“What about the horses?” Guinevere asked.
“They know where to go.” He stroked his white mare’s neck. “She always knows where to go.” He whispered something to the horse, then held out a hand to Guinevere. She took it.
A spark. A moment that felt like one of her cleansing flames, burning away everything unclean and leaving only the truth. She gasped, sliding down too fast in her surprise. Mordred caught her. His heart raced to the same beat as her own. For one breath, two breaths, two breaths too many, she stayed pressed against him.
And then she backed away, bumping into her horse and fumbling to avoid stepping on its hoof or being stepped on.
Mordred calmed the horse, whispering to it. Then both horses ambled away. “You really are tired,” he said. “You nearly fell.”
“Yes. Tired.” She followed him silently through the tunnel, still feeling the lightning static of him in her hand. Had it been her sense? Or had it been…just Mordred?
And why had Arthur’s hand never felt like that?
* * *
It was a relief in many ways to bid Mordred goodbye and seal herself in her rooms. She leaned against the door, trying to calm her heart. She had work to do. Nothing else mattered.
A brief imagining of another day like today. A market, enjoyed without searching for threats. A visit to smithies for jewelry instead of weapons. A stolen moment behind a tent with—
With whom?
Nonsense and selfishness. She had no timeline on the threat. She coul
d not afford to be complacent or dreamy. The danger to Arthur could be nearly here, or it could be years away. She would prepare for everything. Starting with the castle and spreading outward, forming circle after circle of protection around her king.
Arthur had been Merlin’s life calling since before Arthur existed. Guinevere would view her time here the same way. It would last as long as Arthur needed it to.
She pulled the iron threads from the pouch she carried and went into Arthur’s room. The smith had done his job well. The iron thread was thin and malleable. She busied herself with the easy task of shaping the basic knots. She had gotten an exact count of every door into the castle from Arthur. The windows did not open, and the panes of glass were held in place with metal, so they were not essential to protect. Which was fortunate, because she did not have enough blood in her for that.
Once the knots were all formed, she knelt on the floor and arranged the metal spells in a circle around herself. She held Arthur in her mind. Held the castle. Held everything that Camelot was. It was the hope of mankind. The promise of a future free from chaos, where humans could grow and learn and live as they should. She believed in Arthur. She believed in Camelot.
She drew the dagger Arthur had given her and sliced her bottom lip.
Bowing to the first iron knot, she pressed her bleeding lip to it and whispered what she was asking of the iron. The iron knot grew warm, and then the blood disappeared, accepted and sealed. She moved to the next. And the next. And the next. By the time the last iron knot glowed and sealed, she was light-headed and dizzy. She pulled out her kerchief and dabbed at her lip. The iron had asked for more blood than she had anticipated.
The door opened. Guinevere stood to greet Arthur, then swayed and fell to the floor.
He rushed to her side. “What happened?”
Her eyelids were heavy, her head light. “Just the magic. It takes more than breath and hair to seal a castle.”
“Your lip is bleeding.”
She touched her tongue to the blood. It tasted like iron. She shuddered, repulsed. That was why she had to use blood. It was the only bit of magic iron would accept. And it was evidence that, unlike Merlin, she was human. “It will heal. The knots are ready. But I cannot place them yet. It would not do to have the queen wandering the castle, bleeding and fainting.”
Arthur laughed, though his laughter was strained. “No, that would not do at all.” He lifted her and set her in the middle of his bed. “Can I finish it instead?”
“It has to be me. The iron will not listen to anyone else now.”
“Well, tell the iron I am its king and it must obey me.”
Guinevere sank into the feather mattress and covered her forehead with her arm. “Iron answers to no king. It only likes blood.”
He sat next to her on the bed, leaning against the rock wall behind it. “I have built my entire reign on the bite of iron and the spill of blood.”
Guinevere rolled to the side, looking up at him. His own eyes were closed. She wanted to reach out to him, to rest her hand on his arm. But he seemed so separate from her. “You have built your reign on justice. On peace. The cost has been high, but I have seen Camelot. I have seen your people. And I have seen what they fear.” She remembered the forest, the house. The boy. All devoured. She knew the stories of the great war with the Dark Queen and her forest of blood.
Drawing Excalibur was only the beginning for Arthur. He was the bridge between man and magic. Between tyrants like Uther and chaos like the fairies’ Dark Queen. Merlin was right. The world needed Arthur. He was the best chance mankind had.