When the Lady knocked at her bedchamber door the next morning, Emry was waiting, her belongings already packed. She had slept fitfully, plagued by nightmares after her encounter with the Questing Beast. At least she’d brought a book, which she’d read by wand light, trying very hard not to think about the strange creature, or how unwise she had been to chase it, or her confusing dream.

As they walked through the cloister, the Lady floated ahead of Emry, as though daring her to break the silence.

“My Lady?” Emry said tentatively. “One of the priestesses said my father was born on Avalon. Did he come here often?”

“On occasion. But he kept his own counsel, as wizards and men do. I was surprised to learn he had children.”

“I think everyone was,” said Emry before she could help herself. She mustered her courage before asking, “Do you know what happened to him?”

The Lady gave her a long, hard look.

“The sorceress Morgana took his life.”

Emry closed her eyes, her throat tight, willing back tears. Willing back all the hope she’d held on to, even after the rest of her family had moved on. Her father was gone. She had known it for a long time, but she hadn’t truly accepted it. Not while there was still a chance, however slight. Now there was no hope left. Just stale grief. And anger. Whoever this Morgana was, she had killed Father. The greatest wizard Camelot had ever known.

Well, if she couldn’t have her father back, at least she could have some answers.

“But why?” Emry insisted. “Who was she?”

“Like you, she was born gifted in the ways of magic,” said the Lady. “But she craved power. Revenge. Magic beyond what is possible in this world.” The Lady gave Emry a piercing stare. “She demanded knowledge that was not mine to give. And power that was not hers to take. I warned your father, yet he did not heed my warnings and took her as his pupil.”

His pupil? That didn’t sound like Father at all. Emry had barely convinced him to let her share her brother’s lessons. But apparently Morgana was so talented that Father had taught her magic, despite the Lady of the Lake’s cautions. It was hard not to feel resentful.

“Is she . . . the reason why your forest screams?” Emry asked.

The Lady nodded gravely. “Terrible things happen when magic doesn’t consent. Someone—or something—must suffer.” She laid a hand on Emry’s arm. “But do not concern yourself with Morgana, child. You have troubles enough without her.”

Emry stared at the Lady, her head spinning from what she’d just learned.

“So she’s still al—” Emry began, but the Lady held up a hand.

“She is nothing to you. A cautionary tale. While yours is a legend that is barely begun.”

“Thank you, my Lady. I think,” Emry said, confused.