Chapter Thirteen

Summer 501

When I opened my eyes, I was in my old priestess’s chambers in Avalon. Around me, grayish stone walls gleamed in the summer sunlight. I blinked, taking in the room that was both familiar and foreign. Little had changed even though dozens of women must have called this room home since I was last here. A tall wardrobe stood open against one wall, a handful of blue robes and cloaks visible on pegs inside. A small table with a jug and wash basin, mirror, and comb was on one side of the bed, another table with a tray of bread and a steaming cup of tea on the opposite side.

Warm, sweet breezes wafted in from the eastern window through which I could see the holy Tor, but I had no desire to be out in them. I pulled the fur blanket closer, seeking warmth I feared I would never feel again. I was still shaking, my mind racing with hundreds of terrible thoughts. What if Arthur didn’t accept me back at court? Was that the real reason I was here? Would I never return home? What if Morgan was right and I was a madwoman? Would the whole of Britain come to hate me? I curled up in a ball, trying to fight the sensation that my skin was peeling off, that some feral version of me was slowly emerging from it, red and raw and wounded beyond repair.

The only memories I had of the journey were fragmented. The rocking of a cart, Imogen’s kind touch reassuring me everything would be well, the bitter taste of some brew I now knew to be drugged, and the darkness of a mind that could take no more pain.

I lay in bed, breathing deeply for a long time, willing the shards of my mind to coalesce, but the harder I tried, the more they fractured.

“You should have stayed with me,” Malegant’s voice said. “I could have spared you all this.”

I sat up, looking around, but I was alone. Malegant and Aine were dead, but they were haunting me, their voices the only disruptions in my waking nightmare.

“You caused this,” I said quietly, answering the imaginary voice.

“We did not,” Aine responded. “Where is your husband, your mate, your support? Is he not supposed to see you through times like this?”

“Stop!” I yelled, tears springing from my eyes yet again. “Leave me alone!” I pulled at my hair, trying to get the voices to quiet.

Viviane appeared in the doorway, pausing before rushing to my side. “Guinevere, be still. Be at peace. You are in Avalon. You’re safe.” She sat next to me on the bed, one arm wrapped protectively around me.

“No, I am not. I will never be whole again,” I sobbed.

She let me cry and rocked me like a babe, stroking my hair and cooing softly. “May the Lady grant you peace. May she bring you all the love your heart needs, and may you heal in time.”

Once my tears dried up, she helped me drink the tea. Normally I would have fought the effects of the herbs, but today I embraced them. Rather than making my eyelids heavy as I’d expected, they washed over me like an ocean wave, leaving an eerie feeling of peace in their wake. I felt like myself again if only for a short time.

After a few days of the herbs, the voices faded and the shaking stopped. I still felt raw, as if I was walking around without my skin, but at least I could get out of bed. The pain and betrayal were still there, but my mind was clearer now. I could think about my situation more rationally. Grainne took on the role of my personal attendant, and I was grateful for her constant presence.

We were walking through the flourishing herb garden one morning when I asked her, “Do you think Arthur hates me?”

She smiled at me, her golden hair catching the sun. “No. I think you surprised him. He really never thought he’d see you again—even after Imogen showed him your ring and offered him a small shred of hope. Then you showed up like an avenging ghost, all vitriol and fury. They grieved for you, mourned for you, truly.” She took my hand. “Lancelot, too. Just when our lives were beginning to feel normal, you came back. It will take time for everyone to adjust.”

I stopped and pulled a weed from between two stems of bright green lovage. “He didn’t even wait a full year, Grainne.”

“He didn’t have to,” she said gently. “Under the law, he could have married Morgan at any time, but he never thought her worthy of being the king’s wife—she was an orphan, after all. But when you were thought dead, Morgan told him the truth about Mordred.”

We stopped on the porch to Viviane’s rooms. “But how did he know her? That is one thing I cannot understand.”

“That is a conversation you should have with Viviane, not me. She has answers beyond my ken. I only know what Morgan told the rest of court, and that I have relayed to you.”

I hugged her. “Thank you for your constant support and friendship.”

She smiled at me. “From your first moment in Avalon to our last breath. You know that.”

I knocked on Viviane’s door as Grainne meandered off to help the others, who were preparing the island for midsummer. Unlike Argante, who as Lady of the Lake had lived in a crude hut fashioned from saplings much like Diarmad’s home, Viviane retained the stone quarters she had occupied as Argante’s second. These days, that role was filled by her daughter, Ailis, the girl I had rescued from peril in a tree many years before.

I was expecting Ailis to answer the door, but when it opened, I found myself looking at Nimue, the daughter of my maid, Octavia. Nimue had been sent here to escape my father’s wrath five years earlier, and though she was only eleven, she was tall and thin, her haunting green eyes betraying an intelligence far beyond her years. “Guinevere, come in.”

I watched her as I made my way inside. She was dark haired like her mother but had the pale skin of her father. I had no doubt that beneath the placid surface she so carefully cultivated bubbled the temper she had displayed upon being told she was to leave her mother’s home. I looked forward to getting to know her better while I was here. I leaned down so Viviane could embrace me.

“Welcome, daughter.” She gestured for me to sit in a wicker chair across from her. “Nimue, you may go.”

The girl gave a slight curtsey before bouncing off.

“She shows exceptional promise. Ailis and I have been giving her special lessons. She craves knowledge like no one I’ve ever known,” Viviane explained as she poured hot water into two cups and added different herbs to each one. “But enough about Nimue. How are you today?”

“I am feeling better, thank you.” I studied her face, the same blue eyes that had first captivated me when she came to Northgallis after I started showing signs of the sight. They were framed by a few more wrinkles now, but they were no less kind. Her brown hair was pulled back in a complicated knot that left only the locks in the very back trailing down to her waist. She had been Lady of the Lake for many years now, but I would never get used to seeing the triple moon symbol of the high priestess on her brow.

“What troubles you?” She had been studying me too and clearly saw in my expression something she didn’t like.

I cleared my throat, trying to summon the courage to ask her the same question I had posed to Grainne. But this was more difficult for I knew Viviane would give me an honest answer. I had to be certain I was prepared to hear what she had to say.

I took several sips of tea and waited for the numbing warmth to flow through my veins before I spoke. “Viviane, I need to know. How did Arthur and Morgan know one another?” I bowed my head and stared deep into my cup as though I could divine the answer from the leaves within.

“You are in an awful hurry to have answers,” Viviane noted. “Would it not be better to heal from the abuse you’ve suffered then face the changes in your home?”

I shook my head. “I want to know it all. That way I can piece it together in my own time.”

“You have always been a headstrong girl.” Viviane took a deep breath. “Do you remember when the Kingmaker appeared in the sky? Merlin told us it meant a great king would soon assume power. That king was Arthur. He was the Sacred King.” She watched me, waiting for her words to sink in.

When they did, it was like a punch in the gut. I stared at Viviane, unbelieving. “You knew all along. You knew and never told me. Do the manipulations of Avalon run so deep?”

I never saw Viviane lash out, but suddenly, there was a crack and my left cheek stung.

“I may be your friend, Guinevere, but I am still Lady of the Lake.” Viviane’s tone was stern with warning like a disapproving mother’s. “I deserve your respect, as does this sacred place. As you well know, Avalon does not mettle in the affairs of kingdoms or people. We joined together whom the gods indicated, and their will took its course. If you wish to be mad at someone, let it be your husband or Morgan. It was not I who betrayed your trust.”

Chided, I sank back in my chair, weighing her words. She was right. What was more, Merlin had tried to tell me. Years ago, at Corbenic, he’d told me I had seen the king in Avalon, but I couldn’t wrest the memory from my mind. Maybe some part of me had known all along and was just unwilling to admit it. Because if Arthur was the Sacred King. . . “Morgan was the Virgin Queen. That is how they met.”

“Yes.” Viviane examined her own cup.

I went through the course of events in my memory. “But Morgan was not with child after Beltane. When was Mordred conceived?”

Viviane looked up. “You should really discuss this with your husband. He can tell you from experience. I can only relate hearsay.”

I stood. “I don’t care if what you know is third- or fourth-hand. I only want to know the truth.”

“Guinevere, sit. I do not appreciate your tone.”

I genuflected before her, touching my thumb to my forehead, lips, and heart. “Forgive me, Lady. I forgot my place.”

She lifted my chin with her hand and bid me rise. Once I was seated again, she reluctantly continued. “From what we can tell, they reunited after Morgan was banished from the isle. I’m sure you know about that?”

“Yes. Merlin told me.”

“The reason we couldn’t find her is that she was following Uther’s army. Somehow, she had gotten wind that Arthur was a soldier and went in search of him. From what I can tell, once they found each other, they were inseparable. Until—”

“Until Uriens directed Arthur’s attention my way,” I finished for her. I rubbed my fingers on either side of my nose. “So Arthur gets his first love as well as his queen, and I get nothing. That is fair.”

Viviane stroked my leg. “The Goddess never promised to be fair. Only to lead you on the path she sees fit.”

“Apparently she plays favorites,” I grumbled.

“Perhaps, but she sees the world in its totality. We only see our small part of it.” Viviane glanced outside, and I followed her gaze to where Imogen was happily weeding in the garden, speaking in Ogham with the soon-to-be-consecrated girls. “Take Imogen, for example. She has lived a life of power and pain no one here could have predicted. Yet the Goddess chose you to bring her back to us, to give her a few years of happiness in this life. Compared to her, you are the favored one.”

I stared into my nearly empty cup, aware Viviane was watching me.

“How would you like to take up your life of priestesshood again?” she asked. “It will help you heal.”

I nodded. “It would be good to have a purpose while I’m here.”

“Good. You can begin by assisting me at the sunset ritual tonight. Tomorrow you can help Imogen with the gardens and perhaps sit in on a lesson. You remember the schedule?”

“Yes. My time here will be part of me always. Thank you, Viviane, for giving me a second chance. I doubt few others would.”

Viviane placed a hand on mine. “We all have need of mercy, including Arthur and Morgan. You would do well to remember that.”

Viviane was right. The physical labor did me good, as much, I daresay, as the rhythm of morning and evening ritual. Weeks passed, then months, and my physical wounds healed, yet I found I could not let go of my spiritual demons. Anger, pain, and resentment haunted me, a trinity of oppression I battled every day. I disarmed them by evening only to awaken to them freshly formed in the morning.

As I worked, turning the earth, planting seeds, and tending to growing sprouts, I had much time to think. Merlin had informed me about Morgan at Corbenic, but I was too thick to heed his cautions. He told me the Goddess had warned about division between sisters, and what did I do? Physically attack one of my own. Had Morgan not already been banished from Avalon, I likely would have suffered the same fate for attacking my sworn sister. But instead, I had been granted clemency.

That was what was on my mind as I approached Merlin and a group of young students one early autumn morning. He was seated on the stump of a fallen oak that had been sheared off by lightning during a recent storm, gesticulating grandly as he spun some tale that captivated the girls. They sat at his feet in the grass, some as young as ten, others much closer to legal womanhood. They looked up at him adoringly, lovesick expressions on each face.

As I approached, I heard the end of the story. “So Deirdre, foretold from birth to bring about so much destruction, took her own life by throwing herself out of a chariot and onto the rocks below.”

“Her story is so sad,” lamented one girl.

“But so romantic,” crooned another.

“Too bad she wasn’t a priestess. She could have made that terrible Conchobar leave her alone,” added a third.

Merlin smiled and nodded in acknowledgement when he caught sight of me, then he returned his attention to the students. “Nimue, what do you think?”

“I feel sorry for her. When she finally finds happiness, Conchobar has to come along and ruin it—to the point where she kills herself rather than face her fate. It’s not fair.”

Merlin leaned toward her. “No, it is not. But Deirdre isn’t all to be pitied. Remember, she manipulated Naoise into eloping with her. If she hadn’t interfered, the tragic events would not have happened.”

“Is this your way of telling us to mind our own business?” Nimue asked tartly. “Because I doubt that will happen around here.”

The girls giggled.

Merlin chuckled, spreading his arms wide. “All right, that is enough for today. You may go.”

Some of the girls cheered and scampered away while others hung around in groups, sneaking shy looks at Merlin when they thought he wasn’t watching. Nimue hung back, waiting to catch Merlin’s attention. I couldn’t hear what she said to him, but her adoration was plain. She only stopped talking when another girl elbowed her aside, complaining loudly that Nimue had taken up enough of Merlin’s time.

I shook my head. That easily could have been Morgan and me. Some things never changed.

When the girls finally straggled away, I greeted Merlin with a small bow. “She’s sweet on you, you know.”

Merlin smiled as he watched Nimue walk away. “I do. Jealous too. I daresay poor Branwen will pay for her boldness.”

“Merlin, I know it has been many years since you were my teacher, but do you think you could indulge me in one more lesson?”

“Of course. What do you wish to know?” He took me gently by the elbow and led me down to the lake where we could walk among the reeds and grasses as we talked.

“How do you ward against jealousy?”

He smiled, running a hand through his now-short hair, which was still bright orange in the soft light despite a sprinkling of silver. “That is the age-old question, is it not? I assume you speak of Morgan.”

I nodded. “I have dealt with my painful memories and am beginning to recover from Malegant’s abuse, but in all of my time here, I have yet to find a way to let go of my blinding hatred toward Morgan and Arthur or at least get control of it.”

“It is the undoing of many a life, many a nation, and something even I have not yet mastered.” Merlin stopped, turning to face me. “If I may be frank, you have always been selfish, Guinevere.”

I glowered at him, not wanting to hear this speech yet again.

“You are a woman now, not a child. You must learn that even though you are queen, many things do not concern you at all. When you return to your husband, try to remember he did not intend to hurt you. In fact, his actions were not about you. He was thinking of the future of the realm and of his own heart. What would you have done in his place? Would you have waited for him if you believed him dead and knew Aggrivane could be yours? Be honest.”

I studied his eyes for a long time, mulling over the question. “No.”

“Then how can you ask the same of him?”

I looked away, defeated. He was right. I was being completely unreasonable. “But it is Morgan,” I whined, hanging on him as I had as a child.

He laughed. “I would have been disappointed if that wasn’t your response.” He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I know the two of you have a natural dislike of one another. It is only because you are so much alike.” I started to object, but he silenced me with a look. “You will learn to live together because you must. But it will take time. You will need to look beyond your personal feelings and learn to sacrifice for the good of those you love. That is the true measure of a queen.”