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Arthur was almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Problem solved. I will rescue you from Guinevach and whisk you away to a very dull wedding filled with strangers!”
Guinevere laughed. She wanted to be excited, too. She had been looking forward to this journey, and leaving early with so few people meant even more time with just Arthur. But she could not be selfish. Arthur was trying to protect her from the potential threat of Guinevach and all she could reveal. But who would protect Camelot?
“We cannot leave the kingdom unguarded.” Guinevere gestured toward the space on Arthur’s belt where Excalibur should have been.
“We were going to be away from Camelot regardless. Guinevach’s presence does not change that I am not always in the city. Besides, if she is a threat to anyone, it is to you, specifically. So the best way for us to combat any potential danger is to remove you from the situation.”
Guinevere considered it. If Guinevach was soaked in magic, their combined efforts to protect Camelot would have already harmed her. And if she was here to reveal the truth of Guinevere’s identity, she had not done so yet. “We leave early, and we send Guinevach home,” she said.
“Write her a letter that you have to attend this wedding and do not know how long we will be away, and that you will visit her in Cameliard next. I will inform Sir Gawain he is to escort her and her traveling party beyond the borders of Camelot as soon as we are away.”
“It does not answer any of our questions, though.” Why Guinevach had come. If she was truly Guinevach or an imposter, like Guinevere. And why she pretended to recognize Guinevere. Guinevere put a finger against the side of her nose, tracing the freckles she could not see. How could she have freckles if her mother was the Lady of the Lake? Had her father been human? Was Merlin her father after all? There had been an entire history in the way he had addressed the Lady. Nynaeve, my Lady, my love.
“Do we need those questions answered? One way or another, Guinevach is a threat to you. If the threat is gone, the questions are, too.” Arthur stood, striding to the door. “I will make preparations!”
Guinevere disagreed. Threats could be vanquished or disarmed, but questions lingered as long as wounds. And with no answers, she had no way to heal them.
If Guinevere dreamed, she did not remember it. Her suspicions about the Lady of the Lake plagued her as she rode slowly alongside Lancelot, swinging around the southern end of the mountain of Camelot. Ferrying across the lake that morning had filled her with the usual dread and terror, this time compounded by wondering what she was not remembering.
What was missing.
How could she be a person when so much of who she was…was not? Not spoken. Not remembered. Not true.
It would take half the day to get to the other side of the mountain and see terrain flat enough to allow passage. They would stop at the enormous bisecte
d river that came down as waterfalls on either side of Camelot. Guinevere did not have it in her to cross a river, and did not feel it was necessary. The land in this direction had been tamed fields where possible, but it was rocky and barren closer to the mountain. They were alone. The sun beat down, the heat less intense than in summer but somehow more unbearable because of the promise of autumn’s cooler embrace. A petulant last assault of discomfort with no breeze or shade to offer relief.
“My queen?” Lancelot prodded, steering her reliable blind steed closer to Guinevere’s gray mare. “You seem distracted.”
Guinevere laughed, releasing some of the tension inside her. She imagined it escaping like a burst of steam from a boiling pot. “I realized yesterday my mother might be the Lady of the Lake; I have an enemy in Camelot who threatens my place; we do not know when the Dark Queen will strike again; and my best friend is in mourning because she cannot use my magic to visit her true love every night.”
“And you have to go to Dindrane’s wedding.”
“And I have to go to Dindrane’s wedding. What should I expect?”
Lancelot glanced at her, trying not to smile. “I have never been to a noble wedding.”
“Oh, I forget. You are so good at being a knight, it seems as though you have always been one.” Guinevere shrugged off her cloak and set it across her lap. It was oppressively warm. She wished she could shrug off several more layers. “The only wedding I have ever been to is my own.”
“I watched from across the lake. The lights were beautiful.”
“That was my favorite part.” The whole day had been overwhelming. Terrifying, even. Guinevere had been determined not to make a mistake. It felt like remembering a different person. That Guinevere had not yet been Guinevere. She still had her name. And she still thought she was coming to Camelot as Merlin’s daughter to be the protector of Arthur.
Did everyone feel such sadness thinking back on who they had been? Lancelot certainly did not seem to want to dwell or speak of her life before now. Brangien, too, rarely spoke of her past. Guinevere knew she and Sir Tristan had been banished because of something to do with Isolde, but the details of it were never shared. She had felt the pain inside Brangien. The pain inside so many people, now that she thought about it.
Perhaps it was not such a bad thing to have so few memories.
Lancelot scanned the countryside. She was more at ease now, guiding her horse without conscious effort. Seeing her out here made Guinevere realize how tense Lancelot always was in Camelot.
“Do you miss being the patchwork knight?” Guinevere asked.
“Why would you ask that?”
“The freedom of it. Going where you wished. Doing what you wanted. Not accountable to anyone save yourself. It was a very different life from the one you have now.”
She expected Lancelot to protest, but her knight looked thoughtful as she considered the question. Finally, she spoke. “There were some aspects of it that were better, yes. But everything I did was to become what I am now. Who I am now. I gladly accept any struggles or restraints, because it means I get to wear my king’s colors and stand at my queen’s side. This is exactly what I wanted.”
“But is it what you expected?”
