"Then you're telling me—" His voice carried the careful control of a man who wanted to shout but couldn't afford to lose his composure—"that our most crucial symbol—our beacon of hope—knows absolutely nothing of his supposed destiny?"
The words hung in the air between us, each syllable heavy with the implications of what my careful maneuvering might have cost us.
I gave them both a broad smile. "And nor does Arthur."
Melisande's fingers had gone still around her goblet, no longer tracing restless patterns along its rim. Carlisle's jaw worked silently, grinding through the implications of my words like a millstone processing grain.
They simmered in that weighted silence for a few long seconds.
"Clearly, you must see the benefit? The rebellion remains intact, our most precious symbol untainted by knowledge that could destroy him under interrogation."
Carlisle eventually nodded, the motion slow and grudging, like a man admitting defeat. "I suppose there is safety in ignorance. If the Thorn knows nothing, then Arthur gains nothing."
"Exactly as I said." I gave them both another smile, which was met with frowns.
"Perhaps we should move to the more important question?" Melisande asked.
"Which is?" Carlisle replied.
"What do we do about the Thorn's imprisonment?"
I nodded. "I do not believe he will be held long. And whether he even gets a fair trial is anyone's guess."
"Why do you say that?" Melisande asked.
"Imagine the embarrassment this is to Arthur—a female pretending to be a knight and succeeding in his trials? He will want to forget it as quickly as possible."
Carlisle nodded. "That is true."
Never mind the king's absolute obsession with Guinevere—an obsession that ran deeper and darker than either of my companions could possibly imagine. I had made it my business to interlope into Arthur's affairs as extensively as possible, slipping through shadows while wearing the guise of my owl form. Strangely, I'd been unable to reach Arthur's sleeping mind, but that mattered not. For I'd accumulated enoughinformation as it was. The ability to shift between realms had served me well in gathering intelligence, allowing me access to conversations and moments that would have been impossible for any human spy to witness.
And during those countless hours of observation, I had seen more than enough to know that the king was utterly smitten with his knight in disguise. Truly, he was a man teetering on the edge of complete infatuation. I'd learned as much during my extensive time spent perched in rafters and hidden alcoves throughout Camelot's sprawling corridors.
The irony wasn't lost on me—Arthur searching frantically for the very woman who stood beside him daily, her true identity hidden behind carefully crafted illusions and the simple assumption that no woman could wield a sword or magic so successfully.
"What do you suggest we do?" Melisande asked me.
"We do not wait any longer, and we do whatever it takes to remove the Thorn from the dungeons."
"You're asking us to move against the crown when the Thorn doesn't even know he's our hope?" Melisande's tone carried an edge sharp enough to cut.
"I believe he will look highly upon our cause."
"But you don't know," Carlisle pointed out.
"I know enough to make an informed opinion."
"And why should we trust your opinion?" Melisande asked.
"Because I've spent years building trust with you." I met her gaze without flinching. "Years feeding you intelligence that's kept our people alive. Years risking my own neck so yours would stay attached to your shoulders."
"What aren't you telling us?" Carlisle's question came out quiet, dangerous.
"Only that the charges against the Thorn are serious enough that execution is likely." Not a lie, precisely. Arthur's fury at thelake had been volcanic. "And that every hour we delay is an hour closer to losing our champion."
Carlisle and Melisande exchanged glances, some unspoken communication passing between them.
"How many men can you mobilize?" I pressed. "How quickly?"
