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  "Arthur would not be so cruel."

  "Wouldn't he?"

  The question hung between us like a dangling noose. The pressure in my chest weighed down on me like a thousand bricks collapsing on top of me.

  "Do not underestimate my brother, Guinevere. Your crown may have been wrought by noble birth, but Arthur's was forged by the blood of battle."

  I couldn’t think. Couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t breathe. I would not allow my actions to be the death of Lancelot.

  Morgaine smiled. “So once again, we understand one another.”

  I fought to nod my head though my fear paralyzed every muscle in my body.

  “Good. You will return to your rooms for your long-overdue fitting. I will escort you to the chapel in the morning.”

  A swirl of blackness blurred Morgaine’s form, and then she vanished. I glanced from side to side. The hallway had returned to a state of normalcy; light washed through the windows, yet Morgaine’s voice remained, slithering through the corridor like the hiss of a snake.

  “And this time, Sister, I hope your will is stronger than before—for your lover’s sake.”

  * * *

  I returned to my rooms to find Rhosyn, Crystin, Aerona and the dressmaker waiting for me. Arthur had forgotten nothing when ordering the furnishing of my chambers. The room was adorned with goose-down pillows, fur-lined bedclothes, gold enameled furniture, and silver and gold embroidered drapery. Tapestries depicting maidens and festivities lined the walls, warming the cold stone construction of the chamber. Fur rugs scattered the floors assuring footfalls usually fell upon a soft spot. My bed, a wood carved monstrosity with four pillars holding up an enormous canopy, crowded the far nook. Adjoining rooms spread from my sleeping chamber—used for sitting, weaving, or receiving guests. Arthur's crest, the cross and the dragon, appeared on almost everything—tapestries, pillows, coverings and carved into furniture. My harp sat against one wall, propped against my boxes and trunks, which remained unpacked.

  “My Lady,” Aerona warned, “the day grows late, and still you have not been fitted.”

  Rhosyn scowled at me and plopped herself in a chair while the dressmaker rushed me to a platform placed in the center of the room. Crystin and Aerona pulled the heavy satin and velvet gown over me after stripping me to my underclothes like one of their childhood straw dolls.

  My wedding gown must have cost Arthur a fortune. The white and gold velvet and satin were expertly threaded with pure gold threads. Diamonds, pearls and rubies were strung on fine lines of gold and weaved into the fabric to merge with intricate embroidery. Among the threaded vines and flowers, Arthur’s symbol weaved throughout the design, disguised by the fine craftsmanship of a deft hand. There was no way this dress had been made within the last few days. It would have taken a team of embroiderers weeks, if not months, and I wondered how long Arthur had been planning this arrangement.

  Once the massive folds of fabric draped my body, I thought I’d sink clean through the floors and into the dungeon with the weight of it.

  “Tsk,” said the dressmaker, “this will not do.”

  “Have you pulled the lacings tight enough?” asked Aerona as the women, minus Rhosyn, who still scowled in the corner, inspected me.

  “Yes, Lady Aerona. However, the gown is simply too large.”

  “That’s because it was made for a woman, not a twig,” said Rhosyn, smiling wickedly.

  “Rhosyn!” scolded Crystin. “Why must you be so cross? Ignore her My Lady; she thinks highly of herself and gets in a mood now and again.”

  Aerona and Crystin pulled at the fabric as the dressmaker stuck me with so many pins, I started to resemble a porcupine when a knock came at the door.

  “Allow me,” Rhosyn said as she sashayed across the rooms, disappearing around the corner. I could hear her answer the door, and the subsequent chatter which was too low for me to discern, but Rhosyn’s tone changed from caustic to pleasant.

  When she appeared again, she announced, “Sir Lancelot is here.”

  “Don’t let him in!” I couldn’t face him. Not now and especially not like this—adorned in a gown meant for marrying another man.

  “But he has your falcon.”

  “Well, then, fetch Aethelwine for me.”

  “I dare say, I cannot!”

  “He won’t bite. Just bring him in and set him on his perch.”

  The blush leeched out of Rhosyn's cheeks. She shook her head.

  “I can see who will be responsible for his feedings,” I said as I dismounted the platform. “He likes mice.”

  "Mice?" squeaked Rhosyn.

  "Worms if you prefer." I smiled, feeling evil for my sneak attack at Rhosyn, but her unfriendly manner had finally worn on my nerves—or perhaps my nerves had already been frayed with Morgaine’s final threat toward Lancelot, and Rhosyn suffered the consequences. "He likes snakes, too."

  Rhosyn scrambled backwards, clearing my path to the door. Aerona and Crystin giggled.

  “Calm yourself, Rhosyn. The lady jests,” said Aerona.

  “Serves you right,” said Crystin, still laughing. “Jesu guide you to adopt a gentler tongue.”

  “She had better be jesting,” replied Rhosyn. “My father is just as powerful as hers.”

  “Hush,” scolded Aerona. “You are not that high. Nor are you the lady Arthur has chosen to be his queen, regardless of your attempts.”

  So that’s why Rhosyn dislikes me. I didn’t have time to dwell on the matter since my legs were too busy wobbling as I approached the half-cracked door—either from the weight of the gown or the trepidation in my heart, or both.

  I knew what I must do.

  I peered around the corner of the door leaving just enough room to take Aethelwine from Lancelot’s arm. When I caught sight of Lancelot’s chiseled features, my heart trembled.

  “Your falcon, My Lady,” he said. His dark eyes shone. His lips turned slightly upwards on each end, suggesting a smile he could not contain.

  Aethelwine climbed onto my hand and smoothed his beak back and forth against my skin, greeting me.

  Lancelot waited, expectant. The anticipation in his features caused my chest to seize up.

  “You should go,” I said, keeping my tone low so the ladies could not overhear us.

  Lancelot took my lead and whispered back, “Have you mended the rift with your cousin?”

  “I mean…” I swallowed hard, struggling to force my words out. My body trembled as I fought down the sadness that pushed its way to the surface. “You should go away from here. Get on Clover and let him lead you somewhere—to someone you can love without restraint.”

  “What’s happened?” His eyes shifted, searching mine. They simmered with concern.

  I pressed myself against the backside of the door, wishing I could slip through it and into his arms, but knew the barrier needed to remain. “Nothing. You just need to forget about me. That's all.”

  “Why?” Lancelot’s gaze hardened. “Has someone threatened you? Are you in trouble?”

  “No.” My entire body shook with tremors. I struggled to keep my chin and lips from quivering. “I just changed my mind. It was a foolish notion, you and I.”

  “I see.” The muscles in his jaw line feathered, as if he ground his teeth together.

  “Just leave here and find happiness without me.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t think I could find happiness in service to a queen?”

  “Not the kind you deserve.”

  “I see.” He said again, nodding his head. Then his gaze left me, and I felt as if my head had been severed from my heart. He turned and strode away, and I closed the door on the only man I had ever loved.

  Chapter 10

  After my dress had been fitted, the ladies left and night fell upon Camelot. I sat in my rooms, tucked beneath the embroidered coverlet, goose-down blanket and furs without resting. My mind spun in so many directions; exhaustion should
have led me into sleep, but it didn’t. My heart shattered at the thought of rejecting Lancelot and my mind kept playing, over and over, the cruel words I had uttered to him, and I wondered if it had been enough to drive him away.

  When sleep refused me, I donned my slippers and overcoat and headed for Elibel’s rooms. I knocked when I arrived, but when no one answered, I pushed the door open, snuck in and closed the door behind me.

  “Cousin?” I whispered, searching for Elibel in her bed. Only messy covers and an empty mattress greeted me.

  I sat, and waited. I pulled the triquetra from my pocket and fingered the circular ends, around and around, wishing for answers to impossible questions—of Lancelot, of Arthur, of Elibel.

  Nothing came. The moon crossed the sky, tipping under the peak of the window as if the sun pushed her away, and I dozed off.

  I stood on a human-sized board of Wooden Wisdoms, staring at my feet. The board spun as I struggled to stay upon my mark. My head dizzied as the board whirled faster and faster, plunging me to the ground. Scrambling to get upright, I clawed at the board, hefting myself to my knees, but the game quickened again, flattening me against its circular surface.

  Lancelot appeared. His broad hand stretched toward me. I tried to grab a hold of his hand, but I slipped further and further away from him. Elibel screamed in the distance and I realized the board had her in its grips as well. Rhosyn, Crystin and Aerona giggled as they stood at their positions. Arthur, dressed in gold, grinned at all the commotion, clapping his hands like a boy at a Midsummer festival. As I returned to seek Lancelot, his armor tinged with black. The darkness swam over him, engulfing him. My own dress flooded with darkness, too. I stretched my arms out before me; my veins trailed up from my heart, filling with blackness. The murk spread over my skin, turning me into an onyx stone. I screamed until my mother's voice silenced me.

  "Sometimes you must see what is false before you can know what is true."

  Her words startled me awake. The sun peered over the horizon, lightening Elibel’s room. Still, my cousin had not returned. I scrambled up and left to go back to my own chamber when I spotted Elibel, tiptoeing away from another chamber door.

  The door she exited was a massive, double door with a crest I couldn’t quite make from where I stood burned into the wood. Her hair was disheveled and the top of her nightdress was unbuttoned, revealing ample cleavage. Her chest and cheeks were flushed to a rosy-red color. She snuck down the hall, making as little noise as she could.

  “Elibel?”

  Her head shot up. She spotted me. Her eyes widened.

  “Elibel, what are you doing?” The ornate door, her guilt-struck look and untidy state snapped together to make sense—she had just snuck out of Arthur’s chambers.

  She shook her head and stammered, “I… I…”

  For once in her life, my cousin was speechless. My stomach clenched at the implication. She had spent the night with Arthur—the night before our union.

  Tears broke from the corners of my cousin’s eyes. “I did not inform on you, Guin. I promise you that.”

  “I know,” I said.

  She kept shaking her head back and forth, “But I fear I have done much worse.” The tears streamed, making rivers over her cheeks. Her lips twisted into an ugly formation, but no more words came.

  Then my cousin ran from me, down the corridor, and into her room. I heard the click of a lock and the murmur of sobs as I returned to my chambers to prepare for my wedding.

  * * *

  Morgaine escorted me to the chapel as she had promised—or threatened. Either way, the next morning, as the sun glared over the horizon, I found myself trudging through the crowded streets of Camelot, and into the chapel, weighed down with the most extravagant gown in the history of queens.

  An entourage of knights escorted us. I could not find the courage to see if Lancelot was among them, or if he had left me. I kept my head forward while my fingers wrapped tightly around the triquetra. All the citizens of Camelot and the neighboring villages pressed in for a view as we made the procession. Arthur’s entrance, on his black war stallion dressed in armor to match his own clothing, was no less magnificent. Arthur also coordinated with me as he donned white and gold velvets and satins laced with even more gold and jewels than my gown.

  As I entered through the arched doorway of the chapel, I released the triquetra into a nearby trash heap, hoping that with it, I released the blackness of my own heart. Father would be so ashamed of me. He was right about me. My blood—the blood of the old ones, the dark ones, the tainted ones—had brought ruin to everyone I loved. I was glad he wasn’t here to see what a mess I had made of my situation.

  I seemed to disconnect from myself as I stood next to Arthur, as if I watched the event from outside of my body. He beamed, lighting like the sun. He stared down on me as if I were the only woman alive—as if he had no recollection of spending the night with my cousin. Then the Bishop of Canterbury sealed our souls with words spoken in Latin, a strange tongue I could not even comprehend.

  When it was done, Arthur kissed me. My lips were unwilling lumps under his touch remembering they had recently been on Lancelot’s, and Arthur’s on Elibel’s—but Arthur pressed into them anyway as if he owned the right to do so. I suddenly realized the electricity of his touch was more like the slice of a conquering sword rather than the excitement of love’s first rush. He had gotten what he wanted. And I hoped, if my choice had not served my own heart or that of my loved ones, that it would at least serve Britannia.

  Chapter 11

  After I had been introduced as Camelot’s new Queen to the awaiting citizens, I was escorted to the stands where the quest would conclude. Both my mind and my body numbed—so I was Queen. What could I possibly do as Queen when I could not even manage to better those around me?

  Aerona, Crystin and Rhosyn trailed after me, while Arthur had already mounted the steps and seated himself for the arrival of the questers. He jested with a few of his knights, each holding a goblet of honeyed mead. They clanked their cups and toasted, chugging back the sweet drink in anticipation of the celebration.

  “I believe you dropped this, My Queen,” said a low, rich voice from behind me. I swirled as quickly as the overdone fabric of my gown would allow.

  Lancelot stood behind me. His hand stretched outward. Settled in the thickness of his palm, lay the triquetra. My heart thumped at the sight of him, and I repressed a hopeful smile.

  “A moment,” I said to my ladies.

  They curtsied and left us, joining Arthur and his knights on the stands.

  “You’re here,” I said, my breath quivering against my chest.

  “You told me to seek happiness,” he replied, holding my gaze in his. And those eyes—dark, deep, simmering—said a million more words than the ones he spoke.

  Even as far as two paces from me, his warmth penetrated me, livened my insides once more, and drove away the numbness that had seized me. I wanted to fall in front of him and weep, but I remained standing as I thought a queen should retain a wee bit of restraint.

  “You dropped this,” he repeated.

  “No,” I said, “it belongs in the garbage.”

  “I dare to argue with a queen, but a triquetra is the very symbol a queen should possess.”

  “It’s wickedness,” I said.

  “It’s the land, the sea and the sky,” he argued. “It stands for love, honor and protection.” Lancelot mirrored the words my mother had said, so many, many seasons passed. “How could it be wicked?”

  “My father says it is the sign of the witch—of the old ones.”

  Lancelot shook his head. “No more than the clover.”

  I furrowed my brow, disagreeing.

  “The clover has three leaves, like the triquetra. The clover is from the land, given to us by God. They say, to the west, a Saint teaches his followers God’s trinity with the petals of the clover. The triquetra is no more wicked than the trinity—both are the same, both are holy. Though
called by another name, they stand for the same truth. And that truth is what you are, Guinevere. You are the land, the sky, and the sea. You are Love, Honor and Protection.”

  “But I have failed everyone.” My words spewed out of my control. “I failed Elibel. I failed you. I failed myself. I am not sure what made me think I could cause a change and help the people I loved. Because of me, Elibel will never find happiness. And your only chance will be to escape me. Happiness cannot exist with a queen’s duty. Becoming Queen of Camelot breaks everyone I truly love, and there is not a single thing I can do to remedy the situation.”

  “You see others so clearly, but you fail to see yourself. You cannot fail when you are true to yourself. You’ve honored your feelings. You’ve seized love because it spoke true in your heart, even though the world tells you otherwise. You’ve courageously stood up for your friends in spite of your own needs. You are a queen, through and through. And you will be the most honorable queen Camelot has ever seen.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because it is who you are.”

  We stared at one another for several heartbeats before I said, “You are in danger if you stay here.”

  Lancelot smiled, revealing his bright row of teeth. “My only danger comes from leaving you. Let me decide what brings me happiness.”

  He pressed the triquetra into my hand. “You have a quest to attend to.” Then he turned, and strode into the crowd.

  * * *

  Lancelot’s words revived me, and strength returned to my limbs—and my heart. I mounted the steps and sat myself next to Arthur.

  King Arthur, my husband and best friend’s lover, gestured to a servant who delivered a cup of mead to me. Arthur raised his glass in the air. His voice boomed out over the crowd. “To my wife! Queen of Camelot!”