“It has to be my blood.” Guinevere pressed the elaborate rings of the iron knot to her lip, whispering her intent, binding it to the iron through the iron in her blood. Then she pushed the knot into the earth and leaned over it, letting the blood from her lip drip down into the hole, watering the seed of her anti-magic and hoping it would spread.
Brangien held out a handkerchief and Guinevere took it, holding it to her lip and standing. She could feel the dirt beneath her fingernails, but she could not feel the magic she had performed. Iron took all and gave nothing back. It was an ending. Poison to the natural magic and chaos of the fairy realm, and poison to the Dark Queen.
The trees shuddered, dropping leaves. There was a creaking and groaning noise, as though a terrible wind raced through the woods, threatening to uproot them. But there was no wind. Their branches strained, clawing the sky, and then stopped.
“Is it over? Did we win?” Brangien eyed the trees dubiously. They were no longer advancing, but they were still there.
Guinevere dabbed at her lip, frowning. “We bought time to consider the problem.”
“Then can we please move farther away?” Brangien shuddered as she turned her back on the trees and stalked toward the horses. Guinevere did not join her.
“What are you thinking?” Lancelot asked.
“I am thinking about how much land we would have lost if we had not caught this. And wondering how much land we did lose. I am not familiar with this area. For all we know, yesterday it was rolling fields as far as the eye could see.”
“I am thinking I should also bring an ax with me on our rides, not just a sword.”
Guinevere laughed, reopening the cut on her lip. She pressed the handkerchief to it again. “I wonder how far the binding s
pread. I connected it to the soil, but what is the reach?” She gazed up and down the line of trees. “We should explore.”
“We are not going back in there.”
“The perimeter. Not the woods themselves.” Though Guinevere had to admit she wanted to do that, too. Iron dagger in hand, stalking the queen that threatened her king. Stalking the queen who had taken Mordred from them, who would take everything if she could.
Guinevere began to inspect the edge of the forest. Several smooth white stones were nestled in her bag—it was not a light bag—and she dropped them every few feet so they could be certain the trees were not advancing. But before they got far, the sound of thundering hooves approached. Guinevere turned, squinting against the sun.
Sir Tristan had found Arthur. He was galloping toward them, flanked by five knights and at least twenty soldiers. Guinevere hastily dropped the stone she was holding and used her handkerchief to wipe the dirt from her hands.
Arthur closed the distance between them in a mad gallop, leaping from his horse almost before it had finished moving. “Are you safe?”
Guinevere nodded. “I stopped the advance. The trees are halted, but I have not decided how to finish it.”
Arthur squeezed the pommel of Excalibur, fingers twitching in protest at not being allowed to draw it. “I can take care of it. But not with you here.”
Guinevere had seen Excalibur drain the life from a tree possessed by magic. In a way that she could not explain, it made her almost as sad as remembering the horse that had been devoured. And Arthur was right: she could not stay once he began to wield the sword. “I can help. We will go in opposite directions.”
“I will not have you wandering in a Dark Queen–infested forest alone. We know she is interested in you.”
“I can defend myself.”
Lancelot shifted uncomfortably. Guinevere shot her a look, but Lancelot did not meet her eyes. Her chin was lifted, her body at rigid attention as her king spoke.
“I know you can.” Arthur put a finger against Guinevere’s cut lip, troubled. “But in this case, you do not have to. You found this threat, and you warned us. I am here now.”
“How are you going to finish it?” It would take weeks to cut back the trees that had moved forward, and she did not like the idea of Arthur riding into the woods, searching for the Dark Queen. Excalibur or not, he would be vulnerable and she would not be at his side. “How will you find her, if she is here?”
“Simple. We will burn the forest.”
“Burn it?” Guinevere spun toward the trees. “But that will ruin the whole forest! These trees did not ask to be possessed by dark magic.”
Arthur gave her a puzzled look. “They are trees. They do not ask for anything.”
“There has to be another solution. Burning everything seems excessive. Can we not just find the Dark Queen, or the source of her infection here, and get rid of that?”
“It would be like cutting off the shoots of a weed. The roots are still there, and the weed will come back in the same spot, or in a new, unexpected one. We have to remove everything. She is in there or she is not, but her magic cannot linger in trees that are burned.”
“I can go in. I can trace the lines of the magic, find—”