Mistress of Legend

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Spring 520

Time was running out.

The inevitable clash between father and son was drawing near. According to my latest communication with Pelles, Arthur and his troops were even now at sea, heading toward home. By the next full moon, they would no doubt be matched in pitched battle.

I set aside Pelles’s letter with a sigh and looked out the window across the burned-out shell of the western tower, down to the village below, wondering if Arthur would even recognize his home when he returned. Though this day appeared no different from any other, with tradesmen, fishermen, servants, and soldiers all going about their daily lives, there was an undercurrent of tension in the air, as though we were under constant threat of a storm about to break. If we could feel it even here in the castle, how much more keenly must the villagers perceive it?

In the streets, clashes between warring factions were now the norm, even as Mordred’s men struggled to keep order. Their exhaustion fed short tempers, causing Camelot’s men to seek any release they could find. The barkeeps welcomed them with flowing ale and whores loved the uptick in business, but when the barrels ran dry and the women were all occupied, even the noblest of men resorted to beating his neighbor to a bloody pulp.

In the castle, things were little better. Aggrivane had already left to meet Arthur’s party when they docked on the Lothian coast. If Owain could not make Mordred see sense, he was likely to follow. Bors spent his time whipping Mordred’s followers into a froth by harping on the injustices done by Arthur and his men—some real, some spun out of whole cloth. Amid this tension, Morgan was strangely quiet, deeply withdrawn into herself, refusing to take sides between her husband and her son.

I was all but forgotten, which suited me fine. I had my own decision to make regarding the coming war. On one hand, Arthur was king and I his queen. But on the other, he had divorced me and declared my power void before seriously considering ending my life over my affair with Lancelot. Part of me still hated him. The other part could not bear to see our shared dream laid to waste.

I understood Mordred’s ambition. After Arthur’s role in my near-burning, many thought him unfit to rule, even if he was the victim of Morgan and Marius’s machinations. Why should Mordred not step in? He could wait for Arthur to die, but Arthur’s weakness and absence gave him the perfect opportunity to ascend while his father still lived. As he’d pointed out last time we spoke, he had been born for the throne, even before he knew he was Arthur’s son. He had been raised by Uriens, King of Rheged, blessed with Morgan’s cunning, learned statecraft from Owen, skills of the blade from Accolon, and was fostered by Lot, the realm’s greatest strategist. Those things, combined with more than a decade at Arthur’s side, made him a capable ruler.

Yet I could not offer my support to him either. For all his diplomacy and strategy, he was still a rash young man whose ambition could quickly get the better of him. He was so focused on becoming king, I doubted he ever gave a thought to what would happen once he was officially king and the ruler upon whom all of our lives depended.

A knock brought me back to the present. Mordred stepped into the room, a round board under one arm. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”

“No, not at all. I was just thinking.”

Mordred took a seat near me. “About the future, I am certain. It is on all minds these days.”

I nodded.

When I did not elaborate, Mordred let the silence stretch between us. Finally, he pulled over a small table and set his circular board on it before arranging stones from a pouch at his waist into two triangles facing off across a field of wood. He sat forward, taking my hand. “I know it cannot be easy for you, being trapped between Arthur and me. You know I need your support for the people to accept me. You are Sovereignty herself. Those of the old faith will only back me with your blessing. But I know you also feel some measure of devotion to my father, in spite of all you’ve been through. It is my hope that these stones will show us where your loyalty should lie.”

The same thought had crossed my mind, but I didn’t want him to know that. “Then why not let me do it in private? What do you hope to gain from asking me to read these with you?”

“I simply wish to run the battle twice, once with your support and once without it. That will tell us if you are as important a factor as I believe you are.” Mordred’s attempts to sway me without being cruel or unjust were admirable. In that way, as in so many others, he really was his father’s son.

“But you will also get a glimpse of how prepared Arthur is,” I added.

“I did not say there would not be other benefits,” he teased.

I exhaled a deep breath through my nose, looking at him, reluctant to succumb to his charm. “Only this once, and only because I see benefit in it as well. When I make my decision, you will stand by it, no matter what.”

Mordred placed a hand over his heart. “On my honor, I do so swear.”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, willing my whirling thoughts to still. Sending my being down deep, I sought the heartbeat of the earth. Focusing on my breathing, which settled to an even rhythm under such close scrutiny, I let all things go. Soon, there were no crying gulls circling outside, and even Mordred’s presence became a memory.

I opened my eyes, focusing on the pieces, seeing in their place troops of men. Arthur and Mordred faced off in a grassy field bisected by a shallow river of quick-flowing, dark water. In the space of a heartbeat, the battle began, father against son, Saxon against Briton, Pict cutting down Combrogi. My hands directed the stones without my knowledge. The battle was fierce and bloody. In the end, not a single stone remained on the board.

Blinking away the trance that had overtaken me, I found Mordred staring at my cupped palms.

“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 simply 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.