Author Note: Hoorah, I finally have the internet back, which means that I can finally continue on with the story. I hope this impromptu hiatus hasn't put any of you off reading further, because things will really start to liven up soon. Without giving too much away, let me say one word - Saxons.

Got your interest now? Lol.

Anyways, in the meantime, enjoy this chapter. It kind of delves a little into Dante's past, as I realised that I've focussed greatly on the present with her, but not very much on her past - where she comes from, what made her into the person she is today, etc...so here's a few little snippets of her past life, that are finally coming back to haunt her.

And for those of you who may have noticed the front cover I've given the story, it is one I made myself using photoshop, because i had intended on turning this into a real book for my friends and family to read as well, complete with actual pictures etc. If anyone is interested in these pics, let me know and I'll find a way to display them for you. You can finally see Dante in the flesh - because yes, I had a likeness in mind when writing her, and in fact it is her that you can see on the cover, lol.

So, enough from me, for now, I'll let you all get back to reading. Enjoy, as always, and don't forget to review :D xx

...

Whilst Arthur and his men were away, Gwaine was kept busy working alongside Percival, Guinevere and the council to keep order in the kingdom, and so rarely got any chance to visit Dante and keep her company. Everyone else was busy with their duties too, leaving her with extremely long and tedious periods alone, stuck in her chambers because she was still too weak to go very far unaided.

The furthest she'd managed to reach on her own was the Castle Library, where Lord Geoffrey had quickly offered her his seat when he'd seen her stagger in, pale from the exertion of making her way through half the Citadel.

As she'd collapsed into his seat, grateful for a chance to rest, he'd hurried to cater for her every whim, fetching each of the heavy tomes and books that she requested, and even calling two guards to help escort her and her collection of books back to her room. This had been just after midday on the very day Arthur had left.

Now, four days later, she was pouring over the latest of the borrowed books, as reading was about one of the few things that she could do without causing herself any pain - other than a mild headache when she strained her eyes from over-reading, or when the light faded and day turned to night.

This particular book was a thick leather bound tome written hundreds of years previously - its pages now brittle and yellow with age. The dark leather of the cover was etched with a very familiar golden dragon, but as she opened the book to the first page, she was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was not in fact a history about the Pendragon family, but rather a rumination on the history and properties of dragons in general.

She didn't remember requesting this particular book, but Geoffrey must have slipped it into the pile without her notice, apparently thinking it may be of some interest to her.

And it was.

Dragons had always fascinated Dante, for as long as she could remember. Dragons and unicorns. The sigil of her father's house was a prancing unicorn. The sigils of both her mother's house and Arthur's was a dragon. Perhaps this was a sign? Though what the sign was supposed to be telling her, she had no idea.

Sitting back in the chair and propping the heavy volume against the pile of other books already on the table, she reached for her cup, took a sip of the wine, then opened the book at a random page and began to read about the properties of dragon bone.

Dragon bone is black because of its high iron content, the book told her. It is as strong as steel, yet lighter and far more flexible, and of course utterly impervious to fire. Dragon bone bows are greatly prize, and small wonder. An archer so armed can outrange any wooden bow, whilst dragon bone armour is the most sought after and expensive armour in the known world.

She paused momentarily in her reading to reflect on this piece of information. Her father had a dragon bone dagger - a gift to him from her mother on their wedding day - and she remembered finding it one evening when she was searching his room.

She'd been looking for where he'd hidden her confiscated wooden animals, after she'd been caught throwing them at her brothers (having discovered that they made brilliant missiles that flew far and fast, if thrown in the proper way - and also made a fantastic noise if you bounced them just right off a helmet or a plate of armour).

Defiant, even in her youth, Dante had waited until her father had gone to sort out some feud in the nearby village between a farmer and a merchant, and had then crept into his room to search for her beloved toys. It was then that she'd found his dagger, wrapped so carefully in purple silk that at first she was almost afraid to unwrap it. She recognized the sigil of her mother's family - the bronze dragon of the Amells - on the silk and had known straight away that it was an object of great importance and value to her father.

Reverently and with all the care and respect a six year old could manage, she unwrapped the dagger and sat on the floor of her father's bedroom for hours, just staring at the dragon bone blade.

As black as onyx, polished smooth and shimmering in the light of an overhead torch in its bracket, the blade was both deadly and beautiful at the same time. The handle was also dragon bone, a prancing unicorn carved into one side and a ribbon of purple tied around the tang where the blade joined the hilt.

She'd been unable to put it down, even when her father had returned - the quarrel in the village now settled. He'd come up to his room to change out of his 'Lordly Attire' as he'd often called it, only to find his wilful daughter sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bedchambers, holding the dagger, completely lost in its beauty.

"Mind the blade," he'd told her gently as he'd sat down to join her. "It's sharper than any steel edge." And just to demonstrate, he took it from her and ran his thumb ever so lightly along the blade. His skin barely even touched the edge, yet beads of crimson bled out straight away and he showed her the neat slice before raising his thumb to suck away the blood. Then he took the bottom of his cloak (which he was still wearing) and used the knife to neatly cut a strip of material, which he then attempted to tie one handed round his thumb.

"Come here, father," she'd sighed like an old woman, taking the strip from him and tying it into a six year old's equivalent of a knot - that is to say, several knots on top of one another, nowhere near tight enough to be effective. Her father had laughed, all the same and placed the knife to one side away from her, just to be safe.

When she'd finished, he inspected her 'handiwork' then glanced up at her as she sat beside him, legs still crossed, but with her arms now folded as well and a look of severe concentration that she'd worn all the way through her 'bandaging' of his thumb.

"You are so much like your mother," he'd told her sadly, and suddenly she'd found her eyes brimming with tears. It had only been six months since Evelyn Quincailan's disappearance after all, and the pain was still raw for them all.

"I miss her," she'd whispered. And then the grief had flooded her and she'd turned away from him. "It was my fault...I asked her to go riding with me. I BEGGED her!" She cried. "It was my fault, and now she's gone, and..."

Suddenly her father's arms were around her. He gently held her as she turned and sobbed against his big strong chest. "No, my Baby Vixen," he whispered. "Grieve for your mother, but never blame yourself. It was not your fault, and there is nothing you could have done."

"But if I hadn't begged her to go riding..." she'd sniffed, clinging to him as if afraid he'd disappear too.

"Fate never comes to us at a time of our choosing, Little Vixen. And it was fate that decided the outcome of that day, not you, nor I, nor even your mother. So don't dwell on the past. Instead, think about the future, and what it will bring."

"I'm going to find mother, and I'm going to make the bastards who stole her pay for what they did!" She announced suddenly, with absolute conviction and resolve. He let out a bark of laughter at that.

"Where did you hear that word?" he asked, through his peals of laughter.

"Alistair," Dante shrugged. "He calls Cailan it all the time."

"Does he now?" her father had replied thoughtfully. Then he reached down and took up the dagger again, holding it carefully by the blade and offering it to her. "Here."

She'd stared at the dragon bone blade in shock, afraid to reach for it in case he pulled it away from her again. But he nodded encouragingly. "Go on, it's yours."

She took it carefully. "I can keep it? But it's yours!"

"Yes," he smiled. "A gift from your mother. But when you were born, it was decided that when you were of a proper age, we would give it to you instead. Alistair is to inherit our lands, power and wealth, Cailan is to inherit our army...it seemed only fair that you inherit something. It's not much, of course, but we never truly got the chance to decide what else should become yours."

"I don't want anything else!" She exclaimed. "I just want this!"

"You are sure?"

"Yes."

"So easily pleased," he'd smiled then, picking up the purple velvet and helping her to wrap the blade again so that she could not harm herself accidentally.

"Mind the blade," he'd reminded her, before ushering her out of his room so that he could finally get changed into more comfortable clothes in peace.

Dante set the tome about dragons down for a moment, overcome with a sudden sadness. When she'd left her home in the middle of the night, she'd been sure to pack everything she could think of. The dagger had been sitting beside her pack, ready to be tucked into her belt when the time came for her to make her departure, but something had startled her at the last moment - an unexpected visit from her father to bid her goodnight, if she remembered correctly - and she'd hastily stashed the dagger and her pack under her bed as she'd thrown herself under the covers, feigning sleep. When the coast was once again clear, she'd grabbed her pack and taken her leave, forgetting about the dagger, which still lay under her bed.

By the time she'd realised her mistake, it was too late to turn back, and she'd reluctantly had to leave it behind. Despite being a grown woman, she'd cried herself to sleep that night, in a cave in the middle of a dense forest, grieving for the most treasured object she'd ever owned.

Suddenly in no mood to think about dragons any longer, she closed the tome with a dull thud, coughed at the cloud of dust that was choked out from the pages, then reached for her cup to take another sip of wine - only to discover that it was empty.

"Why is the wine gone?" She grumbled, pulling herself gingerly to her feet. Making her way over to the door of her chambers, she cracked it open and peered out to see the usual two guards posted outside - under Arthur's orders.

He'd insisted that two guards be posted outside her room at all times, whilst another two were posted down in the courtyard directly beneath her window and a further two were posted at the bottom of the winding staircase that led up to her room. He was afraid that Lot would send someone to finish the job this time, and Dante was actually inclined to agree with him. She'd been caught completely off guard by Lot's savage attack in Ealdor, and from the brief glimpse she'd caught of Morgana as she'd fallen, it had been as much of a shock to the witch, as well. Definitely not a planned attack then.

What she'd done to earn Lot's ire, she could not say, but it seemed that he now had it in for her regardless.

Today's guards - Erek and Lucan - were two of the more friendly guards assigned to protect her, and as she politely cleared her throat, they turned to her with smiles.

"What can we do for you, Milady?" Erek asked.

"You can tell me why the wine is always gone?" she only half joked, and Lucan grinned.

"Would Milady like another bottle brought up?"

"Oh no, don't disobey your mandate," she shrugged. "I was just curious, that's all."

Lucan shrugged. "It is no trouble, Milady, I assure you."

"Well," she grinned back. "If you're sure?"

Half an hour later, she was sitting back at the table again, with a fresh bottle of wine on the table, her cup once again full and the book of dragons open in front of her once more, (this time to a different chapter about the legends surrounding dragons - a lighter topic that did not stir up so many unwanted memories).

And a few hours after that, when Gwaine came to check on her before he retired to his own chambers for the night, he found her asleep at the table, using the thick book as a pillow - ironically on the page containing the Pendragon sigil and explaining how Arthur's ancestors had come to take it as their own in the first place.

Gwaine carried her to bed, then placed an empty sheet of parchment on the page as a marker, closed the thick tome and hefted it on top of the pile. It wasn't the lightest book in the world, after all, and he wondered how much of it she'd actually read before she'd succumbed to sleep.

"More than I ever will," he muttered to himself, before taking his leave of her chambers and heading back to his own.

...

Dante lurched upright in bed, gasping, staring blindly into darkness, grasping the sides of the bed and crying out in fear.

She'd had many bad dreams during her lifetime. Ever since she was a little girl, she'd been plagued with terrifying visions - mostly about the day her mother had vanished.

The two of them - Dante and her mother Evelyn - had been out riding together in the woods near their home. Dante had recently discovered a beautiful meadow on one of her adventures with her friends Grifflet, the farmer's son and Dinedan, the son of one of her father's most noble and honourable knights. They often played together, and went on mini adventures around the land that her father ruled over, never once believing that they were ever in any danger.

One day they'd stumbled across the meadow and Dante was eager to show her mother the pretty flowers. Being only five years old at the time, it had been a perfectly innocent desire - a daughter wanting to spend some quality time with her mother - but it had led to tragedy when they'd stumbled across a bandit camp that had not been there the previous day when the children had discovered the meadow. Even as the bandits gave chase, some on horses, but most on foot, Evelyn had told her daughter to flee for home. She'd promised that she would be right behind, and that no matter what, Dante should keep going, and not look back.

Clinging desperately to the saddle, just trying to stay on, Dante had prayed that her horse would know the way - and good old dependable Daffodil hadn't let her down (Yes, Daffodil was her horse's name. But she was five, so the name hadn't seemed so bad to her at the time. Besides, the patient mare was a golden colour anyway, so it was an ironically fitting name.)

But that was the last Dante had ever seen of her mother. She'd dreamt of that moment for virtually every night over the next twenty one years, blaming herself for her mother's disappearance. These days she'd become so familiar with the dream that it was now just an annoyance, rather than a guilt trip, and she'd wake up feeling none the worse, having given up grieving and blaming herself, a long time ago.

But since that fateful day in Ealdor, she'd been haunted by a new nightmare - the memory of a flash of silver, the incredible pain as a blade sank home, the terrible calm she'd felt as she faced her death with certainty. And each time she relived that moment in her dreams, it grew worse. The memory remained the same - the exact events of what had happened replayed perfectly, in incredible detail - but somehow the knowledge of what was going to happen before it ever did was what made it worse. She'd see the flash of silver in her dreams, know what was to come next, but still be just as helpless to stop it now, as she had when it had truly happened.

And tonight's dream was single-handedly the worst dream she had ever known, because unlike the other dreams, tonight it WAS different.

There had been something different about the dagger. It wasn't the familiar enchanted silver of Lot's dagger...but rather the black polished dragon bone of her mother's gifted blade...her mind probably drawing from the information she'd absorbed from the dragon book earlier in the evening.

But it had shaken her deeply, regardless.

Her hand found unfamiliar coils of sweat-damp silken sheets around her waist, and a silken night robe clinging to her clammy skin.

It took her the better part of ten seconds to work out where she was. Her vision was all blurred and she blinked a few times, waiting for it to clear. In the moonlight streaming in through one window, she could just about make out the familiar shapes of her bedchambers.

Sitting up slowly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, then buried her head in her hands, sobbing quietly.

The tears that ran between her fingers then were tears of grief, anger and if she was being brutally honest - fear as well.

Because she'd heard by now about Gwaine and Arthur's argument over her fate. She'd heard how Arthur had insisted that she was a lost cause, without even considering the idea of magic to save her. If Arthur was so ready to give her up like that, would he even hesitate to hold back the executioner if he ever found out what she was up to and who she was in league with? Perhaps he'd even be the one to swing the axe or light the fire himself?

At least my father would be honoured by that she thought to herself bitterly. Her father, Lord Ector, had always preached that the man who passed the judgement should be the man to carry out the sentence.

And even if Arthur did not find out about her misdeeds, what if Lot came back to finish the job? She still could not fathom what she had done to earn his hatred. Perhaps she hadn't done anything? Perhaps he was just a cruel, heartless monster who took pleasure from seeing other people suffer?

And then there was Morgana to consider as well. Dante had failed her. She'd failed to ensure Arthur was captured, and even though she'd kept to her word and sent him to Fyrien anyway, it was several days later. Would Morgana's men still be there waiting with an ambush, or had Morgana given her up for dead as well and already set about replacing her? She needed to know where she stood, regarding the witch, but until she was able to leave the city unaided, this would be impossible.

Taking several deep, shuddering breaths and then composing herself enough that the tears were no longer falling thick and fast, she disentangled herself from the sheets and got up, crossing the room in silence so thick that you could hear a pin drop.

Her head pounded furiously, the veins in her temple throbbed painfully and her whole body screamed in protest with every tiny movement, but she ignored that for the moment, just needing to get out of the stuffy bedroom and into the fresh air - not even bothering with a cloak or boots in her haste.

Out into the corridor, along and up another long curving sweep of stairs that led up to the parapets.

Her weakened legs struggled to hold her up as she staggered up and out onto the balcony, before eventually giving way altogether, and causing her to lean on the night-chilled rail, just to keep herself upright. After a few moments to collect herself, Dante stared out upon the endless nightscape of Camelot, and as she did, she became suddenly aware of her breath. She sounded like she'd been running.

Holding her throbbing head and feeling the mixture of sweat and tears on her cheeks, she took several shuddering breaths, trying to calm her wild nerves and piece together everything that was going on.

Off in the distance, a waterfall rumbled softly, and the light of the moon danced across the calm waters of a nearby lake, reflecting the distant mountains in all their bluish purple glory.

Very slowly, one hand moved from her head, down to the scar on her chest, where she kept it for quite some time, feeling the beating of her heart beneath and noting (and not for the first time either) how close it had come to stopping altogether.

Eventually she sighed and watched as the first few rays of the morning's sun began to glimmer and slowly appear on the horizon. She'd rather look at the rising sun, than think about why she was out here in the first place.

...

Guinevere moved more quietly than the light breeze, but Dante felt her approach.

The young woman took a place beside her at the railing and laid a soft hand over Dante's trembling one - the one that was no longer clutching her head, but now resting on the chill rail instead. And the Queen simply stood with her, staring silently across the Kingdom that was their home. She was waiting. Waiting patiently for Dante to tell her what was wrong. Trusting that she would.

Dante could feel her patience, and her trust, and she was so grateful for both that tears welled once more. She had to blink out the stinging chill of the night, and blink again, to keep those fresh tears from spilling over onto her cheeks. She simply held Guinevere's hand gently until she could finally let herself speak.

"I...had a dream."

Guinevere accepted this with a slow, serious nod - knowing all about the effects dreams could have on a person (thanks to her time as Morgana's maid). "Bad?"

"It was...like the dreams I used to have." She couldn't look at her friend. "About my mother."

Again, a nod, but even slower, and more serious. Guinevere was one of the very few who knew about Dante's recurring nightmares, so Dante didn't need to go into too much detail for her to understand. "And?"

"And...this time it was about...that day in Ealdor."

Guinevere looked to her for a few seconds longer, then turned aside, leaning once more upon the railings, staring out into the night - and in the slowly pulsing rose glow of the distant sunrise, she was a more comforting sight and presence than she'd ever been to Dante before. Dante was glad, then, that Guinevere was there with her.

"Alright," she nodded after what seemed like careful consideration. "You relived the moment Lot stabbed you."

Then she simply waited, still trusting.

When Dante could finally make herself tell her friend, her voice was raw and hoarse as though she'd been shouting all day. "This time, it wasn't Lot's dagger that...that..." she couldn't bring herself to say the word, but Gwen nodded in understanding anyway, so she carried on. "It was my mother's dagger. Dragon bone...It was unique. I'd know it anywhere. In my dream, I was attacked with my own mother's dagger and I..."

She looked away...at the courtyard below...the woods in the distance...the mountains beyond that...the stars and the moon...and she found no place she could bear to see. All she could do was close her eyes.

"I'm scared that it may mean something more. What if it wasn't just a dream?"

"Oh."

That was all.

Dante couldn't help it then, and looked to Guinevere, both curiously and also slightly angry. Did she not care? Had she no concerns for her friend?

But what she saw when she eventually looked closer was a look that mirrored the way she was feeling at that exact moment.

"You think it's a sign of things to come?" The Queen asked eventually, and Dante couldn't help but nod, hanging her head slightly, and letting out a long, slow breath, trying to control her racing heart and nauseating emotions.

For a long time they stood in silence, neither really knowing what to say at first. But then, drawing from her experience back when Morgana had also been in this situation, Gwen finally spoke once more.

"It was just a dream, nothing more. Don't trouble yourself over it. You need rest."

When it appeared that Dante would not speak, she turned to move back inside, pausing in the doorway. "Dante?"

"I'll be in soon," Dante nodded, not moving from her spot, still leaning on the railings. Gwen knew then that she'd be alright, and left her to it.

...

She held her head in her hands and waited for the nausea to subside, before looking up once more to see a long string of knights clad in scarlet capes trotting down the road towards the main city gates.

At the front was Arthur, his helmet covering his features so she could not read his expression. Behind him were only half the number of men he'd set out with and no sign of the villagers from Ealdor. She felt fresh tears brimming once more as she realised what it must mean.

She'd sent them to their dooms, and although Arthur and these few had survived, the others had not been so lucky. Merlin was not with him, either.

"Oh no," she gasped, pushing herself away from the railings and starting for the stairs to take her down to the King and his returning company.

...

Arthur had not been expecting any kind of welcome from his Kingdom as he'd returned, considering how early in the morning it was. Everybody in their right minds would be in bed, which was exactly where he wanted to be right now, after the long journey he'd just been on.

Thoughts of his nice warm bed urged him on as the group clattered noisily into the yard and sleepy stable boys and squires stumbled out to greet them. Arthur figured the boys must have been sleeping in the stalls of their empty charges, waiting for their return, and those whose horses did not return tried to hide their grief behind forced smiles and greetings to the knights and horses who had returned.

Arthur did not see their grief - too tired was he as he slid from his own horse and handed the reins to a young squire called Matthew. Without a word to anyone, he began to ascend the steps, heading for his chambers and the comfy bed that was shouting out to him, when a young woman came hurrying towards him from the very top of the steps he was now ascending.

"Arthur, I'm so sorry!" Date gasped as she stumbled and fell into his arms. Shocked into silence momentarily, he set her back on her feet- only now noting that they were bare, then he removed his cloak and draped it round her shoulders, leading her back inside away from the prying eyes of the other knights.

"Dante, what's going on?" he asked.

"You...your men...there's only half as many..." she started, trembling violently even though she had his cloak wrapped round her.

It took him a moment to realise what she was getting at, but then he laughed. "It's alright, Milady," he assured her, taking her shoulders and gently steering her back towards her own bedchambers as he walked beside her. "The trip was a success, and I lost no men."

"But...but there's only half..." she started, confused. Again he laughed.

"The other half are in Ealdor with the villagers," he assured her. "Merlin's there too. Everyone is safe and well, thanks to you."

"Oh." Now she sounded both confused and relieved.

"When we got to Fyrien, there was hardly anyone about. I don't think they expected us. It was relatively easy to break in, free the slaves and escape again, and we had a rather uneventful journey back to Ealdor. The villagers are more than capable of taking care of themselves these days, and Lot's attack was only successful the first time around because they were not expecting it. Now they are, and once the knights who stayed with them have ensured that they will be better prepared from now on, they will return to Camelot as well," Arthur explained. Dante nodded, processing it all in her mind, a slow smile spreading as she realised that in fact she had not sent them to their dooms after all.

"That's more like it," Arthur beamed when he saw her smile finally. And then, brushing the last tear from the corner of her eye with his gloved finger, he studied her for a moment. "You are upset?"

"It was just a dream," she replied, glancing away. Arthur reached out very tentatively and his hand hovered for a moment above the scar on her chest, before he realised how close to her breast his hand would be and quickly changed his mind, placing his hand on her shoulder instead.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, concerned.

"No...and yes..." she admitted. She wasn't in physical pain, as such - whatever magic had been cast on her had left her to deal with all the after-effects of being stabbed, minus the pain. But her mind was raw from all the plotting and treason and terrible thoughts and dreams that now plagued her. Yet how could she ever tell Arthur that? And then there was Gwaine, of course.

She was worried about him, and what he'd done in her name. THIS she could tell Arthur, and she did.

He patted her shoulder again as finally they reached her chambers. "Don't worry about Gwaine," he assured her. "He's a grown man. He can take care of himself."

"Yes but you don't understand, Arthur. If anything were to happen to him...I don't know what I'd...well, I don't know..."

"It's alright to be scared," he told her once again.

"You've said that before."

"Yes, and did you let your fear stop you then?"

She placed a hand over her scar. "Perhaps I should have."

Arthur paused, overcome by another wave of guilt. Finally he sighed, and nodded. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry I made you join us in the village. You were right all along. It was no place for you, and I was stupid to do what I did."

"No, I am the stupid one, for insisting on joining you in the first place," she retorted with a shake of her head.

"It was brave."

"It was foolish."

"So was Gwaine's impulsive action to defy me," Arthur replied carefully. Feeling Dante's eyes rise to meet his once more, he stood his ground and refused to look away, as he continued. "And still, despite that, I can understand both your reasons for doing what you did. And I admire you both for your courage and your bravery. That's why I can safely promise you now, Dante, that Gwaine will not be punished for his actions."

This was a great surprise to Dante, who blinked, rendered mute momentarily. "But I thought - " she started finally. Arthur shook his head to silence her.

"I had plenty of time to think while I was away," he told her. "And the more I thought about it, the more I realised that if I had been in Gwaine's situation, I would have done exactly the same thing. How can I punish another man for doing as I would have done? My father always taught me to lead by example, so how can I punish the man that follows that example?"

As he opened the door to allow her into her room finally, he sighed. "No doubt you've heard what was said in that meeting?" He asked quietly, as if afraid of the answer.

Dante nodded. "You were willing to give up on me." She said it more forcefully that she meant to, but perhaps this was best, because it made Arthur cringe.

"Yes and I was wrong to do that. You have become a very good friend to me, Dante, and friends do not give up on one another. Again, for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Kings do not apologise," Dante told him with a smile. "So to hear an apology from one is worth more than you can imagine."

This made Arthur smile as well, and as she slipped into her room, bidding him goodnight - or at least what was left of the night - she saw the look of relief on his fair features.

As soon as the door was closed, however, and she turned to lean against it, her smile vanished.

"You gave me up for dead, Arthur Pendragon," she muttered quietly into the empty room. "Don't think I will forget that in a hurry!"