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No. She wanted nothing more than someone she could talk to about everything she had done today. But Arthur was gone, and she did not know if he would want to hear this. She had not sought out Rhoslyn, but this was just as dangerous.
She would tell Arthur. He was the only person she could be honest with. She would not give that up. And it was another reason to go after Rhoslyn and the patchwork knight. Something was creeping in the dark and hidden places surrounding Camelot.
She had one more odious task to complete here, though. Bors could not wake up to clean clothes—they were evidence that contradicted his memory. She began to undress the battered old knight.
The dragon feels the tug. Feels her sending out her dark tendrils again, calling for aid.
It sighs, a slight hiss around its missing tooth.
She tugs harder.
It has the gift of winter to look forward to, now. Magic can offer it nothing but death, and that is already its constant companion, having taken all its kind and waiting ever-present for the last dragon. The poor lost girl should have stayed. They could have curled together against the night, against the darkness, against time.
The magic tugs.
The dragon goes back to sleep.
Guinevere stood on an exterior walkway, her red cloak whipping in the wind, as Arthur and his knights walked up the long hill. He saw her there and lifted a hand in greeting. She matched his gesture.
She waited in his room for him. It was still several hours before he returned. The stone floors bore her pacing with ancient patience she could not feel herself. When Arthur came in, his armor was already left behind. He wore only a thin white tunic. He set Excalibur against the wall, then sat heavily on the end of his bed to remove his worn boots.
“It is good to be home,” he said. Then he moved straight back to their last conversation, not dancing around the questions and tension between them. “And I am sorry for how we left things. I have thought on it every free moment. I am glad Sir Tristan is alive. His loss would have been hard to bear. But please trust that when I make those decisions, I make them knowing the consequences on both ends. I have lost men. Good men, true men. Men who cannot be replaced. I never give up a life lightly.”
Guinevere was drawn to the sorrow in Arthur’s voice. She had been worried he would still be angry with her. But she saw how sad it made him to have to weigh the lives of those he loved against the burden of an entire kingdom. She had made it harder for him, forced him to protect her at the cost of Sir Tristan. How could he live with such decisions?
Though she had done a terrible thing to Sir Bors, changing his memories. She did not know if she would be able to look him in the eyes ever again. Being in power required sacrifices both physical and emotional. And being adjacent to that power did, as well. She did not want to understand why Merlin did what he did. But if her actions with Sir Bors were any indication, she might eventually get there.
There was good, and there was evil, but there was so much space between the two.
She shuddered and paced, tugging at her sleeves. She longed to have bare arms. To sit in the winking sunlight, watching as the rays filtered down to her. “There was a dragon.”
Arthur lay back on his bed, rubbing his face. His legs still hung over the side, his feet on the floor. “I heard. Sir Bors killed it.”
“Well. He—” She stopped. Arthur looked so tired. Her heart broke a little, seeing the wear of the last few days. Protecting him from magic was her job. He should not have to make those decisions, nor bear the cost. “Yes. The dragon is gone. Are you well?”
“Tired. But you have been waiting a long time here to speak with me. I am sorry I leave you alone so often. Tell me, what do you need? What can I do for you?”
Her voice betrayed her. She could say so many things. She wanted to move to his side. To rub his weary forehead for him. To curl into him. To tell him about the dragon and how lonely thinking of it made her feel.
She wanted to run her finger along the fullness of his lower lip. To feel his smile against her own. And that was dangerous. As dangerous as what she had done to Sir Tristan in the forest. Because if she lost herself in this pretending, how would she ever be able to protect him?
It hit her with the force of a blow. She sat heavily in a chair, winded. She had already created more problems for Arthur than she had solved. If she truly wanted to serve him, to protect Camelot, she could not do it as his queen.
Arthur could not go against a witch outside his borders. Neither could the queen. But the daughter of Merlin could.
It was time to follow the tendrils of darkness and see where they led. Arthur was safe in Camelot. Whatever was threatening him, it was not here. She would stop it before it arrived.
It would be dangerous and solitary, and now that it was time, she found she did not want to. She wanted to stay here with Arthur, with Brangien, with Mordred and Dindrane and Sir Tristan. She did not want to go back to her life in the forest, with only the animals and the increasingly unfamiliar Merlin. But once she left, there would be no returning. She had become Guinevere to protect Arthur; she would give up Guinevere to do the same.
Perhaps that was what the dragon had been trying to show her. It was time to be alone. Arthur always made the hard choices. She could, too. “I need you to get rid of me.”
Arthur sat up, alarmed. “Has something happened? Did someone see what you did for Sir Tristan?”
Only Mordred. He would not betray her. The thought of not seeing him again made something tight and painful clench in her chest. She shook her head. “I am no use in Camelot. My work threatens your rule. You said as much in the forest. I know where the threat is, who it is. I need to stop it. And I cannot do that as queen.”
Something shifted around Arthur’s warm brown eyes. Gone was the weariness, the sorrow, replaced with…hurt. “Do you want to leave?”
“No! No.” The thought of leaving Arthur behind made tears burn in her eyes. How quickly she had grown to be Guinevere!
