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Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.
The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.
She struggles to her feet, hands held wide, eyes still fixed on Ragnor. Fire dances in the palms of each hand, irises brilliant gold. She shows no awareness of Mordred at all, in fact. One step toward Ragnor, and another, and she breathes, “You burn.”
The druid shoots upright, lunging forward, grabbing her wrist. “Summer, stop it,” he tells her, his tone firm as he gets in front of her. “Summer, listen to me, please. He isn’t worth it, it’s not worth a life.”
Summer turns wide, blank eyes on Mordred. “They burn. You … do not. Why do you not burn?” The flame in her hands flickers, then dies, along with the color of her eyes. “Mordred?” Her tone is almost childish, bewildered. She looks around, and tenses when she sees the heap of ashes, the bandit leader.
“What did I do?”