The next morning was a prickling on Krysia's arms. She couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible would happen, although she smiled through breakfast. She couldn't shake it, and then it happened.

There was a scream heard through the village, and the men who had gathered with Arthur in the common building rushed out as Krysia was coming out of Hunith's home. She saw the horse, and she saw the body of Matthew slung over it. She watched the scene as if it happened in slow motion.

They cut the man down, and Arthur read a note that was in an arrow on his back, and Will came out to confront Arthur again. Krysia watched without hearing. She stood still and wondered if Gwen wasn't right. They needed the women as well, but could Arthur be swayed?

Later in the day, when Arthur had gathered the villagers again, he began to address them on what the women and children should do, but Gwen stood up and demanded that the women fight. And the women stood with her. Arthur looked at Krysia.

"The more swords in hands," Krysia said slowly, "the better odds we'll have, given the nature of the fight."

Arthur stared back at her, then nodded.

"This is your home," he said to the women. "If you want to fight to defend it, that's your choice. I'd be honored to stand alongside you. Kanen attacks tomorrow. Kanen's brutal. He fights only to kill, which is why he will never defeat us. Look around. In this circle, we're all equals. You're not fighting because someone's ordering you to, you're fighting for so much more than that. You fight for your homes. You fight for your family. You fight for your friends. You fight for the right to grow crops in peace. And if you fall, you fall fighting for the noblest of causes: fighting for your very right to survive! And when you're old and grey, you'll look back on this day, and you'll know you earned the right to live every day in between! So you fight! For your family! For your friends! For Ealdor!"

The villagers raised their swords, and Krysia raised her own sword and joined the chant. For Ealdor.

The following morning, when Kanen's men had crossed the river and they got their last notes from Arthur, everyone hid. Krysia sat with Merlin and Arthur, waiting for Morgana to light the flint. Gwen had pulled up the gate as ordered, but the flint wasn't coming.

"Now, Morgana," Arthur muttered. "What are you waiting for?"

"There's a problem," Krysia whispered. "Morgana is prompt, something's happened."

Before Krysia could do or say anything else, Merlin rushed off, and Krysia held her breath, hoping he didn't do something rash. She and Arthur waited, and the fire was lit. She breathed again, seeing the prepared line trap the raiders. The men rode back into the village, and Arthur gave the word.

All the villagers sprang to fight with a cry, and the fight kicked up.

Krysia should have known better than to let Merlin fight without her, though, because she saw him conjure a windstorm, and what was worse, Arthur saw it too. Kanen's men fled as the villagers began to win, but Kanen called Arthur to face him.

Krysia watched Arthur win the battle, and then she watched him approach Merlin and Will.

"Who did that?" Arthur demanded.

"What?" Merlin said.

"Wind like that doesn't just appear from nowhere. I know magic when I see it. One of you made that happen."

Merlin was about to say something, and Krysia was already thinking of how to undo his idiocy, but Will cried out, pushed Arthur out of the way, and took a crossbow bolt—the last shot of the dying Kanen—instead of Arthur. She hurried forward, and magic was forgotten for the moment.

"You just saved my life," Arthur said.

"Yeah," Will muttered. "Don't know what I was thinking."

"Get him inside," Krysia said. "I'll see what I can do."

It didn't take long for Krysia to realize there was nothing to do for Will short of magic, and that was obviously out of the question. Will, in his dying minutes, took the blame for the wind, and Krysia pretended not to listen as Will and Merlin said their goodbyes.

"That was good of him," Krysia whispered.

"He was good," Merlin said, closing Will's eyes. "Stubborn, rash, but good." She hummed. "You won't tell Gaius?"

"Not a word," she promised. "Don't let his sacrifice be in vain, Merlin. Try to be less of an idiot, will you?"

They stayed long enough to help with Will's funeral pyre, to say goodbye to Hunith, and to help clean up what they could of the village in the meantime. The ride back was somber, not the conquering joy that they would have all preferred, but they had done what they came to do, and so they felt more secure riding home than they did riding there. Leon greeted them at the gates as if he'd been waiting the whole time.

"It is done," Arthur said.

"I'll take the horses," Gwen said. Merlin offered to help.

Krysia was about to go with them, but Leon took her hands in his gloved hands and looked at them.

"You should see Gaius," he said. "Were you without gloves?"

"Leon, I'm fine."

"Uther will ask questions if he sees these hands, Krysia," Leon whispered. "See Gaius."

She wanted to object, but she knew he was right. She took her leave, and decided she'd have to change anyway, so it was better to prepare herself before she had to face the king and give some time for Arthur to smooth the way.

Leon watched Krysia from an overlook. She was in deep conversation with a pair of maids, and she had a small bandage on her hand, his assurance that she had seen Gaius. It had been difficult to explain away her absence to the king, harder to remind himself why he had stayed behind while she was putting herself in danger.

The maids looked more at ease as she gave them instruction. To Leon, it seemed the whole of Camelot relaxed when she was near and well, as he did. His hand flexed as a breeze lifted a loose tendril of her hair off her neck.

"She fought well," the familiar voice of Lady Morgana said beside him.

Morgana moved silently, a thing that Leon had found troubling, even as a child. Few could take him by surprise, but she had always had a gift in that.

She was transformed from her arrival, cleaned and dressed and rested. She was every bit the lady that her guardian expected of her, and no part the adventurer she had dressed herself and Krysia as for their travel.

"I am not surprised," Leon whispered. "She always had a clever style."

"And attractive," Morgana teased. "I remember you watching her spar for hours. Do you recall your father berating you for letting her take your place against Arthur that one morning?"

Leon did recall, but he said nothing, simply looking back to Krysia, who was caught now by a servant for a minor lord who seemed to have a list of questions for her. Graceful, confident, unperturbed. She had always been this way in times of need, even as a child. Morgana was right, of course, he had always enjoyed watching her fight. Attractive, mesmerizing, almost like watching a dance.

He tried to erase the association between dancing and Krysia that had now grown in his brain, but it wouldn't go away.

"Why don't you tell her how you feel?" Morgana said.

"Pardon?"

He knew nothing ever got past Morgana, but he wasn't ready to admit it out loud yet, not even to himself.

Morgana's face was all amusement and understanding. But she couldn't understand. If he were merely some minor noble loosely connected to Camelot and the King, perhaps it would be as simple as Morgana suggested, but he was a knight of Camelot, known and trusted to King Uther, and so Leon knew it was impossible. He believed that any such relationship would be difficult for Krysia, at best, and dangerous at worst. He loved her too much to even ask her to consider such a thing.

"She cares about you, too," Morgana whispered. "I know she does."

"And she also cares about you, my lady," Leon whispered. "And the prince. We were all close as children."

"It's more than that, I'm sure of it."

He both did and didn't want to believe her. If he suffered alone in silence, it was easier to be content with his dreams and the knowledge that she was well. But there was a seductiveness to the idea that she might possibly feel anything for him beyond friendship. He wished he'd never had the conversation, and he wished he could believe that Morgana was right.

Krysia followed the servant into a corridor Leon couldn't see from the overlook, and he gave Morgana his full attention, although he wished at once he hadn't. Her expression of pity was particularly galling.

"It's not technically against the rules," Morgana said.

Strongly discouraged was a better term. Of course noble men occasionally married less-than-noble women, but the more important the man, the more infrequent the occurrence. And Leon knew the king's mind well enough to know how little he thought of such unions. But even as Leon related this to Morgana, he was thinking of his other, secret reason, the reason he'd never breathe to another soul: he was worried that Krysia had a secret, and he worried that greater scrutiny on her would force the secret out of her. Although he couldn't be sure what it was, he knew secrets were rarely harmless. His greatest fear was that the secret, if exposed, would hurt her. He would never live with himself if his selfishness caused such a thing.

"Uther doesn't have to approve of your wife," Morgana said. "You're not his son."

"But I am his knight, and I live in his castle—"

"In truth, Leon, I never mentioned anything about marriage. It seems you've given this a great deal of thought."

He bit the inside of his cheek to hide his frustration at letting her see so much of his secret dreams. Every night they'd been gone, he'd lain awake and wondered where they were and how they were, and once he could be awake no longer, he'd dreamed perhaps his most lurid dreams of Krysia. Several times, he'd known firmly in the dream that she was his wife. A tantalizing folly.

"A little advice from a woman," Morgana whispered. "Regardless of what she does or doesn't feel for you, no girl likes to have her choices made for her. For all you know, she's pining for you as well."

"Doubtful."

"If she's not, you'll know for sure. And if she is, you can make your choices together. Wouldn't that be better than torturing yourself?"

But Morgana couldn't understand the need he felt to protect Krysia, even from his own affections. And she could never know why it was necessary. It wasn't that he didn't trust Morgana or Arthur, but Leon knew that secrets of a certain magnitude could only truly be safe if they were never spoken, even to the sympathetic and supportive. If the only way he could protect Krysia was to watch her in silence, he would do it a thousand years before he tell her a half of what he felt.

Krysia did not know precisely what excuses were made on her behalf, but Uther hadn't mentioned them at all since her return, so she felt comfortable serving him dinner in his study without asking someone what she was supposed to know about her absence. The king did not often dine over his work, but she never asked when he did. Whatever he was doing was certainly important, and it was her job to be certain his space was clean, his food was appropriate and prompt, and that he was comfortable despite eating at a desk.

He set down his knife after polishing off nearly half a cut of meat, then looked at her for a long moment without an order or request.

"Do you often read, Krysia?" he said.

"Read, sire?" she said. "I suppose I read as often as I can."

He nodded, understanding her meaning: she did not have the luxury of free time that he had. He gave her another searching look, and Krysia was relieved that she'd worn her hair up, reminding him less of her mother, she hoped.

"Do you have a young man?" he said, lifting his goblet.

"Sire?"

"Come, Krysia, you are not a child anymore. Young love strikes us all at about your age. Arthur's servant, perhaps?"

She couldn't help her laugh at the idea that Merlin and she would ever be attracted to each other. She had come to think of him as a friend, yes, but nothing would ever induce her to see him as more than that. Krysia had no interest in a man she could break in half.

"I haven't the time for young men," she said, not untruthfully.

"Perhaps I should give you more time for yourself," he said.

"Ah, but who would inspect your silver, sire?"

The smile Uther gave her was surprisingly soft. It was a smile he rarely used in public, and never at servants, reserved almost exclusively for Arthur and Morgana, occasionally the young child of a visiting noble. His face was not unpleasant with such a smile. It made him appear younger, gentler. If she didn't know the kind of man he was, she would almost believe him to be a totally different person from the one who killed her family.

"No one has ever done it so thoroughly," he said softly. "You have a gift of leadership, Krysia."

Her stomach squirmed, and she looked pointedly at an inkwell on his desk. It was a genuine compliment, she was sure, but perhaps dangerous territory.

"Everything I know, I have learned from watching you."

"No, truly," he said. "There is a balance between guidance and action that cannot be taught. You seem to have it innately drilled in you in a way few servants I have met in my life have mastered. I was pleased when Bayard said you refused his offer to go to Mercia. You would have been irreplaceable here."

Suddenly, she realized what he was trying to say, perhaps the whole reason he'd had her serve him dinner in privacy. Her few days away had made him realize what it would have been like had she left permanently, and he was attempting to ensure she was tied firmly to staying. Marrying someone integral to the castle would keep her here, as would perhaps telling her outright how valuable and valued she was, even the half-joking suggestion of more time for leisure. She could have laughed, she was so relieved that this was not about recognizing her, but she knew it was not an appropriate response to his comments.

"I have no wish to go to Mercia or anywhere else, sire," she said, meeting his eye again. "This is my home. This is the only home I've ever known. I wouldn't belong anywhere else. It's a valuable thing, knowing where you belong."

"Indeed, it is," he said. He took a few more mouthfuls of food, then set down his silverware. Krysia moved to clear his plate, but he shook his head. "Leave it for now," he said. "Sit, please."

This was very unlike Uther, and suddenly she was uncomfortable again. She did as asked, taking the seat he had gestured to, closer to him than she'd have liked. He took a long drink from his goblet, then set it down and looked squarely at her.

"Sometimes you remind me of someone I used to know," he said fondly.

Her stomach twitched and twisted, and she said nothing, looking at the plate. Perhaps if he thought she was focused on her work he would relent and let her leave.

"She loved to read," Uther said. "And when she spoke, the world listened."

She felt like she couldn't breathe. She knew if he started reminiscing about her mother, she was in danger of bursting into tears, and that would be the death of her. She squeezed her hands together and didn't dare look away from the plate.

"She would have made an excellent queen," he said. "She had three opportunities in three different kingdoms, but she rejected every one of them for a knight."

That was something Krysia hadn't known. Bayard had mentioned that he'd attempted to lure her mother into being his queen, but three? Who were the other suitors? What was it that made her choose Krysia's father? She desperately wanted to know, but she knew it wasn't safe to ask. She didn't even feel comfortable asking Gaius, if he knew.

"But you must be tired," he said suddenly. "Go, I'll have another servant clean this up."

"It's my responsibility, sire," she said, standing, prepared to fight him about the tableware.

But Uther was not to be budged. Worried that he was spending too much time considering her already, she decided to let him have his way and thanked him, going directly back to Gaius's chamber. Gaius was up late, examining a book, and he smiled when she entered. He took her hand to change the dressing and said, "What's troubling you, Krysia?"

She related the strange conversation she'd had with Uther, and he paused when she mentioned his comment about her mother being courted by three different royals. She wanted to ask what he knew, but she knew better than to think he wouldn't lie to her about something he did know if he thought it would protect her. If he thought it was important, he would say so.

"You need to be careful," Gaius urged.

"I don't know how much more careful I can be," Krysia said, testing the tightness of the bandaging. "He's going to figure it out eventually, isn't he? Do you think he'll kill me when he does?"

Gaius just stared at her sadly, and she tried to blink away the tears already forming.