Zosia stared at the ceiling as Elsa tugged at her hair, trying to arrange it in a complicated plait. Why women were expected to do such ridiculous and uncomfortable things with their hair to impress and men weren't, she'd never know. Although Uther had expressed that whatever Elsa had done with her hair the previous night had been lovely, and the feel of his lips on the corner of her mouth before bed had been a pleasant way to end the night.

She must have been smiling, recalling, because Elsa reminded her that she needed to hold her face still for the best results. Zosia tried to hold her face still, trying to think of nothing but her own discomfort until Elsa let go of her hair.

Zosia lowered her chin, looking away from the ceiling and considering herself in the mirror. She looked dignified, at the very least, although it didn't seem worth the tugging. She thanked her maid and adjusted her sash before sliding on some shoes.

"You'll be late if you don't hurry," Elsa said. "I believe Prince Bayard is due any moment."

"If I'm not late, he'll get a big head," Zosia said, laughing as she hurried out of her chambers.

Bayard was a good friend since childhood. Her father had been a boyhood friend of King Algar, and there had been some talk of folding Andor into Mercia rather than Camelot, binding the two men together with more than friendship.

Through marriage, naturally. Just as King Constantine expected to gain her as a daughter-in-law in exchange for her father's fealty, King Algar had long hinted heavily at marrying her to Bayard for the same reason. She wondered if her father ever felt as tightly caught between the two as she had. Since Prince Ambrose's assassination, it seemed that Algar had ramped up his pressure on Bayard to court her, and this was no doubt the real reason for his visit.

Her father and Uther were already deep in conversation with Bayard when she hurried into the courtyard. Bayard stopped whatever he was saying and laughed when he saw her, holding up his arms and dropping his gloves. He caught her as she rushed to greet him, and he spun her around, still laughing.

"Gods, you've grown," he said. "Practically a woman."

"Ah, but you'll never be a man," she said. She kissed his cheek. "Your crown looks ridiculous."

"I know, it needs to be re-fitted," he said.

"No, I mean, the crown itself, not the fit," she said.

Unlike so many important men, Bayard never seemed offended when she told him the truth. If his father had been there, her father would have made excuses for her rudeness, but he knew Bayard well enough not to bother.

"You must be hungry after your long journey," her father said instead. "Would you rather rest first or eat first? The feast can be laid at a moment's notice."

"I'm famished, my lord," Bayard said, still smiling at Zosia. "And I would not wish to be parted from your beautiful daughter for a moment if it can be avoided."

Zosia rolled her eyes, but she didn't miss Uther's sour expression before he carefully schooled his face to neutral. Uther and Bayard would have seen a fair amount of each other at tourneys and diplomatic conferences between their fathers, but she'd never been present for it. She hadn't thought to ask about what Uther felt about Bayard before the visit, and now she wondered if that was a grievous oversight.

"It's just as well you're hungry," she said, leading the way inside. "I've not eaten a bite all day."

/-/

The smoke piled high as Vivienne tossed the runes and examined their placement and shapes. She hated trying to read runes, but Fleta insisted that the girls try all forms of divining to discover their particular skills and comforts. Never mind that Vivienne already had the gift of Seeing in dreams.

Nimueh leaned over Vivienne's shoulder and said, "It might help if you try looking at one at a time before you consider the whole placement."

"They're just scratches," Vivienne said with a sniff. "I'd rather have the crystal back. At least that showed something I could work with.

Nimueh took the bowl and held it in the smoke again, ignoring Vivienne's protests before she tossed the runes once more and showed that the placement hadn't changed.

"They're just scratches in the way that the crystal is just a rock," Nimueh said. "Patience is required to gather meaning out of either. Crystals are notoriously tricky, and crystallomancy requires a great deal of patience and skill not to misinterpret."

Vivienne didn't hate Nimueh, but she found her frustrating. Nimueh had impressive skill, as did Marzena, and the two were natural learners. Everything the priestesses told them, they drank it in like mother's milk. Vivienne learned, and Zanna had assured her that she had both the skill and the capacity for learning to become a High Priestess, but she knew she was already eclipsed by the other two.

She traced a finger over her bracelet absently and wondered, not for the first time, if she really belonged on the Isle of the Blessed.

/-/

Bayard and Zosia walked the battlements after the meal, and Zosia couldn't help noticing how reluctantly Uther had accepted the distraction of a ride with her father. It wasn't that her father wanted her to marry Bayard—he'd made it clear that he had no interest in influencing her choice—but he did expect her to make an effort with every suitor who came her way, even if she didn't believe she wanted to marry them. As much as he liked Uther, he was a prince without a kingdom, and Bayard would become one of the greatest kings in the area, provided he wasn't terrible at his job.

It was a cool day, but bright, and she and Bayard walked slowly. Her dress billowed comfortably on the walk, and Bayard followed her lead. They talked about everything and nothing, and then he stopped her suddenly and the say together on the wall as they'd done as children.

"I almost feel sorry for him," Bayard said. "Uther."

"Almost?" she said, frowning. "He's lost his entire family in a very short span."

Bayard winced, obviously not meaning to insinuate something so insensitive.

"A tragedy," Bayard said. "I meant only that…well, he's not just lost his family. He's lost his seat, he's lost his fortune, he's lost his power, and he's lost any chance of marrying well."

"Any chance of marrying well?" she said, trying not to laugh. "Bayard, his brothers and father are dead. Marriage is probably the last thing on his mind."

Bayard raised an eyebrow, and she knew exactly what he was trying to insinuate, but she wasn't biting. She was far too young to be worrying about marriage yet, even as a promise. Uther certainly hadn't asked.

"Well, at least he has one thing to be envious of," Bayard said, leaning in a bit closer.

She tilted her head to see him better and tried not to look down at the courtyard where her father and Uther were returning. She could hear the shoes of their horses.

"Oh?" she said.

"He has your lovely presence every day to provide succor for his pains."

Before Zosia could stop him, Bayard took her hand and kissed the back of it, then turned it over and kissed her wrist. She didn't have to look down to know that Uther was watching them, and she wondered if that's why Bayard chose that particular moment. She would have slapped him, but he was technically being courteous, and it wasn't unpleasant to be admired. It wasn't even unpleasant to have him kiss her hand, and she felt a bit confused and frustrated.

"It's getting dark," she said. "We should go inside."

"As you wish, my lady," Bayard said, standing, helping her to her feet, and following her much-increased pace back into the corridor.

/-/

Zosia followed Uther to his quarters, although she knew he was walking faster to avoid her. When he opened the door and tried to close it before she could follow him in, she caught the door, and his face softened.

"Can we talk?" she said.

Uther hesitated, but he opened the door a bit wider to let her in.

"Are you upset with me?" she said.

Uther startled, and his eyes narrowed as he looked at her, considering. Finally, he said, "Zo, you have done nothing. Why would I be upset?"

She closed the door behind her, and Uther looked at the door handle instead of her face. She reached out and touched his arms, feeling the smoothness of the fabric before he pulled his arms away, uncertain.

"You've not spoken more than a word in my presence since Bayard arrived," she whispered.

Uther's nostrils flared and he turned away from her, rubbing his neck. She watched him for a while, listening to the rain, and she wished she could turn back the time and slap Bayard after all. Even if she couldn't erase his presence, she could do that much. She counted the length of the pause, measuring the silenced between them punctuated only by rain, and she finally took a few steps forward.

Zosia wrapped her arms around Uther's waist and pressed her face to his back. Uther stiffened first, then relaxed, and his hands covered hers, warm and strong.

"I'm sorry that you and Bayard don't get along," she said. "I wish you'd have told me before he came."

Uther turned, frowning, and Zosia was struck suddenly by the smell of him: the smell of horses and wine, of linen and something musky she didn't have a word for.

"I have no quarrel with Bayard," he said.

"Lies," she said, smiling as she traced a finger along his jaw.

"No, I…" He sighed. "I'm sorry, Zo, it's hard for me to express how frustrating this is for me."

"Try?" she said.

The smallness of her own voice surprised her, and his face softened again, back to the boy watching the sunrise with her, before the weight of a kingdom settled on his shoulders, the weight of all his loss.

"His presence," he said, "his…obvious attempts to court you…." He sighed again. "It's just a reminder of everything I cannot offer you. He has a throne, security—"

"Were you not listening?" she said with a laugh. "I've no interest in becoming a queen, Uther, remember? Whatever I think and feel about Bayard, he will become king of Mercia, and I'm not interested in sitting beside him on that ridiculous throne."

Uther's jaw twitched, and she worried he might ask her a question she didn't have an answer for, so instead of waiting for him to ask, she rolled forward onto the balls of her feet and she pressed her lips to his, feeling his surprise, and then how easily he relaxed and leaned back into the kiss.

Uther took a few steps forward, and Zosia felt her back hit the door as he leaned deeper into the kiss. His hands were at her arms, pinning her back, and it was surprisingly pleasant. She sighed into his mouth, and he groaned back.

When the kiss broke, they stared at each other in the near dark, his hands still pinning her arms to the door, his face still close enough that she could taste his breath.

"You should go," he said, his voice tighter and smaller than she'd ever heard it.

"Why?"

Uther's lips tightened and he said, "If your servant goes looking for you, you wouldn't want your father to find you here…like this."

Zosia hummed, and leaned up for one more kiss, which he lingered in as long as she let him. She had a feeling that if she'd refused to leave, he'd have let her stay, let her do whatever she wished. That was intriguing, but unfortunately he was right.

"You'll have to let go of me first," she whispered.

Uther's lips twitched, and he did let go. He took a few steps back for her to have space to open the door, and she slipped into the night feeling her hands tremble and her pulse race like she could never remember.

/-/

The feeling of someone entering the room was like something cold had been poured over her arms, and Zosia sat up from the recamier, setting aside her book to see who had entered. Bayard stood in the door of the study, smiling at her.

"You look lovely," he said.

"I am lovely," she said, jutting out her jaw, and he laughed.

"Indeed, you are," he said. He crossed to the recamier and sat at her feet, lifting them so he could sit, then pulling her feet into his lap.

"I'm not going to marry you," she said.

Bayard smiled absently at the fireplace as it popped and crackled. Finally he said, "I know. I've already had a conversation with your father about how we're going to break the news to my father. He offered to break it for me, but that felt cowardly. I'll have to face my father's disappointment on my own, I think."

"If your father is the only one who wants the marriage," she said, "then surely he'll understand?"

"He's not," Bayard said, lifting her wrist to his lips and kissing the tender skin there. "I won't lie to you, Zo, if you married me, I would spend every day feeling like a conqueror, and every night entirely at your mercy. I would be the most attentive, the most faithful. But you don't believe me, do you? That's what I get for teasing all these years."

"I do believe you," Zosia said, feeling a bit sad, although she wasn't sure why.

Bayard leaned back on the sofa and said, "But that's not enough?"

Zosia patted his hand and said, "It's not about you or me or anything like that. You know that. I've already told you—"

"You don't want to be a queen, yes, yes," he said, forcing a smile to twist at his lips. "So really, Uther's lucked into the best place in the world, hasn't he? In losing everything else, he's gained you."

"Do you really think I'm so fickle that I'm only drawn to a man once he's proven certain things?" Zosia said. "As I said, it's not—"

"No," Bayard said, frustration coming over his features. "Don't, Zo. Don't say that if things were different, or anything like that. I'd rather believe you have no feelings for me whatsoever, even if it's a lie. Please, gods, lie to me. Grant me that much."

Zosia pressed her lips together, thinking of the kisses with Uther the night before. Were they pleasant because it was Uther, or were they pleasant because they were kisses? Would it have felt as good to kiss Bayard? Did that even matter?

"But let me give you a bit of friendly advice, my lady," Bayard whispered. "Make up your mind what it is you really want before you're facing the hard choice."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you honestly think that if Uther were facing marriage to you or regaining the throne of Camelot under the banner of Pendragon that he would abandon a kingdom to have you as his wife? If you do, then you don't know him as well as I. He's proud, Zo, and not necessarily in a negative way. But that pride will always come before love, it has to. That's how a man is trained to rule."

"A man can learn new things," she said.

Bayard shook his head, smiled, and said, "A man, perhaps. But a king? I hope so, my dear. For your sake, I hope so. But don't forget my advice, and remember that whatever you decide, you will always have a place, always have friends in Mercia."

/-/

Marcial stared out at the sea, at the sky and sea stretching out for miles, further than he could possibly imagine. He wondered if anything was on the other side, or if it just stretched into eternity.

"What's on your mind?"

Marcial didn't turn at Gorlois's voice, just continued to stare.

"Just thinking about the letter from your father," Marcial whispered. "He's proud of you."

Gorlois snorted and leaned against the wall, made of the flat, long stones so prevalent here on the cliffs.

"If there's anything I've learned here at Tintagel," Gorlois said, "it's that whatever we do, time reclaims all our labors. I watch the waves steal away the rock bit by bit, and I question the wisdom of my ancestors, building a castle on this cliffside. My father is holding his hands over the wound of a dying kingdom. He has his own lands here to attend to."

Marcial leaned on the wall as well and said, "You don't believe in what he's doing, in Camelot? You don't think that he can hold of Hengist?"

Gorlois smiled weakly and said, "No I…I do. I do believe, I'm just tired. He raised me in Camelot, so to be home again for so long, it's disconcerting. It's half a world away, and here we are, unable to do a thing, in another kingdom, the great seas at our backs."

He clapped Marcial's shoulder and said, "Forgive me, friend. This must be my empty stomach talking. Let's fill our bellies."

Marcial agreed, but he had a feeling there was more truth in his friend's words than Gorlois was ready to admit out loud.

The two boys walked like men, shoulders back and heads high, all the way to the council chamber, where the servants had laid out lunch for them, but Marcial's mind was still pondering the sea, the sky, and the vast unchangingness of the foundations of the world. Perhaps Gorlois was right about one thing: perhaps everything they built was meaningless on the face of the world.