The Guinevere Deception (Camelot Rising 1)

As they resumed walking toward the castle, Brangien resettled the parcels she was carrying. “Rumors. A reliable woodsman with a burned arm, screaming about a demon in the forest. Some evidence of scorching. If it is a dragon, Sir Bors will find it.”

“I cannot wait to tell my sister-in-law,” Dindrane said, smiling wickedly. “A dragon! And her husband will not be the one to face it.” She hurried away from them.

It was news indeed. Terrible news. Dragons had been the favored creatures of the Dark Queen. For centuries she had wielded them, sending them to attack farmsteads, to ruin settlements. They had been hunted with ruthless efficiency by the Romans. Even Merlin did not think any still lived. Guinevere had asked during one of their lessons. Merlin had rambled about the old making way for the new, bones buried deep in the earth to grow the seeds of new life.

But if a dragon was on the prowl, that meant Arthur was vulnerable. Even Camelot was. A dragon in flight could lay siege to the city the way men could not. If the dragon had any alliance to dark magic—or was under the control of someone like Rhoslyn—it had to be stopped.

“I must go,” Guinevere said, her mind already made up.

“Go where? The market is over.”

“Go to the dragon.” If there really was one, she did not trust Sir Bors to take care of it himself, canny hunter or not.

Brangien stopped walking, stunned. “My lady, that is a job for knights. Not for queens.”

Guinevere had not told Brangien the truth of her identity. It was one thing for them to share a secret of magic; it was another entirely for Guinevere to reveal her whole self. Guinevere pulled her hood on. “King Arthur is my husband. I will do whatever it takes to protect him. And no one else in this kingdom will be able to know if the dragon is doing the bidding of some dark force. I can. But I will need Sir Tristan to help me.” She turned to the knight.

His brown face had gone pale. But he nodded, hand on the hilt of his sword and jaw clenched with resolve. “I will need to get my cloak and more weapons.”

Brangien smoothed her skirts nervously. “I think this is a bad idea.”

“Meet me where the horses are kept, Sir Tristan.”

“But you will need a boat!” Brangien exclaimed.

“I have one.” Guinevere hurried to the castle, leaving them at the gate. She made her way out to the walkway that led to the secret passage’s storage room. She stopped outside the doorway. This one, fortunately, they had not magically protected, since it did not lead directly into the castle. She pulled an extra thread of iron from her pouch, pricked her lip with it, and then fashioned it into a knot that would pull apart at the slightest tug. She inserted it into the keyhole, then pulled, releasing the unlocking magic.

The door swung open. Relieved and only slightly dizzy, she hurried inside and closed the door behind her. The barrel was a bigger problem, quite literally. It took her nearly ten minutes to shift it enough that she could squeeze through.

She hurried through the dark, slick tunnel. When she came out the other side, she rushed to the horses’ pen. To her surprise, it was not only Sir Tristan, mounted, waiting for her.

“What are you doing here?” Guinevere asked Brangien, who was holding the reins of two other horses.

“No lady’s maid would allow her lady to go on an unaccompanied trip with a knight!”

“But they would allow their lady to seek a dragon?” Guinevere mounted her horse, laughing.

“Well, no. But I can only control one of those things.” Brangien stuck out her tongue at Guinevere.

Sir Tristan led the way, and they pushed the horses as fast as they dared. If Sir Bors killed the dragon before she arrived, she would not be able to determine if it was under the sway of the dark magic. The dragon problem would be solved, but no answers would be obtained. As they rode, Guinevere asked Brangien to show her the knotting method she used. It was a good distraction.

They were heading in the same general direction as the forest where she had seen Rhoslyn’s magic sparking. What if Rhoslyn had figured out a way to control the dragon? Arthur had made Guinevere promise not to go against the witch, but she had not promised not to go against a dragon. And if she found a link between the two, she would break her promise.

The lush and well-tended fields gave way to scraggly trees, and then to dense and gnarled old growth clinging to a low mountain. Rhoslyn’s location was farther south, but that did not mean she and the patchwork knight were not involved.

Sir Tristan rode with one hand on the pommel of his sword and a wary eye on their surroundings. “The dragon is supposed to be in this region. But it could be hours—or even days—before we find anything. Sir Bors is the tracker.”

They did not have time for that. She had to be back in Camelot before nightfall. “Then we need to find Sir Bors.” Guinevere frowned. An idea took shape. “Brangien, do you have cloth, a needle, and thread?”

“Yes.” Brangien sounded wary, but handed the supplies over. Guinevere tugged several eyelashes free, then sewed them onto a strip of cloth. How clever of Brangien to anchor the knot magic! It made everything so much easier to manage. It would have been a nightmare trying to knot the eyelashes with only thread.

She held the cloth up to her right eye, peering through.

“How can she see anything through that?” Sir Tristan asked.

“Hush,” Brangien chided.

Guinevere’s eye pierced the knot, went through cloth, tree, stone. She fought the wash of spinning disorientation as her sight left her and found her target. Sir Bors was paused next to a stream, refilling his leather canteen.