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“What is it, Peran?” she asked. “Why do you follow me?”

“I did not think …” he gasped. “I did not think you would quit Cambryn so soon. I … we did not speak before this …”

“And why should we speak?”

Peran's face fell and his hands went slack on the reins. In response, his pony shifted back a few steps, snorting its annoyance. Peran did not even seem to notice. He only felt Morgaine's indifference as she sat before him, plainly wishing to continue her own journey. Behind her, her ladies smiled in thin-lipped contempt.

“Because Mesek is searching for the power hidden in Cambryn. He intends to use it to overthrow Kenan's daughters, and deny you the fortress.”

A tiny smile formed on Morgaine's face, growing and spreading before she let out a great laugh, startling her own horse so that it danced forward and then back a few steps. “Mesek thinks the power of Cambryn is something you can steal? Oh, he is ten times the fool I thought he was!”

“He thinks I am aiding him, my lady,” croaked Peran.

Morgaine's smile vanished at once. She looked afresh at the Treanhal's chieftain, as if contemplating a stranger before her. “And are you?”

“I have done all you asked, my lady,” he said, his voice hitching and rasping in his ravaged throat. “Mesek roams Cambryn at will, the Pendragon is returning here, and my lady will not speak to me. What am I to do?”

Morgaine urged her horse closer to his, so they sat side-by-side, each facing the other. Morgaine laid her strong, brown hand over Peran's burned and scarred one.

“You have been required to bear much, Peran,” she said softly. “I know that. Perhaps it has been too much for you. I am sorry.”

His eyes were wide and a little wild. He was on the edge of panic. Even though he was only a shadow before her, Lynet could feel it swirling through the air. “Just tell me all is right, lady. I will believe you. All I ask is that you give me a little hope.”

“All is right, Peran,” she told him firmly, giving his hand a small shake. “You have put us in jeopardy by riding here so boldly, but it will not matter. You can do nothing more but wait. Aid Mesek or hinder him, it matters not.” Her smile grew knowing. “All goes as it should and all that is wrong will be made right very soon. Here.” She took up his hand between both of hers, pulling it close. “I cannot heal you fully, but let me give you ease.”

She raised his hand higher, bowing her head over the mottled flesh as if she meant to kiss it. But instead, she blew out a long breath. Lynet felt it like the lightest of spring zephyrs. The touch of it brought longing, and a warmth both soothing and dangerous. Peran hissed in surprise, and a moment later closed his eyes, all other emotion dissolving into bliss. Morgaine took his face in both her hands and kissed him full on the mouth. He answered that kiss ardently, wrapping his arms about her shoulders, pulling her close as a man might his lover. Morgaine permitted this, and their kiss deepened. The heat of it tumbled over and through Lynet. She became acutely aware of Ryol beside her. She must run away, do anything but stand here and witness this strange and powerful kiss.

But just as she was sure she could bear it no more, Morgaine released Peran, smiling at the expression on his face that was half-delight, half-disbelief. He touched his throat, and then grasped her hand, pressing it to his brow. In return, she touched his head in fond blessing.

“Be patient, my friend,” she said, still smiling. “You have done all I could ask for.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he murmured. This time there was no jagged edge to his voice. His words were still rough, but they did not strain, and his breath no longer rattled in his chest.

With a nod to her retainers, Morgaine touched up her horse and the procession trotted away down the high road with Morgaine's blue raven banner fluttering in the light breeze.

Ryol's hand lay heavy on Lynet's shoulder, and she felt him warm beside her. For a moment she savored this. She could do nothing else, her mind was so overwhelmed by the love and the desire that filled all the world as Peran watched his lady ride away. But slowly, all the heat, cooled and she remembered blood, and she remembered the face of madness in front of her and she jerked herself away.

“When was this?”

“Yesterday.” Hurt shone in Ryol's newly aged eyes, but Lynet could find no word of comfort.

“We must …” she began.

He did not let her finish. “You must go, my lady,” said Ryol, holding himself very still.

“What?” she frowned. “No! We must go to Laurel and warn her …”

He held up his hand, gazing about him, seeing what she could not. “My lady, trust me in this. We have no time. There is danger without and you must go.”

Lynet hesitated, but only for a moment. She must either trust him or not. She stepped back yet further.

“Do not let her take me from you, my lady,” said Ryol urgently, still staring at the empty air. “Do not let anyone. I cannot reach you if they take the mirror. It would be too much for both of us.” With that, Ryol swept all the shadows away with a gesture. He was gone in a heartbeat, and Lynet was alone in the leaden darkness.

She awoke with a start. She was sprawled on her pallet, the covers in complete disarray, her right hand clutching the mirror tightly. Light flickered across her and leaning close enough to rest a hand her shoulder was Queen Guinevere.

“You cried out,” said the queen. “Are you well?” She laid a cool hand on Lynet's brow, checking for fever.

“Yes, Majesty.” Hastily Lynet scrambled to sit up properly, and thrust the mirror beneath the bed covers. “It was a nightmare.”

But she was not quick enough. The queen caught a glimpse of what she hid, perhaps a sparkle of light on the glass. “What is that?”

“Oh.” Lynet brought it out again, cradling it in her palm, trying to hide it without hiding it. “It is a mirror.”

Even in the faint and guttering light of the brazier, Lynet could see how thoughtful the queen's face became.

“May I see it?” Queen Guinevere asked, her voice as smoothly casual as Lynet had tried to make hers.

Lynet desperately cast about for some reason to refuse, but none came and she had to lay the precious artifact into the queen's stained palm.

Queen Guinevere lifted the mirror to the light to examine it better. Lynet clenched her jaw to keep from crying aloud for Her Majesty to take care. The queen ran her long fingers around the frame, and closely examined the way the firelight flickered in the flawless glass. Every heartbeat that passed, it became that much harder for Lynet not to snatch the mirror back again.

“I have never seen one so beautiful,” Queen Guinevere said as she handed the mirror back to Lynet. “It must be very precious.”

Lynet's fingers folded gently but possessively around the mirror, as if they folded around her own heart. “It was a gift from my mother, Majesty. Nothing could be more precious.”
Let it be, majesty. It can mean nothing to you.

But the queen showed no sign of granting that silent wish. She did not seem to mind her undignified position there on her knees before her liege woman disarrayed in her bed. “I have never seen a glass so flat and smooth,” she remarked, sitting back on her heels. “Nor so light. One wonders at the artisan who could make such a thing.”

Lynet managed a thoughtful nod. “All craft secrets look to be miracles, I suppose.” A thought struck her, a way to divert the inquiry. “They say the Round Table was joined together by enchantment.”

Queen Guinevere laughed a little at this. “No, merely consummate skill, but you speak the truth. Still,” she went on musingly. “That mirror is a lovely thing. If I knew the craftsman, I would surely bespeak him to make me another.”

She looked at Lynet, her grey eyes mild, but full of meaning. The queen was asking for the mirror, and Lynet should give it over to her. That was the way of such things.

But was it for its beauty itself the queen wanted the mirror, or did she guess something more?
Do not let her take me from you.
Ryol's words rang in her ears. He had known this would come. He had warned her.

“I must beg Your Majesty's forgiveness,” said Lynet carefully. “This was a gift from my mother, but it was not given to me. It was given to my sister. She lent it to me to carry as the dearest token of our home, but on the absolute promise that I bring it back to her. We have so little left of our mother …” She let the words trail off and made herself meet the queen's soft grey gaze.

“I understand,” Queen Guinevere said with a smile that said she knew what it was to be so attached to such a trifle. That smile, though, did not reach those watchful eyes. “What was your dream?”

“My dream?” she repeated, not understanding.

“You said it was a nightmare that made you cry out.” The queen reminded her patiently. She got to her feet and set the brazier back on its tripod. At the foot of her bed, Lady Mavis stirred uneasily but did not wake. “What was your dream?”

The feeling of being trapped overtook Lynet. She swiftly chose a story that was close to the truth. “I dreamed I was in Cambryn again. My sister was in danger. I wanted to warn her but I could not …”

“What was this danger?” The queen sat on the edge of her bed.

“I could not be sure,” murmured Lynet, hoping that the catch in her throat would be taken for distress.

“I see.” Queen Guinevere sighed. “Well, we could ask for a better omen. Still, we move as swiftly as we can and we can do no more.” She picked up the brazier's brass cover from off the tripod's hook. “Go back to sleep, Lynet. “You will soon be home.”

Under the queen's watchful gaze, Lynet returned the mirror to its purse, and laid herself back down on her pallet.

Lynet drew up her coverings. Only then did the queen cover the brazier, blotting out the light.
God Almighty. Could she know?

This much was certain, Ryol had spoken the truth yet again. Queen Guinevere would take the mirror. She did not believe the story of the dream. She knew something was wrong. Lynet could not risk discovery with it again, but she could not stop keeping her watch over Cambryn. She would have to take greater care. She would have to find another way.

Lynet lay awake a long time waiting for the queen's breathing to slow and soften. Only then could she close her eyes. As she did, she felt a fleeting presence, something swift yet undeniable, like the touch of a shadow's hand on her shoulder.

Ryol?
she thought, but her exhaustion overcame her, and both sensation and thought flitted away.

“Now!” shouted Gareth, hauling on the oxen's halter.

The ungainly creature snorted wetly and lumbered forward as the men behind its cart put their backs to it yet again. The reins creaked and the mud squelched, and with a low sucking sound, the cartwheel rolled free of the mud hole, and up onto the track again. The ox swung its heavy head as far as the yoke would permit it, annoyed to find its burden mobile. While Gareth held the beast, the carter crawled beneath the conveyance and came out again, all smiles.

“She's sound!” he called up to Gareth, and Gareth nodded in return, giving up a silent prayer of thanks. The last thing they needed was the delay of a broken wheel or axle.

“Pass the word to drive around that swamp!” he called as he mounted his horse again. “And catch up as quick as you can. We're almost to Lan Nanse, and we need to make it before dark!”

The man touched his brow in salute and set about yelling at the remaining carters. Seeing the matter in hand, Gareth urged his horse into a trot, riding the edge of the road, skirting between the unbroken fence of trees and the edge of the procession.

The springtime woods that surrounded them now would have been a thoroughly pleasant ride under other circumstances. The haze of green overhead let the sparse sunlight filter through to light up the snowdrops and fern that poked up everywhere. The first of the herbs had begun to unfurl, softening the countryside and lending their sharp scents to the air that was otherwise overburdened with the pungent smells of working men and beasts. Birdsong was everywhere, and occasionally the rustle and crash of some larger creature. Deer tracks had been seen, and boar, and bear. Sir Lancelot had talked of a hunting party, but the queen would not hear of the delay. If they did not immediately need the meat to feed their people, they were to continue on.

But Gareth did not have much time to admire the wild countryside. His task, along with the other squires, was to ride up and down the length of the procession, being the knights' eyes, and voices where needed, making sure as much as possible that their caravan stayed together, and moved at a decent pace. He shouted at stragglers, made peace between quarrelling cousins, and helped pull carts from mud holes, reported to his knight, and then turned around to do it all again.

And this was a good day, when they had a road under them. Not a Roman road to be sure, but it was better than the deer rambles they'd been following as they plunged into the great woodland. It would not last much longer. The roads ended at Lan Nanse. After this, they would be crossing the northern edge of Bodmin moor that lay outside of Cambryn. They would be wishing for those deer runs then, anything to find their way between the bogs and the mists. Gareth shook himself to get rid of the shudder that threatened to creep up on him. Gawain had relished in telling him some of the stories Tristan brought with him of the ghosts and demons that haunted that open wasteland. As a Christian man, Gareth did not believe such tales, but the boy was still close enough that he was quietly glad not to have to prove himself in that way. Not yet.

He had almost reached the head of the procession. He could see the backs of the Queen and her women on their horses, their cloaks flowing and fluttering in the damp spring breeze; Dark, prim Mavis, fair and flighty Braith, who the queen really should see married off before her wandering eyes caught the wrong man, and Fiona, with her brown hair and fair skin, and her smiles full of promises that somehow never quite got fulfilled. Before his disgrace, he'd been more than willing to be patient, certain he'd win through in the end, and with Rosy and the others to take the edge off, why not be willing to wait? But since then, he'd only had the barest of glances, and when he'd tried to touch her secretly yesterday as they had touched so many times before, she'd only pulled away. Strangely, he'd found himself comparing her, unfavorably, to Lady Lynet.