The Camelot Betrayal (Camelot Rising 2)

“A ship,” Brangien said quietly. She looked at the ground instead of Guinevere. “If we struck east right now we could be at the coast this afternoon. A ship could get us to the southern tip within two days, and then back up the coast with enough time to make it to the wedding.”

“A ship,” Guinevere repeated, her voice hollow.

“Guinevere.” Arthur put a hand on her arm. “Imagine the lake, expanded until it swallows the horizon. Waves taller than you constantly crashing. Unknown fathoms beneath you. More water than you can comprehend. Water everywhere.”

“I can do it.” She met his eyes, forcing her voice to be steady. “We can do it.”

“But—”

“If you were not king, if this had happened three years ago, would you have hesitated to rescue an innocent woman in peril at the hands of an evil king?”

Arthur’s jaw twitched, then his shoulders dropped and he shook his head. “I would have gone in a heartbeat. I still would, if there were any way I could without hurting my people.”

“We have a way. Let us do this.” Guinevere did not want to ask permission. She did not need to. But she wanted to do this with Arthur’s blessing. If not for herself, then for Lancelot and Sir Tristan. Tension made their expressions wooden and their posture equally stiff. Because if their king said no, they could not do it. Not without breaking the sacred vows they had taken to obey him. Not without giving up the knighthoods they had both worked so hard for.

Arthur turned to the knights. “If anything happens to her…”

Lancelot bowed her head. “I will let no harm come to her.”

“You have our word.” Sir Tristan took a knee. “I swear it. If it gets too dangerous, we will get the queen out. She is our first priority.”

Resignation settled reluctantly over Arthur. “Very well, then. Your quest has my blessing.”

Brangien let out a sobbing gasp and dropped to her knees. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, my king.”

“I will cover for your absence,” Arthur said. “I will tell the guards I want to range wider and explore more of the land, so you four are going to wait for the bigger party. Then we can tell a story about how you missed the bigger party and so continued on your own. But you must be to Dindrane’s family estate on time.”

Lancelot and Sir Tristan hurried back to the group to retrieve their horses and some sup

plies. If this was going to work, they could lose no time.

“We will be there.” Guinevere threw her arms around Arthur’s neck, pulling him close. His cheek was warm against hers, only a hint of roughness where he had not shaved that morning. “Thank you.”

He put his hands on the small of her back, pressing her against him. “Be careful.”

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and then let him help her onto her horse. As they rode away, she looked over her shoulder. She only felt a little guilt over her thrill of pleasure at being the one leaving instead of the one left behind.

The roads east were in poor condition. Sir Tristan and Lancelot both rode warily through the scraggly farmlands and slumping villages, ever-braced for attack. They had ridden hard but not so fast it would put the horses at risk; they would be at the coast soon.

Though it was quite obvious they were not within Arthur’s borders anymore, Guinevere sensed no threat from the land itself. There was no indication of the Dark Queen or her magic. Just the threat of men, frightened and vicious with desperation, but she trusted in Sir Tristan and Lancelot.

She understood her companions’ tension, but she was almost elated. Arthur was always ranging out to save people, to rescue towns, to protect the innocent. Guinevere was not made to sit in a castle, to ride to and from celebrations in comfort, to be protected. Perhaps this was a bad idea, but it felt right, like reclaiming missing parts of herself. If she could not remember more than a glimpse of her past, she could fill in her present with whoever, whatever she chose to be.

Lancelot had her eyes on the horizon. “There are many Saxon settlements along the eastern coast. They are a fishing people, so we should be able to find a ship without too much trouble. If it takes us more than a day to secure passage, though, we will have to turn around.”

“We will find a ship.” Guinevere sounded confident. This was their quest. They would not fail. She would use her magic for good. To help people she loved, people who deserved her help. She would be better than Merlin in every way.

“And if we do not?” Brangien asked. She looked more troubled than hopeful. “I should go alone. This is too much to ask of you.”

“You did not ask. We chose this. Because we can. We have the freedom to decide what we want to do with our lives and our skills. Igraine had that taken from her.”

“Isolde,” Brangien interjected softly.

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“You said Igraine.”

Guinevere froze. Her tongue had betrayed her. This was about more than Isolde, even if she did not want to face it. But did it make her quest less noble, if part of it was motivated by anger at Merlin? He had taken and taken and taken. Lives and innocence and memories. She would not take. She would give.