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“No.” Guinevach looked at Guinevere with a weary resignation that Guinevere knew all too well. This was a girl used to betrayal. Used to disappointment. A girl who had fought her way here, and would fight her way to the next thing, and the next, until finally she found a place where she could be free. “Do not try to make this better. You wanted the truth, there it is. Now tell me the truth. Why did you become a stranger? What did I do to make you hate me so?”
Guinevere covered her mouth with a trembling hand. The knife lay forgotten in her lap. The absolute cruelty of what she had inflicted on this poor girl took her breath away. Guinevere had stolen her real sister’s place in this world, and, as if that were not enough, she had destroyed the only thing Guinevach had left of her sister: her memories of their bond. The real Guinevere might have gone back for her. Guinevere had no way of knowing. All she knew—all she could know—was that Merlin’s choice for her to become Guinevere continued to ripple outward in waves of violence and pain and suffering. Just like all of Merlin’s magic.
And Guinevere had done the damage herself, again. She had looked for a threat and lashed out with words and actions. She had watched a hurt, sad, scared girl try her hardest to belong, and had plotted how to destroy her.
“Oh, Lily,” Guinevere said.
Guinevach startled at the name and looked up sharply, her eyes wide with pain, or hope. They were so often almost the same.
“I am so sorry. I am so very, very sorry.” Guinevere stood and wrapped her arms around the sister the queen should have had. The sister the queen should have protected. Guinevere would do the same, forever, whatever it took. She had stolen the real Guinevere’s place in this world, so she would accept her responsibilities, as well.
“You are never leaving,” Guinevere whispered. “I will never send you back to Cameliard. I cannot excuse my behavior, or explain it other than to say that I was afraid. I was afraid that you coming here meant I would lose what I had. It was selfish and small and I am sorrier than I can say. Do not forgive me, but please trust me. You are safe here. You are home.”
Guinevach collapsed against her, shaking with sobs, and Guinevere held her. The mystery of Guinevach was solved. Except the most important question: why an innocent girl who obviously loved her sister could look at a stranger and not recognize the deception.
* * *
“Do you remember anything special about these?” Guinevere gestured to the rings she had lined up on her table. She brushed and braided Guinevach’s—Lily’s—hair like Brangien had done for her so many times.
Lily smiled and pointed to a heavy silver ring with a pattern stamped into it. “Mother wore that one. I always tried to pull it off her finger. Sometimes she would let me. It was too big even for my thumb.”
“Put it on.”
Lily took the ring and slipped it onto her middle finger. “It finally fits.”
“Good, because it is yours. Any of them are yours, if you want them.”
“Why—why do you act like you do not remember things?” Lily asked, toying with the ring and not turning around.
Guinevere paused the brush midstroke. “Can I tell you something I have not told anyone else?”
“Of course.” Lily turned at this, an eager expression on her face.
“You know when a leaf has fallen, dried and brittle? How you can crumble it in your hand and only a few bits are left, clinging to the strongest parts of the leaf?”
Lily nodded, frowning. “Yes.”
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sp; “That is what my mind is like. I—something happened. At the convent. I lost who I was.” Guinevere tried to feel her way through the words. She wanted to be as truthful as she could. Lily deserved as much. No. Lily deserved the truth. That her sister was dead, and she was speaking to a changeling. But that could never be said. And if Guinevere could not give Lily the truth, she would give her the most fiercely kind sister she could in exchange. “I woke up and it was as if all the pieces of my memory had crumbled and been blown away.” That much was true, as well. When she had come to Camelot, she had not realized how empty her memories were and how odd that was. She had not realized that Merlin had pushed things in and other things out.
She wanted them back. She wanted them all back. And she wanted Lily to have her sister back, too. None of that would happen.
“Were you hit on the head?” Guinevach asked. “We had a stable boy who got kicked in the head by a horse and after that he could not speak anymore.”
“Maybe. I—I remember looking up from a great depth, under water.” Guinevere took a deep breath, trying to shake off the horror of the memory. It was her strongest one, and her most terrible one.
Lily frowned. “But you can swim. You taught me. You loved the water.” At Guinevere’s worried expression, Lily took her hand and patted it. Though Lily was two years younger, Guinevere could tell that she had been the stronger of the sisters. That came through in her touch. This poor girl, who came here for protection, was still determined to protect the woman she thought was her sister. Even after all of Guinevere’s cruelty. “Never you mind about it. I can remind you who you were, whenever you forget. And if you get sad again, like you used to, I will be next to you until you find your way back to yourself.”
“Thank you.” Guinevere let Lily hug her. Brangien opened the door from the sitting room. She had peeked in a few times. She lifted an eyebrow in a silent question. Guinevere smiled.
“Well. If this is settled, I am going to retrieve Isolde.” Brangien left the rooms.
“I do not think your maid likes me.”
“She does not like anyone. Not at first. But she will come around.”
“You know who I do like? Dindrane. She is so funny. A bit wicked, too.”
