He rejoined his men, jumping in on several wrestling matches. He truly loved his knights. Sir Tristan, in particular, seemed a favorite, reminding her yet again of how much Arthur was willing to sacrifice for his kingdom.
Mordred slipped into the shade
, finding a cushion near Guinevere and lying idly on his side. “Did you miss me?” His voice slid beneath the chatter so no one else heard.
“Were you gone?” Guinevere asked.
Mordred put his hands to his heart, feigning being pierced by an arrow. He fell onto his back and closed his eyes.
“Are you going to nap instead of hunt?” Brangien asked, cross.
“Yes.” Mordred shifted around until he got comfortable. Guinevere envied him. No woman could lie at ease on the ground without bringing censure and judgment down on herself.
Guinevere stood, pulling her hood back on. “What do the ladies do during the hunt?” She wanted to stay close to Arthur. She should be by his side whenever possible, especially outside of Camelot.
Dindrane held out a plate of fruit and cheese. “We do this.” She laughed as Guinevere’s face fell. “Did you want to prowl through the trees, hunting alongside the men?”
“No, not precisely that, but…could we not have sat more comfortably at Camelot?” Every time she left the city it was complicated. Until she could get over her damnable fear of water, Arthur had to make up some excuse as to why they could not ride on the barge like everyone else. It was humiliating and inconvenient. And she would worry the whole time he was in the forest. This one was tame, within the bounds of Camelot, but still. She should be with him.
The servants around the knights and the king loaded themselves with quivers and extra spears. Then one of the heralds blew a bright note from his instrument, and the men rode into the trees. Arthur waved to her, but he was surrounded by his men. His friends. His protectors who did not have to hide what they were.
“You seem upset.” Mordred cracked an eye open and stared at Guinevere. He alone of the knights had stayed behind. There were also a dozen servants and several armed guards.
Dindrane eyed Mordred appraisingly. “You seem unmarried.”
Mordred laughed. “My heart ever wants only what it cannot have.” But he did not look at Dindrane when he said it.
He looked at Guinevere.
Guinevere stood abruptly. She could not sit with these flutters of nervous energy going through her. She needed and she wanted and she did not know the source of or the solution to either desire.
The borders of the woodlands had been pushed back. This forest was an hour’s ride from Camelot. Men had contracts to gather wood and bring it back to the city. They also bought rights to hunt there. The once-wild woods, now taxed and regulated. Used for sport. It made her proud of Arthur, and also unaccountably sad.
“Brangien,” she said. “Would you accompany me on a walk? I want to gather flowers.” One of the benefits of Brangien’s knowing about magic was that Guinevere did not have to engineer an elaborate way to avoid her gaze as she gathered some supplies. Brangien could help. And Guinevere wanted to feel out this forest, make certain it was safe from threats Arthur and his knights could not sense.
They skirted along the edge of the trees. They were still in plain view of the canopies. Guinevere glanced back, but she could not pierce the shade to see if anyone was watching them. She picked a few flowers to maintain the charade as they leisurely ambled away.
“Here,” Brangien said. “We can turn into the woods. No one will see.”
Guinevere entered the cool shade of the trees. She let out a long breath of relief. Then she remembered their ride from the convent. “But you do not like the forest.”
“I do not like forests that spring up overnight and devour villages,” Brangien corrected, leaning down to inspect a smooth white rock. She put it in her pouch. “This is one of the sleeping forests, commanded by Merlin himself. It is only trees.” She walked confidently forward. Guinevere trailed in her wake, watchful, listening.
“Is it— Do you mind if I get supplies?” Brangien asked, hesitant.
“Please. And tell me what you are getting, and why.” Guinevere wanted more knowledge that did not come from Merlin. Everything he had taught her seemed tainted now.
“These are good for sleeping. A gentler sleep than my knots.” Brangien tucked some pale violet flowers into her pouch. She spotted a white oak tree deeper in and aimed for it. Guinevere followed, staring up at the way the sunlight shimmered through the leaves. It reminded her of looking up at the sun from a great depth, the cold—
She shuddered and hurried to Brangien’s side. She helped her peel back several pieces of bark. Brangien wanted a certain type of beetle as well.
“I am not familiar with any of these supplies,” Guinevere said. She had intended to gather young stones that she could place around Camelot to absorb things. Then she could get information from them. But she was not certain there was a need. She already had the sentry spells. Besides, nothing happened in Camelot that Arthur did not know about. Even the trees were taxed and accounted for.
Though he had not known about Brangien. Or Rhoslyn. And he did not know anything about the patchwork knight other than the knight’s fighting skills.
Nothing had directly attacked Arthur yet, though. How long would she wait? How long could she wait without letting her guard slowly slip? Without becoming more queen than witch?
“I will teach you,” Brangien said. “I used to specialize in draughts. Sleeping. Love. Confusion. My mother was a witch. My father loved her for it, since he did not carry the prejudices of Camelot or Christianity. Did your mother practice any magic?”