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But in that case, why send me away? And why have Agravaine’s man, Whitehorn, accompany us? Why the elaborate story about a sword?
If Arthur truly wanted me out of the way, all he had to do was make up some trumped up charge–as he had so easily done with the part-fae boy in the Great Hall weeks ago–and then execute me publicly. He didn’t have to hide behind an assassin. He was already the king. Who would challenge him?
“There is one possibility that is not entirely dismal,” Sir Ector said quietly.
“Is there? I’d love to hear it.”
“Your brother is sending along two men who are corrupt and dangerous, yes. But they are also deadly fighting machines. Perhaps Arthur has reason to believe they will serve you the best on this journey–and that they have the most hope of keeping you safe.”
“Perhaps.” I tried to smile. “He is my brother, after all.”
“Yes,” Sir Ector said quietly. “He is.”
He suddenly straightened his back. “He’s coming, Morgan. Look to the left.”
I whipped my head around to see Arthur striding towards us, Lord Agravaine at his side.
“Ready for your journey, Morgan?” Arthur asked as he reached us. “All packed? You leave at dawn.”
I nodded. “I’m well-aware. Yes, I’m ready to go. I look forward to successfully completing this task you have honored me with, Brother,” I finished, hearing the hollow formality of the words.
Arthur smiled slightly. “Excellent. Before you go, I wish to speak with you now. Alone.”
Nodding briefly to Sir Ector, Arthur turned to leave the Great Hall. Clearly I was meant to follow.
I glanced helplessly at Sir Ector, shrugging my shoulders.
“If I do not see you again before you leave,” Sir Ector said quickly, gripping me by the shoulder. “Safe travels, Morgan. We will miss you dearly. Galahad sends his love.”
I had not even seen Galahad yet that evening. I supposed this meant I might not have an opportunity to say good-bye.
I nodded and forced a smile, then turned to see if I could spot Lancelet. She was still across the room. She was no longer dancing, but had taken a seat at one of the banquet tables. The Lyonessian woman in the pink dress was seated beside her. They were talking and laughing. I couldn’t catch her eye.
Maybe it was for the best. My last sight of my friend would at least be a happy one.
I started to follow Arthur. Accompanied by four of his guards, he had already walked ahead, out of the Great Hall and into the long corridor that led to the king’s apartments.
I picked up my pace, trying to catch up. As I approached the open arch leading into the corridor a man stepped into my path, his head down. We both stumbled, trying not to walk into one another.
He lifted his head.
I could not help it. I gasped.
It was Florian.
His face was nearly unrecognizable. He had been badly beaten. His appearance was grotesque. Cuts and bruises covered his entire face, rendering it a mass of colors, greens, purples, and yellowish-browns. One of his eyes was nearly swollen shut. The other was red and puckered.
As he saw me, his lips curled in a snarl. For a moment, our eyes met. He looked back at me with the murderous rage of a a rabid dog.
I brushed past him quickly, unwilling to linger in his presence for even a moment longer than I had to.
Who had done this to him?
Whoever it was, the look Florian had given me said one thing.
He thought I was responsible.
