Quest - Book 2 of Queen's Honor - YA + Adult Fantasy Romance and Adventure (6 page)

Elibel
,

Pleasantries to lift your
mood and let you know that I am always here for you.

My love to you always,

Guin

Rhosyn
shifted and crossed her
arms over her chest so many times I thought she might have poison ivy in her
drawers.

“Hurry,” she begged, “we haven’t time to waste.”

*
*
*

After a brief visit to my chambers, Rhosyn, along with
Crystin, shuffled me back through the corridors of Camelot, into the east wing
and down a darkened staircase lit with torchlight—a peculiar place to attend my
fitting. Proper decorum dictated a dressmaker would come to my chamber, but
Rhosyn assured me this arrangement was customary in Camelot.

On our way there, the two exchanged heated whispers, all out
of range of earshot.

Once we arrived at a door, Crystin mumbled,
"Oh, Mary, Joseph and Jesu, may God's
hosts save me from the snares of the devil!"

"Oh, hold
your tongue, girl!" Rhosyn scolded as she knocked.

Crystin pressed herself against the wall, gripping her cross
as if waiting for a demon to arise from the chamber. The torches flickered in
the hallway casting shadows on the girl's face. She squeezed her eyes shut at
the squeak of the opening door, but then grabbed my hand and muttered,
"May God protect you, My Lady." She let go and hugged her cross to
her breast.

The door swung wide, though no one appeared to greet us. A pungent
smell of herbs sailed into the stale hall.

"We will await you," Rhosyn said, then added,
"My Lady," as an afterthought.

The chamber within glowed with hundreds of candles. I
crossed the threshold with caution—this was no dressmaker's chamber. A shelf
lined one wall, dressed with tins, boxes, manuscripts, bundles of herbs and
skulls. The room emitted a strong earthy scent, causing me momentary dizziness.

I rested my hand on a nearby table for stability. In the
center of the table, a game of Wooden Wisdoms was laid out, as if still in
play. The white and black pieces seemed to be crafted from marble and onyx
while the center king's piece was wrought from gold.

"Welcome to Camelot, Lady Guinevere."

I spun around at the familiar voice, nearly knocking the
table over with my effort. A golden-haired woman in long white robes examined
me with grass-green eyes. A young boy, with an obvious resemblance, stood by
her side.

"Morgaine!"

"I hope that my brother has made you comfortable."

"What are you…" I couldn't think. My blood rushed
at the sight of her. I glanced toward the exit, but Rhosyn must have closed the
door.

"Doing here?" she continued for me. "After
the death of my husband, Camelot became my home, Guinevere. Since we are to be
sisters, you don't mind my calling you with such familiarity, do you?"

I shook my head—not out of compliance, but out of confusion.
I felt as if my eyes popped from their sockets, and I tried to control my
countenance. "But I thought you and Arthur were adversaries.”

"We have a peculiar relationship, true. But no less
affectionate than many siblings."

"But you do not approve of our marriage."

A thin smile stretched her lips. "You misunderstand, Sister.
I did not approve of Arthur's management of the situation. I wanted you to have
a choice in the matter. A woman should always be free to make choices. Do you
agree?"

I didn't answer—I wasn’t sure what game Morgaine was playing
and needed time to process the situation. I stared at her for moments, then my
eyes wandered to the boy next to her. He had her same piercing eyes, but
instead of gold-blonde hair, his locks blazed with red tones. His face twisted
into a bored expression.

"My son," said Morgaine. "Mordred. You have
already met my elder at today's quest—Gawain."

"The one who called Arthur, Uncle."

"Arthur is grooming Gawain for knighthood."

Mordred let out an exasperated huff.

"You may go, Son."

The boy scrambled back through a curtain at the opposite end
of the chamber without a word.

Morgaine continued, "By tomorrow Gawain will be
knighted, and if the old ways are to be upheld, it will be Gawain to succeed
Arthur one day."

I scrunched my eyebrows. If Gawain succeeds, what of my
children?

"Ah, yes, sister, you are Christian and believe in
Christian succession, even though your crown was wrought by ancient laws. But I
know you hold the powers of the old ones within you, too."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that a woman with your ability will come to
see that the old ways must be upheld, or the land will suffer for it."

"I still don't understand."

I realized for the first time that Morgaine held two
chalices. She approached and handed me one.

I took the glass and held it up to drink, but the sharp odor
caused me to pause.

"I have many powers, Sister. One is knowing the
properties of herbs. This one will strengthen you for the upcoming days."

She tipped her own glass and drank.

I followed suit and tried not to repel the drink as it hit
my throat; it tasted as bad as it smelled. Once the liquid settled in my belly,
a quick mental check assured me the woman had not just poisoned me—though I
doubted she’d have the audacity to do so in Arthur’s kingdom.
 

Morgaine’s eyes switched to the table behind me. "Do
you play?"

I turned back to the game of Wooden Wisdoms, and for a
moment, I could have sworn the pieces had changed positions. I shook my head,
not only to reply to her question, but to shake the wild thought from my mind.

Morgaine approached to stand by my side. "What do you
see when you look at the board?"

"A game."

"Is that all?"

"A king surrounded by the forces of light and
dark."

"Ah, yes. What else?"

"Each movement, each player's choice, affects the
outcome of the king."

"And what do you see when you look at my brother?"

I started and stepped back, not realizing I had spoken without
restraint.

"Truthfully, we are sisters now. Do you see him as a
wise king?"

She studied me, her pupils pinning much like my falcon's.

I returned my focus to the circular board, examining the
king's piece. My vision blurred. Arthur appeared in my mind's eye—a golden
blonde god, fighting without fear. Then his image morphed into a beautiful
child, throwing a tantrum because he did not get a toy he wanted.

"Arthur's mission for peace is honorable, but…"

"Go on."

"His drive to achieve the goal is tainted by his desire
for power and fame."

"You see clearly, Sister. Your power is great."

"That is hardly a power."

"Isn’t it? Most young women, and men, for that matter,
would be so dazzled by my brother's beauty and eloquence that they would be
blinded to his truth."

"But that's not a power. Not like conjuring a white
deer from thin air."

"You mean Merlin's trick today at your arrival?"
She shook her head. "That was a monstrosity to compel a supernatural from
the Otherworld for my brother's entertainment."

"The hind was not of this world?"

"Isn't that why you feared for her survival?"

"She was disoriented and outnumbered. She did not have
a chance." As I spoke, I realized Morgaine had been informed, verbatim, of
today's events even though she had not attended. Or she knew in a supernatural
way. Either option sent a wave of shivers through me.

"Though Merlin is capable of much more, his interests
are for self-preservation. He only seeks to amuse and stroke my brother's grandiose
dreams of himself. Much like he did with Arthur's father."

"What do you mean?"

She cocked her head at me, like a crow examining a mouse.
"You've never heard rumors of my brother's conception?"

"I pay little attention to rumors."

The corners of her lips curved upwards. "Uther
Pendragon, Arthur's father, was notorious for attaining whatever he desired.
That desire extended to my mother, who was already married to my father.
 
One night, when my father was away in battle,
Merlin cast an illusion on Uther to appear as my father and snuck him into
Tintagel where my mother mistook him as her husband. Uther raped her, for
surely, though my mother was willing, she knew not his identity, and rape it
was. Uther had my father killed and took my mother as his queen, but Arthur
already swelled in her belly from that deceitful night."

I didn't know how to respond. A lump formed in my throat at
the thought of such trickery.

"My mother did not have a choice, Guinevere. That is
why it is so important to me that you retain your choices. But in order to make
good choices, one must have all the information. And that is where your
power—your gift—comes into play."

"You are mistaken. I don't possess such a gift."

"No, Sister. You do. You possess the power to see beyond
words and actions. Even beyond the veil that separates the worlds. It is the
power to see truth. You just lacked guidance to fully develop this gift."

I shook my head, unbelieving. My mind flashed to my mother's
recollections. Each time she had spoken of "seeing" in some form.

"I see things, too Guinevere." Morgaine's voice
bumped me out of my thoughts. "Not in the same way that you do, but what I
see incites me to warn you."

The severity of her tone set my nerves back on alert.

"I know of your desire for Arthur's most valiant of
knights."

My breath quickened at her accusation.

"I see a perilous future for you if you pursue these
desires, Sister."

"No, you misunderstand."

"I misunderstand nothing. Though my cocksure brother
may not notice such trifles as a batted lash and a blush on the cheek, a woman
is wise to such gestures."

Her gaze held me in check.

My mind reeled back to the raven who oversaw our kiss, and I
knew; it was Morgaine. Her confident stare told me there was no use in denying
my affections for the knight.

"Harm will befall you both. Would you see your lover
injured for your favor?"

Tremors broke out in my chest. I bit down on the inside of
my cheek to refrain from an emotional eruption.

"Good. We understand one another." She cocked her
head again, examining me. "Then you will help me?"

"Help you?" I wanted to say I would no more assist
her than contribute the rope to my own hanging, but she continued before I
could speak.

"Guide Arthur to his proper place as High King—an
unselfish, generous lord of the land. One who honors the old ways. Your
influence on Arthur will bring him to center, Guinevere. He needs your kindness
and generosity in order to become the king the land and people deserve."

"But I don't possess such influence."

"You will open his eyes by simply being yourself. You
are the only one that can accomplish this feat. If not for you, Arthur will
succumb to his base desires and his pursuit for peace will fail. All will
suffer this loss."

I wanted to say no, but I thought of all that was at
stake—the dream of peace, the protection of an entire nation, my father's
pride—and I knew my answer.

"I will help you," I said.

As my words formed, the Wooden Wisdom pieces on the table in
front of us moved of their own accord, rearranging themselves on the board. I
gawked, then focused my surprise on Morgaine.

She smiled, this time her mouth turning upward until she
beamed and resembled her brother. "You have chosen well, Sister."

I started to turn, but Morgaine called out at my back,
"Your dressmaker will have arrived at your chambers by now. My apologies
for the use of your ladies to bring you here, but I feared you would not come
if you knew it was me who called for you. Best to get fitted for your big day tomorrow."

I continued on, grabbed hold of the doorknob, opened the
heavy slab and exited.
 
Even though no
siege had been set on Camelot, I was caught within a game no less violent than
Melwas' attempt on Camelaird.

Rhosyn
and Crystin had not waited,
and I found myself alone in the hallway. Rather than head back to my
chamber—the dressmaker could wait—I searched for Lancelot. Perhaps heading
straight for the one man I should have avoided was foolish on my part, but
Morgaine’s prediction of a perilous outcome for us prompted me to seek him out
to warn him that our tryst had been discovered.

After failing to find him in the practice yard or courtyard,
I found him in the one place that made the most sense: the stables, tending
Clover. The sharp smell of hay, horses and manure swamped the long row of
stalls as I headed toward Lancelot, situated at the end of the barn, beyond my
sight. Though I did not see him, I knew he was there. Aethelwine, perched on
the stable fencing, called to me as I neared. Clover nickered and bobbed his
head over a stack of prairie grass, while Lancelot's presence pulled me forth
like a lodestone. As I rounded the mound and spotted the knight, he stiffened.

All my nerve drained out of me when Lancelot refused to
turn. His eyes flicked sideways, but did not seek my face. The darkened hallway
of the stables cast shadows upon him, causing the chisel in his cheeks to
deepen and his skin to darken.

He focused his attention on stroking Clover's back with a
bristle brush.

"Lancelot, I…"

He paused at my voice, but did not speak.