Even before the troops reached the walls of Camelot, they could hear the wails and mourning of the people at the loss of their beloved king. Lancelot rode at the head of the army, Agravaine and Jenny flanking him, and Lila could see surprise in people’s eyes as they passed through the gate. Wives and mothers rushed to find their men; wails rose afresh when they learned which of their loved ones wouldn’t be coming home. Lila, like Emrys, had foregone her horse and joined Tristan, Ector, and Cai in bearing Arthur’s body home. She bowed her head so she didn’t have to look anyone in the face when they stepped into the citadel, because this wasn’t her right; she wasn’t one of Arthur’s people – she was an interloper from another time who had managed to catch the eye of the king.

“We will lay him to rest in state for two days,” Emrys said quietly as they headed for the chapel. “Then he must be buried properly.”

“Will he not have a Christian burial?” Lila asked.

“No,” Emrys said. “Heaven is not his destiny.”