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“Unless this was half-built. Perhaps the stairs were supposed to continue higher.” She looked above us as if expecting to see a sign. “Or perhaps a door was planned but never built.”
“Or we need more daylight to see properly as Morgan suggested,” Draven said gently.
“A good meal and some rest is what everyone needs,” Hawl boomed. “I can provide one of those things.”
I felt Guinevere’s eyes on me and purposely kept mine down.
Guinevere could provide the other—if I let her.
But last night, I’d woken from three bare hours of sleep to hear her crying and moaning. From within my tent, I could hear Lancelet speaking to her softly, trying to calm her. I could picture her holding the former high priestess in her arms, her face full of worry.
I was putting them both through agony every time I indulged in “rest.”
What was rest for one of us was torture for the other.
This cruel symbiosis that Guinevere and I had been forced into had to end. And soon.
As night fell, we made our way back down the narrow stairs and set up camp at the edge of the lake. After watering and tending to the horses, I leaned back against a stuffed pack and watched Draven build a fire as Hawl prepared our evening meal.
Guinevere had gone to lie down in her tent.
When she awoke after supper and offered to let me rest, I jumped eagerly at the chance. I caught a look of surprise on Draven’s face but ignored it. Slipping into our tent, I wrapped myself in a bedroll and closed my eyes.
When he came in a few moments later and lay down next to me, I pretended to already be asleep. He slipped his arm around my waist, kissed the back of my neck, and soon fell asleep.
I listened to the sound of his breathing, trying not to let the comforting sound and the rise and fall of his chest lull me into slumber.
For a while, I could hear my friends talking in low voices around the fire. Soon, Hawl left the group to lie on their bedroll near the lake. The Ursidaur usually preferred the open air to what they described as the “stuffy confines of a smelly tent.”
About an hour later, quiet had descended. Lancelet must have fallen asleep.
I pictured Guinevere sitting alone by the fire, struggling to keep her eyes open.
I wondered how much longer I would have to wait.
Sitting up, I crawled carefully towards the tent flap and peeked out.
Guinevere sat, resting with her back against a rock. Her head lolled against her chest. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing was heavy. She was asleep.
I drew a breath of relief. This was it. It was now or never.
A strong hand gripped my wrist and yanked me backwards into the tent.
“What the hell do you think you’re up to?” Draven sounded furious.
There was no point in denying anything.
“I’m leaving.”
“Like hell you are. You’re not going anywhere. Certainly not alone.”
“You can come with me. I didn’t say I was going alone. But if you try to stop me...” I looked at him. Even in the dark, I could imagine those green eyes blazing back at me.
“Then what?”
“Then I’ll do whatever I have to,” I said quietly. “But I’m leaving here tonight.”
“And the others? You’re just going to, what? Leave them here?”
