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“You want to know the worst?” Her beautiful blue eyes blazed back at me, remarkably unscathed by the tortures she had faced. “Sometimes, the bodies go missing.”
I had a sinking feeling I knew what she meant, but still I asked, “Missing?”
“Oh, not these ones,” she said, gesturing at the rotting corpses. “Not the ones the flies have already been at for days. Not the ones the birds have tasted. No, the freshest ones. The ones with the most meat on their bones. Soon after they're put up, they mysteriously vanish.”
I stared up at the bodies, wondering if there was anyone I knew hanging from the ropes.
“If that’s how someone feeds their family, who are we to judge,” I said softly.
“I wouldn’t dare to judge,” Lancelet said, her eyes flashing. “But think about it. If things are this bad now, what will they be like when the inevitable happens?”
“The inevitable?”
“What will things be like when Tintagel and Lyonesse break through our frontlines once and for all and storm this city? Oh, Morgan, you didn’t actually think your brother waswinningthis war, did you?”
She laughed so loudly, I looked around nervously. It was a brutal, desperate sound that told me she was closer to her breaking point than perhaps even she realized.
“Perhaps he’s deluded himself into thinking we still have a chance. But from what Sir Ector and Dame Halyna say, it’s simply a matter of time. Tell me, do you think our neighbors will be merciful when they come for Arthur? Or towards the rest of us?”
I thought of the village I had seen Arthur’s soldiers burning in my dream. The screaming priestesses on the pyres.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly.
“We don’t deserve their mercy,” Lancelet snarled.
I eyed her with concern. “Perhaps we should go back now. Perhaps this was a bad idea. You seem... very upset.”
“Upset? Am I a little upset?” She tugged down her scarf and spat on the pavement by my feet. “By the Three, I’m fucking furious. Do you know what your bastard of a brother has done to our people? Do you know what he did to Guinevere?”
That’s what this was about.
Lancelet was being reminded with every step we took of how devoid of mercy my brother was.
“Merlin told me briefly,” I said. “I’m so terribly sorry.”
“Sorry? She was supposed to be hiswife. His wife! Can you imagine? The things he did to her, Morgan.”
“She’s spoken to you about it?”
Lancelet turned away. “A little.”
“You two seem very close,” I said carefully. “I’m glad that you have... someone. Like Guinevere. She seems to need you.”
Lancelet scoffed, “Need me? I wish she needed me. The truth is I need her.” She looked at me, her eyes hollow and desperate. “She should have left Camelot. She should have gotten out of the city while she still could. He’ll come for her, Morgan. And what will I do then? I can’t keep her safe.”
Was this love? Was this how I had left Draven? Desperately wondering if I was all right?
“You are keeping her safe,” I said, trying my best to be comforting. “She’s safe in the temple. You and Merlin and Sir Ector and Tyre and the rest of you have a secure arrangement. You’ve made it this far.”
But Lancelet only stared back, her eyes wide and haunted. “But how long can it last? Really?”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I touched her arm gently. “Come. Let’s go back. Take me back.”
We walked out of the square and into a narrow, winding street. From nearby, I could hear the sound of flowing water.
The Greenbriar River. In the distance, I could see the spires of the castle. We were closer to my brother than I had thought.
“We’re walking towards the castle,” I murmured to Lancelet. “Don’t we want to go the opposite way?”
