The Guinevere Deception (Camelot Rising 1) - Page 2

“Hide?” They were a day from their destination. She wanted this to be over with. Everything to be done and settled. The idea of huddling with these men in a village while they waited to—what, fight a forest?—made her want to tear off her shoes, her veil, to beg the trees for safe passage. But the trees would not understand.

They were on opposite sides now, after all.

I am sorry, she thought, knowing the trees could not hear her. Wishing she could explain.

Brangien cried out again, putting her hands over her mouth in horror. The men around them stopped abruptly. They were still surrounded by green, everything filtered and unclear through the veil. Shapes loomed out of the forest, enormous boulders covered in moss and trailing vines.

Modesty be damned. She tore off her veil. The world came into startling, perfect focus.

The shapes were not boulders. They were homes. Cottages much like ones they had passed before, made of lime-washed cobs and beams with thatched roofs sloping down to the ground. But where smoke should have been drifting up from the roofs, there were flowers. In place of doors, trailing curtains of vines. It was a village reclaimed by nature. If she had to guess, she would say it had been abandoned generations ago.

“There was a child,” Brangien whispered through her fingers. “He sold me bread weighted with stones. I was so cross with him.”

“Where are the people?” Sir Bors asked.

“We must not linger here.” Mordred veered his horse toward hers. “Surround the princess! Quickly!”

As she was carried by the momentum of her guards, she saw one last vine-covered boulder, or perhaps a tree stump. Just the right size and shape for a little boy, offering bad bread.

* * *

They did not stop until dusk claimed the world far more gently than the forest had claimed the unfortunate village. The men regarded the fields around them with suspicion, as though trees would spring forth, impaling them.

Perhaps they would.

Even she was unnerved. She had never before viewed the green and secret things of the world with fear. It was a good lesson, but she wished that the village had not paid the price for her education.

They could not go much farther in the dark without risking injury to the horses. Their first night together, they had stayed in an inn. Brangien had slept beside her in the finest bed the inn had to offer. Brangien snored lightly, a friendly, companionable sound. Unable to sleep, the girl had longed to pad down the stairs, to find the horses in the stables, to sleep outside.

Tonight she would get her wish. The men divided the watch. Brangien fussed setting up bedrolls, complaining about the lack of proper sleeping arrangements.

“I do not mind.” The girl once again offered Brangien a smile that went unclaimed in the darkness.

“I do,” Brangien muttered. Perhaps she thought the veil obscured hearing as well as vision.

Even with the fire crackling in defiance of night, of cold, of beasts and creeping things, the stars were waiting. Men had not yet figured out how to beat those back. The girl traced her favorite constellations: The Drowned Woman. The Swift River. The Pebbled Shore. If any stars winked a warning, she did not see it through the sparks the fire sent heavenward.

* * *

They pushed the horses harder the next day. She discovered she was less afraid of the forest behind them than of the city awaiting them.

What peace she could find was in the sway and bump of the horse beneath her. Horses were deeply soothing to touch. Calm and purposeful. She stroked her mare’s mane absentmindedly. Her own long black hair had been plaited that morning by Brangien, woven through with threads of gold. “So many knots!” Brangien had said. But she had not seen their purpose. Had not suspected. Had she?

There were too many unforeseen complications already. How could the girl have known this young woman would explore her hair so carefully? And Mordred, always watching. He was beautiful, smooth-faced, with mossy-green eyes. She was reminded of the elegance of the snake gliding through the grass. But when she caught him staring, his smile had more of the wolf than of the snake.

The other knights, at least, cared nothing about her except out of duty. Sir Bors pushed them ever faster. They passed tiny villages where the homes huddled together like the men had in the forest, protecting each other’s backs and staring outward at the land around them, fearful and defiant. She wanted to dismount, to meet the people, to understand why they lived out here, determined to tame the wild and exposing themselves to threats innumerable. But all she saw were hazy forms and green and gold hints of the world around her. The veil was a more intimate version of her guards, sealing her away.

She stopped disliking Sir Bors’s pace and wished they would go even faster. She would be happy to have this journey behind her, to see what threats lay ahead so she could plan for them.

Then they came to the river.

She could make up her mind about nothing out here, it seemed. She was glad for her veil now. It hid the winking treachery of the water from her, and hid her panic from those around her. “Is there no way around?” She tried to make her voice both light and imperious. It did not succeed. She sounded exactly how she felt: terrified.

“The ferryman will see us safely across.” Sir Bors delivered it as a fact. She longed to cling to his certainty, but his confidence flowed swiftly past her and out of her reach.

“I would be happy to ride longer if it meant we could avoid the crossing,” she said.

“My lady, you tremble.” Mordred had somehow slid next to her again. “Do you not trust us?”

Tags: Kiersten White Camelot Rising Fantasy
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