“Guinevere,” he said slowly, reverently, “look at your hands.”
I opened my palms to find the two red queens joined as though glued together. I forced them apart, examining the stones closer. They were red lodestone. That was why they were connected. They were naturally drawn together by their magnetic cores.
“This is not our battle,” I said quietly to myself. “No matter who Morgan and I choose, the queens are set apart. Even should all fall in battle, we will survive.” I set the two stones on the board, trembling in anticipation as they wavered, seeking to find one another again. Part of me knew what I was uttering was more than my human senses could perceive, but I was as powerless to stop it as the tides are to resist the moon. The two pieces snapped together again. “We are joined, in life, in death, in infamy.”
“Is this my wife?” Mordred asked, indicating the queen stone that belonged with his army.
“Or your mother. Both. We three have a fate beyond your own, one only we can fulfill.”
We were silent for a time, both wrapped in private contemplation. Finally, whatever prophetic spirit had filled me fled, leaving me to piece together its meaning with a throbbing head and shaking body.
“So what is your answer?” Mordred asked, his voice clipped.
“I—I—what?” My thick tongue would not form words.
“Given what you have seen, do you support me or him?” Mordred’s face was red, a vein in his forehead pulsing, just like Arthur’s did when he was upset.
“How can you ask me that? You saw the outcome. It does not matter.”
He brought his fist down on the board, making the pieces jump. “But it does. It means everything.” He upended the board, bellowing, “Choose!”
I shrank back, more afraid of him in that moment than I had ever been, even when his cruelty toward Marius was revealed. Be calm. This is nothing more than a display of temper. It will pass. I breathed deeply. He is a spoiled child who fears he may be denied his favorite toy, nothing more.
I inhaled again then stood, looking him straight in the eye. “Long ago, before you were more than a seed in your mother’s belly, I made a promise. I swore to watch over my people and guard them from all harm. That was my first vow. Those I made to Arthur, and any loyalty I may feel toward you as his son, are secondary. As you remind me, I am queen, a woman above and apart. I cannot choose between the two of you any more than your own mother could. Fight your battles as you will, but with the gods as my witness, I wish no part in them.” I turned on my heel, focused on the door.
“Where will you go?” he called after me, and I looked over my shoulder. “You have no one to take you in if I denounce you.” He crossed to me in long, quick steps. “My father was merciful to you, and following his example, so was I. But once I become king, all of that can change. I will have the power to do with you as I will. I could sell you to the Picts as a slave, end your life with the snap of my fingers.” His eyes brightened and he moved closer, his breath warm on my cheek. “Better yet, I know a certain Saxon woman who would take great pleasure in torturing you for the rest of your days.” His words were directly in my ear now. “Think on that, my queen. I will give you one more chance. I want your answer by midnight.”
Mordred’s threats still rang in my ears hours later when I looked up from staring into the fire and found myself facing Elga. How long had she been standing there watching me? A shiver ran down my spine and I forced myself not to flinch. I would never show fear in her presence.
“I heard what my husband said to you earlier,” she said by way of greeting. “He knows nothing. You were right. This is not your battle.”
I stood, not wishing to give her the satisfaction of towering over me. Little good it did, for she was still two heads taller, but at least we were both on even ground. “You were spying on us?”
She shrugged, completely unapologetic. “I do what I must to know my husband’s heart.”
“You said this is not my battle. You wish me to side with Arthur then? Is that what you are saying?”
“Matters not.”
A wave of nausea rolled through my stomach and I swallowed hard. Those were the exact same words she’d used years ago when we first met, just before she killed an innocent child. Despite my best efforts to hold it back, I shivered.
Elga perked up, as if sensing my discomfort, and sauntered over to the window, her movement making the silver tubes holding her blond curls rattle like wind chimes. “You are a powerful woman, but your time has passed, so who you back in the coming storm matters little. My husband says no one will accept us without your blessing, but he knows better. He would not have married me if he didn’t.” She turned to face me. “You see, I already have the loyalty of my people, and in the coming days, many of our enemies will fall by our swords. Those who remain can be controlled with or without you.” She toyed with the line of daggers hanging from her belt, as if trying to decide which to select. “So we have no need of you.”
“What then do you plan to do with me?” I asked. She could kill me on the spot if she so intended.
Elga’s answering grin chilled my heart. “My husband was right that I would enjoy torturing you”—she removed a thin knife from her belt and inspected it, holding it up so it caught the slanting rays of late afternoon light—“but I am in no mood today.” She pointed the blade at me. “You and I will do battle, mark my words, but this is not the time. You do not belong in Camelot anymore. You knew that when you ran to Lothian. So today I offer you a gift.”
“And what is that?” I asked slowly, never taking my eyes from her knife in case I needed to evade its bite.
“Safe haven. Somewhere you will be protected until this battle is over.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Have you not been listening? You are a liability to me. As long as you are here, some part of my husband will rely on you as queen. His devotion should be completely mine.” She shoved the weapon back into its leather sheath with greater force than necessary to punctuate her point. “I will allow you to escape if you promise me one thing.”
“What is that?”
“No matter the outcome, you will not seek to alter its course. You will let me rule in whatever way I see fit.”
“If I refuse?”
“I kill you.” Her voice was cold but even. This was a matter of political gain to Elga, not a personal one.
I stared at her a long time, weighing my options. If I stayed in Camelot and Arthur was victorious, would he believe I was innocent or that I’d backed Mordred? If he thought me guilty, I would be once again branded a traitor and he would seek my death. On the other hand, if Mordred won the war, he might keep me around until Elga was crowned. But after that, I was of no value, only a figurehead of a regime that no longer existed. Worse yet, I could be seen as an excuse for rebellion against him. Either way, my life was in danger. If he didn’t end it, Elga certainly would. How had I gotten myself into this mess? Seeing no other alternative, I nodded.
Elga smiled. “Good. You may seek refuge at the convent of St. Peter. The abbess owes me a favor.”
My eyes widened, cold sweat springing to my neck and back. Had I been duped? “But the abbess is—”
Elga’s grin widened until it was more of a snarl. “My sister. You thought you were so clever, hiding her away like a precious jewel. It did not take me long to find her. But when I did, I realized she was of more use to me alive. And so she remains.”
“Of use to you how?”
Elga shrugged. “All you need know is you both will be safe. You have my word.”
What was that worth, the word of a Saxon who wanted to kill me? I could well be walking into a trap. But as she said, I had little choice. From holding all the power in the realm to being at her mercy, my descent had been swift.
“I am to journey alone, then? Is that not dangerous? Why not simpl
y kill me now?”
Elga regarded me as though I was a simpleton. “My men will keep an eye on you from afar, but they cannot be seen escorting you from town. Too many questions. I have sworn my protection and that you will have. Now go. You leave tonight.”
My jaw dropped. “Now? It is nearly sundown.”
Elga flexed her hands at her sides, clearly growing agitated. “Have you forgotten you promised to share your allegiance with my husband by midnight? There is a place not far outside the city where you will spend the night. There you will at least be safely out of his grasp.”
I had forgotten. “What will you tell him?”
“Leave my husband to me. Now, pack your things and be gone.”
My feet automatically carried me out into the hall while my mind reeled with this sudden change of events.
“Oh, Guinevere,” Elga called after me. “Do not forget. This is not farewell. We will meet again.”
When I glanced at her over my shoulder, she was fingering one of her knives again. I swallowed. That was a promise—a threat—she fully intended to keep.
Chapter Eight
Sleet stung my skin as I approached the convent grounds, a small tract of land on the banks of the river Ouse. From behind a wooden fence, a small chapel rose with a forlorn frozen garden on one side, its long-dormant plants unresponsive to the gray light of dawn. Opposite, a long building attached itself to the church like a barnacle. Some distance behind, smoke rose from the open chimney of a kitchen.
The haunting melody of chanted prayer greeted me as the porter opened the gate in response to my ringing the guest bell. Without a word, the bent old woman motioned me inside and I followed her to the church door, the nuns’ song growing louder with each step. Shielding my face from the biting wind, I gratefully stepped inside the nave.
Where I had expected darkness to rival the dreary day outside, I was greeted by light. Though the church wasn’t large—five pairs of small pews each held three gray-clad sisters—and had only two small windows, one set high in each long wall, iron pillars filled with slender beeswax candles illumined each corner, filling the room with the subtle, sweet scent of honey. All attention was focused on the altar, which held a length of switch, its ruby thorns glowing bloody in the soft light, and a small equal-armed stone cross. Two fat candles held vigil on either side.
It was Lent, the Christian season for repentance. This austerity likely was symbolic of the shriving of sins and the penance each sister undertook this time of year. I had seen Arthur undertake the privations of Lent many times.
Though I did not share their faith, the beauty of their ritual stirred my heart. It had been a long time since my prayers were made out of anything other than desperation and fear. But here, with my body safe and warm, my spirit cried out for nourishment. As the sisters sang, I sank to my knees on the cold, hard floor, adopting the posture of submissive prayer used on Avalon, arms crossed over my heart, head bowed to the ground. Abandoning my bag of provisions at my side, I touched my right thumb to my forehead, lips, and heart, and prayed.
My thoughts were no better than a jumble of yarn, tying itself ever tighter with each passing thought. I had to start over several times before my mind produced anything intelligible. But I was able to offer a quick word of thanks to the goddess Ellen for a safe journey and a supplication that Morrigan would keep Arthur and Lancelot safe before my mind went galloping off again.
Nevertheless, the Goddess seemed to understand my heart, and as if in response to my prayers, a vision flashed before my eyes. Arthur and Lancelot were safely back in Britain. But Arthur was not in Lothian, nor was he heading for Camelot. He stood in the courtyard of Cadbury, watching Lancelot train a group of men on how to use the saddle with the stirrup in the nearby stables. That could only mean Arthur intended to mass his supporters at Cadbury and lead a march on Mordred.
Gods, preserve us from an attack on Camelot. Do not allow this foolish quarrel over power to further destroy what we worked so hard to build.
I raised my head only when the chanting came to an end. The sisters, their faces obscured by heavy black veils, filed solemnly out a side door and soon, only one woman remained. Even before she turned, her plump shape and the strands of curly blond hair peeking out from the bottom of her veil gave away her identity.
The years had been kind to Mayda, revealing her to be a beautiful woman who would always retain a hint of her childhood innocence. Her face, covered in Lenten ashes, was still round, but it had gained sleek angles from simple living, along with the ghost of lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Away from the cares of her tribe and dedicated to God in a place of safety, she now appeared far younger and healthier than her battle-worn sister. Clad in the black robes of the abbess, she radiated gentle power and confidence, much like the Lady of the Lake.
I rushed to embrace her. “Mayda! The gods be praised you are well.”
Forewarned I would be arriving, she was not surprised but radiated joy at our reunion. She clasped me with great affection. “Thanks to you and your husband. You gave me a great gift the day you assigned me here. I only wish I could have seen it at the time.”
I pulled back, regarding her from head to toe but not letting go of her shoulders. “How are you? I see you have done much with your time here.” I gestured to her robes.
Her smile was as radiant as I remembered. “I took your advice to heart. When I was young, my family tirelessly reminded Elga and me that we were meant to lead. They thought we would oversee our husbands’ tribes, but here I have found a different kind of family to lead. It can be difficult, but it is all worth it when done in His service.” She flicked her gaze meaningfully to the cross on the altar. “Truly, you and Arthur gave me the most loving, loyal spouse I could ever ask for. He may be invisible, but He treats me much better than any earthly man ever would.”
Having seen the brutality of the Saxons, especially those who clawed their way into power, it wasn’t difficult to believe she was right.
Mayda put an arm around my shoulders, directing me toward the altar. “Come, let me show you our dearest treasure.” When we stood directly in front of the altar, she lifted the stone cross off its base. Only then did I see the center was adorned with a shield of glass. Behind it, small yellowed bits of what appeared to be bone and hair rattled with her movements. “These are the bones of the blessed St. Peter and the hair of the missionaries who died protecting them. We hold them in our prayers every day, asking that their blood make us stronger in our faith.” Her eyes gleamed with pride.
Bishop Marius had told us of the veneration which Christians paid to the bodily remains and sometimes possessions of their saints, especially those who’d given their lives for their faith. It was a popular practice on the Continent, but I had no idea it had spread here.
“How did you come upon these? Did not your St. Peter die in Rome? If so, they are far from their home.”
Mayda’s cheeks colored under the soot. “You are correct. They were a gift.” She studied the rushes at her feet. “From my sister.” Then looking at me, she continued. “The missionaries who brought these here from Rome had the misfortune of setting foot in our kingdom. This was only a short time after Badon. Our people were hungry to exact revenge, so they took it out on those who sought to change their ways. Relics such as these mean nothing to my people. But Elga was well aware of why the Christians so vigorously defended them. She saw an opportunity to gain sway over the convent and took it. After stripping the relics from their gold container, Elga sent these to us as a sign so I would know she was aware of my fate. She is now considered a great patroness, a protector, because they are a source of income from pilgrims, in addition to providing spiritual grace.”
I wrinkled my brow, trying to piece together her story. “How did Elga know you were here? We were so very careful.” Apology lay heavy in my voice, making it unsteady.
Mayda s
hook her head. “It was nothing you did. Elga is far more intelligent than anyone would think. A convent known to take in Saxon women was certainly not the first place she looked for me, but it was not low on her list either. How she figured it out matters little. When I was elected abbess, I think she believed she could control the convent, and with us, the whole of York. I told her I would rather meet the same fate as the martyrs she’d created than help her gain control of the country, even just this small part. We pose no threat to her, so for now, she does nothing, lest she appear as a tyrant.” Mayda took a deep breath. “I have no doubt the day will come when she is queen and I will fall to her blade, just as she always intended, but at least now it will be for a greater cause. I will be defending my faith and my home and I will be certain the others are safe. I have made my peace with my fate.”
I swallowed hard, my throat constricting with guilt. All Arthur and I had wanted to do was keep her safe, yet it looked as though we’d inadvertently condemned her to a martyr’s death. “I pray it does not come to that.”
She smiled. “So do I. But until that day, it is my duty to keep my sisters safe and help them grow in faith.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the side door. “Speaking of which, we should probably join them in the refectory. No one may begin eating until the abbess is present.”
I followed her into the gloom, already missing the brightness of the church. A handful of sisters were standing around the frozen well, chipping at the surface with a rock. When Mayda approached, they backed away respectfully to allow her access. She dipped her hands into the cold water and splashed it on her face, washing away the ashes, before drying her face with the hem of her gown. I did the same, starting at the shock of cold but relieved to remove some of the grime of the road, even if it meant my cheeks went numb in the process.
Inside the refectory, the sisters had removed their veils. The ashes were gone too, having served their ritual purpose. Mayda led me to the head of a long table, where she sat with great ceremony. She whispered to one of the sisters at her side, who promptly offered me her seat. There were no others open, so she sat on the floor.
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