"Are you alright?" Mordred asked her, leaning across the table. Morgana looked up at him with the smallest of smiles, moving her fingers away from her temple.
"A migraine," she told him, wincing as she reached for the goblet of water in front of her, "it'll pass." The king nodded, with a look of sympathy, "an early night perhaps, sister?" Morgana agreed. She lingered in the hall a little longer, pushing her food around her plate with her fork and watching Mordred out of the corner of her eye. He'd had a new crown made to match his dragon ring, the creature's eyes picked out in sapphires. There'd been a gift for her too; a narrow headdress of flying ravens with opal stares. She could feel it pressing insistently against the side of her head.

When her brother seemed engrossed in his pretty little fiancée, Morgana pushed back her chair and left the dais. She rested a hand on Mordred's shoulder as she passed and mouthed goodnight when he glanced her way. Pressing her hand to her head again she slipped out of the side door and into the cool of corridor beyond. Kraar joined her immediately, swooping down from the rafters to land with practiced ease on her shoulder. Morgana's arm dropped to her side and she marched purposefully to the nearest staircase.

It was a relief to make it to her room. It was the one thing in her life that had remained constant over the last turbulent weeks. From the looking glass, to the bed, to the curtains, it looked exactly the same as it had always done. Her handmaid was waiting for her. She appeared out of her side-room looking neat and tidy, her hair pulled back in a rather serious looking bun.
"You're back early, my Lady," the girl commented in a sing-song voice.
"I've got one of my headaches," Morgana told her, standing still in the centre of the room so the girl could start unlacing her gown.
"It's been a long few days."

Dressed in her nightgown, Morgana held a candle out before her as she crossed the floor to the bed. The girl clicked the door shut behind her as she left, taking the dirty laundry with her. Setting the light down on her bedside table Morgana slid under the bedclothes and rolled onto her side to extinguish. In the darkness she lay back against the cushions and closed her eyes. Concentrating on her breathing and clearing her mind of the bustle of the day she reached for her magic.

Morgana soared over Shaman and the Castle soon fell away beneath her. She passed over Oliford, sliding easily through the smoke issuing from the cottage chimneys, and into the shade of the Kingswood. It had grown substantially since she, Mordred and Arthur had discovered it, years and years ago now when Mordred had first found them. He'd turned up on their doorstep with an orphan's tale and they'd taken him into their hearts. Her astral self quivered; threatening to snap itself back into her physical body. She needed to concentrate. She needed to find Mace.

She'd sent a raven to him earlier in the evening. The bird's name was Slighthook, and he was a stubborn creature. Morgana had told him where to lead Mace, and instructed him to keep him there as long as it took. Timing was everything these days. She spotted Slighthook before she saw Mace, but as she got closer, his familiar shape appeared from behind the trunk of the tree. Anxiousness twisted in her stomach back in the castle, sending a ripple through her astral form. She took a deep breath and descended through the branches of the tree to land behind him.
"Mace," she said simply, clasping her hands together against her chest, "you got my letter?"