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Well. Except her. But what Mordred said made her curious. Maybe Arthur had done something to the lake, and that was why it was so dead. She would have to ask him. “And that is why he banished Merlin, even though Merlin had always helped.”
Mordred ran his fingers along his jaw, where dark stubble was beginning to peer through his pale skin. “Not all of us agreed that was necessary. But yes. Merlin himself is chaos in mortal form.”
Guinevere snorted. Then she tried to cover it with a cough. Chaotic was an excellent way to describe Merlin. Was it any wonder her memories were confusing jumbles of images and lessons, with gaping holes between?
She closed her eyes at the sudden flare of discomfort, the suspicion that there was more to her missing memories than she was allowing herself to see.
She had to focus, though. She was not here for herself. She was here for Arthur an
d Camelot. Merlin was a risk to associate with, certainly. But surely Camelot could understand the necessity of keeping certain weapons. Most of the city was stone, but the inhabitants still kept barrels of water everywhere in case of fire. They did not want fire, did not set it, but they were prepared to fight it the only way they could. Magic was the same. Keeping someone capable of recognizing and combating it was not the same as inviting magic to take hold within the city.
Was it?
“What if someone attacks using magic?” she asked, keeping her tone as light and innocent as possible. “Who will defend you with Merlin gone?”
“Keeping Merlin in the city was too risky. Like calls to like.” He glanced over at her, then looked quickly away. “Besides, people did not trust the wizard.”
“Why not? He always fought for Arthur.”
“In his own ways, when he chose to, how he chose to. He was bound by no laws, not even Arthur’s. And then there was the matter of Arthur’s birth.”
She wanted Mordred to keep talking, but she had to be careful what she revealed. How much would the real Guinevere have known? “I have heard the rumors. That Uther Pendragon used a wizard to trick Igraine so he could lie with her.” Guinevere shuddered. It was a violent, terrible magic. It could breed only evil. How had it produced Arthur? “I can understand why they would not want another wizard in Camelot.”
“Another wizard? What do you mean?”
Guinevere turned her face to him. “What do you mean?”
“It was Merlin.”
“No.” Guinevere shook her head. The information did not fit. It could not fit. Her chest squeezed, like she had been laced too tightly. “No, it was a dark sorcerer.”
Mordred’s smile was as soft and blue as the twilight falling around them. “Yes. Merlin. That is the nature of magic. When you bend the world to your will, when you twist nature around yourself, where does the power stop? Who tells you to stop?”
Had Guinevere not been on a horse, she would have stopped in shock. As it was, she was grateful for the cloak of evening to hide the horror claiming her. Merlin. Merlin had done that. It was the most violent act possible, the taking of someone’s will. She would never have made knots for it, would never have participated in such a deception. Such depravity. But Merlin—her protector, her teacher, her father—had. “How could he?” she whispered.
“Merlin saw that the world needed a new kind of king. So he made it happen.” Mordred sighed, patting his horse’s neck. “I do not agree with what he did. It was my grandmother who was violated by a man she thought was her husband. But without it, Arthur would not be here.” He held out his arms to the peaceful, rolling countryside. “We cannot deny the end result. Merlin saw what Camelot demanded, and he created the means for it. He engineered his own banishment, in a way. The wizard is a puzzle. But Camelot is a success.”
“And all the suffering and loss it took to get here?” Guinevere asked, devastated and heartbroken for herself. For Igraine. For Arthur. For Mordred. For all the lives that had been stained by the darkness of Merlin’s choice.
“Such is the cost of progress.” Mordred glanced at her. Apparently some of her emotion was evident even in the near-darkness. His voice went soft. “I am sorry. I should not speak of such things to a lady. It was indelicate of me.”
“No, I am glad. I would rather know the truth. I do not like being behind walls, either in the castle or in Arthur’s life.” Or her own.
Merlin had done that. He had done that, and not told her.
What else did he keep from her? How could she trust him? And if she could not trust the wizard who chose her to protect Arthur, how could she trust herself?
* * *
It was fully dark when they reached Arthur’s camp. He stood at the edge, waiting. Her anticipation of seeing him had turned tense and sour in light of Mordred’s revelations. They had much to discuss. Too much. Arthur helped Guinevere down from her horse, then surprised her by giving her a quick but fierce embrace.
“Thank you for coming,” he whispered against her ear.
“Of course.” She could feel the heat in her cheeks at his nearness. “We need to talk. Alone.”
He put her hand on his elbow and walked her into the camp. “I am sorry to bring you here. It will be unpleasant. And dangerous.”
She squeezed his elbow. “I am here to protect you. However that happens.” Some of her anxiety loosened at his words. It was irrational to be relieved at being put in danger, but at least she had not been pulled from her campaign against Rhoslyn and the patchwork knight for nothing.
