She changed back into her hunting clothes, and stuffed her dress haphazardly into an old canvas bag. There was no chance of her returning with it. Her lady's maid wouldn't miss it, she'd snatched it from her cottage in Oliford on her way to the clearing. She was more loathe to remove her ring. She held her hand out before she did, admiring the way it caught the afternoon light. Glancing at Mace, she smiled at him, grimaced, and then slipped it from her finger. She pressed it into his hand.

"I'll be wanting that back," she teased, closing his fingers around it, "don't lose it."

Standing on tip-toes she reached up to kiss him. She didn't want to leave him. It seemed like madness, to turn around and walk back into the coldness of the castle, when she could have disappeared into the woodland with him, safe and warm and loved.

"I love you," she told him, forcing her hand away. "Be careful."

And with that, she hoisted her hunting pack higher on her shoulder, and headed back towards the main road. The trees shifted around her, closing off the way back, wrapping Mace in their protective embrace. Theirs, not hers. Biting back the hot sting of tears, she raised her chin, forcing her mask back into place, all strength and composure. By the time her feet found the well-worn path she was the Lady Morgana again.

---

There were only a handful of guards left on the walls, and only one in the guard room. One more had been left as sentry on the front doors. They greeted her pleasantly, with smiles, nods and muttered 'm'ladys' but there was no doubt that something was amiss. Frowning, she moved through into the entranceway, and entered a hive of activity. Guards hurried everywhere, some of them running, some striding hurriedly, all of them undeniably purposeful. Morgana looked around, searching for an indication as to what was happening, or what had happened.

She reached out as a guard hurried past, stopping him in his tracks.

"Where is the king?" she asked him.

"His antechamber, m'lady, with the Captains."

Morgana thanked him, passed her bag off to the nearest footman, and headed off down the corridor. She took a sharp left, and hurried on, until she reached the door at the very end of the passage. Stopping short, she knocked twice, hitched an expression of mild curiosity onto her face, and turned the handle. The hinges didn't creak as they had in Arthur's day, everything now was efficient and fuss-free. She suspected Arthur had liked the creaking, had found joy and warmth in it. Her younger brother, she realised, had little capacity for either.

And yet, as soon as you set eyes on him, you doubted it. Her eyes found him as she stepped into the room. He leant over a map on the table, his expression all earnestness, it looked almost innocent on so finely-wrought, so young a face. Then he glanced up, blue eyes widening, delighted to see her.

"Sister!" he beamed, reaching out to bring her back under his spell. Even with everything she knew, she could feel a part of her mind falling for it. She remembered how she had seen him, her blood, a beautiful, capable, talented boy, all good manners and charm. She had loved him, had wanted to love him from the minute that she met him, and oh, how easy it would have been to fall back into loving him all over again.
"Good hunting?" he asked.

Morgana shook her head. "The worst," she laughed, meeting him half-way. "And it looks like I've missed something for my trouble."

He nodded, his smile melting away, replaced by earnestness again.

"So much," he agreed, "but I will have to fill you in when I return. You'll forgive me?"

"Always," she smiled, squeezing his hands, "go."

And he did, without wasting another moment. The captains filed out behind her. Except one. Captain Flynn held her eye a moment longer than was necessary, his lips twitched so that she half-expected him to speak. And then he disappeared through the door, shoulders hunched. Her stomach turned over.

As the door closed, she hurried to the table, resting her hand upon the map. It was Shaman, the forest, and there, towards the centre, someone had circled a small patch of trees. Her heart pounded. Rooted in place, she stared down at the little mark, the mark that could undo everything, and for a moment she couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

But she had to.

Morgana staggered across the room, her happiness from the night before completely extinguished. Her hand struck the door, as she paused to take a breath. Slowly she pulled it ajar, and then drew herself up, her muscles trembling as she asked them to keep her upright, keep her steady, keep her slow. One step after another carried her steadily, too steadily, to the central staircase. The guards were starting to empty out through the front doors, through the side doors, the castle draining of life. She smiled at them as they passed, her fingers curling tightly around the banister rail.

All she wanted to do was run. But there were eyes everywhere. Guards in the lobby, maids and footmen on the upper floors, pages, waiting women, the queen's ladies, the prince's nurses. She had to keep walking.

"Kraar!" she managed to cry, her mind forcing the summons along her telepathic link. She felt him jolt into wakefulness.

"Morgana?" he replied, all panic. "What? What is it?"

---

Kraar battled against the wind, keen eyes fixed on the ground below. The forest grew thick, the canopy thicker. He cursed and circled lower. He was the only bird for miles. The great dragon had been released from his confines and had claimed the air for his own. Kraar was too exposed, too easily spotted, too easily traced.

As if hearing his thoughts, the trees below suddenly shifted, thinning a little to the west. Kraar flew towards them, lowering his altitude with each flap of his wings. A lone figure weaved his way along a game path Kraar knew well. Mace. He resisted the urge to dart to him, and took a more meandering root. Most birds flew without any great purpose. It was an easy way to avoid detection.

He landed first in a tree too far back, and moved his way along the branches, moving like a squirrel through the trees.

Finally, he landed on a branch a little way above Mace's head.

"Mace," he breathed, all exhaustion, "she says he's coming. He knows where Tristan is."