Vivienne sat on her cot and tried to arrange herself in a way that felt like it had some dignity about it, but with three priestesses surrounding her and her hair slick and curled with sweat, she struggled to feel as if she had any dignity left. Zanna sat beside her on the cot, and Vivienne flinched. Edlyn, a young-looking woman with uncannily fair hair stood over her, but Fleta, the head Priestess, stood right before Vivienne, staring down at her.

Fleta was an outrageously old woman, but if Vivienne had ever been asked to put a number on her age, she wouldn't have been able to. Old, perhaps even what one might call ancient, but how old? She didn't look a day over sixty, but she could have been double that.

"Describe the dream," Fleta said.

Her voice was a bar of steel, but Zanna's hand on Vivienne's wrist was warm and gentle, a reminder of her mother, of home.

"A great white city in flame and ash," she said. "I could hear screaming as if the screams were physical prods, pressing into my ears. I could see charred bodies and—"

Her voice broke in her throat, and Vivienne closed her mouth firmly, refusing to cry in front of these women. They were no better than her. She would be one of them one day. She could not debase herself. Zanna patted her wrist gently.

"Marzena and Nimueh have confessed that you have not slept through the night for more than a fortnight," Fleta said. Vivienne could feel her frustration and betrayal beginning to burn, but Fleta raised a hand. "They did not tell us of their will, Vivienne. Marzena would have carried your plight to the grave if you had asked her. Such loyalty is commendable, but it has its place. Dreams are powerful and dangerous things, Vivienne, and a gift such as yours is far more powerful than what Marzena's father described of her gift. I believe you are a true Seer."

"And what have I Seen?" Vivienne whispered, staring at the moss-covered stone floor.

"I believe," Edlyn whispered back, "that you have seen the destruction of Camelot."

Vivienne's eyebrows twitched, no doubt belying her surprise. They had received images through scrying that Camelot was under siege, that the king was dead, but what Vivienne had seen was beyond that, was worse.

"We must take action," Fleta said.

"We're going to Camelot?" Vivienne said.

Fleta laughed, and it was not a warm sound. It was sharp, hard, like a fine sword or lance.

"Don't be absurd, child," Fleta said. "No, we will have to alleviate the burden of these dreams, at least until you have the strength to manage them on your own. Zanna, with me. I will have need of your skills."

Vivienne wasn't sure she wanted them to remove the burden—it had become so much a part of her—but she knew it would do her no favors to argue with Fleta, so she watched the priestesses leave and wished she could afford to sleep.

/-/

Zosia startled from her book when the door to the study opened. She expected to see her father calling her to lunch, but instead it was Uther. She smiled, pleased to see him so recovered, but she knew he was itching to go back to battle, to aid his brother. Ever since they heard the rumors that his father had died during the siege, he'd had a distant look about him, but she'd been able to remind him that he wasn't fully recovered, and his lack of sleep wasn't helping.

"Lord Inthorn was looking for you," he said.

"Couldn't have looked very hard," she said. "I'm nearly always here this time of day."

"I know," he whispered.

He took a few more steps into the room, then hesitated. He stared at her, smiling. If not for the color under his eyes, she'd think this was the same boy who had watched sunrises with her, in every way. He seemed a shier version of himself than she'd encountered lately. She rather liked him this way. She set down her book and stretched.

"Is it nearly time for lunch, then?" she said.

"I suppose it must be," he said, leaning toward her.

Zosia found Uther's staring amusing at worst, and at times it was intriguing and even a bit…tempting. She knew her father wouldn't approve of her toying with him, especially without a formal courtship of some kind, but there was a strange feeling of power in the way Uther looked at her, and she'd never felt important enough to yield any significant power. Surely it wouldn't hurt to tease him…just a little?

"Uther," she said softly, "if you would be good enough to come a bit closer, I've an errand for you."

"Yes, my lady," he said, walking to her with unusual swiftness.

She pressed her book in his hands and gestured to the table not three feet away.

"Could you replace this in the row on the table?" she said.

He seemed a bit puzzled, but he bowed his head and did as she asked, carefully replacing the book, then turning and waiting like she might give him more tasks, and like he wouldn't mind at all.

"You won't help me to my feet?" she said.

His lips twitched, and he approached again, holding out a hand for hers. She used his much-regained strength to pull herself to her feet, and she was mildly surprised when he didn't let go of her hand when they were standing together.

"Zo," he whispered.

She looked up at him and felt that same tug in the pit of her stomach that she'd felt when they'd been on the battlement that morning, in the sunrise. She wanted him to kiss her again, but she was also worried what someone might say if they walked in to find them like this.

Zosia brushed her other hand along his cheek, along the lower bone of the eye where the dark mark faded into the rest of his skin. He leaned closer to her, inhaling at her touch. Was he over her, or had the ceiling changed its angle?

"Zo," he said again, touching her hand that was on his face, pressing her palm against his cheek. "Please."

When had it gotten so hot? She wasn't sure what he was asking her, and she thought perhaps he wasn't sure, either. They simply stared at each other, neither daring to move closer, neither willing to move apart. But if they lingered too long…

"We'll be missed," she whispered.

Uther sighed, then lifted her other hand, the one holding his, to his lips.

"Of course, my lady," he said. "Shall we?"

She took his arm and walked with him into the corridor, feeling as if her neck was on fire all the way, but she couldn't have said why.

/-/

Vivienne lazily watched midges circle a marshy part of the isle and sat, waiting, for Zanna to summon her. She had been welcome to join the others for lunch, but Vivienne hadn't had an appetite. Instead, she perched on a stone and wondered how carefully she'd have to focus a spell to destroy only a single midge. Such concentration was certainly beyond her at this stage, but she had hope of having so much control someday.

"She really didn't want to tell them, you know."

Vivienne didn't turn as Nimueh approached, nor when Nimueh sat beside her. She liked the girl, as did Marzena, but there had been a certain camaraderie between Vivienne and Marzena that Nimueh couldn't quite break into. Perhaps it was the lowness of her birth, perhaps not.

"She did," Vivienne said smoothly, as coldly as she could manage. "So did you."

Nimueh was silent for a long moment, then said, "You know perfectly well that they have their methods for gaining information. We wouldn't have had a choice, and I doubted you wanted Marzena to suffer to keep your secrets. Don't. It may sound tempting now, but really, would you have been pleased by her screams?"

Vivienne supposed not, but she didn't want to say so. Instead, she raised a hand and tried to destroy a single midge with a simple spell. She did destroy a midge…and three of its neighbors. She sniffed in frustration.

Nimueh shifted her legs and said, "You need to choose one, Vivienne. That's the key to precision. You must choose a single target. You cannot waiver. If you hesitate at all, you open up the possibility of undesirable consequences."

"There is always a possibility of that," Zanna said over them.

The girls turned, startled, and scrambled to their feet. Vivienne felt ashamed, although she didn't know why. Zanna was smiling, soft, gentle. Nimueh shuffled her feet and hurried away when Zanna dismissed her.

"She isn't entirely wrong," Zanna said. "But we all have our lessons we are destined never to learn. You are expected at the forge."

"The forge?" Vivienne said, not bothering to hide her confusion.

"Do not question, child. Your time to know all things is far in the future."

/-/

When the door to his chambers opened, Marcial sat upright. He always half-hoped that this time Raff would bring news that it was safe for Marcial to return home. He was always half-disappointed.

Gorlois gave him a sad smile and shook his head. The news was unchanged. Marcial relaxed against the headboard.

"Are you so eager to be rid of me?" Gorlois said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning on the doorframe.

"No," Marcial whispered. He beckoned his friend in, and Gorlois did enter the room, finding a seat near the bed. "Do you ever wish we'd stayed in Camelot?"

"Constantly," Gorlois said. "But your mother would have riden south and murdered all Hengist's men, and then my father for good measure. Then I'd never have seen you again."

Marcial didn't have as good of a sense of humor about the whole thing as his friend. News out of Camelot was bleak, and many questioned whether young Ambrose would be able to hold off the far more experienced Hengist, even with the citadel never before having fallen. As Marcial's mother would have said, there was a first time for all things.

"Tell you what," Gorlois said, "why don't we go down to watch the serving girls wash the linens? Dell always blushes when she sees you, and you know she's pretty when she blushes."

Marcial covered his face and shook his head. Not that Dell wasn't pretty—she had a kind face and very compelling curves—but he felt bad for the poor girl. Marcial couldn't afford to marry a serving girl, and even if he could marry whomever he wanted…. Well, she was sweet, but her most interesting feature (physical or otherwise) was her curves.

"Don't be dull," Gorlois said. "How can you look at a girl like that and feel nothing?"

"I don't feel nothing," Marcial said, tossing a pillow at his friend, who parried it with a quick arm. "But it isn't fair to tease her."

"Who's teasing?" Gorlois said, grinning. "You could share some kisses with her, more if she's as willing as her blush suggests."

Gorlois swatted down the second pillow with similar ease, and Marcial couldn't help the exasperated smile that played at his lips.

"My father always told me that the right woman would be obvious," he said. "Like…like she would walk into the room, and I would feel that nothing mattered but to please her."

Gorlois chewed at a hangnail for a minute, frowning at Marcial. When he pulled his finger out of his mouth he said, "D'you think that's true?"

"I don't know," Marcial admitted, "but I know I don't want to marry Dell."

With a sweeping roll of his eyes, Gorlois said, "Oh, for gods' sake, Marcial, who said anything about marrying the girl?"

/-/

Vivienne stood before Fleta and tried not to look nervous.

"Hold out your arm," Fleta whispered.

Vivienne looked to Zanna, who nodded. She lifted her arm, and a fine metal bracelet was slipped over her wrist.

"Do not take it off," Fleta said. "The enchantments will have to be refreshed over time, but for now, this will ease your troubles."

With a shiver, Vivienne was about to protest, but Zanna placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I must warn you, my dear," Zanna said, "you will still have nightmares at times. Very strong messages from the goddess cannot be ignored, however you will not have nightly issues as you have been."

Vivienne looked at the floor and murmured her thanks to the priestesses. She could accept lessened nightmares, as long as she didn't lose the skill altogether. And someday, Fleta had said, she would be strong enough in her magic that she could take it off altogether. She just had to focus on control.

/-/

Vivienne traced the smooth bracelet up and down her arm, watching it in the dying light of the day. She didn't startle when Marzena sat beside her, but the two girls sat in silence for some time. The chill of evening was beginning to fall over them.

"It's beautiful," Marzena said.

"It's simple," Vivienne said, "but yes, I suppose it isn't unattractive. You have your own cot, Marzena."

"I know. Once Nimueh said the truth, I couldn't keep saying it was nothing, Vivienne."

"I know."

Marzena wordlessly lit the little fire they'd set up between the three cots. The two girls watched the fire take on the wood, kindling lightly.

"Nimueh said she'd get the wood."

"She's avoiding me," Vivienne said.

"She's not—"

"She's avoiding me until she knows how to turn the situation back to her advantage," Vivienne said firmly. "You don't have to make excuses, Marzena. My sister was much the same. It'll be fine."

They sat in comfortable silence for a long time, until they could hear Nimueh's footsteps approaching. Marzena slipped off the end of Vivienne's cot and got in her own before Nimueh could enter. Vivienne curled up under her blanket and watched the flame, wondering how well the bracelet would work, and whether she'd have a bit of peace.

/-/

The cot creaked under Vivienne as she rolled over and opened her eyes. It was early, a gray morning. She rubbed her jaw and tried to recall what dream had woken her, but she couldn't find one. She felt the cold metal bracelet slide up her arm and remembered why the dreams were gone.

Part of her was relieved that it worked, but she felt a sense of disappointment, a sense that she had lost something precious to her.

She got out of bed early, and she was surprised to find Edlyn waiting for her in the dew-covered meadow. Edlyn was standing, still, eyes closed, and she did not open her eyes when Vivienne approached but said her name anyway.

"The bracelet did its work, I see," Edlyn said.

Vivienne thought the word choice was a bit silly, as Edlyn couldn't see anything with her eyes closed, but Edlyn's lips curled into a smile.

"One need not look at things to see them," Edlyn said. She opened her marble-green eyes and looked directly at Vivienne. "After all, you've seen many things with your eyes closed. Do you remember any faces from your nightmare, child? Apart from the corpses, of course."

"No," Vivienne whispered.

"You didn't think," Edlyn said with uncharacteristic sharpness. "I asked you if you remembered, not if you wanted to remember. Now think back."

Vivienne closed her eyes and tried to remember the dream, but it came in spurts, never the whole thing. Again, she said she didn't remember any faces. Edlyn was clearly disappointed when Vivienne opened her eyes again. Edlyn came closer, her cloak rustling the dew-soaked grass.

"If you do see the white city burning again," Edlyn said with an almost venomous tone, "I expect you to remember everything. Are we quite clear?"

"Yes, Edlyn," Vivienne said.

"No, child," Edlyn said, smirking. "Zanna may accept that insolence from you, but I will not. I am a High Priestess. You are not. How do you address me?"

Vivienne's jaw twitched, but she said, "Yes, my lady."

"Very good," Edlyn said, smirking. "All the sweeter for your distaste for saying it. Now back to bed with you."

Vivienne turned and looked at the walls of the cell where she slept with the other girls, and she said, uncertain, "Did…did you wake me…my lady?"

"Of course I did," Edlyn said. "How else was I meant to get you alone? And just as I summoned you without anyone knowing, so I will put you back to sleep without you being aware you ever saw me. Now go back to your cot, child. If you work very hard and serve very well, perhaps someday I will tell you of your role in the web of destiny."

"Yes, my lady," Vivienne said, walking back to her cot in befuddled silence.

/-/

Uther sat with Lord Inthorn, but his eye was drawn to the far wall as Zosia passed with her maid. Both girls were pretty, but he felt that unspeakable tug, like he'd been done up as a horse and Zosia was lazily tugging at his reigns. He did feel an urge to follow her, but instead, Lord Inthorn laughed beside him, and Uther started.

"Prince Uther, may I give you some free advice?" Lord Inthorn said. Uther nodded. "There's not a beautiful woman on earth who doesn't wish to be adored in some respect, but there's a difference between admiration and staring."

Uther wanted to protest, but he couldn't think of anything to say in his defense, as his eyes were already being drawn back to Lady Zosia's retreating figure.

"I understand, sir," Uther said.

"I hope, for your sake, that you truly do," Lord Inthorn said. "Now, if you'd help my old eyes with these letters. The scribe for House Traegor writes with the smallest letters I have ever seen."

A/N:

Camelot hangs in the balance, and each of our characters is growing used to their places in the world.

-C