The tapestries have caught fire. Steady hits of lightning inch closer to me, following the path I’d taken to the exit. One strikes ten feet away, another, nine—

I pull hard on the heavy door. It cracks open, just enough. I squeeze through the opening. I don’t care what’s on the other side.

All I see are the crumbling bones of twice-dead men.

I stumble into another room—bright, warm—and push as hard as I can to shut the door tight behind me. I back away, chest heaving for air, watching the cracks of the door, waiting to see the deadly lightning flash beneath it.

It doesn’t.

And yet there’s no doubt in my mind that if I open it again, a bolt will meet me.

“Arthur!”

A woman’s muffled voice reaches me, accompanied with muffled footsteps that draw near.

I finally take in my surroundings.

The whole room is cast in the orange-gold light of the sunset outside of a wide, stone-edged window. On one end are two wide wooden chairs, a hide rug, and a low table between them. And there’s a massive fireplace on one wall. So tall I could stand fully upright inside it.

It only takes one glance to see that the flames flicker in a repetitive rhythm. There are no sparks, no smell to the fireplace. It is perfect.

I swivel back around, expecting to see the door through which I entered, but it’s no longer there. A blank, gray stone wall stands in its place.

Another dream.

The single door in the room swings open and Arthur walks in, harried and distracted. His hair is loose and unadorned, his face drawn, and instead of the fancier attire in the throne room, he wears a dark blue tunic and loose brown pants with matching boots.

“Arthur!” Close on his heels comes a dark-haired young woman I recognize from my blood walk with Nick and Sel: Arthur’s half sister Morgaine. She pursues her brother to the hearth with both hands clutched at her sides. “You know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important!”

Arthur’s low rumble is fond. “I do not know that, dear sister.”

When Arthur walks past me to the window and grips the stone sill, I edge closer. Wave a hand between his face and the view of the hills behind us; he doesn’t blink. The lines at the edges of his eyes may have been earned with joy, but those at his mouth follow the path of solemnity and worry.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, you are known to ask for a great many things… and, quite frequently, you receive that which you ask for.” Arthur’s smile makes an appearance as he glances over his shoulder.