“Please, can we go? I have not been to a play in ages. Father did not approve of them.” Guinevach turned to Arthur, eyes wide and shining with hope. She was not asking Guinevere. She was appealing directly to Arthur.
“It has been a while since I saw a play. I could use an evening of laughter sitting next to my beautiful queen.” Arthur smiled warmly at Guinevere, who was forced to smile back. How could she say no now? Maybe this was part of Arthur’s trying to make more of an effort with her. And if she refused to go, Arthur might still go. With Guinevach.
“Oh, hooray! I am so happy! Guinevere, I know your shoulder is hurt, so the king and I will go ahead and get our seats. That way you can walk as slowly as you need to.” She put one hand on Arthur’s elbow and expertly spun him, already walking toward the exit. Arthur glanced back at Guinevere, helpless amusement on his face as he let himself be led away.
Her shoulder required she go slowly? Guinevach was a witch. But she was a witch of words and emotions.
“Can we go, too?” Sir Gawain blurted, staring after Guinevach.
“The more the merrier,” Guinevere said through gritted teeth. Sir Gawain and a few other knights hurried after the king and his captor, Sir Gawain stripping off his armor and tossing it at a poor squire as he jogged to catch up to Guinevach. She noticed they did not even ask Lancelot if she was going. That, combined with Guinevach’s words, seized hold of Guinevere’s mind.
Brangien stood, glowering. “Now we have to go to a play? I have a lot of work to do. It is unfair to leave it all to Isolde.” And, doubtless, she did not wish to be apart from Isolde more than she needed to.
“I can attend the queen.” Anna tucked the stockings into a pouch at her hip. “Guinevach will be fine without my attention.”
“Yes, she has plenty of other people to give her attention.” Guinevere hated the petulant tone in her voice, but Anna laughed good-naturedly. Guinevere waved to Brangien. “You go back to the castle. I will manage with Anna and Sir Lancelot.”
“I would have dressed you differently for a play.” Brangien frowned thoughtfully. She pushed Guinevere’s hood back, letting it drape down her back. Then she undid two of Guinevere’s braids so her wavy hair framed her face. Finally, she pinched Guinevere’s cheeks.
“Ouch!” Guinevere swatted Brangien’s hands away.
“What? You need a pretty blush.” Satisfied, Brangien left.
Lancelot stepped toward them, but Guinevere took Anna’s arm instead. She would not walk arm in arm with any other knight. It was something to think about, much as she hated to admit it. And there was more than that to think about. Her special treatment of Lancelot separated Lancelot from the other knights even more than her gender did. And Guinevere had created additional problems for Lancelot by using their closeness to convince Lancelot to do things and take risks no other knight would.
She was being selfish. Being a knight was Lancelot’s dream, and Guinevere had been unknowingly sabotaging her the entire time. It was a devastating realization. Whatever they felt for each other, whatever closeness they had, it was getting in the way of Lancelot’s knighthood. Among King Arthur’s knights, Lancelot did not deserve to be on the sidelines.
Lancelot said nothing, but walked a few paces apart from them to the theater. It was at the lowest part of the city. It was cheap entertainment, in many senses of the word, attended and enjoyed by anyone who could manage a coin to get in.
“Have you been to a play before?” Anna asked as they joined the main street and followed it down toward the lake. The water shone distractingly, and Guinevere remembered rushing down this same street to embrace the Dark Queen.
The Lady rushing down this street to embrace the Dark Queen. It was not Guinevere’s memory. She tried to shake off the sensation of remembering something that had not happened to her. Had the Lady of the Lake been as invasive as Merlin? Flooding her mind with memories that were not her own, while Merlin took away memories that were? “Yes, I went to one with Mord—I went to one, once.”
If Anna noticed her slip, she did not remark on it. She would not know who Mordred was anyway. “Did you like it?”
Guinevere sighed. “Yes. It was one of the happiest nights I have ever had.”
“Then why do you sound sad, remembering it?” Anna paused. “Pardon me, my queen. I overstep.”
“No, it is all right. It does make me sad, remembering. So much has changed since then.” Everything had felt so hopeful and full of promise that night, as she laughed beside Mordred and Brangien. An image of Mordred walking backward in front of them, eyes twinkling with mischief as he almost suggested something that could not be taken back. He had been good at that, at implying more than he said and watching for her reaction.
And she had always reacted, had she not?
Mordred could have handled Guinevach, Guinevere had no doubt of that. He would see right through her. They would have laughed together about Guinevach’s lack of subtlety. Guinevere wanted that right now more than anything.
It was the cr
uelest thing Mordred had done yet, making her miss him instead of hate him.
* * *
“Can you believe her?” Guinevere demanded. They were in Arthur’s room, sitting across from each other. “Pretending she could not shoot to force you to fuss over her. And then making us all go to a play.”
“Guinevere.” Arthur’s voice was soft, his eyes tired. “I think she just wanted to go to the play. She seemed to enjoy it. Have you considered that she is exactly who she says she is, and is here to visit her sister?”
That was the brilliance of this attack. No one else could see it. Arthur had no idea of the little battles women waged every day—to be seen by men and respected, and also to navigate all the other women fighting for a place in this world. And Guinevere was not good at it. She thought she was improving, but Guinevach was proof she was not good enough. This was the most ingenious attack possible, because only Guinevere saw it.
She paced. She needed Arthur to understand. “No. No! She is—she is more than that. I cannot say if there is magic at work, but how can you explain her pretending to recognize me?”