The Guinevere Deception (Camelot Rising 1)

rs of her future. Dindrane. Lancelot. The knights. Arthur, bright, shining pillar, fades last. Once more he is simply a name, a belief, a hope. She walks back through the forest that ate the village. Back to her first meeting with the knights, with Brangien. With Mordred. The nuns and the convent pass in the blink of an eye, hardly worth noting.

She steps past her time as Guinevere, and finds…

Arthur has not faded. Not truly. If she is in her own past, how does Arthur stay so bright, like a beacon? Why does she feel such hope—such sadness?

Where is she?

She has left Guinevere behind to find Merlin. And instead, besides the dream of Arthur, she finds…

Nothing.

She stands suspended in a field of black, beneath a starless sky. Everything around her shimmers, moving gently and slowly. Her hair drifts around her. Blue amidst the black.

“What are you doing here?” Merlin asks.

She turns toward his voice. He struggles to get to her, moving his arms in a strange sweeping motion. His beard flows behind him, trailing like a silver river.

“You should not be here,” he says.

She knows. Now that she is here, she does not like it. She came here for a reason. She expected the cottage. The lessons. She had planned to interrupt Merlin during a lesson, to talk to him in her memories. But she cannot find them. Once she stepped out of the convent, this was all that remained.

“I need your help,” she says. Her voice is layered, infinite. Sweet and cold.

“You have to go back! She is not watching me because she thinks me trapped, asleep. But if she senses you here, you are in terrible danger.”

“I think I may already be in terrible danger.” She lifts her hand. Her arms are bare, pale and glowing. Something is missing. Her wound. The skin. Lancelot. The tournament. Arthur. She grasps hold of the threads of her future, clinging. “I have been kidnapped. Merlin, I have been kidnapped!” She laughs, delighted to finally remember. “I need help.”

“I cannot help you in the affairs of man. You know that.”

She shakes her head. “I know nothing. You told me lies. Arthur did not need me.”

“He does need you. More than either of you knows. He is the bridge; you must guard his way safely over the blackest waters. Be the queen. Fight as a queen, not as a witch. And remember, whatever else happens, that you chose this.”

She lowers her arms, and the future falls away again. “I am in a bad place. I do not want to go back to it. I will stay here.” She pushes Guinevere away from herself. “It is too hard, Merlin. Merlin.” She tilts her head, trying to find more truth here in the darkness. “Why do I not remember my mother? Why could I not find my way to my past?”

The world trembles. The blackness around them ripples, then swirls. She has left all fear in her future. She is not afraid. She feels…infinite.

But Merlin is afraid. “Go now, foolish creature! Do not look for me again, or she will find you!” He pushes against her forehead, sending her spinning head over feet, circling and circling as the black field blurs and then—

Guinevere gasped. Waves of dizziness crashed over her, as though she were still spinning in that black place, pushed away by Merlin. Instead, she was on a dirt floor in a damp, dimly lit stone room.

She reached up to her hair, terrified. Merlin’s beard hairs dissolved like starlight in the morning, fading as she watched. He had taken even that away from her. She was alone.

A guard spat noisily behind her. She was not alone.

Guinevere stood, brushing off her dress. She faced two guards. They sat on the floor, playing a game with several round, flat stones and a few small sticks. Interrupted, they turned and watched her with hooded eyes. They wore leather tunics as tightly as they wore meanness. They had wrapped themselves in it, armed with hatred and suspicion.

“If you help me, King Arthur will reward you.”

“Way I see it,” one of them said, wiping his nose along his arm, “King Arthur not likely to be king much longer, yeah? And even if he is, I trust Sir Maleagant’s sword more than I trust your king’s kindness.”

“Give Sir Maleagant what he wants,” the other guard said, shrugging impassively. “It is not going to go easy for you, whatever you do. But he likes the young ones. If you do what he wants, he might be nice to you. For a while.”

“For a while,” Guinevere repeated, letting the words trail away. “How can you serve a man like this?”

“Liked you better when you were asleep.” The first guard returned to the game, picking up the stones and sticks. “Never seen anyone sleep as long as you.”

“Downright lazy,” the second guard said. “Been sleeping nearly a day. Is that what fine ladies do?”