The three girls stood in the still, musky forest, each looking around at each other. Vivienne seized up the other girls, one with pale blonde hair, the other with dark brown hair and incredibly blue eyes. The soldiers accompanying both Vivienne and the blonde girl seemed to know each other, and they greeted each other warmly.
"How is Lord Inthorn?" Vivienne's escort said.
"Bitter at losing his youngest, however proud he is of her," the other soldier said.
"Your servants are not losing their daughters," said a warm, firm voice.
A beautiful woman who seemed both impossibly old and incredibly youthful, stepped out from the trees and lowered her hood. Both soldiers bowed to her.
"My name is Zanna, children," she said, addressing the three girls. "Your training has been highly successful, but now it must continue where the High Priestesses may oversee it directly." She looked at the soldiers and said, "You may report that the girls are safe."
They bowed once more and mounted their horses, riding off into the forest. When all was still again, Vivienne dared to speak.
"How long is the journey?"
"Distance is no barrier," Zanna said. "Your challenges, Lady Vivienne, will be of quite a different measure. You must be willing to shed your old life and its expectations and devote yourself wholly to the Triple Goddess."
"I am willing," Vivienne said, jutting out her chin.
Zanna didn't precisely smile, but her lips did quirk.
"For now," she said. "For now."
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The chill of the morning was something Zosia could ignore, but the stillness inside Carneath could not be ignored. She stared at the sunrise, watching the streaks of pink and blue dance across the sky. If it lasted forever, she wouldn't mind.
She startled when she heard footsteps approaching, but she relaxed when her father raised his hand to calm her.
"I thought I might find you here," he said, sitting beside her. "It's a lovely morning. A bit dry, actually."
"It was damper before the light," she whispered.
He hummed and said, "I know I've not been the best of company since Marzena's departure. Even knowing that she would leave, it did not make it any easier. Please don't think that I love you or admire you any less for mourning her absence, Zosia."
"It's not that I'm upset, or that you shouldn't be upset," Krysia said, "I just feel like it's empty without her here."
"It certainly is," her father said, "but the good news is that when she becomes a High Priestess, it will be her prerogative to visit you whenever she sees fit. And you could have no more powerful ally, no matter whom you marry. Especially if you continue to insist on not marrying any potential kings."
Zosia sniffed and leaned into her father, admiring the small pink streak seemingly widen in the sky.
"Bayard made another plea, didn't he?" she said.
"You like Bayard."
"I don't want to be the queen of Mercia."
"I reminded him."
"It's not a question of not liking Bayard," she said, looking up at her father. "I promise I do. But just because I like someone doesn't mean I can marry them."
"I know, darling," he said. He kissed her hair. "I just don't know, if you're not willing to marry a friend such as Prince Bayard, whom you would be willing to marry."
"I'll know when I meet them," she said.
She thought uncomfortably of the kiss Uther had given her on this same battlement before he and his brother's left. It had been comfortable to kiss him, pleasant, even. She dare not say anything out loud, especially so soon after turning down his brother's proposal, but she thought perhaps she wouldn't mind marrying him someday, if time was kind and he didn't change too much.
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The sun was a fire kissing the island as the girls approached in the boat. Vivienne could see the wonder on her companion's faces, but she saw it as an opportunity. Not that she did not appreciate the beauty of the place, but she was more interested in what she would learn here.
"You have travelled far, each of you," Zanna said when they set foot on the Isle of the Blessed. "We have a room prepared for you, although it may not be as comfortable as you are used to."
"I am sure we will be quite comfortable," the blonde girl said softly. Zanna made that same almost-smile at her, then crooked her finger to beckon them to follow her.
The room was not terribly small, but certainly smaller than Vivienne's quarters had been at home. The three girls each took their cots and looked at each other rather than closing their eyes.
"Your name was Vivienne," the brunette said. "I'm Nimueh."
"Marzena," the blonde whispered.
"Lord Inthorn's daughter," Vivienne said. "You have a sister, do you not?"
"Yes," Marzena said. "Zosia. I've never been away from her before."
"Nor I from my sisters," Vivienne said, looking at the walls. Nimueh asked what her sisters were named. "Corliss and Rohesia. Our little brother is Eduart, and certainly someday he will be a great knight."
Vivienne and Marzena turned to Nimueh, who had said nothing of her family thus far.
"I have no siblings," Nimueh said. "I have no one."
The three of them sat in silence after that for some time. Vivienne couldn't imagine coming from no one, even though she was willing to step away from her family for this opportunity.
"Whatever happens," Marzena said softly, "we'll have each other."
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Uther spun the coin under his fingers, not listening to Wystan Read, his tutor. While he was meant to be learning geography, as soon as Andor was mentioned, Uther's head had been caught up in Carneath, in sunrises, in Zosia's sweet breath and soft lips. If kissing always felt that good, he wondered why he didn't see married and courting couples kiss more often.
A heavy book hit a table near him, and Uther startled, dropping the coin he'd been playing with. He looked up at Wystan's weary gray eyes and realized he must have been asked a direct question while he was daydreaming.
"Denaria?" Uther said weakly. Ambrose sniggered.
"You seem to have left your head in Carneath, Prince Uther," Wystan said. "Would you like to become hopelessly, utterly lost on patrols?"
"No, Wystan," Uther said.
"Then you'll tell me what was more important than geography."
He couldn't very well say kissing, and he doubted even naming Lady Zosia would be sufficient. He had to think of something quickly, because Ambrose was looking far too pleased with himself.
"I was thinking about treaties," Uther said. "I wondered how we'll hold the treaty with Andor together without a marriage for Constans."
Wystan's face softened, which Uther didn't think he'd ever seen before. The man nodded slowly and said, "Andor is a particularly important territory to annex, should Lord Inthorn be willing. Do you know why?"
Uther and Ambrose shared a look.
"It's…on the border with Mercia," Uther said softly.
"And it's near Escetir and Elmet," Ambrose said. "Lord Inthorn has the most centrally-located holdings in the Five Kingdoms."
"Indeed," Wystan said. "In fact, Carneath is a holding of extreme importance. Prince Ambrose, do you remember why?"
Ambrose looked momentarily terrified, as if he had no idea what the answer might be, but when he remembered, he relaxed slightly and said, "It was the castle where the ancient kings met to make peace."
Wystan hummed, nodded, and walked in a circle around them.
"Treaties can be made in a number of ways," Wystan said, "but you are right to think that marriage is the best way, Prince Uther. Nothing ties people together in quite the same way as blood. Whomever the Lady Zosia does consent to marry will be a very powerful man, whether it be another king or a lord. It would be perhaps safer for her to marry someone like Bayard or Hengist, to tie her lands to something nearby. But should she marry King Caerleon's son, perhaps, or Rodor, it could lead to war. Do you know why?"
Uther wasn't precisely sure. They didn't have a warm relationship with Nemeth, nor with Gwynedd, but war seemed extreme.
"Because," he whispered, "they're…further?"
Wystan unrolled a map between the two brothers, who looked at it. He poked his finger at Carneath, at Andor, and Uther tried to focus on the conversation, not on how much he wanted to see Zosia again.
"Where is Nemeth?" Wystan said.
Ambrose pointed it out, south of Camelot.
"Good, and Gwynedd?"
The two brothers looked at each other for a moment before the returned their attention to the map. Uther knew it was somewhere west, but—
Too late, Ambrose put a finger on it.
"Very good. What lies between these places and Andor?"
Uther realized at once why war would be seen as inevitable.
"Camelot," he said. "And what king would want land broken up by another kingdom? They'd want to have the whole lot in between."
"Precisely," Wystan said. "If she does marry someone, the hope is that it will be someone east or north, and not someone who might prompt war."
Uther bit his tongue to keep from saying what he was thinking: he didn't want her marrying anyone if it meant he couldn't kiss her again. If he were to say such a thing, Ambrose would tease him for the rest of his life, and surely Wystan would tell his father.
Better to keep his daydreams in his head, at least until he could think of a good excuse to visit Carneath again.
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Vivienne woke from yet another nightmare, barely able to breathe, and she was surprised to see a semi-familiar face above her, Marzena.
"It's alright," Marzena whispered. "Shh, no, breathe slowly. You're alright."
Vivienne gripped at Marzena's hand, which was difficult as her own was slick with sweat. They had been on the Isle of the blessed for less than a fortnight, but already Vivienne had come to see these other girls as family. She understood why the other Priestesses called each other sister. It wasn't the same to wake to Marzena instead of Corliss, but perhaps she would grow used to it.
"I'm sorry," Vivienne whispered. "I have these nightmares sometimes. I thought they would stop when I got here, but they apparently haven't."
"Would you like to tell me about it?" Marzena said.
Vivienne considered this, and she sat up, letting Marzena sit on the cot beside her. She tried to gather in her mind the order of events, which was not exactly linear.
"There was a great fire," she said, "and a battle. Blood running so thick like a river. A boy was crying, someone I haven't met before, and begging to stay, but an older boy was sending him away. I could smell the blood everywhere. It was hot and sticky and sweet and that little bit metallic—"
"That sounds terrifying," Marzena whispered. "Is it always that grim?"
"Not always," Vivienne said. "One time I dreamed of Rohesia falling from her horse for three days straight before it happened. My parents started to listen to me after that."
Marzena hummed and swung her legs, causing her slippers to scrape the stone floor beneath them over and over. Finally, she said, "Maybe we should tell the priestesses."
Vivienne considered this. She had never been able to ask someone to take the nightmares away, because no one around her knew enough to know if such a thing were possible. But the High Priestesses should have the knowledge, if the knowledge existed at all. Aldora, the one who seemed the youngest and warmest of the priestesses, would be a decent starting point. However…
"If I hadn't had the nightmares, my sister would have died," Vivienne said. "It's likely that I have such dreams for a reason. Don't you think?"
Marzena hummed again, and Vivienne relaxed. She had a sense of Marzena already that she was someone who could be molded, which was Vivienne's favorite kind of person. While it would be risky to use magic on fellow priestesses, the influence just being a High Priestess would give her would be immeasurable. She could build her own future instead of watching it playing out at night. All she needed was the right friends in the right places to help her shape her vision.
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Common wisdom was that chairs were meant to sit on, but Marcial sat under the large chair in corridor, just outside his father's chambers. The grate was well positioned here so that he could not be seen, but he could certainly hear. Since his little sister, Levina, had taken a turn for the worse, his parents had not spoken to each other, so that his mother chose to go to his father's chambers piqued Marcial's curiosity enough to spy. He was not an overly curious child, but when something was important, he would do anything. Nothing was too private.
"Are you here to say something, Alura, or do you simply come to glower at me?"
His father's voice was smooth and managed to be warmth and ice at once. Marcial could only recall that tone a handful of times, and always someone was making a grave mistake.
"Will you not visit your daughter before you condemn her to death?"
Marcial chewed on his thumb, more gumming than gnawing, as he listened. He almost wished they were still not speaking to each other.
"Constantine said he would send a physician, and as long as I meet his terms, he shall."
"What kind of monster demands one child's life for another?"
Marcial almost sat up into the chair above him, but remembered himself before making a racket. He agreed with his mother: executing him so that his sister might live did seem a steep price indeed.
"He is asking for his service, not his life," his father said wearily. "You always knew this day was coming. Only a fool would hold on to a son so long. There are other boys his age in Camelot. He will make friends—"
"He will lose his life in the service of that man."
"That man is our king."
"And what has Constantine done for us, Grant? Everything we do here, we do for ourselves, or we get aid from Tintagel."
"And Constantine has supported Tintagel since he's been king! What more do you want of the man, Alura? If Marcial wants to be a knight, we will let him go, and if King Constantine sees fit to send us a doctor for our little girl after we've withheld our only son so long, it's more than we deserve."
Marcial continued to chew on his thumb, considering. He wasn't sure he did want to be a knight, not after it crippled his father, but if Levina would not open her eyes again…
He slipped out from under the chair and knocked on his father's door. He was told to enter, and rather than open the door entirely, he pushed it open just enough to push his head through.
"Will Camelot send someone, father?" he said.
His parents looked at each other before his father sat up in his bed.
"I believe so, Marcial," his father said. "Tell me, do you have any interest in following in my footsteps, in becoming a knight?"
Marcial put his hand behind his back and flexed his sore thumb. If he told the truth his sister would die, but if he lied and the worst should happen, his mother would likely never forgive him, or his father, or the king.
"A knight?" he said. "I think I should like that very much."
His mother's nostrils flared, and her jaw tightened. She wished them both a good night and swept out of the room without looking at either one of them a second longer. Marcial watched his mother go, and his father called him closer.
Marcial climbed onto his father's bed, like he hadn't done since he was many years younger. As though the years had peeled back between them, his father hugged him to his chest as if Marcial were suddenly a young boy and not nearly fourteen.
"It's not your fault," his father whispered. "None of this is your fault."
Marcial rested his head on his father's chest and listened to his steady heartbeat.
"Why have you not visited Levina?"
For a long time, there was silence, and this his father said, "I have visited. I visit her every night when the castle is asleep, as I did when you both were children. I barely sleep at night, and I find this affords me the time and the privacy to arrive at her chambers in my own time and on my own terms."
After another long pause, his father said, "Don't tell your mother."
"Why?"
"She does not understand," his father said. "Ever since my injury, she seems to think that if I just went on as if it never happened, everything would be improved. She does not understand the loss of strength, of dignity, that I endure every time I leave this room. She does not feel how much was taken from me by the loss of normal use of my leg. I am not as I was, and I refuse to pretend."
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the rain. Finally, his father said, "Tomorrow you will pack. First light the next day, when the physician arrives, you will ride for Camelot. The king has a boy about your age, and there are many other young men training to be knights. You will not be alone. You will make friends, perhaps meet pretty girls, and someday you'll marry someone you love as much as I love your mother, and you'll raise a beautiful family in this castle."
Marcial sat up, and although he tried to say his words and still sound strong, he did not manage to cover the quiver in his voice.
"And what if I should die?" he said.
His father brushed a curl off Marcial's brow, only for it to fall again in the same place. He smiled weakly.
"We must face the world, my boy. Ride out at life as though nothing can hurt you, and then once you've got something to protect, you guard it with your life and your heart and everything you have to offer in its place. Promise me something, Marcial."
"Anything."
"Be good to your mother, no matter what she says or does. She is still grieving the loss of the man she married."
Marcial didn't know what that meant, but he swore he would always be good to his mother, and then he left so that his father could begin his nightly vigil, his pilgrimage to Levina's beside. Marcial returned to his own bed in the darkness of the corridors, with only the occasional bursts of moonlight and his memory to guide him, and he tried to do as his father said, to imagine that nothing could hurt him.