my welcome. I harbor no ill will. None of us do.” She paused. “Except maybe Ailith, who mentions Gunild’s soldier brother’s shortcomings so often I suspect she is still in love with him.”
“What about your knight?” Guinevere gestured toward the woman, whose face was going ever paler.
The knight answered, her voice tight with strain, “They have no one to protect them. And it is good practice for me.”
Rhoslyn nodded. “She does not live here. We do not even know her name. But she protects those who need it out here in the wild.”
“Will you heal her like you did me?”
Rhoslyn shook her head, letting out a long breath. “We did not heal you. We drew out the poison because it was magic, and we could call it and bind it. When it comes to the business of broken bodies, we are limited. My sister has some experience, mostly birthing babies, but she might be able to help. I will go see if Gunild is back with news yet.” Rhoslyn patted her warm, dry hand against Guinevere’s hand. Then she stood and walked out of the shack. Guinevere followed, peeking her head out. No one was watching. She could run.
But she felt none of the menace from the forest. If Rhoslyn wanted her dead, she would be. And they had made no demands, asked nothing of her. There had been no malice in Rhoslyn’s touch. Surely if Rhoslyn could possess and control the same darkness Guinevere had felt from the boar, it would have come through when she touched Guinevere.
Guinevere took her position at the knight’s side once more. “Can we trust Rhoslyn?”
The knight nodded.
“If you are lying and they are plotting against the king, I will kill you.”
The knight opened her eyes. “If I had aided in a plot against the king, I would want to die. I swear to you on my sword, I am loyal to Camelot. I am loyal to King Arthur.”
Guinevere felt the truth of it pierce her. “Very well. You saved me. I will return the favor in exchange for your silence.”
The knight looked puzzled, but she nodded.
Guinevere allowed the flame to surround her hand. She closed her eyes, giving her breath to the flame and summoning it. The knight gasped, but did not cry out. Guinevere let the flame surround her hand. She did not have time to be afraid of being burned again. “Trust me,” she whispered. Then she put her hand against the knight’s wound and let the fire go.
The knight cried out in surprise, but she did not move. Guinevere pulled the purifying flames back before they could turn into devouring flames. It was easier than it had been with Sir Tristan, because she did not have to send it into the blood. Only the wound. The knight was sweating, her dark curls plastered to her forehead. She looked down in wonder. The wound was smaller. The blood on her side gone, consumed.
“One more step.” Guinevere tugged up a sleeve. She pulled out her knife—the women had not taken it, or anything else—and, cringing, took a slice of her own skin as though peeling the top layer of an apple. She used the blood welling on the wound to write a knot into the skin, commanding it to bind to another. Then she placed it over the knight’s wound. The skin stretched, grasping at its new body, finding the open edges and pulling them taut.
Where there had been a gaping hole, now there was a smooth patch of skin several shades lighter than the knight’s own.
“What are you?” the knight whispered.
Guinevere smiled wryly. “What are you?”
“I am a knight.”
“I am…” The daughter of Merlin? A forest witch? If the knight came to Camelot often enough, she would discover the truth anyway. “I am Guinevere. The queen.”
The knight hung her head, her face falling. “Then my hopes are over.”
“Why?”
“Because the truth of my body will keep me from being an aspirant.” The knight pulled her bloody tunic down over the sealed wound. “I have known—always known—that I am a knight. And with King Arthur, I had a chance. If I could get to the tournament, if I could defeat them all, if I could fight the greatest king in the world, he would see my value. He would knight me. And then it would be too late for them to forbid me.”
Guinevere sat and tucked her legs beneath her. The knight had saved her life from the boar, and then brought her to the only women who could save her from the spider’s bite. She owed her far more than a little patch of skin. “What does my being the queen have to do with any of that?”
The knight frowned at her. “You will tell them.”
“Why should I tell them? I have seen you fight. You fought for my life today. If you earn a place in Arthur’s court, then it is yours. You have me on your side. Provided you keep my secret as well.” She gestured toward the knight’s missing wound. “Keep it from Rhoslyn, too. No one can know.”
The knight’s smooth face shifted with wonder and hope. “You will let me continue?”
“I would drag you to the city myself and force you to.”
The knight bowed her head, closing her eyes. A smile parted her lips. She had dimples in her cheeks to match the permanent dimple in her chin. “Thank you. We have saved each other today, I think.” She stood, holding out her hand. “Come. I will see you safely back to your camp.”