They lapsed into silence. No matter that Arthur insisted it wasn’t her fault—if she hadn’t been so foolish—if she had only stayed at the castle—he wouldn’t have needed to come after her. To risk his life.

He had almost died. He should have died. She still wasn’t sure how she had healed him.

Smart as spades, but foolish as hearts.

Oh, her father had known her well. But she hadn’t known him at all. What had he done to Arthur’s sister? And to his mother? It was terrible, dark magic. A variation of the rotten spell Emmett had tried to use on his debt collectors.

Father hadn’t wanted to teach her that kind of magic. He hadn’t wanted to teach her magic at all. He was nothing like she had thought. No wonder Master Ambrosius had been so unsurprised to hear what Emmett had done. And no wonder the Lady of the Lake had been so upset when she’d caught Emry opening that portal. The magic chooses its path, Master Ambrosius always said. But so did the wizard.

And her path had never seemed clearer. It was just as the Lady of the Lake had said: she was meant to be at Arthur’s side. And he was meant to be at hers.

He had been magnificent back there, in the cave. He could have used Excalibur to kill Morgana. Instead, he had sacrificed it to save Emry’s life. And she had saved his, in a way she still didn’t understand. She felt it between them, an invisible bond of what they’d gone through, together.

“Come on,” he said. “We should get back before anyone realizes we’re gone.”

Emry nodded in agreement, tossing one last glance at the cathedral. The henge had been destroyed. She knew that. But the door had been opening from the other side right before it crumbled to dust. It was possible—

No. She was only fooling herself. She didn’t know for certain what she’d seen. The stones had been acting strangely. Perhaps it hadn’t been her father, trying to return home. Perhaps it had been Morgana. Or nothing at all.

She had lost her father before, and had kept going. And she’d do the same now. She lifted her chin, and stared at the weary, dark-eyed boy who stood at her side. A boy who had run halfway across London to save her. And a thought occurred to her. The castle had been asleep when she’d left. Arthur had been asleep.

“How did you know where to find me?” she asked.

“I had that dream again,” he admitted. “And when I woke, Excalibur was glowing.”

“Clever sword,” Emry said.

“Clever dream,” returned Arthur.