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I choked. “Not her, you idiot. Your... you know. The woman who holds a special place in your heart. Guinevere!”
“The woman who holds a special place in my heart?” Lancelet snickered. “Is that what you’re really calling her?”
I reddened. “Well, what am I supposed to think of her as?”
“She’s the High Priestess, for one. You could call her that.”
“I know that. Of course, I know that. But to you...”
“She’s everything to me,” Lancelet said simply, and the words went through me, right to my heart, reminding me of my own devotion to Draven. “But she belongs to the temple now.”
I studied my friend. “So... that’s it then?”
“I never expected to have a happy ending, Morgan.” She said the words with such resignation. “Is that what you’re so worried about?”
I threw up my hands. “I have no idea. I just thought that... Well, you know. You aren’t usually the type to give up easily.”
“I haven’t. Given up, I mean. I’ll still be with her. That won’t change.”
“Here? In the temple, you mean? But you also said...”
Lancelet brushed me off. “Speak with Guinevere.”
I wanted to ask more. Wanted to ask exactly what Lancelet’s feelings for Guinevere were. Wanted to ask how this could work when one person was supposed to be eternally celibate as High Priestess and one person was decidedly... not. Or at least, hadn’t been as long as I’d known them.
But I also knew it wasn’t my right to ask those things. This was between them.
So I just nodded. “So you really don’t believe in any of this?”
“Now?” Lancelet shrugged. “Guinevere believes. I believe there are things we can’t understand. But do I believe the Three really exist? That I should, what? Pray to them and hope they heal my scars?” She shrugged. “No. I don’t. Does that shock you? I didn’t take you for much of a believer yourself.”
I thought for a moment. “I never have been. I suppose I’m a hypocrite. But I respect the traditions. I respected Merlin.”
Lancelet watched me. “And now?”
I knew she meant now that Guinevere was the high priestess.
“I’ll respect her successor, too. Merlin chose her after all.” I looked over at the towering sculpture of Zorya with her arms outstretched to summon the first rays of the dawn. Beside her, Devina posed mid-stride with a spear in her hand, her eyes dancing with laughter.
I thought of how the hunters had prayed to the goddess of the hunt in the forest that night so long ago.
The third sculpture was cast in dark obsidian. Marzanna looked neither young or old, but simply foreboding, with her necklace of bones and her sharp sickle. But she received more than her share of worshippers. The small scrolls and papers littered around her feet attested to that.
Mortals would always be desperate to reach into the world of the dead somehow, and Marzanna represented a chance for that. She was said to be merciful to the mothers of lost children, kind-hearted to widows and orphans. But in the end, all had to meet her and none could escape the path she waited on.
As for me, I might have spent the rest of my life in this temple, or close to it. I was free of that fate now. I glanced over at Nedola’s shrine. Should I be thanking the goddess of fate for that?
“Lancelet, Morgan. Welcome.” Guinevere’s voice echoed through the courtyard in a melodic cadence that had all heads instantly turning towards her. Like Merlin, I had to admit, she had quickly developed a commanding presence all her own.
She walked towards us slowly, one of the temple healer’s, Kasie, following closely behind her. Clad in a flowing white gown edged in threads of silver, Guinevere’s curvaceous form reminded me of a bell’s graceful silhouette. Soft, brown curls framed her face. She moved with poise, an embodiment of serenity in a space meant for the divine, but a discerning gaze could unveil the subtle shadows etched in her doe-brown eyes, forged on her journey to the sacred seat of the high priestess.
“Guinevere,” I said, forcing a smile. “It’s good to see you.” It was still strange to see her in the gown of the high priestess. Strangest of all was seeing the peoples’ heads turn towards her as if she truly were the new Merlin.
Not the new Merlin, I reminded myself sharply. The new high priestess. No one could ever replace Merlin, and Guinevere would never try.
It was right that the people of Pendrath respected the new high priestess—and if Guinevere could offer them hope and comfort during this tumultuous time, then so much the better.
It certainly wasn’t as if the royal family were doing such a wonderful job of it.
