you, has he lied to you yet? Hurt you? Betrayed you?” Morgana tapped each fingertip in succession. “It’s what they do.”
“Are we still talking about me?”
Morgana arched a brow. “Clever kitty-cat.” She flipped through the clothes hanging inside. Her fingers lingered on a familiar shirt, the collar ripped, though someone had sewn it back together.
It took Briana a moment to place it, though it had been far more stained with blood the last time she’d seen it. “That belonged to Arthur.” Briana was sure he’d been wearing it in the illusion of the battle at Camlann.