Camelot seemed to have grown in stature—its walls more imposing, the cathedral spires crowded and ornate, the castle’s towers and turrets reaching even higher into the sky. Its gold sheen was almost blinding, endlessly numerous windows glinting in the high summer sun like shards of fire and ice. Dragons leapt from walls and flagpoles, blood red and sharp-toothed.
I had left Alys, Tressa, Robin and the rest in a sheltered glen a mile beyond the city, new charms strung through the trees like winter spiderwebs. In my absence, the protective veil around Fair Guard would have faded, so I had brought as many of the household as possible for safety’s sake. They were primed to keep comfortable but stay alert, given I had no idea how my arrival in court would be received.
The castle’s Entrance Hall was a towering, circular atrium lined with stained glass, coloured sunlight cascading down onto another enormous dragon, tiled into the polished floor. Unusually, the hall was almost empty, containing only red-and-white liveried guards. I recognized none of them and fortunately it was mutual; within moments, a young man holding a polished pikestaff had informed me that the court was assembled in the Throne Room, and accompanied me there without qualm.
The huge gold-studded doors to the Throne Room stood open, framing a wall of well-dressed courtiers: wide-shouldered knights devoid of weapons but girded with wealth; silk-clad lords and clergy; ladies trussed and embroidered, murmuring in low, conspiratorial tones. The guard gave my name to a herald before marching back off to his sleepy patrol, and I wondered if he would ever know whom he had let slip through his idle net.
“The court presents Lady Morgan!” the herald announced.
My name sounded strange, even though I had requested it spoken that way, half-formed and somehow insufficient. Still, it had its effect. Every head in the room swivelled to behold my presence, especially those who had heard of me only in retrospect, with all the dark and terrible glory that had been stitched to my reputation. I raised a hand and pushed my hood down, causing several ladies to gasp.
“It’s her,” someone whispered.
“She has returned,” said another.
“Lady Morgan, come forth to the throne!” a different herald called from the front of the room.
The crowd parted before me like bare skin under a blade. A reverent silence had fallen, but it was not long before the whispers took up, hissing through the air behind bejewelled hands. I caught it in snatches: the quick recounting of my past and pedigree; my marriage and the scandals therein; a long list of my suspected sins and crimes. Strings of lovers were hinted at, but to my relief, no one mentioned Accolon.
“You know, she is very learned,” said one. “That’s almost certainly what has led to this trouble.”
“Her skills became corrupted. Lord only knows the darkness she contains.”
In a way, it thrilled me: their fear, their awe, my dubious legend on wagging tongues, the worry that I held power dreadful enough to upend their entire world, when in fact their world was determined to destroy me. Let them talk, let them believe it; I would forge my own path over their gossiping bones.
“King Arthur loved his sister once,” said another. “Until her unnatural ambitions led to betrayal. If he knew she was here now…”
I looked around, seeking the end of the sentence, but dead silence returned. In one startling movement, every person turned to the front of the room, like a church congregation awaiting God Himself, and I realized I had reached the dais. Stepping forwards, I took a deep breath, lifted my eyes, and braced myself to see my brother again.
A vast throne greeted my sight, gilded, dragon-carved and empty. Camelot was without its King.
A hundred questions sang out simultaneously—Where was he? Had he left upon hearing my name? Was this a trick?—when a flash of light on jewels caught in my consciousness.
The dais was far from unoccupied. Beside Arthur’s forbidding chair, in the second, smaller throne, sat Queen Guinevere. She was swathed in gold brocade, except for the white ermine trim of her mantle, a dainty crown encircling her yellow hair; a queenly embodiment of the throne itself.
“Lady Morgan, Queen of Gore,” she said. “How unexpected to see you at court. I do not have all day. Come forth.”
I stalked closer to the dais. Sir Kay stood just behind her, his face so studiously expressionless it looked painful. He glanced at me, allowing a slight quirk in one corner of his mouth, then returned his gaze to the middle distance.
Guinevere shifted in her seat, pale-green eyes tracking my movements. Her chin tilted in anticipation of my deference and a surge of ire ran up the back of my neck. I regarded her haughtily and watched her realize I wouldn’t be bowing or kneeling or anything of the sort. Her regal appraisal became a hard stare.
“What brings you before my throne?” she demanded.
“I’ve come to see my brother. I require an audience with him at once.”
“That will not be possible,” Guinevere replied. “The High King isn’t holding court today. As you can see, I am sitting as Regent.”
“Then I will speak with him in private,” I said. “Tell him to expect me in his Great Chamber. He will not deny me.”
Her laugh scattered across the room like broken glass. “Oh, Lady Morgan, what a way to attend a Royal Court! Giving orders, no courtesy about you, and all alone with no retinue. I heard you had fallen on hard times, but have you no pride?”
I couldn’t tell if her mocking was strategic or personally indulgent, but it was all the same to me. “My lady must save her concern,” I said blithely. “I have not known hardship, and my retinue is far from here. I would hardly condescend to have them set foot in a castle where the Regent herself is unwelcoming.”
“That’s a shame,” Guinevere said. “If they are loyal subjects, they should not fear their High Queen, even if you do.”
It was my turn to laugh. “Fear you? No, my lady. I don’t fear anyone.” I looked around the Throne Room, surveying the stricken crowd. “You’ve all heard of me, after all. I can feel it on the air—your discussions of my powers, the fervent speculation, the nightmares you’ve woken from thinking about what I can do. And it’s mostly true—I could make you all grow pigs’ tails, weave a gown that would poison the wearer in three heartbeats, or reduce this entire court to ashes with a flick of my wrist.”
I flourished my arms wide, relishing the collective intake of breath. “Tell me, my lady Queen, what could I possibly have to fear from you?”
Guinevere flinched, and satisfaction flared in my blood like a sunset across water. Her youthful gleam had faded, hidden beneath the cloud I had brought, while I felt like the rain within, vital and relentless.
I assumed a more conciliatory look. “Of course, there’ll be no need for my lingering here, provided I get what I came for—an audience with King Arthur.”
“I told you, Lady Morgan, it’s not possible.” Guinevere sat straighter, emerald rings quivering as she gripped the arms of her throne. “My lord husband is on a hunting trip, unable to be summoned. He is expected back imminently, but I do not know when.”
I glanced at Sir Kay, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Very well,” I replied. “Then I’ll wait.”
The Queen huffed. “How? I’m sure you wouldn’t condescend to stay here.”
“I’ll stomach it in the short term,” I said.
I had no desire to reside in Camelot under Guinevere’s authority; nor could I afford to be anywhere else until Arthur’s return. I must be there the moment he arrived, so he could not seek to ignore or avoid me.
“There’s no room,” Guinevere said. “In truth, Lady Morgan, you may as well leave now. Given your past behaviour, it is highly unlikely the King will consent to seeing you, or consider it anything but an insult.”
“My lady Queen?” Sir Kay said. “I beg your pardon, but I would advise that Your Highness should not assume what my lord King Arthur will consent to regarding this situation. Lady Morgan is his sister, with whom he once held a deep closeness. Isn’t waiting for his word the most just and godly way to proceed?”
The Queen looked sourly up at the Seneschal. “Perhaps,” she said. “Though I thought there was no room for––”
“There’s no lack of suitable chambers, my lady,” Sir Kay cut in. “Let me bear concern for the arrangements. We wouldn’t want to cast a shadow over Camelot’s hospitality, or the Crown’s willingness to extend it. The High King would expect all protocols followed, as I’m sure Your Highness agrees.”
Guinevere eyed the room and her subjects, still silent, in awe, but observing with a keen edge now. Even a High Queen long established—indeed especially her, still childless, never universally popular—faced scrutiny in the glare of her husband’s reflected light.
“If that is your advice, Lord Seneschal, then I will heed you,” she said tartly. “I hope for your sake my husband shares the same view when he returns.”
“I commend my lady to God.” Kay bowed and descended the dais without a hint of self-reproach, though by the time he reached me he had turned distinctly green at the gills.
“Come on,” he hissed. “Before one of you unleashes all Hell.”
He ushered me firmly from the room, whispers flying again in earnest as we passed. For Kay’s sake, I resisted the temptation to demand they speak it to my face.
“Your former chambers are occupied,” he said. “I’ll put you in the East Gallery. It’s pleasant, and far away from the Queen, which is safest.”
“For her,” I said, and he gave me a scolding look. I sighed in concession as we turned into a long gallery hung with tapestries of Troy in flames. “Thank you, Kay. I don’t know why you did that, but I’m grateful.”
“I don’t know why I did it either,” he said drily. “Maybe because of the look my lady mother gave me, or perhaps I don’t believe you’d come here if it wasn’t for something important. I hope I won’t pay for my blind faith when Arthur returns. In the meantime, I’m trusting you not to cause trouble, Lady Morgan. My good name is at stake.”
“Oh, you have a good name these days, Sir Kay?” I jested. “I had one, once.”
“My God, then we are all doomed.” Kay glanced at me sidelong. “It hasn’t been the same here, you know. Since you left.”
“For better or worse?”
“That, my lady, you will have to ask King Arthur himself. But if you want my opinion—and few people do—I believe it’ll serve the two of you well to speak honestly. Though knowing how stubborn you both can be…”
Leaving the thought unfinished, he stopped to open a door, revealing a neat bedchamber with grapevines painted on the walls. “I’ll assign a page for anything you may need. I don’t advise wandering the castle, given your inauspicious reputation, but the Queen may well ask you to dine in the Great Hall this evening.”
“Surely not,” I exclaimed.
“I’d lay coin to it. After my little show in the Throne Room, she’ll be at pains to demonstrate her queenly hospitality. And to perturb you, of course. But for God’s sake, if she does, do not refuse. Go to your seat, eat your meal and do not utter so much as a squeak of unrest. If you want Arthur to meet with you, then you cannot give him a single cause not to.”
I rolled my eyes, vexed at the thought that even I must now treat Arthur’s formidable moods as one would a frightened horse.
Kay raised his eyebrows. “Don’t look that way. This is Camelot—you know how things have to be.”
“Is Arthur really on a hunting trip?” I asked.
“Yes, an informal jaunt. He rode out with Sir Accolon alone, though there was vague talk that others could join them. Our brother was in need of peace, and Sir Accolon puts him at ease. It’s been over a week now. Longer than expected, but I’m sure they found some adventure and will be back soon.”
“Good,” I said, pleased that Accolon had recovered Arthur’s favour, and because Kay had inadvertently answered a question I didn’t know how to ask. “Thank you again, Kay. Truly.”
He nodded, somewhat abashed, and bade me farewell. As he predicted, two bells later, a chamber girl knocked on my door with a forest-green gown in my size, saying that Queen Guinevere had invited me to dine in the Great Hall, and Her Royal Highness would not for anything take no for an answer.