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In the darkness, something snapped.

“Leave us, lady! Leave us alone!”

Leave me be!
she heard her own voice echo.

“I cannot,” she answered back, and she felt shadows stirring and pressing close in the back of her mind. “Good PenHarrow, I beg you, come speak with me.”

Cloth rustled and feet shuffled, and the sound of many voices hissing and murmuring came out of the darkness. Lynet stood with her sputtering light before her and Gareth at her back, every nerve and muscle straining, trying not to see and wishing desperately she could. Panic and shadows pressed at her, digging claws into her vision to tear it apart, but this one time she held, though it meant she stood there all but blind.

Then, slowly, some of that shuffling drew nearer. A sallow, dirt-streaked face came around the corner. Seth PenHarrow had changed little in the past two years. Labor had stooped him a bit more, and his brown beard was a little thicker and a little longer. He came forward hesitating, but, she was perversely pleased to note, not limping. He did clutch a cudgel in his hand. Gareth sucked in a breath, but otherwise held still.

“Go away, lady,” PenHarrow said huskily. “Tell the queen…. Just … go away.”

He licked his lips, and his gaze strayed to Gareth, and Gareth's naked sword. Gareth did not move, nor did he lower the blade from its ready position. Lynet knew he could understand next to nothing of what was said, but he also knew enough to hold back until attacked.

“Who brought you down here, PenHarrow?”

PenHarrow's hands trembled hard enough to shake his cudgel. “The king, Lady Lynet. When he knew you were coming, he sent word down that any who welcomed you, any who spoke to you … they would be driven into the sea.”

“There are those in the fortress who would do this thing?”

PenHarrow hunched his shoulders. “I think he would do it himself, my lady,” he whispered. “His madness has gripped him wholly. We … we did not know what else to do.”

A shadowed flash broke her thoughts, and she saw Mark, huddled on his seat of stone, his great hands hanging between his knees, fear and fury warring in his eyes. Her stomach churned and for a moment she truly feared she would be sick.

“Where are the lords? Where are your chieftains?” She did not know what was worse, this vision of a king destroyed, or the fact that these people were left to fend for themselves by those who should have protected them.

“They've gone to the caves and the moors my lady, with all the rest who could make it that far.” For the first time, anger touched PenHarrow, and his hand ceased to tremble. “Those that could not get away … they are in the fortress, and all their women and children with them.”

Cold flooded Lynet. “What does King Mark say he will do to them?”

“What he would do to us, lady, if any came out to welcome the queen.”

“I understand.” She did and in her heart she howled out against the horror and the wrong of it all. She touched PenHarrow's hand. “Thank you, PenHarrow. Take care of your people now.”

Suddenly, he caught her hand, holding it hard. Gareth sucked in a breath, but Lynet waved him back.

“Help us, lady,” whispered PenHarrow hoarsely. “Tell the queen. Help us.”

Softly, she laid her hand over his. “We will. You must wait and trust, but tell them all, we will help you.”

His lips moved. She thought he said “bless you,” but his throat would make no sound. Instead, he raised her hand, touching it to his brow, and she accepted the gesture, trying her hardest to impart the blessing she had no right to give. PenHarrow straightened, his eyes full of mute thanks, and he walked back into the darkness, vanishing as surely as Ryol in his garden of shadow.

“Let us go,” said Lynet as she turned to Gareth. “The queen needs to know how it is here.”

“Let me say one thing first, Lynet.”

She looked up at him. He was close to her. She could feel his warmth against her skin, feel his breath on his face. He smelled sweet and musky at the same time. “I don't know when I will see you alone again,” he murmured. “It feels … I don't know, but I'm afraid what will happen to you in this place. I looked at you there and you were so far away …”

“Don't Gareth.” She stopped him. What reassurance could she give when she did not know herself? How could she say anything of the shadows that could carry her away at a moment's notice. Then, she remembered how those same shadows faded away when he looked at her. “I promise you, somehow I will find my way back to you,” she murmured. “I don't know how far I will have to go, or what will happen, but let you be my anchor. You will bring me back.”

His hand curled around hers, and it was warm and strong and the touch was as sweet as the scent of him. For that moment all the pain she felt vanished. How so much could come from the handful of moments they had shared and the few touches they had exchanged, she did not know, but it was true and it was real. While he held her hand there was only warmth and heart's deep ease. “Your anchor, then,” he said. “Until I can be your heart's home.”

With those words, something changed inside her. If Lynet had ever dared to think at all about a moment of true redemption, she had thought she would weep when it came. She had poured out so many tears over the nature of her life and her transgressions, it was natural to believe that in this final moment, more would fall. But there were no more tears, no last extreme of feeling to transport her. There was only a quiet wonder filling her to the brim, overflowing the dams of her soul and causing all she had clenched so tightly to flow freely away. Gareth lifted her hand and laid it against his breast. A simple, wondrous movement. Lynet found she was all air and light. Light enough to fly, free enough to move, to reach forward, to touch her lips to Gareth's in a gentle kiss that passed to her the life and longing that belonged wholly to another being, and knowing that he felt all of hers.

The moment could not have lasted more than a handful of heartbeats, but it was enough to change the world, and it was with her heart full of song and strength that Lynet mounted the steps and climbed the ladder into the sunlight with Gareth, her anchor, her shelter, her promise, close behind.

One glance at Lancelot's stern and impatient visage was enough to bring her wholly back to the other grim reality waiting before them both.

Lancelot looked Gareth up and down. Lynet could not tell whether he was pleased or disappointed to find his squire unhurt. “How many down there?” he barked. “What are their arms?”

“I could not make a direct count, my lord,” Gareth answered promptly. “But from the size of the cellar and the sounds that I heard, I would say there were perhaps two dozen men and boys, with as many again women and girls. There are children and infants as well. They are husbandmen and serfs with only such things as they were able to carry from their homes to arm themselves.”

It was all Lynet could do not to gape. She could not have been more surprised if Gareth had revealed he could see in the dark. Yet he spoke with absolute confidence, and Sir Lancelot nodded judiciously, accepting Gareth's assessment, and that acceptance caused Gareth to shine with pride.

“I do not think they are minded to attack us, my lord,” he continued. “They are more interested in hiding from their king.”

Lancelot scratched his chin, eyeing the hole, the ladder and the stone. “That's as may be, but we will put a guard on this place anyway. Perhaps our Lady Lynet will be so good as to tell us if this rabbit warren has any other runs.” He glanced over his shoulder. “But I think our queen would command your attention first.” He smiled fondly as he spoke and Lynet felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck in sudden warning. Her brittle mind began to break open yet again, and she forced herself into motion before the blurring of her vision could coalesce into some unnatural sight.

With Sir Lancelot beside them, Gareth and Lynet returned to the litter where the queen waited. Queen Guinevere listened gravely to what they had to say, ripples of anger passing repeatedly across her visage, although she made no move to interrupt Lynet's recitation.

When Lynet was finished, the queen glowered across the headland to the fortress island. “Is there nothing left of you, Mark?” she murmured in the Dumonii tongue. “Where did the man I knew go?”

“What now, Majesty?” asked Sir Lancelot.

“We go on,” said Queen Guinevere calmly.

Sir Lancelot scowled at the distant island. “We will not gain entrance to that fortress with what we have here.” It clearly pained the knight to admit this, but it was a plain fact.

“You will not,” replied the queen. “But I will. Move on!” she cried out to the procession waiting behind her.

And so, they had no choice but to mount their horses once more and obey.

The fortress island was not a true island, for a narrow spit of land connected it to the shore. But this land bridge rendered the place only slightly more accessible. The pass was a narrow track that sloped sharply down to the sea between two towering cliffs. In better times those cliffs would be well patrolled, as they provided excellent views of both land and sea for miles. Lancelot set the men to watch all around the procession as it descended the steep, narrow way. The watchmen looked up and about nervously, but they saw nothing but sky, sea and birds. Neither did the runners Lancelot sent out before and behind. There was no reassurance in this. It only made the unnatural silence press more closely about their ears, until the rushing of the sea began to fill it in. The sea where King Mark said he would drown his people. The sea that had birthed her mother, and the fae cousins who would murder her if she gave them the chance.

Only the queen betrayed no hint of worry, but rode in her chair with her head erect and her hands still.

Once they reached the shore, they must climb again up a the steep, twisting rocky way that lead out to the island. They could see the fortress rising above them as grey and craggy as the cliffs that held it up.

Tintagel's fortress was in no way a welcoming place. It was a place of first defence from the sea and last defence from land. Lynet had never lived there. No one who had a choice would. King Mark and Queen Iseult's high house stood within the
castell
, just as Cambryn's was. That Mark had retreated to this place was one more sign how badly things had gone.

The narrow strip of stoney beach opened before them. The bright blue waters rolled back and forth, washing the sands. Lynet looked at the foam-laced waves and heard them mutter, telling the
morverch
she was come, calling them to lift up their heads and reach out for their revenge. Then she saw something else. She saw a man's body stretched out on the stones, blood staining his golden hair black.

Tristan!
she heard a woman cry, and knew no one else heard that broken voice.

Lynet made herself look up as those around her did, straining to see the palisades and parapets of the fortress above, and for the first time, they saw the forms of men looking back down at them. One, two, three, four, silhouettes black against the grey sky. They did not move up there. They just looked down, counting those who counted them.

“Well, Majesty?” said Lancelot resting his fist against his hip. “What shall we do?”

But Queen Guinevere regarded the heights mildly for only a moment before speaking. “You will take the men back up the cliffs a safe distance,” she said. “Set what watch you think good.” The queen held out her hands for her ladies to help her down from her chair. “The lady Lynet and I will go to greet King Mark.”

“What!” The word rose in a staggered chorus from a dozen throats. More than one voice cried out wordlessly and men and ladies both crossed themselves. Lynet felt her face turn white but found she could make no sound. Gareth had already taken a step closer to her, and she saw on his face the last thing she expected — anger, pure and plain.

“Your Majesty, I cannot permit this,” cried Sir Lancelot over the din. “Even if it were not madness, the king will have my head when he hears.”

“I will make it plain to him that you were carrying out my commands,” replied Guinevere. She had already ascended beyond all their objections. Lynet had seen Laurel like this often enough to know that not one of the verbal bolts shot now would reach her. She was already gone. And she would take Lynet with her.

“Majesty …” Sir Lancelot began again.

“Peace, my Lord Lancelot,” Queen Guinevere held up her hand. “Listen to me.” She lifted her voice, and Lynet saw shadows flit dark around her veil, but not one of them resolved. She meant this to be something the whole crowd of them heard, and to use the strength of her own words to chase back those formless fears and ghosts of memory. “Mark has lost much of his reason, but his men who are there with him have not. If they see two women approach them, alone and on foot, they will hesitate long before attacking, perhaps even before telling him what they see. If they see a force of fighting men, they may believe whatever tales of invasion and betrayal have been flooding this countryside.”

“And if he takes you hostage rather than simply killing you?” inquired the knight. It seemed to Lynet that Sir Lancelot was attempting to shock the queen. If so, he was disappointed, for she remained impassive.

“Should that come to pass, my lord, you will have the satisfaction of not only being right when your queen was wrong, but you will have the chance to make such a daring rescue that the bards will sing about it for a thousand years.” Queen Guinevere gave him a small smile. “And I would suggest in advance of this that you send at least some of our men, and all my ladies to the high house. It looks sore neglected and in need of a woman's firm hand.”

The knight and the queen stared at each other for a long time. Then, Sir Lancelot shrugged, as if it made no difference at all to him and strode into the disorder that had been the royal procession.