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“You are my knight. I am commanding you to protect Camelot until King Arthur returns.”
“Where will you go?” Lancelot paced along the edge of their magic. She ran her hands through her wild curls. Guinevere could see how much it was costing her not to cross the barrier. She prayed that she had not overestimated Lancelot’s devotion to Camelot.
“I am going to free Merlin. To get the truth. To reclaim my past so I can choose my future.” She put the dagger back in her bag, alongside her thread and supplies and the warm rock connecting her to Morgana.
The warm rock. Another black moth alighted on her arm. And then another. And another. She looked up. Lancelot met her eyes. Lancelot had been in the meadow that night. She had seen the cloud of black moths that erupted from the ground, that heralded the Dark Queen’s return.
Lancelot unsheathed her sword. “I am—”
“If you love me, you will stay on that side.” Guinevere took a step backward, her own words ringing in her ears. Had Merlin said almost the same thing to Lancelot, before being sealed in the cave by the Lady of the Lake? Would she never be free of Merlin’s influence?
She heard a horse in the distance, getting closer. She was paying the price of this magic, yes, but so was Lancelot. Guinevere’s heart felt as though it would break from the pain.
“Please do not ask this of me.” Lancelot dropped to her knees, her head hanging. “Please.”
“I love you, too. I am sorry,” Guinevere whispered, knowing the waterfall, the treacherous water all around them, would steal her words, so that Lancelot never heard them. She turned away and walked toward the sound of the horse. She was unsurprised to see Mordred. He was riding fast, but pulled up short when he noticed her. A look of genuine shock flitted across his face, followed by panic.
“What are you doing out here?” he demanded, dismounting and glancing over his shoulder.
Guinevere lifted her chin. “I am here to stop you.”
“Stop me from what?”
“From taking Camelot. I know that is the plan. You lured Arthur out so you could attack the city without fear of Excalibur. But it will not work. I have sealed it. You cannot get in. No one can.”
Mordred looked toward the secret passageway; then he closed his eyes and hung his head in the same devastated posture as Lancelot. “Oh, Guinevere. What have you done?”
“Exactly what I told you.”
“They are not coming for Camelot! They are coming for you!”
Another black moth alighted on Guinevere’s arm. “No, you—you tricked Arthur. You were going to use the secret passage.”
“I was going to use it to warn you. My mother sent me ahead so I could reach you first. I did not trick Arthur. Maleagant knew about Elaine and the baby, and he told his men, and his men are loyal to others now. They are the ones who sent the letter. They wanted Arthur gone so you were vulnerable. We have to—” Mordred froze, then looked over his shoulder once more. In the distance there was a fast-approaching cloud of dust that obscured whatever was there. The rock was so warm now Guinevere could feel it through her bag.
Mordred glanced desperately around, anguish on his face. “Can you go back through the passage?”
“No,” Guinevere whispered. It was not true. She could. But if she did, Camelot was at risk.
“We cannot outrun them.” He put his hands on Guinevere’s cheeks, his gaze hotter than the magic burning through the rock that connected Guinevere to Morgana. “I know I do not deserve it, but please. Please trust me. Do not lose faith in me, whatever happens.”
She did not have time to answer. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto his horse, then mounted behind her and rode toward the approaching dust cloud.
The Pictish king, Nechtan, a bulk of fur and menace, stopped, surrounded by at least two hundred men. The black fur mantle around his shoulders shifted in the light, and Guinevere realized it was covered in moths. One crawled up the side of his face, lingering at his ear.
The attacks from the Dark Queen were never meant to succeed. Only to keep them watching for magical threats while she manipulated human threats to the north. The Picts had not gone silent out of peace. They had gone silent to prepare for war. And Guinevere and Arthur had been exactly what the Dark Queen hoped: distracted.
“I did not know you would be here,” Nechtan said, looking at Mordred.
“I sent for him.” Morgana rode closer, barely glancing at Guinevere.
Mordred laughed, his tone light. No longer the Mordred who had fixed her shoulder, or given her a flower beneath the shelter of trees, or even begged her, desperately, to leave with him. This was the eel, the man everyone warned her about, who slipped and slid through the cold darkness to get what he wanted. “Hello, Mother. King Nechtan. I got her out of the city for you. A queen for a queen.”
King Nechtan glanced toward Camelot, narrowing his eyes.
“Not yet,” Morgana said, her voice curt.
“I can take it.”
