Chapter Eleven

The following morning, I woke to find word had spread not only of my presence, but also of my encounter with Rohan. A line of men, women, boys, and girls waited patiently for me in the courtyard, as though I was still queen and it was pleading day.

The low hum of their conversation reached me through the walls and windows as I went about my morning ablutions. Though they waited with uncommon patience and civility, my palms grew damp and my hands shook as I fumbled with the buttons of my gown.

“What do they want?” I asked Galen when he seated me at breakfast. I eyed the offerings warily, my queasy stomach urging me to choose something bland.

“Why, to see you, of course,” he answered with a knowing smile.

I rolled my eyes at him, tearing off a hunk of bread and passing the remainder to him.

“Clearly. But why?” I popped a piece into my mouth, savoring the still-warm sweetness of its honey glaze.

“You’ll have to ask them. But if you want my best guess”—he swallowed a mouthful of spicy ale—“they want to see if it is true that Corinna of the Votadini has returned from the dead.”

I stopped chewing. “Tell me you jest.”

He grinned around a hunk of half-chewed bread. “’Tis the story I heard on my way to the kitchens.”

My shoulders sagged and I muttered to myself, “How do these tales get started? Now I must contend with my mother’s shade as well.” Louder, I said to Galen, “I suppose they will all be disappointed to find me of flesh and blood without a trace of Otherworldly essence.”

“You have more than a trace, lass, as you proved to Evina,” he said, referring to the prophecy about Rohan, which I’d told him about the night before. “I reckon she’ll nae like the attention you’re attracting.”

“Best to disperse them quickly then.” I rose, smoothing my skirt. “Are you going to open the door for me, or must I dismiss you for incompetence, slave?”

Galen chuckled at my lighthearted reminder of his position and rose to do my bidding. “Are you certain you wish to meet them out in the courtyard?”

“Of course. That way everyone can see I have not called them here in rebellion and have nothing to hide. I’m sure there are at least one or two of her spies among them.”

The chatter ceased as the door opened. Every eye turned to me. I smiled self-consciously, at a loss for where to begin, how to address these curious onlookers who were within my new realm but not my subjects. I was saved by a rugged man with dark hair and dark eyes, who detached himself from the crowd and approached me. His face was familiar, yet I could not call up his name or how I knew him.

“Lady Guinevere.” He inclined his head to me. “I am Nachton the Huntsman. You may remember me from my visits to your husband’s court.”

I took his hands and squeezed them fondly. “Of course I do. You were close friends with Lord Tristan. I still maintain we would not have survived Caledon Wood without the two of you.”

Nachton’s cheeks reddened. “It was my honor to serve you and the Lord of Lothian. Now it is also my honor to welcome you to Stirling. We”—he swept his arm wide, taking in the whole of the crowd—“mean you no disrespect by gathering here and will leave if you wish.”

I took in the assembly, counting no more than two dozen souls—far too few to be suspected of a riot. “No, please stay. I know no one in these parts, save for those who traveled with me and my new steward. If I am to live here, I would like to get to know my neighbors.”

For the next several hours, as the sun rose higher, I talked with them about all manner of things. Many inquired about my scars and asked if Arthur’s death had been confirmed. Still more—some of them relatives both distant and near in relation—wished to hear of my mother and father and why I had returned.

A few of the young women asked me to use my sight to tell them the name of their one true love, which my gifts did not allow, but I was able to confirm to one that her love was planning to ask for her hand, while I assured another that her beloved sought to make his true feelings known.

A gaggle of young men had heard of my tussle with Rohan and wished me to show them the sequence that had brought him down.

“No one has ever seen his face in the mud before,” one noted.

“We want to learn how to make it happen again,” another said with vehemence unusual for one of his age. What had Rohan done to carve such a groove in a young heart?

I eyed them, taking in skinny limbs and fledgling muscles attempting to make the transition from boy to man. They were clearly used to hard labor and exercise, but it was unwise to instruct them in such an advanced maneuver when I hadn’t assessed their skill level. Best to begin by demonstrating the two moves that were the basis of the complex string of footwork and blade skills.

“It is easier if I show you first. Then I will explain it as we go.” Picking up two fallen sticks, I handed one to the most inquisitive of the boys. I motioned him toward me. “Come at me with great force.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he lunged. I sidestepped his branch, pivoting on the balls of my feet and bringing my own fake weapon under his with a crack. To his credit, the boy kept his hold, spinning away from my grip then pushing me back, forcing me into defense position.

“Very good, Cinon,” a husky female voice called from over his left shoulder.

I looked up, surprised to see a tall blond woman approaching.

“Well met, Master Kiara,” my opponent greeted her with interlaced fingers touched to his bowed forehead in a gesture of deep respect.

One by one, the boys fell into a straight line. Each made the same gesture.

“Master Kiara?” I asked when she reached me.

“I am one of the weapons masters for the Votad and Votadess, recently appointed to Stirling to help Rohan with the new students.”

I took her measure, from the soles of her thick hide boots to the deep brown braccae tucked in at the knee, and her gray tunic hung loose and unbelted, as though in readiness for movement. She exuded confidence but not a single trace of malice. “I am sorry if my instruction gave you offense.”

She waved away my concern. “On the contrary, I was hoping to see you in action. Please, continue.”

Now that I had an audience, especially one who would note every misstep in my teaching, I second-guessed everything I had known for years. My plan for instructing the boys completely fled my mind. “Let’s do it again.”

As we moved through the familiar—at least to me—motions, I relaxed, losing my concern over Kiara. Who was she to me? My mother had taught me, and there was no way she would have let me persist if my technique was weak.

When we reached the end of the first movement, I showed them the second and then demonstrated the connecting footwork, which I in no way expected them to learn yet. “Now split off into pairs and practice what I have shown you. Your master and I will be here if you have questions.”

The boys did as instructed, the sharp cracks of their practice blows punctuating my conversation with Kiara. I twisted to one side then the other, seeking to relieve aching muscles as I watched her. I wasn’t as young as I used to be, so fighting was no longer as easy as breathing.

“I must admit that when I first heard Corinna’s daughter was in Votadini lands, I did not believe it,” she said. “But even if you did not so strongly resemble your mother, your skill proves it, just as Evina says.”

Kiara’s implied knowledge of my mother was suspicious. She was likely half my age, so she couldn’t have known her. “Did you know my mother?”

Kiara shook her head. “I am Selgovae by birth, Votadini only through marriage. But my family knew yours. In fact, we are pledged to your service for the next three generations.” She paused, observing the boys’ progress. “Kian, you’re dropping your right shoulder. Hold it steady and you’ll be less vulnerable.” Turning back to me, she resumed her line of thought. “But that is not why I came to see you.”

“No?”

“No. I wanted to see your skills for myself. I could use some help training our wee ones.” She held up a finger, staving off my objection. “Before you plead old age, know you don’t fool me. Anyone who can execute a dancing dragon with no preparation is more than capable of taking anything these lads and lasses can toss at you. Besides, I only ask you to help the youngest, those still learning to hold their weapons.”

I stared past her at the walls of the fortress, where the guards were changing position, some slinking off to sleep or drown their sorrows in drink, while others steeled themselves for a long afternoon of attentiveness. In my mind’s eye, I saw myself with the Votadini and Damnonii children, helping them learn to balance their blunted blades and heft spears. That was one of many things I missed about not raising children of my own. In Camelot, we’d had others to see to the boys’ training. At least here I could do it myself and—as Kiara implied—I would be teaching girls as well as boys, so I could pass on my mother’s knowledge, even it was to those not of my own blood.

I swallowed a lump in my throat and blinked back unbidden tears. “I accept.”

Kiara grinned. “Tonight I will tell Rohan of our agreement. If he does not object—and he won’t, I will be sure—you can meet the rest of the youngin’s on the morn.”

We sat in companionable silence for a while, every so often shouting correction or praise as the boys went over and over their drills. By the end of the hour, Cinon had picked up the whole sequence, including the footwork, and was correcting the technique of the others.

“He is remarkable,” I said.

“Cinon? He is. His father was one of our greatest warriors. I only wish he could have seen his son complete his testing. Would you like to bear witness? It is your right twice over as one of royal blood and a warrior yourself.”

My shoulders relaxed and my heart lightened at the prospect. My palm already itched to hold a sword again. This was what I had been trained to do, not sit on a throne. Plus, Kiara’s offer would give me the chance to see the trial of a Votadini warrior first-hand. My mother had hinted at the arduous test over the years, but because I was never able witness it or complete my own, it captivated me even now. “I would. Thank you.”

“It will take place at the next full moon.”

A few weeks later, in pale hours of a crisp, cool morning, I mounted my horse and took off in the direction of the closest village, Galen at my side. The people who had gathered at the castle had helped me to understand that in spite of Rohan being their ruler, most citizens were in need of someone to be attentive to their needs. That was not to say Rohan was a bad king; he collected taxes, judged disputes, and protected the surrounding countryside with his army, but he didn’t seem to understand that was only part of the duties of a ruler. From what they’d told me, despite his charm, he had none of the interpersonal skills that would appeal to the people.

When I suggested to Galen that perhaps this was because Rohan didn’t have a wife to tend to them, he burst out laughing. “You have the measure of him already, I see. Watch your back, else he aim to put you in that position.” I opened my mouth to protest, but Galen voiced my thoughts first. “Don’t go thinking Lancelot is any bit a deterrent to him. I ken he fancies wooing you away from Lancelot as a challenge.”

What good would it do Rohan to try to charm me? He was already ruler of the area and had previously lived on my lands. Unless that was it. Perhaps he wanted to formally return my lands into his control through me. But no, that didn’t seem likely enough, even if he was genuinely attracted to me, especially with the prospect of having to best Lancelot for my affections. There had to be a greater plan at play that I wasn’t seeing.

As we rode through winter-dimmed valleys of moss and dying grasses hugged by rocky, mist-shrouded mountains and forests of deep green pine, I imagined a map of the area, trying to tease out Rohan’s strategy. This was a strategic area connecting the Damnonii to the west, Votadini to the south and east, and holding the Picts at bay to the north. If it were an independent kingdom, I could see the Damnonii and Votadini fighting over it, but it was clearly in Votadini control. Perhaps Rohan was scheming to wrest it from Evina. If he held sway over the border with the Picts, he may be able to use the threat of invasion to bring her to heel.

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Just as Evina harbored ambitions to rule all of the lands north of Hadrian’s Wall, so might Rohan. If that were the case, I was merely a pawn in their scheming—a perilous place to be. I had to learn more—and for that I needed Sobian, wherever she was.

We slowed our mounts as we approached a village that seemed to have sprung up in the shadow of a Christian church, like violets in the shade of an oak. A few curious faces popped out at the sound of hooves, and I greeted them, inquiring after their welfare.

A man of middle years emerged from one house, crossed his arms and scowled at me. “Why are you here? Ain’t no one ever cared about us before.” He raised his chin in the direction of Stirling. “All them kind want is taxes and men to bleed in war. Most of them battles don’t affect us none, ’cept in making widows and orphans. Now you ’spect me to think you don’t have no reason for being here other than kindness. What are you—a gruagach?” He chuckled at his joke.

Inwardly, I groaned at the insult. It was not the first time I had been compared to a benevolent household spirit, especially with my short stature and dark coloring. Now, with my scars, I probably resembled one of the wrinkled fae more than ever. I wanted to hit the man upside the head and yell that I was only trying to help him, but his wariness of outsiders was understandable, especially ones that came bearing gifts and asking nothing in return.

Instead, I said, “If you wish to think of me that way, then so be it. Regardless, I am here with your welfare in mind.”

While we were talking, a woman who had slipped out of a small house across the street sidled up to us. “Never mind him. John is still sore about his time in Rohan’s army.” She raised a hand in greeting, as friendly as he was cold. “I’m Gin. I know everything that goes on in this town, so I can probably help you.”

For the rest of the morning, we followed Gin from house to hut to hovel. Gin’s familiar face eased the introductions. Galen noted needs and made plans to send food and supplies upon our return to the castle, while I offered employment in my household when I could for those willing to relocate, and did my best to heal the sick.

One household, recently quarantined from the pox, wanted nothing to do with me as a priestess. They were proud Christians, the woman of the house told me, faithfully attending the church we had seen on our approach to the village. Covered in ruptured scabs that indicated she was only recently recovered, she would let me no closer than the door, despite my assurances I could not be infected.

“I understand. Shall I arrange a visit from the priest? Surely he will bring you comfort,” I asked through the slightly cracked door.

She snorted. “He never sets foot outside the church. Ain’t no holy man who’s paid us mind since ol’ Ringan told us ’bout Christ and then moved on.” She gestured over her shoulder to her husband and three children who lay, unable to move, on mats on the floor. “As you can see, we can’t go to him.”

I balled my fists at my side. Yet another Christian priest shirking his duty to his people. Father Dafydd, whom Marius had exiled to this part of the world in a bid for control over Arthur, was not like that. Why couldn’t there be more like him? Combined with Rohan’s inattentiveness, it was no wonder John was wary.

“I will speak with him.” I glanced at the sickest of the children, whose tiny body was riddled with pustules so close together as to be nearly indistinguishable from one another. He cried, his mouth and tongue so covered that he likely couldn’t eat and had little hope of recovery. I did not wish to raise the possibility with his mother, but they had to be prepared. “May I ask, if the worst happens, do you have sufficient funds to see that your loved ones are properly buried?”

Her eyes flared with anger. “Look around. Do we look like we kin afford a shovel, much less to have that priest say his fancy words over our dead bodies?” She threw me a look so full of disgust, I involuntarily stepped back. “Begone! Away with you!”

I hurried back down the lane behind Gin, Galen bringing up the rear. Once we had put three blocks between us and the sick house, I stopped Gin with a hand to her forearm and held out a small purse of coins. “Will you hold these for me? I would like them to be used in the event anyone from that family dies. If they all recover, have a Mass of thanksgiving said in their honor.”

Gin looked at the coin purse, then back at me, her eyes full of wonder. “How generous of you, my lady, especially given the way she treated you.”

She stowed the purse in a pouch beneath her tunic as we headed back toward the church, where the priest assured me he would visit the house, but only once everyone was recovered. I closed my eyes, fighting to remain calm. His timing would be too late to offer them any comfort, which was what they so desperately needed.

“How were you able to speak with that family?” Gin asked as we departed for the stables. “Even the priest isn’t brave enough to go to them, and he has the power of Christ on his side. Most of us would have given the house a wide berth, yet you gave them food and counsel. Are priestesses unaffected by the pox?”

I smiled. “No. But there was an outbreak when I was a young girl.”

Snippets of those dark days flashed in my memory—my mother pressing a cold cloth to my forehead, her face dotted with red marks; my father hacking away at half-frozen ground to bury my little brother; Octavia sacrificing mourning doves to her old Roman gods to keep the worst of the pestilence at bay. We eventually recovered, but some, like Arthur’s kinsman King Mark, were permanently scarred. Hundreds died.

Gods preserve us from another summer like that one. “From what we were taught in Avalon, a person cannot be afflicted twice. I am blessed that my family only suffered a mild case. Many others were not so fortunate.”

We stopped in front of the stable. John, the suspicious man we’d encountered at the start of our venture, blocked the way.

He stood tall and stepped aside as we drew near. “Beg pardon, my lady, but I wanted to say thank you for what you’ve done fer us today. Many of them people is sayin’ you’re the rightful queen o’ the Gododdin, and I ken they’re on ta somethin’. You’ve been more a queen to us today than anyone in a crow’s age. If you ever have need of us, ask an’ it’s yours.”

The next several weeks passed in a blur of parchment and ink, as I called in every contact I had to try to find Sobian. Lancelot did the same. But the information that made its way to us wasn’t usually about our favorite spy; rather, it carried news of the current political climate, which had slipped my mind since arriving in Din Eidyn. Now, between the two of us, we were getting a pretty good idea of how fractured Britain had become.

“Accolon says that Mordred’s fellows have disbanded and returned to their own tribes,” Lancelot said.

I looked up from the letter I was reading. “The Saxons have not. Elga is still intent on ruling as much of the country as she can. Owain reports that she is allying herself with whoever has the most power at the moment and is considering marriage again—no doubt to increase her own standing.”

“Then she should next fix her gaze on Constantine.” Lancelot flicked a page toward me. “Read this.”

I picked up the letter. It was from Bran. As I read, my stomach twisted. This was a detailed account of kingdoms falling under the boots of Constantine’s army. First Dyfnaint and the parts of the Midlands not already under Saxon control. He skipped the Summer Country because it was already under Elga’s rule. Cornwall was resisting, and Gwynedd too. But Powys had surrendered. He was even putting it about that Helene was his top choice for a wife, once she grew to marriageable age, an idea Morgan vehemently opposed.

“He aims to be High King,” I said, shocked at how much progress Constantine had made since we left Traprain Law. The lands we had once roamed so freely were now under the control of a man with great ambition. But then again, that was not much different than what Arthur had done to become king.

At least on the surface. The more I read, the more troublesome the clash of thrones became. As they pressed north, Constantine’s gigantic army ruined the harvest, descending like a plague of locusts, eating or confiscating bales of wheat, bushels of fruit, and robbing families of livestock they were depending on to see them through the winter. In their footprints lay acres of stubbled fields, naked trees, and bloodied earth from the slaughter of animals—normal sights in autumn to be sure, but now whole towns starved even before the first snowfall and despaired what would become of them in the cold, shadowy days ahead.

Oblivious to my concerns, Lancelot asked, “Would it be so bad if Constantine prevailed? He has a blood claim through his relation to Iggraine, and Arthur always liked him.”

“He did. I suppose what is happening is only natural. Are we really getting so old as to begrudge a new generation their successes? I have lost my taste for the intrigues of courtly life.”

“Then what are we doing here?” Lancelot mused.

I put his letter aside and picked up another. “This is what really worries me. Morgan and Accolon have made an alliance aimed at holding the north from Constantine’s advances and retaking some of their ancestral lands in Bernicia. For some reason, they are focused on the Isle of Winds. I don’t see why they would be interested in a small island north of Catraeth.”

“That is a key strategic point for blocking any Pictish attack by water. Whoever holds it controls whether or not the Picts can access Britain via the Firth of Forth.”

“How do you know that?”

“My time in Din Eidyn and Angus has taught me a great amount about politics and strategy in this land.”

I looked back at the letter. “It says here Morcant hired a group of Saxons to patrol the waters.” I shivered. Tragedy had resulted from a similar offer made by Vortigern decades before I was born. The result was the Saxon presence on our eastern shore. “That must be why Owain and Accolon are interested in the area. I would be concerned if I were them.”

“It certainly makes taking back their lands that much harder.” He shook his head. “One of these days, perhaps your people will learn not to trust those back-stabbing bastards.”

We lapsed into silence, each studying the map of Britain before us.

“I wonder if we will ever experience peace again,” I whispered, more to myself than to Lancelot.

“There is one way to know for sure,” he replied.

I looked up, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“Be the one to bring about peace.” Lancelot’s gaze on me was intense. “I know you said you wanted nothing more of politics, but I also know you are not one to sit idly by and let others suffer. If you were, you wouldn’t have ridden through the villages. You would have let them rot under Rohan’s neglect.” He leaned toward me and grasped my hands. “I think you should consider it—making a bid for the throne, I mean. The time is ripe, and the people would willingly rally behind you.”

I cleared my throat, fighting a sudden constriction. “How can you even ask me that? I have seen enough bloodshed, feuds, and petty fighting to fill three lifetimes. While I was queen, I was kidnapped and almost killed twice. You know the dangers I faced better than anyone.”

“But the people are crying out for a strong ruler. These letters”—Lancelot tapped his index finger on the pile, as if trying to illustrate his point—“tell us that. They have no love for people who march into their lands with hordes of soldiers and declare themselves rulers, be they Saxon or Briton. You would have no need to do such a thing. You earned their trust long ago.”

I fled to the open window with its tranquil view of the river. I breathed in deeply, desperate to be physically away from him and the argument he was spinning. He was appealing to my need to protect Britain’s people, the very reason why I’d assented to be queen in the first place. The dutiful part of my mind said I owed them my protection as long as I was strong enough to give it. But I could not, would not take up the mantle of power again. It had cost me too much. Lancelot knew that. Why was he pressing this?

“Some of them may trust me, but not all. You saw how quickly our friends turned against me during my trial. And what of those who supported Morgan as Arthur’s rightful wife? He divorced me, took away my title as queen. To them, I am not fit to lead. Then there are those who never liked me in the first place. You were not there in the Bloody Lane. You did not witness the jeers and taunts, how they relished degrading me in the broad light of day. I would still have to win over their fickle hearts, which just as likely now would support a Saxon over a woman whose weaknesses have been on display.”

“Surely they are in the minority. Anyone who seeks the throne will have some enemies.”

“That may be, but I am no young queen anymore. Plus, all my detractors would have to do is point at my scars. The most ancient laws forbid a maimed person from being king or queen out of fear their imperfection will ruin the land. That’s why Bedivere was doomed to live in Kay’s shadow. He would never be whole, and neither will I.” I sighed then finally looked back at him. “Do you wish to be king? Is that why you are making this argument?”

Lancelot scowled. “You know it is not. I only wish for you to be sure in your heart, so you do not look back on this time and wonder if there was something else you could have done.”

“I know my heart, as do you. Do you not remember what we said to one another when we were reunited in Din Eidyn? I wish to live out my days in peace.”

“I am afraid peace is not something the gods are willing to grant us for a while.”

“I have to agree.” My gaze drifted to the ships on the river below.

Was Sobian even now on a ship like those, perhaps somewhere far out at sea? Was that why we couldn’t locate her? But surely the current political instability was rife with opportunity for one with her skills. She had to at least be keeping an eye on the situation.

As a crew unloaded their boat, I recalled how quickly rumor spread among the shipyard workers. With people coming and going from a multitude of kingdoms each day, information was, in many ways, more valuable than the cargo contained in the ships. “Lancelot, I think we have been seeking information in the wrong place. If you were Sobian, would you not maintain your illicit connections?”

He followed my gaze to the boats bobbing in the harbor. “I suppose so. Do you think they know where she is?”

I was already headed toward the door. “There is only one way to find out.”

Sobian’s laughter reached us before she appeared at the top of the gang plank, a bird perched on one arm and a long rectangular box about the length of my arm in their other. She was followed by two men carrying chests and other luggage. For a woman who had lived on the river when she first came into our lives, Sobian certainly had grown accustomed to the lifestyle of being one of Arthur’s highest ranking officials, his head spy. Wherever she had been since before Camlann hadn’t damaged her lifestyle any.

She met us at the bottom of the ramp. “You lured me out here by appealing to my basest instincts. You knew I would not be able to resist solving one more mystery with you.” She took off her leather gloves and handed the hooded falcon to Lancelot as though he was in charge of keeping hunting birds.

“Do you always travel with such creatures?” he asked, struggling to use one of her gloves to shield his wrist from the bird’s talons.

“Only when I feel they might add something to my ability to track the person I seek. You would be surprised what they can be taught. As it does not sound as though I will have time to train one here, I brought one already accustomed to my will.” She placed the box vertically on a stack of crates and opened a door set into one side, revealing a perch made of rope. Carefully, with the tenderness of a mother, she guided the bird from Lancelot’s arm onto the perch, removed its hood, and shut the door.

She held out the box to me, but I motioned to Galen. “This is Galen. He is my”—I still struggled with calling him my slave—“servant. He will see to your needs as well while you are here.”

Sobian looked him up and down in the same appraising manner she had first used on Arthur. A small smile played on her lips as she took in his dark hair, shimmering with silver at his temples and on his chin. His bright blue eyes met hers not with deference, but with equal challenge and equal lust. “I shall enjoy getting to know him.”
The attraction between them was instantaneous and palpable. I leaned over to Lancelot, voice low so that only he could hear. “This will either be the strongest love affair anyone has ever seen or combust in a matter of days.”

“Either way, I think we have just witnessed a meeting of equals.”

I held my arm out to her. “Shall we go back to the castle? I am sure you wish to rest after so long a journey.”

Sobian fell into step next to me, Lancelot following. “No. I feel suddenly invigorated. I would like to hear how you came here and what happened for you to call on me. I hear the sight was involved?” She tapped her forehead.

“It was. But I would prefer not to discuss it in so public a place.”

Sobian entertained us with tales of sailing the Irish Sea until it turned into the North Sea. There she clashed with a fleet of Norse pirates and faced off against the Witch of Orkney, who prophesied she would lose her heart to a man whose father was murdered by a god.

By the time we were settled by the fire and all that remained of the midday meal were crumbs and sticky fingertips, I was beginning to doubt the validity of Sobian’s tales—lying was part of her job after all. But knowing Sobian, every word was probably true. Only she could find such fantastic situations, yet live to brag about them. That was exactly why I needed her. If anyone could uncover Rohan’s motives in time to preserve the peace, it was her.

As though she could hear my thoughts—and I often suspected she could—Sobian said, “So tell me about this prophecy of yours.”

When I had finished recounting the day of my marking, all I knew about Rohan, and that I needed someone to get close to him, Sobian stretched and slowly gave into a languorous grin. “This sounds like your most fun assignment yet. I accept. Do you think he’d take me for training at the fort?”

“No. Our approach can’t be so direct.” I stirred the fire with a poker until it hissed sparks. “We need him to accept you into his confidence, to trust you. He would never spill his secrets to one of his men—even if she was a woman.”

“Sounds like I’ll be playing a prostitute again.” She considered the idea, watching the newly stoked flames.

“Actually, infiltrating a brothel not far from the barracks wouldn’t be difficult,” Lancelot said. “One hears all sorts of rumors in a house like that….”

Sobian sighed. “You may work wonders with horses, Lancelot—and please do not be insulted by this—but for a renowned warrior, you know so little about so many things. That is too obvious. Plus, a man like Rohan doesn’t need an average whore. I need to be irresistible, someone whose position and beauty are useful to him.”

“You already have the beauty part down,” Galen observed.

Was it my imagination, or did Sobian blush? I had never seen her flush once the whole time I’d known her.

“Let’s step back for a moment,” I said. “If we’re right and Rohan wishes to overthrow Evina, he first has to best Morcant and me. He needs power, wealth, and position to do that. He can either gain those through war or marriage, and we know he favors the latter because he has been trying to woo me. What if we give him a more attractive option?”

All eyes fell on Sobian.

She raised an eyebrow. “You mean I get to play a noble this time, instead of your lady’s maid?” She made a gesture of happiness.

“Not just any noble,” Lancelot said, picking up on my line of thinking. “You need to be a relative of Morcant, one who promises to enrich her husband greatly.”

“His kingdom is so close to the Pictish border that I have no doubt he has some woad-covered by-blow. Why can’t you be one?” I winked at Sobian. “I know Morcant from his visits to Camelot. I think I can get him to agree. After all, if it means unmasking a traitor in his midst and possibly strengthening his alliance with Evina, he has nothing to lose.”

Galen cleared his throat and caught my eye. “If I may interject?”

“Galen was not always a servant,” I explained, having forgotten Sobian didn’t know the sordid tale of how we had known one another. I would have to fill her in soon, but now was not the time. “He was once a noble who was very good at getting others to believe exactly what he wished them to.” I narrowed my eyes at him and twisted my lips, remembering how deep his subterfuge had gone. “Then he crossed the wrong person. A life of slavery is his punishment.” I turned back to Galen. “Go on.”

He cleared his throat again, more anxious at addressing Sobian than I’d ever seen him. “Forgive me, kind lady, but you are not from here and are unfamiliar with our customs. If you are to do as you say, you will need a translator at the very least, and a guard at the most. I hear tell you can defend yourself, but Rohan will not know that. If you will allow me, I can provide a cover for you.” He looked up at me, as if just remembering he would need my permission. “That is, if Guinevere will allow it.”

I nodded.

Sobian eyed him again, brow wrinkling and lips pursing as she considered her options. “I usually prefer to work alone, but you make a valid point.”

“You don’t happen to speak the Pictish tongue, do you?”

Sobian proceeded to ask him in their language how he thought she’d faced down the Witch of Orkney if she could neither understand nor speak to her.

“Don’t underestimate her skill with languages. She’s like one of those rare birds that can imitate any of its kin,” I said. “Galen, I suppose you speak it as well?”

“I do, lass. I knew a bit of it when we were young, but when Isolde sold me back to my people, I was forced to learn it while working in a mine in Dalriada. But that’s a story for another day.”

I looked at Sobian. “Well, then. Now all we have to do is create your new identity and arrange to have you visit your ‘father.’”

“And paint her skin with woad,” Galen added, a task his prurient grin hinted he would gladly volunteer to take from me.