Guinevere did not particularly like imitating the water she hated so, but she could not deny Brangien’s cleverness with the visual. “You are a genius.”
Brangien made a few more pins and tucks. “I know,” she said, stepping back to consider her work before nodding. “Now, whatever you do, do not push the hood back or pull it forward. It is a halo, not a cave.”
Caves were almost as bad as water. Guinevere stood straight, afraid to move. “I will do your work the honor it deserves, even if my back never recovers.”
“Good.”
There was another knock on the door, but before Brangien could reach it, it opened to reveal Dindrane. “Good morning, I—oh, my queen!” Dindrane paused, her mouth open as she took in the sight. “Brangien, are you certain I cannot lure you from the queen’s service?”
Brangien did not even acknowledge the remark. She set about cleaning up with Isolde as Dindrane sat on a bench near where Guinevere stood.
“Sit,” Brangien commanded Guinevere. “You will have to figure out how to sit at the meeting, so you may as well practice here.”
Guinevere stepped lightly and gathered her skirts, lowering herself with a straight spine into her seat. Everything stayed where it was supposed to, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “How are you?” she asked Dindrane.
Dindrane waved the question away. “Your sister is charming and elegant and sweet and graceful. She brought me this belt she sewed herself. I have never seen such tight stitching.”
Brangien’s voice was sharp. “Can I see it?”
Dindrane frowned, but undid the cloth belt from her waist and passed it to Brangien. Guinevere knew what Brangien was looking for: knots of magic, evidence that Guinevach was using sewing the same way Brangien did, to anchor spells and to do so under the noses of everyone around her. After a few seconds of examining the belt front and back, Brangien shook her head and returned it to Dindrane. “Beautiful,” she said.
“Are you jealous?” Dindrane laughed. “The girl can sew better than you.”
“I am not jealous.” Brangien lifted her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation, then resumed her work alongside Isolde. “Isolde, will you fetch some food for our guest?”
Isolde nodded, smiling warmly at Dindrane before leaving.
Brangien sat down, joining them. “How was she really?”
“Exactly as I said.” Dindrane smoothed the belt back into place. “Honestly, I have never met such a lovely young woman. Were I not happily married and satisfied with my life, I might have hated her for her youth and beauty. As it is, I only found it mildly annoying. But even I caved by the end of the meal. She is endearing. I spoke to a few of the other wives and they have all received similar gifts and visits from her. She knows how to carry a conversation and when to listen. She has clearly been educated in all the ways a princess should be.” Dindrane paused as though she had said something wrong. Guinevere did not realize what it was until Dindrane’s failure to look at her felt deliberate. Dindrane had been comparing Guinevach with Guinevere, and it was obvious which of the two fell short of what a princess should be.
“We had different tutors.” Guinevere wanted to shift in her seat but was afraid of disturbing her hood. “And I spent years in the convent before coming here. Tell me, what did you speak about?”
“She wanted to know all about my house, my wedding, Sir Bors, my clothes, the decorations I chose. Her praise was as artful as her stitchwork. And she steered the conversation back to you many times. How long had we known each other, how did we become friends, what were you like when you were not being the queen.”
“Hmm.” Guinevere frowned.
“I would not have noticed it if you had not asked me to spy on her. She is subtle. But it was clear the entire visit was aimed at getting as much information about you as she could. I told her nothing useful, of course. Only that you were my dearest friend and everyone remarked on what good friends we were and how wise you were to choose me as your friend.” Dindrane tossed her hair over her shoulders, her smile wicked. “I am afraid I was not helpful. But she never acted frustrated or chagrined. She just pivoted and tried a different path of conversation to find a way to her goal. Very clever. I like her immensely. I hope she
is not here to destroy you and steal your husband, but if she is, you should be flattered at such a skilled foe.”
Guinevere could not help but laugh. Everything was confusing and dire, but Dindrane managed to make it sound more like a game than anything. Dindrane stayed for another hour, gossiping and telling stories as they ate the food Isolde brought. It was exactly what Guinevere needed after a restless, disturbing night. It made her feel normal, made her feel like she really was who she was pretending to be.
“We should go,” Brangien said, looking at the sun’s location in the sky. “They will be waiting for you.”
Guinevere sighed. Back to the business of being the queen. She bade Dindrane a fond farewell. Lancelot entered the room as Dindrane left, then escorted them down to the hall. There was a hum of conversation coming from behind the closed door. Guinevere thought nothing of it until it was punctured by a sparkling stream of laughter.
Guinevach. Guinevere pushed open the door to find the girl sitting in the queen’s seat, midsentence, as the entire room of men leaned forward intently, hanging on every word.
“Oh, hello!” Guinevach waved. “Your maid said you were indisposed, so Sir Gawain helped me call the meeting early. We have just finished! Everything is settled.” She smiled, a row of pearly teeth daring Guinevere to demand her seat back.
“How wonderful.” Guinevere stood there in her carefully strategic outfit, as Guinevach, her golden hair braided like a crown around her head, dismissed the men, and ended the meeting.
Guinevere had been waiting for three hours, sitting on the ground plucking plants and stripping them to pieces. Lancelot had finally given up standing and was sitting beside her. They were waiting for Arthur outside the city, across the lake. He was due back today, though they had no idea what time.
Guinevere could not stand to stay in the city, or the castle. She felt hunted. The past two days everywhere she had gone Guinevach was either there or had already been, her presence lingering like the embroidered lilies she left in her wake. On pillows. On sashes. On belts. Wherever Guinevere went, the ladies wore evidence of Guinevach’s popularity. The knights were no better. Sir Gawain wore a kerchief embroidered with one of Guinevach’s lilies, either unaware or uncaring that several of the other knights hated him for it. They had all received them, but only he acted like it was a badge of honor to be displayed.
Guinevach had taken over plans for the harvest festival. Guinevere did not even know how it had happened. Somehow between one day and the next, the festival became Guinevach’s. She took Guinevere’s idea and made it bigger, better. Now they would have milking contests for the maids, a display of sewing where women could show off their skills, a pig-wrestling contest. Even the knights were in on it. They were no longer competing as knights, but competing alongside the farmers. They knew the farmers would win most of the contests, but that was part of the celebration. A chance for the regular men to best Arthur’s knights in fun and jest.