EPILOGUE

 

organa stood on the crest of a hill a half a league distant from the abbey and watched Guinevere and Percival emerge from the church. Rage flared in her eyes at the applause of thousands of nobles, knights, soldiers, and peasants waiting outside. As the sound of trumpets and cheers reached a crescendo, Morgana turned to a woman waiting a pace behind her, dressed in the habit of a nun. She handed the woman a tiny glass bottle.

“A drop is all that is necessary. You will wait until I give the word.”