Odd. Each one had a small collection of dead spiders and moths outside. When she tried to pick them up, they crumbled to black dust in her fingers.
But she could see nothing else. Troubled, she climbed to puzzle it out and clear her mind. Her body was still weak from the iron magic, but it felt good to use it. Up and up the outside of the castle she went, to the very top part of the treacherous stairs.
The wind caressed her with greedy fingers, trying to pry her hood away from her face. She found shelter in an alcove buffered by a low wall. It was good she had not come when she was still so weak from blood loss. Even more recovered, she swayed and felt dizzy. The world unfurled beneath her. From this height, the lake was almost tolerable, one shining mass beyond the city. Surrounding that, the fields glowed golden and green. As long as she squinted out the lake, she had never seen a view so beautiful.
She leaned against the back wall of the alcove and closed her eyes. Camelot was a wonder. And there were people inside who wanted to bring it down. She fiddled with the rock, which she had left hidden outside the castle so her own protections would not undo the magic before she figured out what it was.
She knew a knot for seeing. Usually it was used to find an object or a person. She might be able to use it to discover the rock’s purpose. A bigger thought occurred to her. If she were up here, she might be able to look out over the city and find any concentrated pools of magic. That could lead her to the woman. It would dull her vision for hours, but—
“Hello.”
Guinevere startled and opened her eyes. Mordred stood in front of her. The sun was behind him, haloing his head but making it impossible to see his features. At least she had not started the knots yet! She would have been caught.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I have never run into anyone here before. I can go.”
“No.” Guinevere shifted aside to allow him in. “I am the intruder. I wanted a quiet place to think.” It was good she was interrupted. Doing magic out in the open was a terrible idea. She could be patient. She had to be.
“You found the best quiet place in the whole city.” He joined her, resting his hand against the alcove. She had been so distracted by the height and the view that she had failed to notice the alcove itself. It was carved with a thousand images. They had been smoothed and worn with age, but she saw hints of people, of suns, of moons. Of dragons and trees and beasts. There was an odd grace to them. Almost as though they formed themselves from the rock. If there ever were chisel marks, she found no evidence of them now.
“I have tried to read it many times,” Mordred said, running his fingers along the carvings. “Tried to puzzle out why they made Camelot. But the past holds her secrets dear, and try as I may, I cannot coax them out of her.”
Guinevere touched the alcove.
For the briefest moment, she had a sense. Not the sense of the mountain, or the rocks. Bu
t the sense of the hands that had lovingly carved Camelot free from the stone. Purpose flowed through her, buoying her up. Determination. Promise.
And then it was gone, faded as much as these carvings. It left her feeling deflated and sad. Whoever had created Camelot had done it for a reason. Long before Uther Pendragon took it. Long before Arthur took it from him.
Whatever their purpose in making Camelot, it was lost to time.
Mordred sat on the floor of the alcove, stretching his legs in front of him and leaning against the back wall. It was so easy and casual a position that Guinevere felt out of place. He pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle and revealed bread, cheese, and nuts.
“Stay as long as you like,” he said. “I have only a little while before I have to be at the court.”
“Why are you here?” Guinevere asked.
Mordred looked up at her. “I told you. This is the best spot in the whole city.”
“No, I mean, why are you in the city? I thought Arthur and all his men were out doing…” She trailed off. She did not know what they were doing. And it bothered her. She had been unconscious when he left, but should he not have figured out a way to inform her?
Should he have, though?
Yes. If he was out there, he was vulnerable to magical attack. It was her job to protect him, and she could not do that if she was left behind, unaware of his location. She would have to craft some protections he could take with him.
“When my uncle king has to range wide afield, I am left in charge of the city. Everything cannot stop because he is gone.”
“He trusts you.” Guinevere sat next to Mordred, trying to arrange her skirts and legs in the least awkward configuration. Women’s clothing was not made for sitting on the ground.
“He does.” Mordred sounded unhappy about it.
“But…,” Guinevere prodded.
He leaned back, squinting at the sun. “But I do not like staying in the city. I would rather be out in the wilds, at my uncle king’s side. I know it is an honor, a tremendous responsibility. But it still feels like being left behind.”
Guinevere understood. She reached over and took some of Mordred’s bread, breaking it into smaller pieces as she stared out over the landscape. “He did not even tell me where he is going.”
“Do you want to know?” Mordred handed her cheese without being asked.