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“No, stay,” Guinevere said. “We have no secrets, we three. Or at least, no secrets that I have not kept from both of you. Hild’s brother was here tonight, too. He tried to kill me. Hild died because of me.”
Lancelot shook her head. “That is not your—”
“I summoned a dragon to the village so I could rescue myself. It came because it loved me, and then they hunted it down and killed it.” Guinevere stared at the floor. “I might have been hunted and killed, as well, had Mordred not found me in the forest and lit the signal fire for Lancelot.”
“What?” Arthur and Lancelot said at the same time and with the same amount of shocked vehemence.
“You saw him before Rhoslyn’s village?” Lancelot demanded.
“You saw him in Rhoslyn’s village?” Arthur looked at Lancelot, livid. “And you did not tell me? Or bring him back here?”
“Once before, as well,” Guinevere answered. “He said he was trying to save the wolves from the Dark Queen’s possession. And then he left. At Rhoslyn’s village, he saved the women. He was not there for us. Though we were meant to meet, but not by his design. By Morgana’s.”
Arthur sat back. He was still on the floor, his long legs at angles. He rubbed his face, unbuckled his sword belt, and tossed it to the side. “Tell me everything.”
Guinevere did, as best as she could piece it together. Morgana had gone to Cameliard right after Guinevere raised the Dark Queen and Mordred fled. She had found a place with Lily and encouraged her to come to Camelot instead of going to a convent. And then she had waited, wanting to get to know Guinevere and maybe Arthur. She had not made Mordred cross paths with Guinevere after Hild—though Mordred had been looking for an island based on Morgana’s directions. Who could say how much she had seen with her power of vision? She had certainly maneuvered them at Rhoslyn’s village.
“This whole time, Morgan le Fay was right here.” Arthur shook his head, confusion wrinkling his strong brow. “What did she want?”
“She told me a story.” Guinevere repeated it from start to finish. It was not difficult to remember. It was seared into her mind, written as though in the flames Merlin was so adept at controlling.
“She is a liar.” Arthur wrapped his arms around his legs and drew them closer. It made him look younger. “Obviously she was lying. It is all a trick. They are conspiring.”
“Was she lying?”
“How can you wonder? She is Morgan le Fay! Everyone knows she is a sorceress. And she is Mordred’s mother. Mordred, who betrayed us.”
“Did he, though?”
Arthur released his legs and stood, anger propelling him. “What do you mean, ‘did he’? Were we three not there in the meadow? Did he not trick you into raising the Dark Queen with your own blood?” Just as Lancelot had done, he pulled the ends of Guinevere’s sleeves up, revealing the thin white lines of the scars along her forearms where the trees had cut her to make her bleed more freely. “And then he held your life between Excalibur and the Dark Queen!”
Guinevere nodded, this time not replacing her sleeves. “He did. He did all those things. But…you killed his father. You destroyed his grandmother. He fixed what he could. And then he left. He has not hurt us again, nor even tried to. The Dark Queen’s attacks have been all her, no help from Mordred or from Morgana. Maybe they are not threats at all.”
“No.” Arthur’s voice had the same razor edge as his terrible sword. Guinevere rarely heard him speak as a king, but she was hearing it now. He was not talking to her; he was commanding her. “They are with her. On her side. You have seen with your own eyes what she does. The chaos. The violence. There is no room for the Dark Queen in this world if men are to survive and thrive. And there can be no forgiveness for those who help her.”
Guinevere put her face in her hands. That was true. She knew it was true. But there had been so many things she knew to be true that had turned out to be lies, or something far more nebulous and complicated than true or false, good or evil.
“Merlin sent you here to—”
“We do not know why he sent me here.” Guinevere looked up, certain of this, at least. “To protect me, to protect you, to protect his precious legacy. We do not know and we will never know. I do not trust him.”
“You trust Morgan le Fay and Mordred over Merlin?” Arthur stared at her, incredulous.
“They have lied to me less than he did!”
“And what did Mordred say to you when he found you alone in the woods?” Arthur’s voice was cold, his expression stone hard.
“Very little.”
“But Morgan le Fay tells you a story and you take her side over Merlin’s? Merlin, who helped raise us both? Clearly, Mordred and his mother were working together this whole time to use you. To manipulate you. They want you confused.”
“It is not hard to confuse me! I do not even know who I am! I dream of the Lady of the Lake. I know secrets of Camelot that only she could reveal. But Morgana is convinced I am actually Guinevere. And Lily recognized me.”
Lancelot broke in, her voice gentle. “They could have used magic on her.”
“It would have broken when she came into the castle. I do not know how, or why
, but Lily sees her sister when she looks at me. How can I be Guinevere? I know I am not. There is nothing of her in my memories. Which makes me feel like my mind is not my own.” The dreams of the Lady felt more vivid than any of Guinevere’s own memories. And they were real, whatever else they were, however they had come to her. Tonight had proved that.
