The Guinevere's Tale Trilogy

Chapter 11-4

Liam paused in his studies. “You will break Pellinor’s heart, you do realize that.”

I stopped then, sword mid-swing, and turned to the boy, surprised at his astute interjection. He was gazing at her with a strange combination of infatuation and concern for his father’s master.

Isolde, for her part, appeared shaken, a tiny line of worry marring the space between her eyes. She bit her lower lip as if the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. “I know,” she finally responded in a small voice. She swallowed hard. “It pains me to betray him so, but I cannot let years of injustice go unpunished.” She looked up at Liam, eyes seeking his approval—or maybe it was his forgiveness she wanted. “I put no one in danger by what I am planning to do. I could easily wage war, but instead I chose a more subtle form of revenge.”

Guildford made a sarcastic sound. “Yes, how noble of you. You merely rob their household of the best servants and craftsmen, weaken them from within.”

I went back to dueling with my shadow then, uncertain whether Guildford meant his words in jest.

“Do you wish me to send for you or no?” Isolde’s tone was haughty. She clearly thought him serious and was hurt by the thought.

“I do, I do.” Guildford sighed. “I simply wish I did not have to betray my master in the process.”

He must have stood silently, for in the next moment, I heard the crunch of his boots as he came toward me.

“Ready?” He picked up his sword, assuming a standard opening stance.

I nodded, mirroring him.

We went through the sequence again, in the same roles. When we reached his jab for my thigh, I blocked it and brought up my sword, forcing him back. I swung horizontally around my right side, and Guildford lifted his sword and shield in response, using both to absorb the brunt of the blow. Stepping to my left, I repeated the strike on the other side, harder, forcing his defenses upward, exposing his now vulnerable groin area. I touched the tip of my blade to the area just below his armor to signal where my thrust would have landed.

Guildford clapped his hands together. “That was well done indeed.”

Isolde put an arm around me as I bent to examine Liam’s writing, my chest still heaving from the exertion of the fight. My eyes had made it only halfway down the page before a bell tolled in the distance, signaling the beginning of the morning prayer that preceded Mass.

“We must be off. There is little time to change before we meet Lyonesse and Elaine for daily devotions,” I said. No matter how many times we did this, I would never lose the fear of being caught, the sheer panic at the thought of Lyonesse’s reaction to my forbidden activity.

But Isolde was as calm as ever. While I stripped off my armor and did my best to straighten my wrinkled dress, she tousled Liam’s hair and pecked him on the cheek. “Be a good boy and practice your letters—for me.”

Liam smiled self-consciously. “Anything for you.”

I embraced Guildford. “Tomorrow, then?”

He nodded. “Indeed.”

“Remember, I keep my promises,” Isolde called over her shoulder.

That’s what I’m afraid of. I began my morning prayers then and there, begging the gods as I ran toward the castle that whether Isolde left for Ireland as a new bride or struck out on her own as she had threatened to do, it would not bring calamity on Pellinor’s house. For I was part of that house now, and as much as I was growing to love her, I did not want to see her thirst for vengeance bring pain to those who held my future in their hands.