Chapter 15 #2
“That would make the most sense, wouldn’t it? But no, somehow Sir Lancelot’s saintly heart is the unsatisfied party.” Kay rolled his eyes. “He intends to leave soon, perhaps break from Arthur. Our brother is trying to convince him to stay, of course.”
“Interesting,” I said, but Kay’s face defied further speculation. “So everyone is an admirer of this knight but you, Lord Seneschal?”
He assumed a pious look. “You know me, Lady Morgan—I am too busy to think of who duels best, who is the most virtuous, or sends the most defeated knights to kneel at the Queen’s feet.
I care that Arthur is pained by this falling-out with his great friend, but otherwise I don’t have time to hold a particular opinion on Sir Lancelot of the Lake. ”
His words landed on me like cold water. He was lying—there wasn’t a speck of life that Kay didn’t hold an opinion on—but that wasn’t what struck me.
“He is ‘of the Lake’? That’s how he styles himself?”
“Yes,” Kay replied. “Sir Lancelot du Lac, but it’s all the same.”
Somehow, I hadn’t spotted the translation, but now I felt as though an unseen hand had tapped me on the shoulder. “Where is he from?” I asked.
“Benoic. Raised around Brocéliande forest. By a lake, I suppose. Any more, and you’d have to ask our dear brother.”
It could not be coincidence. The orphaned child who had captured a water fairy’s elusive heart had also honoured her name by taking it as his own. He is of the Lake now.
Sir Lancelot du Lac, Guinevere’s champion, Arthur’s favourite and Camelot’s best knight, was Ninianne’s adopted son.
Kay frowned. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m just surprised that Arthur puts so much trust in one man, when his own brother commends him so little.”
He gave a heavy shrug. “So it has been all my life. Sir Lancelot represents perfection to Arthur, his vision for the kingdom in virtuous knightly form. Whereas I bring him only childhood memories of the scrawny, earnest boy he was, or the dull lists that come with the administration of kingship.”
In this, we would always find our bond—as the rare counterpoint to our brother’s insistent idealism.
“You do far more than that, Kay,” I said. “You bring Arthur unconditional loyalty, true brotherhood—the comfort of being seen as just a person. He cannot find that elsewhere.”
“Maybe,” he conceded. “Even if he complains my honesty is too brash. I know he loves me for it, in his way.”
I smiled. “A thankless task, being family to a king. As I well know.”
Kay hesitated, as if suddenly remembering this was not a typical day with us set about some courtly task, but a forbidden meeting under the shadow of treason.
“Why are you here, Morgan?” he said quietly.
I shrugged. “I wanted to see the chaos.”
He gave a slow, accepting nod. “And what will you do, now you’ve seen?”
Take what I have learned and seek vengeance. As I swore to Accolon I would.
I opened my mouth, seeking a more appropriate reply. “Well, I—”
“Kay, did you hear about… ” A tall, auburn-haired knight strode into the room with an authoritative air. At the sight of me, he stopped as if he had seen the dead rise. Dark-blue eyes assessed my person, a shrewd mirror of my sister Morgause.
“What in God’s name is this?” demanded Sir Gawain.
Kay and I leapt up at once, and I cursed under my breath. Of all the people in Camelot, it had to be someone who knew me.
“Well met, nephew,” I said. “No greeting for your own blood?”
Knightly courtesy forced a brisk bow. “Aunt Morgan,” he said. “This is a surprise.”
“For us both,” I countered. “How is your mother?”
“She is well, last I heard,” he said, but my diversion couldn’t hold him for long. He swung back to my companion. “I assume you have availed the King of this, Lord Seneschal, and not simply idled here gaining your own information.”
Not a soul would call Sir Kay into question in his own domain. “Information is my business,” he replied. “I know to a knight of action such as yourself that everything is a quest to be dashed after like quarry in the hunt, but running the realm cannot always be steeped in adventure. Sadly.”
By the end of his response, Kay’s voice was so dripping in sarcasm that Gawain’s neck had turned red as wine. The Seneschal’s talent for offending his peers was still unmatched, my nephew now distracted from everything but the insult to his manners.
I did not fear him regardless; Gawain had his own hot-headed righteousness, but my rank was a complicated prospect, and I was of his blood, which the Orkney clan took more seriously than most. Moreover, in our shared first year at Camelot, he had showed an interest in physic, and I had taught him some basic herbal remedies, quick diagnosis, how to stitch a wound.
As such, we had never crossed paths in quarrel.
Yet he wasn’t wrong: I was an Enemy to the Crown and Arthur should have heard of my presence immediately. Kay’s civility towards me was a courtly liability.
I stepped between the two knights. “The Seneschal was just about to take me to the High King. We were merely settling the terms of Safe Conduct, were we not?”
“Yes,” Kay said without hesitation. “Within my duty and authority, which some might say should not be questioned. In any case, the court has been ordered to keep itself to private chambers. Are you some great exception, Sir Knight?”
My nephew held up his hands. “I will take my leave of you,” he said. “Lord Seneschal, Aunt Morgan—I commend you both to God. You may need His grace.”
Shaking his head, Gawain stalked out. Kay turned to me and exhaled. “You had better leave, and swiftly. Draw down that disguise of whatever-it-was.”
“You can’t let me go,” I said. “Releasing me will make you look like a traitor, and I won’t let you take the fall for this. Can you secure me Safe Conduct?”
Kay rubbed a hand across his bruised jaw. “I think so. After all that’s happened, I can’t see Arthur wanting any more unrest.” He looked at me, demeanour suddenly soft, resembling Lady Clarisse. “But to face him now, after all this time… ”
I put a hand on his arm and forced a smile. “It’s all right. It’ll be…enlightening for me to see him.”
The word him hung between us, sounding larger than it should have, as if we were referring to a capricious god.
“We must go, before word travels,” I said. “Take me to Arthur.”