The Camelot Betrayal
Page 33
Lancelot unsheathed her sword. “I am—”
“If you love me, you will stay on that side.” Guinevere took a step backward, her own words ringing in her ears. Had Merlin said almost the same thing to Lancelot, before being sealed in the cave by the Lady of the Lake? Would she never be free of Merlin’s influence?
She heard a horse in the distance, getting closer. She was paying the price of this magic, yes, but so was Lancelot. Guinevere’s heart felt as though it would break from the pain.
“Please do not ask this of me.” Lancelot dropped to her knees, her head hanging. “Please.”
“I love you, too. I am sorry,” Guinevere whispered, knowing the waterfall, the treacherous water all around them, would steal her words, so that Lancelot never heard them. She turned away and walked toward the sound of the horse. She was unsurprised to see Mordred. He was riding fast, but pulled up short when he noticed her. A look of genuine shock flitted across his face, followed by panic.
“What are you doing out here?” he demanded, dismounting and glancing over his shoulder.
Guinevere lifted her chin. “I am here to stop you.”
“Stop me from what?”
“From taking Camelot. I know that is the plan. You lured Arthur out so you could attack the city without fear of Excalibur. But it will not work. I have sealed it. You cannot get in. No one can.”
Mordred looked toward the secret passageway; then he closed his eyes and hung his head in the same devastated posture as Lancelot. “Oh, Guinevere. What have you done?”
“Exactly what I told you.”
“They are not coming for Camelot! They are coming for you!”
Another black moth alighted on Guinevere’s arm. “No, you—you tricked Arthur. You were going to use the secret passage.”
“I was going to use it to warn you. My mother sent me ahead so I could reach you first. I did not trick Arthur. Maleagant knew about Elaine and the baby, and he told his men, and his men are loyal to others now. They are the ones who sent the letter. They wanted Arthur gone so you were vulnerable. We have to—” Mordred froze, then looked over his shoulder once more. In the distance there was a fast-approaching cloud of dust that obscured whatever was there. The rock was so warm now Guinevere could feel it through her bag.
Mordred glanced desperately around, anguish on his face. “Can you go back through the passage?”
“No,” Guinevere whispered. It was not true. She could. But if she did, Camelot was at risk.
“We cannot outrun them.” He put his hands on Guinevere’s cheeks, his gaze hotter than the magic burning through the rock that connected Guinevere to Morgana. “I know I do not deserve it, but please. Please trust me. Do not lose faith in me, whatever happens.”
She did not have time to answer. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto his horse, then mounted behind her and rode toward the approaching dust cloud.
The Pictish king, Nechtan, a bulk of fur and menace, stopped, surrounded by at least two hundred men. The black fur mantle around his shoulders shifted in the light, and Guinevere realized it was covered in moths. One crawled up the side of his face, lingering at his ear.
The attacks from the Dark Queen were never meant to succeed. Only to keep them watching for magical threats while she manipulated human threats to the north. The Picts had not gone silent out of peace. They had gone silent to prepare for war. And Guinevere and Arthur had been exactly what the Dark Queen hoped: distracted.
“I did not know you would be here,” Nechtan said, looking at Mordred.
“I sent for him.” Morgana rode closer, barely glancing at Guinevere.
Mordred laughed, his tone light. No longer the Mordred who had fixed her shoulder, or given her a flower beneath the shelter of trees, or even begged her, desperately, to leave with him. This was the eel, the man everyone warned her about, who slipped and slid through the cold darkness to get what he wanted. “Hello, Mother. King Nechtan. I got her out of the city for you. A queen for a queen.”
King Nechtan glanced toward Camelot, narrowing his eyes.
“Not yet,” Morgana said, her voice curt.
“I can take it.”
“Look closer.” Mordred jerked his head toward the shimmering blue dome over the city.
The king grunted in agreement, but reluctance kept Nechtan’s face turned toward the city even as he swung his horse back around in the direction they had come from. North. He shouted, and every horse began to gallop. Guinevere looked over her shoulder, but she could not see Lancelot. She could not even see Camelot. Everything was swallowed in a cloud of dust as she was taken from the city and the king and her knight and the Guinevere she might have been.
She was surrounded by enemies, held by a man she did not know if she could trust, aimed at a land where they served a queen both dark and wondrous.
So be it, she thought. Let the Guinevere who might have been be left behind. They had no idea what she was capable of, but she was finally ready to find out.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m supported by my own veritable round table of champions.
From the Kingdom of Delacorte and Random House Children’s Books, aka the greatest kingdom and one I’m continually honored to be a part of, Wendy Loggia, Beverly Horowitz, Ali Romig, Kristopher Kam, Regina Flath, Alex Dos Diaz, Heather Hughes, Adrienne Waintraub, Kristin Schulz, and the entire Get Underlined team.
From the Kingdom of Tiny Business Warriors, my agent, Michelle Wolfson.
From the Kingdom of Far-Flung Friends I Couldn’t Survive Without, Stephanie Perkins and Natalie Whipple.
From the Kingdom of My House, Noah—handsomest champion; sorry, everyone else—and my three young pages, Elena, Jonah, and Ezra. Though Elena and Jonah would probably prefer to be categorized as witches, and Ezra would rather be a skeleton, so I guess that’s fine, too, since this is just an acknowledgments section most people won’t read. We can be flexible on the theme.
From the Kingdom of Big Families, Patrick and Cindy White, as well as Erin and Todd, Lindsey and Keegan, Lauren and Devin, and Matthew and Tyler. Also Kit and Jim Brazier, and Tim and Carrie, Seth and Shayne, Eliza, Christina and Josh, Emma and Brad, Beverly and Nick, Colton and Cassie, and Thomas. And while we’re at it, knights-in-training Joseph, Audrey, Will, Lucas, Asher, Ruby, Milo, Luca, Graham, Lilah, June, Lydia, Rachel, Abram, Georgie, Peter, Rocky, Boston, Chase, Charlie, Grant, Nigel, Sienna, Henri, Eli, Beverly, Eden, Miles, James, and whoever managed to be born between when I wrote this and when the book actually came out. I’ll never remember any of your birthdays, so please accept as a disappointing consolation prize your name in the acknowledgments section of a book only a couple of you are old enough to read yet. Best! Aunt! Ever!
Sir Jim gets his own second mention for making so much of my travel possible with his willingness to steer his silver Honda steed where it needs to be to get kids to and from school in my absence.
And hello, reader! Not only did you continue on Guinevere’s adventures with me, you also stuck around for the credits, which is wild and generous. So tell people I thanked you, personally, and drafted you for my round table. Write your name right here:
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KIERSTEN WHITE is the New York Times bestselling author of The Guinevere Deception, The Camelot Betrayal, The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein, the Slayer series, the And I Darken trilogy, and many more novels. She lives with her family near the ocean in San Diego, which, in spite of its perfection, spurs her to dream of faraway places and even further-away times.
KIERSTENWHITE.COM
@KIERSTENWHITE
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Kiersten White, The Camelot Betrayal