Something was the matter. He could feel it.

He dressed quickly, pulling on the first boots and jacket he found in the dark, not bothering with the endless clasps and ties. He buckled on his now-useless scabbard and grabbed his sword, hastily preparing what he would say to his guards.

Except when he cracked open the door, both were asleep at their posts. He almost laughed in relief. Instead, he slipped quietly past them and crept down the dark corridors to Emry’s room.

He knocked softly, hoping she would yank open the door, her hair a mess, scowling at him for waking her.

Come on, he thought. Answer.

When she didn’t, he sent up a prayer of forgiveness and pushed open the door.

She was gone.

Her bed was unmade, her cloak and boots missing. There was no sign of a struggle. Wherever Emry had gone, she had gone willingly.

Suddenly, he knew.

He only worried he wouldn’t get there in time, and that the terrible events in his dream would come to pass.

London was dark and silent as Arthur hurried through the empty streets, Excalibur at his side. It was past curfew, and at every scuttle or creak, Arthur half expected a warden to emerge from the shadows, demanding an explanation that he didn’t have time to give.

His chest ached, and his lungs demanded air, but he didn’t slow down. Not until he reached the churchyard.

It had been a long time since he’d last stepped foot in this place, where the odd little tavern sat next to the sword in the stone. And it was strange to see the stone was still there, a forlorn slab rising from the earth.

He had been so young and unsure the last time he came here.

But he wasn’t unsure now.

He rushed toward it, his sword drawn, but the stone was merely a slab of pale marble, worn smooth over time.

She wasn’t here.

Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone is rightwise king born of all England

Think, Arthur urged himself. Prove yourself worthy of your wizard.

He could see the underground chamber clearly in his mind, just as clearly as he knew he was standing right above it.

He only needed the way in. He looked around, and that was when he saw the ancient wooden door set into the side of the cathedral. It was overgrown with vines, almost as though it was hoping no one would notice it was there. And it had been left ajar.

Arthur drew his sword, its glowing blade lighting his way against the darkness.

This was a spectacularly bad idea, Emry thought as she followed Morgana through the crypt beneath the echoing, empty cathedral.

All around her was the smell of packed earth and decay. The walls were stacked high with dusty tombs containing the bones of long-dead men, now forgotten.