Chapter Eleven

I hardly noticed the journey south.

I had lost everything I had ever loved: my family in Avalon, my mother, my lover, and now my father. Even Octavia was forbidden to accompany me. Once again, I was alone, facing the prospect of another new home; it seemed like each time I traveled somewhere new, my heart became heavier, weighed down by another form of pain.

Life had just begun to feel normal again. The homesickness I had felt for Avalon had begun to fade; the shock and blinding grief that gripped my soul at my mother’s death had begun to loosen just enough to let me breathe again; even my father had shown a flicker of his old genial nature—and then all the wounds were slashed open in a single instant.

My horse trod the miles without prodding or direction, as if he was as resigned to his fate as I was mine. The countryside passed without my knowledge. All I could see in my mind’s eye was Aggrivane. The memory of him was the one thing that enabled me to draw breath—the light of his smile, the softening of his eyes each time they found mine, the warmth of his breath.

When Aggrivane and I parted in Avalon, I’d accepted it was unlikely we would ever see one another again. Of course I missed him, thought of him, dreamed of him, but that was all it was; it seemed more fantasy than reality. But when I saw him standing in the entryway of Northgallis, an unexpected beacon in my dark world, he had been real, as was our love—overwhelmingly, tantalizingly, achingly real. As our bodies came together, so did our hearts, our souls, permanently intertwined among our limbs like mistletoe in the boughs of an oak. When he whispered that he would marry me, my world was complete once again.

No matter what my father or that horrid priest said, he would always be mine. I couldn’t let him go, but I couldn’t be with him either, and it was tearing me apart.

The fissure in my heart seemed to expand every time I thought of him returning to Lothian. Surely his father would be merciful, would he not? Lot was widely known as a man of great integrity and strength of will. Aggrivane spoke highly of his father and it was clear that they loved one another, so he would understand; he had to. Perhaps Lot would even see the injustice that was done to us and send his men to rescue me from my prison. Then we could be together forever, just as we had intended.

Even now I could feel Aggrivane’s hand in mine as we wound our ways to unknown fates. I knew with absolute certainty that as my body drew ever closer to Dyfed, a small shard of my soul journeyed northeast to Lothian with him.

I could barely breathe as I waited outside the large oak doors of the great hall. Corbenic was a large holding, much more imposing than my own home, and standing here surrounded by guards did nothing to make me feel welcome. Inside, Lord Pellinor and Lady Lyonesse were holding court. With a murmur of voices, they attended to the room full of courtiers, common folk, and emissaries, each with their own agenda or case to plead.

The men around me shifted anxiously and stomachs rumbled audibly as the minutes ticked by. My feet were beginning to get stiff and sore when a servant emerged from the suddenly silent room to beckon us in. When I stepped through the doorway, I was greeted by a press of people on either side, strange faces peering at me with open curiosity or obvious distain. I began to sweat under the weight of their judgment, and I tried to ignore the feeling I was being paraded in front of the entire court like a criminal.

Pellinor’s tall, thin frame came into view first. He was standing in front of his throne with a warm smile on his face. A few new wrinkles creased his face and less of his close-cropped black hair was visible along his forehead, but otherwise he appeared much the same as when I had seen him last, two summers before I went to Avalon.

“Guinevere, welcome.” He came forward when we reached the dais and embraced me warmly. “I am so happy your father accepted my invitation. It has been far too long since we have had the pleasure of your company.” He regarded me with sincere appreciation, the way I had expected my own father to receive me.

Ignoring the gaping crowd, he continued in his familial tone. “My, you have grown. You are not the only one who has come of age in the passing years.” He put out his arm, and a beautiful girl about my age with long strawberry-blond hair trotted to his side. “You remember Elaine. The last time the two of you were together, you were covered in mud, do you remember?” He laughed lightly.

Elaine grinned at me, and although my body was visibly shaking, I couldn’t help but be warmed by her presence. I remembered quite clearly. It was Elaine who had led us into the bog, chasing after one of her many fantasies. Time had dulled the particulars, but I remembered enough.

My heart was beginning to warm and the slightest hint of a smile tugged at my lips when I caught the eye of the woman perched in the throne next to Pellinor. She had draped herself in such a way as to appear larger, more imposing than I knew her to be. With a sudden chill, I understood it was she who was holding court and that she was simply indulging her husband’s kindness. Her eyes were fixed on my forehead, and her jaw was taut. It was clear she had not been forewarned about my religious views and was not pleased.

Having held my gaze long enough to make her authority clear, Lyonesse rose and embraced me stiffly. “Welcome, Guinevere.” Her words were kind, but her greeting held no warmth.

Lyonesse had never been overly affectionate, but her actions were much more formal than I recalled from my last visit. Her brief embrace threw me off balance, and I stumbled as she released me and we both returned to our places.

Pellinor too took his seat beneath a large painting in which a woman lovingly gazed on her child while the father watched serenely but protectively from behind them. In the background, an older man and woman raised their eyes skyward in silent prayer of thanksgiving. I would have thought it a portrait of Pellinor’s family, if the child had not been a boy.

“Gentlemen,” Pellinor said to the assembled guards, “I release you from your service. You may tell Lord Leodgrance that his daughter is safely in my care. My men will show you to the barracks, where you may dine and rest before beginning your journey back to Northgallis in the morning.”

As the clamor of armor and footsteps receded, I was pleased to note the crowd had grown considerably smaller. Besides Pellinor’s family, there now remained only a few people I did not recognize, among them a strikingly beautiful woman with porcelain skin and a wild curly mane of hair that was more orange than red, brighter even than Morgan’s in the sunlight. She observed me with a strange mixture of emotions, as if she knew enough to pity me yet was dying to learn more. Her nearly concealed smile told me that she was amused by my situation.

I stood silently, still trembling before Pellinor and Lyonesse, unsure how to proceed. If I should speak, I could not; my throat was dry and my tongue seemed glued to my palate.

Lyonesse gazed down at me, her sapphire eyes hard and disapproving, still boring into my forehead as though she could remove the crescent by force of will. It was then that I realized she made me more uncomfortable than Argante had on my first day in Avalon. That thought sent a shiver down my spine, while beads of cold sweat made an appearance on my forehead and on the back of my neck. I looked to Pellinor and Elaine for reassurance, but Lyonesse quickly drew my attention back to her, exactly where she wanted it.

“I must admit I had serious reservations about allowing you to live here—and I still do—but my husband promises me you will behave with the utmost decorum and mind your place. Is that correct?” Her voice was grim, as though she held little hope regarding my ability to comply.

I nodded mutely.

She seemed the tiniest bit assuaged and relaxed slightly in her chair. “I know the story of how you came to be here, the real reason why our invitation was accepted.” She eyed her husband accusingly.

Pellinor was nonplussed, but I had a feeling it was all an act.

“With the addition of you to the household, we now have three mouths to feed and three husbands to find.” She gestured to her daughter, who immediately blushed scarlet. “Elaine, of course, will be no problem, but I question the influence you and the other one may have on her, especially together.” She threw the curly-haired woman a look of repugnance.

Why does she not call the girl by name? That simple act of disrespect rankled me.

“I do not want our home to become a house of ill repute. Given your history”—it was clear that she was speaking now both to me and the curious girl in the corner—“that could be a very difficult assumption to avoid.”

“Be reasonable,” Pellinor interjected. “Isolde and Guinevere have done nothing to earn your ire. Past offenses are nothing to us now. What good is it for Guinevere to have come here if she is not given a chance to begin anew? Even our Lord and Savior did not turn away the Magdalene from his companions, and he often dined with prostitutes and tax collectors. We owe Guinevere the same compassion and forgiveness.”

Inwardly, I took offense at Pellinor’s scriptural reference, but he meant well, so I ignored him.

“But those people were repentant of their sins, husband,” Lyonesse retorted, her voice becoming higher and harsher with each word. “Guinevere has done nothing to indicate she regrets what she has done or to show firm purpose of amendment. Therefore, we must be on our guard.” Her attention was back on me now. “You will be the model of righteousness while you live within our walls, do you understand? If I hear even the faintest whisper that you have done or even thought of anything that may be morally questionable, I will turn you out without a second thought.” Her eyes blazed fire. “I advise you to have as little interaction with Elaine as possible until you have proven yourself to be true to the path of virtue—”

“Lyonesse, you cannot forbid two friends from being together,” Pellinor interrupted, exasperated. “It is against nature, and it is not compassionate. Think how you would feel if someone did the same to you. Guinevere and Elaine are practically kin; you cannot rend the garment of family without displeasing God.”

For a moment Lyonesse was speechless, thrown by Pellinor’s accusation of un-Christian behavior, but she recovered and quickly changed the subject. “So be it. But your visits must be supervised.”

She stood, descended two of the three steps that separated us and stood glowering down at me. Silently, she scrutinized my face, my dress, and, I suspected, my body beneath. She took a deep breath and let it out with an exaggerated sigh.

“You seem to be in good health, and you are comely enough. It will be a challenge finding a good Christian man willing to marry you since you are a branded woman.” She started to touch the mark on my forehead with trembling fingers, but then pulled away, as if she feared being burned. “But I have faced bigger challenges in my time, and I am determined not to fail.

“The mark may mean little if we can show that you have changed and embraced the true faith,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “But the bigger problem lies in your virtue, or lack thereof.” She smirked. “Normally I would call the healer and have her publicly certify your virginity, but since we all know that would be a fruitless gesture, we will have to improve your spiritual virtue instead. It will be cold comfort when a man realizes he has been bound to a used woman, but it is the best we can do under the circumstances.”

Pellinor started to object once again.

Lyonesse silenced him with a wave of her hand and went on. “We attend Holy Mass at dawn every morning. I expect you to accompany us and show the proper respect. Perhaps you will even learn the meaning of true faith.”

I desperately wanted to remark that my chances were better of learning it from a sermon than from her actions, but I bit my tongue.

“It is late and you must be tired from your journey,” Lyonesse said, showing compassion for the first time. “You.” She snapped her fingers at Isolde. “Show her to her chambers.”

Isolde threw Lyonesse a look of clear distain as she emerged from the shadows near the wall and took my arm, leading me up the stairs like a lamb to slaughter.

I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, trying to comprehend what had just occurred.

“Is that their idea of a welcome?” I was trying to reconcile the warm memories of my youth with the odd greeting I had just received.

Isolde shrugged. “It’s normal, if that is what you are asking. Pellinor is a just man ruling with patience and compassion, while Lyonesse is ever lording her self-importance over everyone around her. They are rather judgmental of those who do not conform to their standards, though.” Isolde opened one of my trunks and fished around in the contents. “I dare say that an Avalonian priestess is nearly as bad as Irish royalty in their minds. But I would think you would have anticipated as much.”

I shrugged. “No, I did not. I—I cannot remember them acting like this when my family came to visit.” A stab of pain hit my heart at the word “family,” and my brow furrowed involuntarily. “Maybe I was just too young to notice, but I think they have changed.”

Isolde turned from the bed to face me. “That was nothing. When I first arrived, Lyonesse would have had me shackled and handed over like a prisoner.” A sly smile spread across her face. “But she had to receive me like a second daughter, with all the pageantry and circumstance accorded to my rank, and it nearly killed her.” She was grinning.

Curious now, I raised my head to meet her green eyes. “How did the heir to the Irish throne come to live in the kingdom of Dyfed?”

Isolde stopped unfolding my garments and looked off into space, cocking her head to one side and pursing her lips. “Actually, that is one thing we have in common. It was your father’s idea.”

My confusion must have been plain to read because she smiled.

“Do you not remember? You were there when my fate was sealed, or so they tell me. All of nine years old, you were sitting at your mother’s knee when the council of western lords met with my mother’s ambassador and agreed to trade my freedom for a promise of peace between Ireland, Gwynedd, Dyfed, and Cornwall. My presence here, and the promise of a strong marriage to some unnamed British noble, is all that stops my people from devouring this coast. Your father offered me up then to protect his seaports from plunder just as he offered you up to placate that Powys pig, Evrain.”

I looked down at the floor, seeking the shadow of my feet in the firelight. “So we mean nothing to them, any of them?” I asked in barely a whisper.

Isolde snorted and I started. “Oh, we mean plenty to them. We are the most valuable currency there is to Christian men.” She thought for a moment. “Well, we’d be more valuable as virgins, but you understand my point.”

I met her gaze. “So you’re not. . .”

“No.”

“But what about Lyonesse’s test?”

Isolde laughed, a hearty, throaty sound of genuine joy. “You believed that nonsense? Guinevere, did all those years on that isle rot your brain? Lyonesse is all talk, a liar determined to sell her shell of Christian perfection to everyone, including herself. But Pellinor is her biggest mark. Sometimes I think she fears he would send her away at the slightest hint of imperfection. So she overcompensates. There is no healer, no test. And even if there was, such things are easy enough to fake,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

I eyed her suspiciously, wondering how she came to such knowledge.

Isolde put aside the item she had picked up and looked at me purposefully. “Life in this house is one extravagant game. You will learn to play it, and I will teach you how.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “It’s actually kind of fun.”

She sat down on the bed, motioning for me to join her. “But to win the game, you must first understand the other players.” She looked impish. “You were probably too young the last time you were here to understand the details. Let’s start with Pellinor. He claims to be a descendant of Joseph of Arimathea, the man in whose tomb their Christ was buried. According to legend, he was a tin trader, and after the death of Jesus, he escaped along the trade routes to Britain, where he hoped Roman law wouldn’t be able to find him.”

Isolde grew serious, her eyes distant as she recalled the tale she had no doubt heard countless times. “As Pellinor tells it, the prophecy of the Grail was spoken by the apostle John after Christ was laid to rest. In appreciation for Joseph’s generosity, the seventh child of the seventh generation after his would bear a man of unparalleled purity, second only to Christ himself, and that man would bring the world the gift of the chalice of Christ. Some say that the one who bears it will never die, while others claim it will bestow everlasting peace on the land in which it is held.”

“But that is ridiculous,” I said. “It is no relic of their god but one of the treasures of Avalon. It is highly symbolic in our faith, but it has no magical properties, at least not that anyone in Avalon speaks of.”

Isolde glared at me warningly. “Do not let those words, or any like them, escape your lips in this house. If you do, Pellinor will send you back to your father before you have had the chance to blink.” She gripped my shoulders, looking me square in the eye. “You must understand that this prophecy is all that Pellinor has. His sons have disappointed him, so he has no hope for a stronger kingdom until Elaine marries, and given his high standards for her, that is unlikely to be any time soon.”

My eyebrows knitted together in frustration. I was about to ask her to clarify when she interrupted with a question.

“Did you see the painting behind Pellinor’s throne?”

“Yes, I assumed it was of his family—ancestors perhaps.”

She nodded. “You are correct, in a fashion. You see, that is a painting of what the Christians call ‘the holy family.’ The man is Joseph, foster father of Jesus the Christ; the woman is Mary, his mother; and the child is Jesus. But what makes this painting unique is that it also contains two others: Joachim and Anne, the parents of Mary.”

I stared at her, thoroughly confused, despite my basic knowledge of Christianity. I failed to see what that had to do with Pellinor.

Isolde sighed, seeing I was not making the connection. “To Pellinor, this painting represents his past, present, and future. He believes he is related to a man who performed a great service for this savior-child. He is the sixth generation since that fateful event. Elaine is the seventh child of the seventh generation, if you count all of Pellinor’s children, living and dead. Therefore in Pellinor’s mind, his progeny—Elaine—is fated to bear the man who will discover the Grail. That makes poor Elaine sacrosanct, for she will bear the most perfect man to live since Christ. In a way, she is to Pellinor a reflection of the Virgin Mary, which makes him and Lyonesse like Joachim and Anne.”

I nodded. Somehow this was beginning to make sense. “But who then will be Joseph? You cannot mean to say that Pellinor believes Elaine will conceive miraculously? I do not think that their god would allow a wonder of that magnitude twice—if he even did once.”

Isolde laughed. “No. Pellinor’s mind is still partly anchored in reality. He knows she must have a husband for the child of prophecy to be born. That is why he has already begun compiling a list of possible suitors. Lyonesse says they will be brought to Dyfed to interview for her hand as soon as Elaine’s monthly courses begin.”

“And Elaine? What does she think about all of this prophecy? That must be a mighty weight to bear.”

Isolde shrugged. “It is hard to say, really. Pellinor keeps her locked away in her room most of the time. I keep her company when I can, but that is only when Lyonesse is out. She wouldn’t want her daughter associating with one such as me. Honestly, I think Elaine is a little . . . well, eccentric. If you had that pair as parents, you would be as well. All of that time alone has made her prone to mistake her imaginings for real events—although that could partly be my fault too.” She smiled sheepishly, and her cheeks reddened.

“What?” I stammered, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

She ducked her head and stood, pacing to avoid my gaze. “As a good Christian lady, Elaine is not allowed any books other than those the tutor supplies her and the lives of the saints the nuns let her borrow—all rare and valuable resources that must be returned in a timely manner. I noticed when the bards come to entertain, she is enraptured by their tales of romance and adventure, so I started sharing with her the legends of my homeland, the very same stories of tragic love and magical creatures I was told as a child. The difference is that as I grew, I learned what was real and what was not. I don’t think Elaine has the same ability.” She paused, facing me now. Her brow was creased with concern. “I think she believes some of the stories are true. Maybe she has convinced herself she is one or more of the characters, I don’t know. Not long ago, she told me she had seen a vision of her future husband in her mirror.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “But doesn’t that run contrary to her faith, seeing such things?”

Isolde shook her head. “Elaine is well-versed in the extraordinary abilities attributed to some holy men and women. She believes her god has blessed her with a special gift. I believe she needs companionship. It is good you are here. She is not a danger to anyone, but the more you can draw her out of her fantasy world and into her real life, the better off everyone will be.”

“If Lyonesse lets me,” I corrected her, grimacing at this new responsibility.

“Oh, she will; just give her time to warm up to you. All you have to do is be good for a while.” She winked.

“Does no one else notice her behavior? Certainly Lyonesse must be aware.”

“Elaine is adept at keeping to herself anything that might upset her parents,” Isolde explained. “She knows what best suits her strategically. Her parents love her in a way I will never understand, and she returns that love by being to them exactly what they want—the model of virtue. But every so often, her carefully crafted mask slips, mostly in private. Beware of her jealousy and remember you are dealing with a mind more fragile than most,” she warned darkly. “But she has been well lately, so hopefully she will not cause us any grief.”

Isolde grew silent, no doubt ruminating on the slim likelihood of a peaceful winter with us all cooped up under one roof. I seized the opportunity to change the subject.

“Why do you let Lyonesse treat you like a slave?” I asked bluntly, surprised at how easily I spoke my mind around this girl.

“It is her way of teaching me humility,” she answered with a deep sigh, showing no sign of offense. “I’ve grown used to it. I matured faster than Elaine and Lyonesse began to see me as a threat—or rather, as competition for her daughter,” she corrected herself. “That was when she began insisting I walk behind her family and ordering me about.” She exhaled loudly through her nose. “I’m surprised she still lets me dine at table with them. I go along with whatever she wishes—attending Mass every morning, doing tasks she finds distasteful during the day, and praying on my knees every evening with the rest of the family.” She pointed a slender, pale finger at me. “You’d do well to take a lesson from me in that. The same will be expected of you. You may be a future queen, just like me, but in this house, you are little more than a servant.”

I stood, crossing to stand in front of her, enraged by the future her words painted. “I am no servant. You may have accepted your fate, Isolde, but I will do no such thing! I am a priestess of Avalon, and I will not pretend to worship their god. I will demand the respect I deserve as an equal to their daughter in all things.” My face was hot, blood boiling. “I may not have come here under my own volition, but that does not mean I will relinquish control of my life.”

To my great annoyance, Isolde smirked. “To whom will you protest? Your father? He sent you here, believing it best for you. To Avalon? They have no say in matters of family. Your life is not being threatened. You are not being harmed.” She shook her head, exasperated. “You are missing my point. You do not fight them—that is what they want. Rail against them in your mind all you like, but do not show it; they sense rebellion like a falcon knows his prey. If you want to live in peace, you will keep your thoughts to yourself and go along with them until such time as someone asks to be betrothed to you.”

The mention of an engagement sent another stab of pain through my heart and my eyes welled with tears, deflating my self-righteous anger. I had been engaged only a few days ago. When I looked up into Isolde’s eyes, a connection formed between us, two prisoners bonded by a common fate.

“And you,” I asked quietly. “When will Pellinor find you a mate?”

Her eyes grew soft, watery. I had hit a nerve. “Who knows? Elaine is his top priority and now with you here. . .” Her voice trailed off and she began to pace again, a thoughtful silence spreading out between us. “If they do not match me soon, my family will be angry.”

She was so quiet I had to strain to hear, and I wondered if she was merely thinking aloud, talking to herself, but she paid me no heed.

“If I were at home, my mother would have me engaged by now,” she continued in the same low tone. “That was the whole point of the peace treaty, to unite Britain and Ireland through marriage. But I have resources. My people have watchmen stationed throughout the city.” She ran the knuckles of her right hand along her mouth, thinking. “Should too much time pass, any one of them could whisk me away under cover of darkness and the treaty would be void because Pellinor failed to uphold his end of the bargain and obtain for me a husband. Then I would be free to marry whomever I choose.” She stopped at the window, looking out over the sea toward Ireland. Her eyes were glittering now, a plan forming in her mind. “My mother would not deny me love. Then someday, when I am Queen of Ireland, I will be able to repay what Lyonesse and Pellinor have given me. They will regret treating me so.”

Suddenly, she seemed once again aware of my presence. Her attention focused on me, and she let her hand fall to her side. “I suppose we all live in a fantasy world from time to time,” she said apologetically, her lips twisting into a half smile, half frown.

Gracefully, she descended into the window seat and I joined her, suddenly weary.

“We are going to cause quite a stir in their pious little world, I can feel it.” There was conspiracy in her voice. “Now, if it won’t cause you too much pain, I’d love to hear about the man who was worth risking your inheritance for.”

While the cold, soaking rains wrenched the last of the leaves from the trees, Isolde and I spent time getting to know one another. When I asked about her life before she came to Corbenic, she was evasive, but I learned she had a mother she practically worshiped, a younger sister she adored, and a younger brother she loathed. She, in turn, was very interested in my childhood, asking about every detail. As a result, I found myself forgetting she was Irish—and therefore, my enemy—and telling her things I would otherwise keep to myself.

“The thing I miss the most is being able to hold a sword,” I told her one quiet afternoon. “I cannot find the words to explain it, but when I do, nothing else matters. The weapon and I dance, and the rest of the world falls away.” I remembered my last lesson with my mother and cousin Bran, only days before the attack that shook my life to the core. Although Bran was taller than me by an arm’s span and twice as strong, I had disarmed him in only three moves. “My mother would be highly displeased if she could see how my skills have deteriorated, thanks to Avalon’s policy of nonviolence and my father’s prohibition.”

“Maybe she can.” Isolde’s eyes were glimmering when she looked up at me. “And I may have a solution for you.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me.

Mine arched in response. “Isolde—” I said her name slowly, as though approaching an unfamiliar animal. “I don’t know what you are thinking, but I know I do not like it.”

She slid off her seat, graceful as a cat, wagging her index finger at me as she approached. “Don’t be so quick to judge. It so happens that the son of Pellinor’s weapon’s master owes me a favor. I may be able to talk the master into training you. If”—she touched me lightly on the nose—“you promise to keep it a secret.”

I was at a loss for words. Isolde had a solution for everything. “Of course,” I croaked, eventually. “How soon do you think you can arrange it?”

Her grin signaled she was already up to no good. “I will talk with him tomorrow. My guess is you’ll be sparring again before the week is out.”

I still do not know what words Isolde used to charm Guildford, the weapon’s master, but she was true to her word. He agreed to give me covert lessons if I agreed to teach his son to read. He didn’t know what terms were specified in his own contract with Pellinor and did not want his son to suffer the same fate. He had dreams for Liam to become a warrior and win his own land one day. If he could read, his lot in life would be all the stronger.

The next evening, Isolde and I met the well-muscled swordsman and his boyishly handsome son in the barn of a farmhouse just outside the castle gates. It was close enough for us to sneak there unnoticed—it seemed Isolde knew a myriad of ways in and out of the castle—yet far enough from the prying eyes of court to evade suspicion. After all, who would question the ringing of blades on the weapon’s master’s property? Passersby would rightly assume someone was getting in some extra practice. What they would never guess was who.

We would occasionally vary our location so as not to arouse suspicion—one day the lower paddock, the next a clearing in the woods—but as the days went by, the barn proved to be the place with the least interruption or cause for prying eyes.

Nearly a month into my training, on a cold, clear morning, we reached the safety of the barn just as the sun broke over the horizon. I usually sparred with Liam while Guildford instructed, so I was surprised to see Guildford suited in leather armor, warming up with basic footwork and a few practice swings.

“Blessings of the day to you, ladies,” he greeted us in a warm baritone.

“And to you as well,” Isolde answered, sneaking a quick peck on Guildford’s cheek before he could protest.

I smiled, still shy in the presence of so great a man. Guildford’s name was known along the western coast of Britain from Cornwall to Rheged because he had trained most of the men who successfully fought off the Irish for the last twenty years. The irony of Isolde being my means to him now did not escape my notice.

Though his shoulder-length hair was streaked with gray and his face deeply lined, he had the agility and strength of a man half his age, and the prospect of facing off with him made my stomach clench.

Guildford must have read my expression. “Come on now, lass. We have only until the church bells toll. Get ye ready.”

I threw Isolde a questioning look as I shed my cloak, tucked the hem of my tunic into my belt, and donned my own protective leather breastplate.

She read my meaning and casually asked what I had been too intimidated to ask. “I thought Liam was challenging Guinevere today?”

“Liam needs time to study what Guinevere taught him when last we met. He’s been needed to help secure the last of the harvest and mind the slaughter. Isn’t that right, son?”

Liam looked up from the board on which he was slowly tracing letters with a crude stylus. His cheeks and throat reddened at the attention. “Yes, Father. More hands keep the beast of winter at bay, or so Mother says.”

Isolde sauntered behind him, trailing her finger across his shoulders as she passed. She bent low over his left shoulder and surveyed his work. “He’s doing well. Guinevere will have him reading and writing in no time.” Her breath ruffled the hair at his ear.

Liam’s blush deepened.

Isolde sat down on the bale of hay next to him, guiding his hand when he struggled.

As I went through my own brief warm-up, I wondered at the nature of the favor Liam owed her. He wasn’t yet old enough to join Pellinor’s army and I hadn’t seen him about the castle, so how had they met? It really could have been anywhere, given that Isolde had lived here for so many years, and by her own admission, Lyonesse’s guard was not always as close as it was now. But since he was obviously attracted to her, I could only assume she had used that to her advantage.

Guildford skimmed the tip of my sword with his own, a subtle bid for my attention. As we did with each new technique, he took me through the whole sequence once, explaining both offense and defense as we flowed through the movements.

I began with my shield outstretched, sword drawn high as I readied to strike. I brought down my sword, aiming for Guildford’s head, but he stepped forward, blocking me with his shield, and putting me on the defensive. He held my sword fast, pushing against it with his shield so that I could not release it to strike again. Quickly, he raised his own blade, thrusting at my face, and I instinctively raised my shield arm to deflect. The jolt shot down my arm and into my teeth as the sword glanced off. Guildford took advantage of my momentary shock to change tack, using the motion of my defense to propel his sword toward my thigh, while also swatting aside my sword with his shield.

“That is only half the sequence, but I want you to learn both sides of it now. Once you’ve practiced, we’ll put it together with the pattern I showed you at our last instruction and see if you can disarm me.”

Leaving me to practice as both fighters in this duel, Guildford sat on a barrel, halfway between Isolde and me, so he could correct my technique as I practiced.

“Do you really mean what you said last week?” Without preamble, he resumed the conversation they let fall last time we scurried back to the castle. “How could it possibly be done?”

“Of course.” She waved a hand airily as if swatting away a fly. “I would not offer if I was not intending to keep my word. When I return home, at least one of you will come with me. I will send for the others as I can.”

I wanted to stop and consider the implications of what Isolde was saying, but to do so was a potentially dangerous distraction. I tried to focus on my training as their conversation whirled around me like so many dragonflies.

“But how will you do it while keeping Lyonesse in the dark? You know if she found out, she would lash out in ways you cannot even imagine.”

Isolde shook her head. “She need not know. I have connections in the kitchens, the stables, even in her own bedchamber. The family will not discover my plan until it is too late to stop it.”

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.