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I had brought the children back with me after all.
Their marks covered my flesh. They had marred me for all time.
I was no longer beautiful. I was no longer perfect. I was less than human. I was monstrous.
I opened my mouth and began to laugh. A sound horrible and grating.
The harsh noise was cut short as I realized we were no longer alone.
A girl stood in the doorway of the small room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
She was short and shaped like a bell. Long lashes brushed gently against the smooth, honey-toned skin of her rosy, plump cheeks.
Curling brown hair reached just below her chin. Hair which had recently been cut–and cut badly. The edges were jagged and I caught sight of longer strands which had been missed, as if the girl had chopped at her own locks ruthlessly and in a hurry. Why would she disfigure herself so?
As if I of all people had any right to ask.
“Did we wake you, Guinevere? I’m sorry.” Merlin’s voice was rich and soft. Where inside of herself did she find the endless pool to draw from? Giving and then giving still more?
“I heard screaming.” The girl’s lips were soft and full. She was not dressed like a temple acolyte, I realized. She wore a nightgown of pale blue–while all of the acolytes wore the same dull dove gray. There was lace trim on the edges, and yet while the nightdress was a rich and pretty thing, it looked well-worn, too.
The girl called Guinevere shifted in the door frame. There was a comforting softness to her. Her curves reminded me of a blossoming flower.
“Do you need any help, Merlin?” Her voice was as gentle as she looked.
Suddenly I wondered if the girl had helped Merlin before. How many times had she been forced to see me like this?
To see... me?
“No, we’ll be all right,” Merlin assured her. “You go back to bed now.”
“Very well.” Guinevere’s lips curved into a soft crescent and I felt an unexpected warmth radiate into the room. “Goodnight.”
As soon as the girl’s footsteps had faded away, I turned to Merlin. “Who was that?”
“Guinevere,” Merlin said, with a hint of amusement.
“Yes, I heard that much,” I said, feeling annoyed.
Annoyance was better than self-pity, a bitter voice in my head said.
“And you want to know more?” Merlin tilted her head thoughtfully. “I think you will have to ask Guinevere herself. Perhaps tomorrow, when you leave this room.”
The thought frightened me as soon as I heard it.
The chamber I was in was small and windowless, with room only for the bed on which I lay and the chair in which Merlin sat. But the prospect of leaving it? Terrifying.
“Guinevere came to us from the castle,” Merlin was saying. “She is from Lyonesse.”
“Lyonesse?” That got my attention. “Sheescapedfrom the castle–is that what you mean?”
Merlin’s expression turned sad. “That would be an accurate way of describing it, yes.”
“What’s been happening? Here in Camelot? What is going on?” My voice was sharp, demanding. I knew nothing. I was blind. What had I missed?
“And Morgan... Where is Morgan? I...” I stopped. In a flash I recalled the last time I had seen her. She had been pulled away by Vesper. She seemed to be struggling.
She couldn’t have struggled very hard.
