"Tarra? Tarra? Are you still with me?"
Tarra's eyes came into focus to meet Lancelot's as she shook off the memories she had tried so hard to forget. "Yes. Yes, I'm sorry," she answered, "What did you say?"
"I asked: Would you like to get a drink with me?" repeated Lancelot, wondering to what thoughts her mind had wandered.
"Oh, yes---I mean---no. I can't. I must go," she said in a distracted voice as her eyes darted around her as though searching for something she had lost.
"You just got here," replied Lancelot with his eyes wide and pleading. He certainly knew how to lay it on thick.
"Yes, and I fear I've already worn out my welcome. Good day---or---night, as it were," said Tarra as she quickly side-stepped the tall, dark, and, dare she say, handsome knight who stood before her. Suddenly, she felt a hand grip the back of her shirt collar pulling her back in the opposite direction. "I said no touching!" she screamed, trying to wriggle her way out of the knight's grip, "Let me go!"
"I'm not touching you. I'm touching your very unflattering, masculine attire," he said, still refusing to release her, "Now, you're coming down to the tavern, having a drink, and then you can leave first thing in the morning."
Clearly, this was not a negotiating matter. "Fine!" she yelled, as she at last wrenched herself from his unrelenting grip, "But I'm going on my own accord!"
She marched down to the tavern with Lancelot following close behind and sat down at one of the tables in a huff of exasperation. Lancelot joined her moments later with two mugs of ale, one of which he placed in front of her. "You expect me to drink that?" she asked indignantly, wrinkling up her nose as she smelt the strong, highly concentrated liquor.
"Well, if you're not up to the challenge---"
"Oh, no, I'll drink it," she said, "I'm going to regret it in the morning, but I'll drink it."
Lancelot noticed Arthur entering the tavern and left Tarra with her ale momentarily to speak with his commander. In the meantime, Tarra took a swig of the vile drink and grimaced at its pungency. Then she took another sip and found it to be at least bearable. After another sip, she thought to herself that it really was not half bad. Pretty soon, she was guzzling it quite happily wondering how in the world she had originally been so disgusted by it.
Lancelot approached Arthur and nodded to him in acknowledgement. "There you are," Arthur greeted, "I've been looking all over for you."
"I've had my hands a bit full," Lancelot replied, signaling over towards Tarra with his eyes.
Arthur understood his meaning, "I've been wanting to talk to you about that. Tristan seems to think she can't be trusted and, honestly, I'd rest more assured if I knew a bit more about her background. Long lost siblings don't just crawl out of the woodwork for no reason."
"I anticipated as much," Lancelot replied, "Why do you think I've been following her around?"
"Well---"
"Don't answer that," Lancelot said with a slight smirk, "Anyways, there is something gone awry about that girl. I caught her trying to leave, but I convinced her to at least stay tonight. Perhaps we can reach some resolution or make some kind of discovery before then."
"We can only hope," answered Arthur, "Although, if she is being truthful and really does intend on leaving I suppose it makes little difference either way." Lancelot was struck with the realization at Arthur's words that his curiosity about this strange female undeniably surpassed that of his commander's. No, but this was a just natural curiosity and nothing important enough to dwell upon---right?
----------
Arthur and Lancelot returned to where Tarra sat and seated themselves on either side of her. Tarra looked hazily from one to the other, shrugged, and turned her attention back to her ale. She was not drunk---yet, but the table did seem slightly off balance and the soft, rustic colors of the tavern were beginning to blur.
She noticed that the three other knights she had abandoned at the round table: Gawain, Galahad, and Bors, had now joined their table, as well.
"So, Galahad," addressed Lancelot, "You seem to have sobered up a bit."
"What do you mean? I wasn't drunk," the young knight refuted, seeming somewhat offended. Then he turned to Tarra and a look of confusion crossed his face, "Who's that?"
"Oh, no, you weren't drunk at all," said Bors sarcastically, patting Galahad gruffly on the back.
"This is Tarra," Arthur said, making her introduction for her, "She is Tristan's sister."
"My condolences," replied Galahad, raising his glass to Tarra.
Tarra grinned in return, "You and I will get along splendidly, I think, Galahad." A man passed by their table with a basket of fruit, and Tarra stealthily swiped an apple. She took out her dagger and began slicing the fruit into neatly cut slithers.
Gawain laughed, "I'm beginning to see the resemblance."
Tarra stopped mid-bite and glared at Gawain. "Ha!" she scoffed, "I am nothing like---like---him!"
"Prove me wrong!" dared Gawain with a cocky smile.
"Well, for starters, I have more than ten words in my vocabulary," Tarra answered proudly.
"She has a point," Lancelot jested, leaning back and resting his arm on the back of Tarra's chair. Tarra fidgeted nervously, straightening her posture and sliding herself closer to the edge of the chair. From the corner of her eye, she could see that his eyes were fixed on her. His stare was like the desert sun beating against her back, and she hated that she was disarmed by it. The fact that someone, especially, a male someone was affecting her so was simply unacceptable. She turned with a raised eyebrow to the haughty knight and asked, "Finding everything to your liking?"
Her question did not shake Lancelot the slightest bit, and with a dashing grin, he replied, "Do you ask because you truly desire my appreciation of your constitution or because you desire to deny me of all dignity by forcing me to reveal my heart's most secret affections for you?"
Tarra rolled her eyes, "Sir, I fear I did not hear a bit of what you said for your words bore such little weight that they floated away into the night's sky before they could reach my ears."
Lancelot laughed, "I can see my flattery proves ineffective."
"You can't con a con-artist, my friend," Tarra said, "I may not have invented deception, but I have certainly perfected it."
"You wouldn't really be a woman if you hadn't," muttered Bors.
For Arthur, however, the conversation had taken an interesting turn, and he snatched at the present opportunity before it passed him by. "What kinds of experiences in conning have you had, Tarra?" he asked suspiciously.
The corner of Tarra's mouth turned up slyly, "Arthur, such a direct question leaves your honest character dangerously exposed, but alas I fear the ale is distorting my judgment, so I will simply disclose to you imprudently that I am a liar, cheat, thief, and an overall menace to society."
Now he was getting somewhere. Arthur raised an eyebrow, "Is that so?"
Tarra's eyes shot open as if in sudden realization of what she had said, "Yes, yes, but I've given it all up! Starting a new a life, that's what I'm doing."
"Don't con a fellow con-artist," Lancelot winked.
"As the sovereign leader of this country," Arthur said firmly, "I must advise against your causing such mischief here."
"Oh you needn't worry. Theft was not my motive in coming here," said Tarra; and that was the truth---mostly.
"That's good to hear," Arthur replied, then changed the subject, "But I reckon the same cannot be said about the motives which took you all the way to Arabia?
"Ah," said Tarra with a flicker of light in her eyes, "Now there is a story to tell."
"Mmm, I love a good story," said Gawain, propping his feet up on the table.
Tarra cleared her throat, adjusted herself in her seat, and began her tale, "As I stated before, I am an expert in the arts of deception and thievery. I'd lived my life employing these crafts in various undertakings of no certain consequence. I decided at last to test my skills on a grander scale; on the acquisition of a piece of the treasure of Bostra, the Arabian city I mentioned before. Now, the treasure was hidden in the inner most vault of the palace of the Sultan Arif of Bostra. Sultan Arif had progressed very much in age, but very little in wisdom. He was old and he was senile, but do not doubt for a second his absolute authority and leadership.
"Entering the palace undetected was no easy feat, but I won't bore you with the details of my ingenious act of evasion. I found the treasure piled high in the inner vault. I had my sack open, ready to pillage my loot, but just as I reached my hand out to one of those sparkling rubies, I heard a voice from behind me, 'Just what do you think you're doing?'
"Of course, you can imagine my terror at being caught trying to steal some of the most valuable treasure in the entire Roman Empire, but the fates were on my side that day for not a moment later did Sultan Arif himself stumble into the vault. He looked at me with his elderly, fogged over eyes, opened his arms to me, and said, 'Why! Sadah? Is that you? I have not seen you since you were but a small child! Look at you! So grown up!'
"Can you imagine my good fortune? The sultan thought I was the daughter of one of his distant, but favorite cousins and that I had come to visit him. The guard who had caught me in the vault tried to object, but the sultan laughed and called him a fool, 'Don't you think I know my own relatives? Silly child, getting lost in my grand palace and thinking not of asking for help in finding her way.' Of course, I saw no advantage to setting him straight, so for the next two years, I lived comfortably in the palace of Bostra as Sadah, the sultan's cousin's daughter."
"That's unbelievable!" exclaimed Gawain.
"And they did not expect you at all?" asked Arthur in awe at her story.
"Not at all," Tarra answered triumphantly.
"Very impressive," commented Lancelot with the same grin that never seemed to leave his face.
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"Arthur!" called a scolding voice from across the tavern that belonged to the queen, Guinevere, "I've been waiting for you!"
"If you'll excuse me," Arthur said, rising from the table, "It appears I am wanted elsewhere."
"Yeah, yeah," teased Bors, "We don't want your company anyway."
Not long after Arthur's departure, the other knights dispersed into their separate quarters, tired from the long day. Lancelot kept a close eye on Tarra who had found a spot on the wall where she could watch the sun rise. She was used to sleepless nights.
Tarra hugged her knees to her chest and stared out into the horizon, replaying all the day's events in her mind. What a mess she had made. Not only had her presence been discovered by the knights and her long lost half-brother, but she had also betrayed way too many details about her less than reputable character.
Yet, she could not shake the feeling that perhaps she had purposely sabotaged her own plans. When Lucia had uttered a name Tarra knew all too well, the name Tristan, as the second target of assassination, Tarra had seen it as fate presenting an opportunity to finally bury her past---literally. She had also seen the situation as a test for her lack of conscience, a test she was not completely sure she wanted to pass.
What if she could not do it? What if she simply did not have what it takes to become a murderer? Perhaps she should just leave as she had told Lancelot was her intention. A shiver ran up her spine. She did not want to know what horrors awaited her if she did not fulfill her mission. She was in over her head, and there was no going back. Tarra drew in a deep breath of resolution. She could do it. She had to.
The sun had peeked its head above the distant hills when a figure beneath the wall suddenly caught Tarra's attention. Tarra recognized the figure at once as Jillian, Tristan's lover. She watched as Jillian soundlessly slipped outside the gates and hurried briskly towards the edge of the forest. Tarra furrowed her eyebrows in puzzlement. Now what?