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Extended was the final test Guinevere needed of the knight’s honesty. Guinevere took the offered hand. It was calloused and rough like Arthur’s, but narrower. It seemed to fit hers much better. The sense she got of the knight was less a pulse or a spark, and more a…settling. Rightness. Belonging. The tight, anxious knot inside her that had grown since she arrived in Camelot seemed to loosen.
She let out a long, relieved breath. There was no malice, no lies.
Guinevere knew she should return to the camp. That Brangien would be frantic.
But there had been so much darkness in the boar, in the trees, in the spider. And she knew now her suspicions of Rhoslyn were wrong. Guinevere’s focus had been misplaced.
She could waste no more time. She was not enough to protect Arthur from whatever was coming if she had not even been able to withstand the spider’s poison. She no longer trusted Merlin, but she needed him. Arthur needed him. Maybe her role in protecting Arthur was always meant to create a way back to Camelot for Merlin.
She squeezed the knight’s hand. “Will you help me on a quest to fetch a wizard and save the kingdom?”
The knight’s eyes sparkled. She laughed, her low voice surprisingly sweet with happiness. “You could do me no greater kindness than to ask that. Let me get my armor and my horse. I will defend you to whatever end.” She paused, lowering her eyes. “Always, my queen. I will defend you forever.”
Guinevere felt a rush of pleasure, a warmth that suffused her. Was this how Arthur felt all the time, having the loyalty of worthy men?
She followed the knight out of the shack. Rhoslyn seemed surprised but pleased at the knight’s dramatic recovery. The small village was orderly. Several children were playing a game with sticks, laughing. Everywhere, Guinevere saw evidence of benign magic. Bundles of plants, knots at doorways, stones lining the borders. Thank goodness she had not sent Arthur’s men against Rhoslyn. The idea of knights riding in and terrorizing what Rhoslyn had built made Guinevere feel sick.
“We must go,” Guinevere said, offering no explanation. “You have my gratitude, and your aid will not be forgotten.” She would find a way to help these women however she could in the future. But looking at their clean, happy camp, she wondered if they would need help.
Rhoslyn bent over a pot bubbling above the fire pit. “Keep our location a secret, and that is payment enough. And please avoid spiders from now on.”
Guinevere firmly intended to. She had two tiny holes in her arm as a reminder not to let her guard down. The knight whistled and a chestnut horse ambled up to them. The knight’s armor was draped across the horse’s back, and she pulled it free to fasten it on. Guinevere lifted her hand to the horse, but stopped. The horse’s eyes were scarred white.
“Your horse is blind?” Guinevere asked, shocked.
The knight nodded. “Thieves do it so the horse cannot find its way back home. I found her wandering, lost and alone.” The knight reached up and stroked the horse. The horse huffed, nuzzling the knight. “We were alike that way. She is the best horse I have ever known. Do not worry.”
Guinevere stroked the horse’s neck. It shivered once, then lowered its head, stamping its front foot.
“She likes you. She is ready to go.” The knight boosted Guinevere onto the horse’s back, then climbed on behind her. They waved to the camp. A few women waved back, but most ignored them, as though a lady and a knight in need of magical intervention were nothing to be remarked upon.
Guinevere pointed out the direction that would take them to Merlin, and the knight guided the horse. It was early afternoon. If they made good time, they could get to Merlin by nightfall.
And so she rode away from Camelot, from Arthur and the others, knowing they would fear her lost or dead, but knowing that getting to Merlin was more important than she could ever be. It hurt her pride, but that was a small sacrifice for keeping Arthur safe. She had wanted to be the great protector. Instead, her role was errand girl. So be it.
She was glad not to be alone, though. “What is your name?” she asked the knight.
The knight deftly guided her blind horse around an obstacle, her legs pressing against Guinevere’s. “Lancelot, my queen.”
The dark queen waits for the beast to bring her prey.
And then her prey bests her beast.
But often the subtlest attacks are the most effective. Two tiny fangs in place of two great tusks. She senses her poison seeping in, spreading. She rushes toward it, needing to be close enough to understand what she is possessing, and then—
Gone. It is all gone.
She stops, the earth churning in rage. Someone has taken her poison and spread it so thin she cannot feel its borders. But she had a taste. This queen-not-queen is something different. Something new. Someone has changed the rules, and she knows only one who is capable of that.
Merlin.
She laughs and laughs, the trees around her trembling, the dark creeping things of the earth burrowing upward, drawn by the tremors of her rage and amusement. Because Merlin k
nows what is coming. And, fool that he is, it will still happen.
But there is work to be done now. She will have to put her trust not in beasts, but in man. There is so very little difference between the two, after all.
She knew the trees as they got closer. The trees knew her, too, the leaves trembling. Home was close, home was—
