Guinevere's Tale

by Nicole Evelina

  Malegant laughed, a cruel sound of dark glee. He wielded his dagger at the others. “Who else wishes to oppose me?” He turned his manic eyes on Arthur. “Do you dare challenge me, king?”

  “Surrender or I will kill you myself,” Arthur yelled.

  Malegant made a show of thinking. “I rather like my odds.”

  He turned and melted into the now turbulent crowd, most of whom were trying to stop him. He dodged bodies and gloved fists as though he had trained for this very moment, shoving some men aside, tripping and punching others until he was free.

  Arthur motioned to Kay, Lancelot, and Sobian. “Take your troops and be sure he leaves this city in worse shape than he entered it. And if he happens to stop breathing in the process, bring me his head on a pole.”

  I sat dumbfounded in the chaos that followed, unable to do more than watch as Morgan tended to her injured husband and groups mobilized to ensure Malegant was apprehended.

  Arthur sat equally silent, a vein in his neck pulsing rapidly.

  “Owain and Accolon will kill him for that,” I finally said.

  Arthur grunted, a masculine sound I had grown to associate with disapproval. “If they can find him. That slippery bastard has more holdings in this part of the country than there are chambers in a beehive.”

  “Do we still hold the feast, or would it be better to postpone?” I asked.

  “No, we will proceed. Sobian still wants to see how everyone acts when deep in their cups. Now I must be her eyes.” Arthur motioned Bors over. “Tell the servants to bring out dinner. That should tempt everyone back to order.” He winked at me. “If I know one thing, it’s that rumbling stomachs sooner obey the call of food than ears listen to any order. Uther’s army taught me that.”

  Arthur was right. At the first whiff of food, the remaining lords who had chosen not to chase after Malegant turned their attention from their plans and arguments to peer over one another’s shoulders, hoping to catch a glimpse of what delicacies were being laid on the table. Soon, all were seated, their earlier proclamations quieted to a hushed buzz of conversation.

  I had just taken my first bite of roasted meat when a serving maid approached us from behind.

  The girl bowed her head. “Forgive me, my king, but I am sent to find the queen.”

  “I am here. What need have you?”

  The girl kept her eyes on the ground. “My lord Aggrivane has need of your skills for his wife and child lie ill in the next building.”

  I wondered why I had not seen them among the crowd. As much as I disliked Camille, I wouldn’t have wished her ill health. I looked at Arthur, trying to gauge his reaction.

  He nodded. “Go, but take Gareth with you. I will not have you alone with so many revelers and madmen about.”

  I touched his hand in thanks. “If Morgan returns, send her as well. We may have need of her. . . specialized skill.” I choked out the compliment. “I will meet you back here when I am finished.”

  The girl and I found Gareth then fled into the cool night, a fine spray of mist falling from the moonless sky. I shielded my eyes from the unexpected brightness of dozens of leaping bonfires. As my eyes adjusted, the courtyard came alive with dancers, hundreds of people packed into the confines of the thick castle walls.

  “Forgive me, my lady,” the maid said demurely then grabbed my wrist before leading me into the fray, Gareth following close behind.

  I quickly understood why she had risked touching me. If she had not, I would have quickly lost her in the shifting throng. Everywhere I looked was a whirl of light, color, and sound. The flash of a blue cloak gave way to the giddy laughter of a group of young girls enjoying their first festival and the cry of a vendor hawking skewers of meat. Faces whirled past, some painted into masks, others unrecognizable under hoods, everyone’s eyes gleaming wildly. We veered to the left, and a cup of some rank drink was thrust into my hand, but before I could see who had given it, they were swallowed up in the press of people. We wove right, dodging a knot of rowdy men, and I yelled my apologies as I stepped on someone’s foot. I turned back just in time to narrowly miss colliding with a brazier.

  I was panting by the time we reached the doors of the next building, a long, low structure like the ones in which we lived in Avalon. Gareth took up his post outside. Without pausing, the maid—whose name I still did not know—opened the door and led me to the chamber where Camille and her young son were staying. His cries were audible before the door more than cracked open.

  The poor thing must be miserable.

  Camille was visible as soon as I entered the room. She leaned against the windowsill, clad only in her shift despite the cool dampness of the breeze. It clung to her, fixed in place by sweat. She held her screaming son on her right hip, propping herself up with the other. The strain in her features said she was using all her energy to stand upright.

  Camille looked up, her face pale and drawn, hair plastered to her forehead and neck. “I can’t get him to stop crying.” Her voice was thin and weak.

  “Here”—I reached out to take him—“let me try.”

  Her hands barely brushed mine, but it was enough to confirm she was burning with fever. Her son’s forehead was equally hot, his tiny, clenched palms clammy as he beat against my shoulder.

  “Shhh. . . all will be well, little one,” I cooed, stroking his hair, careful not to bounce him and upset what likely was a delicate tummy. “Camille, please lie down.” I pulled the sheets back from the bed. I turned to the maid. “Has she anything else to wear?”

  The maid removed another thin tunic from a chest and helped Camille into the dry clothing.

  Camille lay back. “I wonder why you bother when I will just sweat through it too.” She spoke through cracked lips that looked painful even from a distance.

  I turned to the maid. “Water some wine and bring it back here for her. Then go to the kitchen and bring back some yarrow and feverfew, honey, a flagon of wine, a small cooking pot, a mortar and pestle, and as much willow bark as you can find.”

  The maid curtsied and scampered off without a word.

  I smiled at Camille. “I will make a tea that will hopefully help both of you sleep and bring the fever down. How long have you been ill?”

  Camille’s eyes fluttered closed as she lost her battle to keep them open. “I felt strangely upon rising this morning and grew weaker throughout the day. Llew became restless only a few hours ago. He is why I did not attend the feast.”

  I looked at Llew, who had finally stopped screaming and trying to beat me into making him feel better. He was worn into submission, a cranky mew the only indication he was still fighting whatever illness held him in its grip.

  The maid returned with the wine and some of the supplies. She helped Camille drink while I struggled to grind the herbs with one hand and keep Llew secure in my other arm. Once the maid was gone again to fetch the rest, I looked at Camille, who had sunk into sleep, her breathing shallow but even.

  “Your mother needs her rest, little Llew. And so do you. Sleep now.” I abandoned the mortar and rubbed the top of his head, willing his tiny eyelids to grow heavy. “The Goddess guard you as you slumber.” I kissed his tiny limp hand as he finally drifted off.

  I didn’t know how long I sat there holding him before a voice cold as ice woke me from my reverie.

  “Does it pain you to know he could have been yours?”

  I looked up to see Morgan draped in the doorway, arms crossed defensively.

  She was right. He could have been my son had Aggrivane and I married. I shifted Llew’s weight in my arms. Now that she mentioned it, it did hurt, but I wouldn’t let her know.

  “Does it pain you to be such a shrew?” I snapped back.

  Morgan pushed off the doorframe and moved back to let the maid through. “Suit yourself. I don’t have to help you.”

  I would have let
her go if Camille hadn’t woken right then, mumbling incoherently. I handed Llew to Morgan and rushed to her side, cupping her forehead. “Her fever is worsening.”

  Morgan laid Llew next to Camille in the bed. Without a word, she stripped off her cloak, rolled up the sleeves of her tunic, and rattled off yet another list of supplies for the poor maid to fetch. Then she hung the pot over the fire and poured in the honey, which caught the light and reflected it onto her face, making her glow like some Otherworldly being.

  Like the fey they say she hails from. That rumor had been around before I set foot on Avalon’s shores and had dogged her ever since. Sometimes I wondered if it was true.

  I picked up the mortar and pestle and continued grinding. “How is your husband?”

  She threw me a look that clearly questioned my motives for asking. “He is resting nearby. The wound is serious, but there is nothing else I can do for now.” She stirred the honey before setting the spoon down with a bang.

  Llew woke, whimpered, and I scooped him up.

  Morgan turned on me, scooping the herbs out of the mortar and flinging them into the pot without so much as glancing down. “Why did Arthur let him go? If my husband had done that to”—she struggled to say Malegant’s name but could not—“anyone, he would have been arrested on the spot. Why not the same punishment for him?”

  “We tried, Morgan. You were there. He escaped.”

  Morgan gave me a chiding sidelong glance. “Is that really the best you can do? Do you think me so dim-witted that that explanation will suffice? I’ll go after him myself if I have to.” She began pouring the amber liquid into two cups.

  “No, don’t. He’s dangerous.”

  She snorted. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve dealt with him before. I know how changeable his alliances are. He’s in league with whoever benefits him.”

  “Much like you.” The words slipped out before I realized I was even thinking them.

  Her eyes widened, and she stopped pouring. “Is that what you think of me?”

  “Does it really surprise you? You’ve always lived for yourself—you have said as much.”

  “Believe what you will.” She paused as if thinking, then her mouth curved into a vindictive sneer. “You’d better enjoy holding that little boy because he’s the last child who will ever fill your arms. Your bloodline dies with you. But mark my words—one day my child will be greater than even you. You may think I am concerned only with my own well-being, but you know nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  I tipped one of the cups into Llew’s tiny mouth, too stunned to respond. He gurgled and attempted to spit out the contents, but I wouldn’t let him. When he finally swallowed, I put him back into bed with Camille, who woke only long enough to drink her own dose.

  “I will stay with them,” Morgan said. “Go back to your husband. I should be here, close to mine.” I took a few steps toward the door before Morgan called after me. “Be on your guard. Evil spirits roam this night.”

  I rolled my eyes. Of course they did. It was the feast of the dead, the night when the veil between the worlds was the thinnest. But I was a trained priestess with one of Aggrivane’s younger brothers as a guard. I had nothing to fear.

  By the time Gareth and I emerged into the courtyard, the evening’s drizzle had intensified to a light shower, but it wasn’t stopping the revelers. The music had grown primal, fed by the deep vibrations of horns and punctuated by the rhythmic booms of drums. Around the central bonfire, a group of men and women chanted in a language ancient and dark. Although I did not understand the words, it felt somehow appropriate to invoke the ghosts of Samhain.

  Even more people packed the courtyard now, so I no longer bothered to ask pardon for barging through groups or stepping on toes. Nor did they seem to care. Caught up in the ecstasy of the night, they only had eyes for one another and the spirits only they could see.

  Past the painted woman decorating drunken couples with spirals and swirls, through the knots of undulating couples around the bonfires, and beyond the brawny twins hawking ale, I scurried, head bent to shield me from the rain. Then a hand shot out from a tangle of dancers, and I was caught up as they swirled through the crowd. Forced to keep up or be trampled, I was passed from one partner to another. The black eyes gazing back at me were eerily similar from one to the next.

  When they finally let me go, the door to the great hall was in sight, but Gareth was not. I craned my neck, peering through the swirling mass of people to catch sight of his dark curls. Once I thought I saw him, but it turned out to be only the tanner. I was still looking for Gareth when I heard my name, spoken by a voice I recognized but could not immediately place. For a moment, I thought Gareth had caught up to me.

  I turned instinctively and found myself looking up at a hooded man. When he angled his head to meet my gaze, the firelight flickered on his face, which was painted from temple to temple in red spirals. The effect was shocking, making him appear more demon than man, and obscured his identity as much as the Sacred King’s had been at my first ceremony.

  He leaned down so he was closer to my level. “Do you not recognize me?” He clucked his tongue disapprovingly.

  I backed up, seeking escape, uncomfortable from his nearness and familiarity. Only a handful of people would have dared speak to me in such an informal way, but his build and voice did not match any of them.

  “Do I know you?” I finally asked, frantically searching for the door that had been nearly within reach before he distracted me but now had vanished into thin air.

  He chuckled. “Maybe this will jog your memory—‘As the dreamer dreams of solace, so I dream of you. Come with me now into the city made from earth and ashes, from which there is no escape.’”

  For a moment, I couldn’t place his words. But then, with an icy chill, I realized he was quoting one of the notes, one of the ones no one else knew about.

  “How? Why?” I stumbled back, unable to comprehend being face to face with the man who had stalked me for months. I edged back again but was met with cold, wet stone at my lower back. One glance down told me I had backed into the well. I struggled to keep my balance as he leaned into me.

  “I told you I could get to you anytime, anywhere. And here we are.” He cocked his head to the side. “Do you still not recognize me?”

  He pulled back his hood, giving me a clear view of his decorated face. It took me a moment to see through the maze of markings, but when I did, a scream rose up in my throat. It was seized by panic, and I was able only to squeak out his name.

  “Malegant.”

  He grinned mirthlessly. “That’s right. And now you’re coming with me.”

  He grabbed my wrists, preventing me from fighting back. I tried to kick my way free, but he avoided my blows just as he had avoided those in the hall. His other hand, clad in a glove, clamped over my mouth. Instinctively, I gasped, inhaling an astringent odor foreign to the leather that made me want to gag. But instead of letting me go, he pulled me close, spreading his fingers so they covered my nose as well.

  My head tipped forward as I gasped for air, suddenly lightheaded. The world spun around me as I fell, helpless, into his arms.

  “That’s it, my queen, just give in,” he purred into my ear as he pulled me along.

  To anyone with the presence of mind to pay us heed, we probably looked like every other drunken couple, one supporting the other as we danced ourselves into oblivion. I tried to speak, to cry out, to wrench my arms away, but I could not move. I was completely under his control. And I was slipping away, giving in despite my best efforts to fight whatever foul concoction was tempting my body to sleep.

  My eyes began to close. The last thing I saw was him yanking off the glove and tossing it into the bonfire, where it was consumed by the flames.

  Then there was nothing but darkness.

  Waking was much slower than falling into t
he void. I was aware first of a rocking sensation and an occasional bump. Mind still addled, I mistook the rhythm for a cart or even a boat, but then I breathed in sour horse sweat. With a jolt, the events of the night came back to me. I struggled to open my eyes, heart pounding, breath heaving with the knowledge I was under Malegant’s control.

  My vision was hazy, marred by whatever drug Malegant had used on me and made worse by the steady rain. As we continued slowly, a blurred kaleidoscope of brown, green, and black marched with us. I tried to reach up and wipe away the rain clinging to my eyelashes, to clear my sight, but I found my hands were bound together and tied to the horse’s saddle.

  Then I felt it. Another heartbeat behind my own. The warmth of human contact. The familiar scent of wood smoke from the bonfires and just a slight remnant of the acerbic potion that beckoned me back to darkness even now. I fought back a wave of nausea as the realization of who was holding me upright dawned on me. Slowly, I raised my head, unable to make myself turn to look him in the face.

  A low chuckle deep within his chest, a sound I felt rather than heard, was the only verbal acknowledgement he gave to my being awake, though his grip on me tightened.

  There was almost no sound as we picked our way slowly down the slick, muddy track. We were still descending the steep path from the castle to the road below, so I couldn’t have been unconscious long. We weren’t so far away from the castle I couldn’t escape. I just had to figure out how.

  I breathed deeply, willing my mind to clear and fighting back a rising tide of panic. Being bound and still sluggish, escaping would not be easy, but I vowed he would not take me beyond Arthur’s reach. I took stock of my situation. It was raining, so the road was wet. If our horse faltered, I would topple along with him and only gain Malegant’s wrath for my efforts. He knew I was awake, so I had no element of surprise either. Nor did I have a weapon with which to wound. There was at least one horse ahead of us and one behind judging from the muddy squash made with every step of the animals’ hooves. I had no way of knowing how many men were making the journey on foot. Malegant was too smart to leave me loosely guarded. He had seen me fight and knew my capabilities.