Agravaine scooped up a fallen Orkney banner and leapt astride Mordred’s horse, ordered the men to stand down. Lancelot hoisted a Pendragon banner and began ordering Arthur’s men to clear a path. Guinevere, still screaming, tore through the ranks of battle-weary men, but it was Emrys who reached the fallen king first. He pried Mordred off of Arthur and cradled Arthur against him.

“My Liege,” he said, and his eyes were wide, his hands shaking, “I can heal you. Just let me -”

The two women Lila had spied on the hill spilled down through the Orkney ranks. The blonde woman gathered Mordred into her arms, threw her head back, and shrieked at the sky. The dark-haired woman jabbed a finger at Emrys.

“You did this! You and your cursed demon –”

Emrys lifted his head, and his eyes blazed silver. “Away from me, witch,” he snarled. “Your hellspawn has killed my king!”

The woman raised one hand, but before she could cast, Guinevere landed on her knees beside Arthur.

“No!” She buried her face in his hair, sobbing.