“In the bedchamber beside yours?”
He nodded.
I didn’t say anything to that, but I thought it was for the best. There was something about the situation the other night, between Galahad and her, that was still rubbing me the wrong way. Yes, on the surface, it appeared as if she’d attacked Galahad, but I couldn’t get the image of the tears streaming down her face out of my mind. There had to have been a reason for them.
The gravel crunched under our boots as we walked to the far side of the training yard to observe the others who were still in the middle of their drills. Two of the King’s Guard stood at the far gate, their gold and red catching the pale morning light.
“She can’t be trusted with any of my men,” Arthur continued. “Not after what happened between her and Galahad.”
“I admit, I feel as if there’s more to that story than meets the surface.”
Arthur stopped walking in order to turn and look at me. “She attacked him, Lance.”
“I know what the report says.”
“It’s not just what the report says.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I went to both of them to try to understand what happened in the events that led up to the situation we witnessed that night.”
“And?”
“And Galahad told me she attacked him. She didn’t deny it.”
“She attacked him unprovoked?”
“They were in the middle of prayers, and when he touched her in blessing, she apparently hadhadenough, as she called it.”
“That’s what she said? That she’d had enough?”
He nodded. “Those were her exact words.”
I didn’t push it. There was a version of events that had been written down, witnessed, and signed. I’d read the report, read about how Galahad had been kneeling in prayer, attempting to minister to the ‘dangerous prisoner,’ and the prisoner retaliated with a magical explosion that had brought half the wing to its knees. That was the version on paper, but paper had a way of leaving things out.
Arthur started walking again. “I’ve called for her to be brought to the yard this morning, as I wish to test Mordred’s newest binding on her.”
I looked at him. “It’s too soon, Arthur. After what happened the other night—”
“—she’s a prisoner, not a guest.” His voice was flat, with no room for argument. “We don’t consider her state.”
He said the words like he meant them, but there was something in his eyes that said he didn’t mean them. I’d known Arthur long enough to hear the difference between the king’s pronouncement and the man beneath the king, who was convincing himself of something he felt should be true. This was the second thing.
But I didn’t comment further on it. Instead, my attention was drawn to the far side of the training yard as she came through the gate between two guards. The first thing I did was take her in the way I always looked at soldiers coming off a bad stretch. It was a head-to-foot inventory.
I was pleased to note that she walked straight and her chin was up. Her hair was pulled back, and her color was reasonable. She didn’t appear to be exhausted or in any way harmed from the other night.
Galahad was the only one who was harmed,I reminded myself and then swallowed hard as my eyes naturally shifted to the east end of the training yard, where Galahad was sparring with Agravaine. The former appeared to be recovered from his ordeal from the other evening, even if the wounds on his face hadn’t fully resolved themselves.
I turned my attention back to her and noticed she moved without favoring anything obvious. As far as I could read her, she looked like herself. At the thought, something in my chest released that I hadn’t known I was holding.
Arthur paired her with Percival as he said something about needing to tend to something important at the moment. I watched him return to Mordred, who had appeared at the gate, and together they returned to the castle. I had to admit I was pleased with the pairing because I knew Percival didn’t mean her any ill will. As to why I was feeling so generous when it came to Guinevere, I didn’t know. All I did know was that something had changed within me after I’d witnessed the situation from theother night. And I didn’t know if that change was a good thing or a bad one.
I watched Percival give her that open, guileless smile of his, the one that made men underestimate him, and saw her shoulders drop a fraction with what I assumed was relief. She was as pleased to be paired with Percival as I was for her, most likely because we both knew Percival wouldn’t push her; indeed, he had a gift for knowing when not to push.
I went back to my own business: I had a new squire I was supposed to be correcting on his footwork, and the boy was going to lose a hand one day if he kept dropping his left guard. I focused on that, and then I focused on the sound of the yard, the ringing of steel, the rhythmic grunt of effort.
I didn’t watch her.
