Guinevere sat, refusing the offered cushion. Anna joined her and pulled out a strip of cloth the color of which Guinevere could not make out in the dim light. The older woman sighed as she began embroidering. “I see lilies in my sleep. I wish she had chosen something simpler. Or that she gave out fewer favors.”
Guinevere barely contained her triumph. Guinevach was not even embroidering the favors herself! She would be certain to tell Brangien and Dindrane. She liked Anna very much, and not just for this information. There was something about Anna that Guinevere trusted. A quiet, experienced intelligence. “You are right about my burdens,” Guinevere said. “I have a lot of problems I cannot find solutions to right now. Or even determine if they are actually problems, or if I am making them into problems to give myself something to do.”
Anna did not pause her sewing. “Who do you go to for advice?”
Arthur, but he disagreed with her. Brangien, but she was busy with Isolde and had no more insight into this than Guinevere did. Dindrane, but only when Guinevere needed help navigating the world of ladies and their infinite rules for engagement. Lancelot, but she could offer no solutions, only support, and Guinevere was depending far too much on that—to Lancelot’s detriment. The only person who would know more than she did was someone she would never trust again, and could not speak to even if she wanted to. He was sealed in a cave. Guinevere shrugged, miserable.
Anna nodded sympathetically. “Camelot is such a young kingdom. There is much value in years well used, just as there is much value in the passion and energy of youth. Do you know anyone who might have advice or have gone through something similar? Someone with experience?”
The sentiment echoed how Guinevere had felt about Anna just moments before. But she could not ask Anna about the Dark Queen, or what Guinevach was up to. In spite of her inherent trust of Anna, she was still Guinevach’s maid, and therefore suspect. Guinevere did not dare use her own magic on Guinevach after what had happened with King Mark, but she did not agree with Arthur. Something was going on there, and she had to find out what. She needed Merlin, curse him.
“A woman,” Anna added. “Men are problems unto themselves and rarely solutions.”
Guinevere laughed, and then she realized exactly whom she could speak with. She had once suspected Rhoslyn of conspiring against Arthur, as she had suspected Lancelot was a fairy back when she only knew her as the patchwork knight. But just as Lancelot had been revealed to be much more, so
had Rhoslyn been revealed to be a woman who loved her chosen family and did what she had to in order to create a safe home for them. One where they could continue to practice the magic Camelot denied them.
Rhoslyn had saved her once, from the poison of the Dark Queen. She knew what the touch of chaotic magic looked like, how it worked. If the Dark Queen was moving in a new way against Arthur, Rhoslyn might have information. And Rhoslyn’s magic was smaller, subtler, which meant she also might have safe ideas for how to deal with Guinevach.
“Thank you.” Guinevere stood. “This was helpful. I will leave you to your solitude.”
Anna smiled and bid her good-night. With Arthur’s kiss on her lips and a plan, Guinevere felt better. Tomorrow, she would go to the woods and visit a witch, and it would be the beginning of the end for whatever Guinevach was plotting.
Guinevere desperately missed the secret passage. It had been her decision to stop using the tunnel that led from the shore behind one of the waterfalls directly to the castle—Maleagant, that evil man, had figured out she had another way in and out of the city. If he noticed, others would, as well. She would not put Arthur or Camelot at risk that way. Besides which, Mordred knew about the passage, so Arthur had blocked the door and she had placed magical wards that would warn her if anyone was in the passage.
It had all been necessary. A responsible decision. But oh, she hated this wretched ferry.
Lancelot gave her a few moments to collect herself after the interminable ride. It was always easier with Arthur. She could cling to him and try to absorb some of his confidence and strength. And in the past she had done something similar with Lancelot. But awful Guinevach’s words had needled their way under Guinevere’s skin. No matter their past, no matter what brought them together, Lancelot was a knight. Guinevere would protect that. She had to treat Lancelot the same way she treated the other knights, because otherwise she was signaling to everyone that Lancelot was different. And she could not let them think Lancelot was anything other than a full knight of King Arthur.
Even this trip, though, was evidence that Lancelot had different rules from the other knights. Guinevere could not imagine going into the forest with just Sir Tristan, or Sir Gawain, or Sir Bors. There would be gossip. Scandal, even. It was both convenient and unfair that the same rules did not apply to Lancelot simply because she was a woman.
Their story today was that they were checking on the harvest. And Guinevere’s story for Arthur was that she was making certain there were no tendrils of the Dark Queen’s magic growing closer. Which she would do. But she did not think he would approve of her visit to Rhoslyn, so she had left that out.
Lancelot retrieved their horses from the stables on the grassy shore of the lake. She rode her own trusted blind mare, and Guinevere rode the gray mare she favored whenever she could. The horse was calm and soothing, and Guinevere rode with one hand placed on its neck, enjoying the sense of an animal that could exist in this moment of movement without desiring anything else.
It would take a few hours to reach the border of Camelot’s lands and the deep woods where Rhoslyn lived. Fortunately, with Arthur back, no one would miss Guinevere. If Guinevach had her way, no one would ever miss her.
They rode in silence for the first hour before Lancelot spoke. “Have I done something wrong, my queen?”
“What?” Guinevere removed her hand from the horse’s neck, breaking the calming reverie she had let wash over her. They were still in farmland, the gold dotted with brown as men and women moved among the stalks, harvesting. The day was pleasant, but there was an increasing hint of bite to the air, a cool note on the wind promising the winter to come.
“Last night you seemed distant. And on the ferry you stood apart, too. Is it because of what I told you? Because you have to know—you must know—my loyalty is to you. My time with the Lady of the Lake is history.”
“I trust you.” Guinevere stared at the horizon, where a dark smudge indicated the start of the forest on this border. “It is not you who have done something wrong. It is me. I demand that the other knights treat you as an equal, and that the people see you as no different from any of King Arthur’s other knights. But I treat you differently. And people notice, and they talk. I will not allow anyone to question your place, or your honor, or your right to wear King Arthur’s colors.”
“Who has been talking?” Lancelot sounded ready for a fight, and it made Guinevere smile.
“I do not know, and it does not matter. You protect me. If this is how I can protect you in return, then I will be more careful.”
“Is King Arthur unhappy with me?” Lancelot frowned, her dark curls falling over her face. “I have failed you. You were hurt under my watch.”
“No! No. Arthur knows you do more than any knight could be asked to, and that my…adventures were either my own fault or out of our control.”
Guinevere thought the conversation was over, but after a few minutes Lancelot spoke again. “But you still trust me. Even knowing my past.”
“At least we know your past. That is more than I have. And I come from as much magic as you, if not more. You are my friend, Lancelot, one of the only people in the whole world I trust completely. In private, we will continue as we always have. But we will be more careful with appearances.”
Lancelot nodded, tightening her grasp on the reins and urging her mare to go a bit faster so that Guinevere could no longer see her face.