She put one in a pouch and carried it with her to meet Dindrane that afternoon. As they strolled the streets of Camelot—one guard accompanying them in Brangien’s absence—Guinevere idly toyed with the rock. Dindrane gossiped cheerily, though she remarked several times how disappointing it was that the city was so empty with most of the citizens at the market. Dindrane liked being seen with Guinevere. It was social currency, and Dindrane had had precious little to spend before gaining the favor of the queen.
For her part, Guinevere found Dindrane relaxing. There was never any pressure to speak or risk of saying the wrong thing. Dindrane steered the conversation the way an expert rider guided a horse.
They turned down a side street and walked toward a merchant’s shop Dindrane wanted to look at. In Guinevere’s hand, the rock was as warm as the day around them.
The rock grew warmer.
Guinevere stopped, the rock clutched in her hand.
“Is something the matter?” Dindrane asked.
“No. Nothing.” As they walked farther in that direction, the rock grew warmer and warmer. They passed several homes and shops. And then the rock began to cool.
“I saw something I wanted to look at,” Guinevere said, abruptly turning around. She worked her way back, Dindrane grumbling, until the rock was once again almost too hot to hold. She was standing in front of an unremarkable home.
“Who lives here?” Guinevere asked.
“How should I know?” Dindrane looked longingly toward the shop she had wanted to visit.
The guard surprised Guinevere by speaking up. “We caught a witch here not a week ago.”
“Really?” Guinevere clutched the rock. Rhoslyn. This was Rhoslyn’s home. And the rock had led her straight here.
The rocks were guides, allowing those who knew about magic to find each other. But now they led only to an empty house. Fortunately, Guinevere already knew where Rhoslyn was. And now she knew that Rhoslyn had been organizing others within Camelot.
Flush with triumph, Guinevere let Dindrane drag her back to the shop, and then to another, and then another. When they got to the main street leading to the castle, Brangien rushed up to meet them from the direction of the docks. Sir Tristan followed respectfully behind. He nodded to Guinevere’s guard, who left them, with a bow.
“Sir Bors is hunting a dragon!” Brangien said, out of breath from the climb. “A dragon! Not four hours’ ride from here!”
Guinevere frowned. “There has not been a dragon in a hundred years.”
“And yet! Sir Bors is determined to kill it, if it exists.”
“Sir Bors is a canny hunter,” Dindrane said. “My brother could never do such a thing.”
“What proof does Sir Bors have that the creature exists?” Guinevere asked.
As they resumed walking toward the castle, Brangien resettled the parcels she was carrying. “Rumors. A reliable woodsman with a burned arm, screaming about a demon in the forest. Some evidence of scorching. If it is a dragon, Sir Bors will find it.”
“I cannot wait to tell my sister-in-law,” Dindrane said, smiling wickedly. “A dragon! And her husband will not be the one to face it.” She hurried away from them.
It was news indeed. Terrible news. Dragons had been the favored creatures of the Dark Queen. For centuries she had wielded them, sending them to attack farmsteads, to ruin settlements. They had been hunted with ruthless efficiency by the Romans. Even Merlin did not think any still lived. Guinevere had asked during one of their lessons. Merlin had rambled about the old making way for the new, bones buried deep in the earth to grow the seeds of new life.
But if a dragon was on the prowl, that meant Arthur was vulnerable. Even Camelot was. A dragon in flight could lay siege to the city the way men could not. If the dragon had any alliance to dark magic—or was under the control of someone like Rhoslyn—it had to be stopped.
“I must go,” Guinevere said, her mind already made up.
“Go where? The market is over.”
“Go to the dragon.” If there really was one, she did not trust Sir Bors to take care of it himself, canny hunter or not.
Brangien stopped walking, stunned. “My lady, that is a job for knights. Not for queens.”
Guinevere had not told Brangien the truth of her identity. It was one thing for them to share a secret of magic; it was another entirely for Guinevere to reveal her whole self. Guinevere pulled her hood on. “King Arthur is my husband. I will do whatever it takes to protect him. And no one else in this kingdom will be able to know if the dragon is doing the bidding of some dark force. I can. But I will need Sir Tristan to help me.” She turned to the knight.
His brown face had gone pale. But he nodded, hand on the hilt of his sword and jaw clenched with resolve. “I will need to get my cloak and more weapons.”
Brangien smoothed her skirts nervously. “I think this is a bad idea.”
“Meet me where the horses are kept, Sir Tristan.”
“But you will need a boat!” Brangien exclaimed.
“I have one.” Guinevere hurried to the castle, leaving them at the gate. She made her way out to the walkway that led to the secret passage’s storage room. She stopped outside the doorway. This one, fortunately, they had not magically protected, since it did not lead directly into the castle. She pulled an extra thread of iron from her pouch, pricked her lip with it, and then fashioned it into a knot that would pull apart at the slightest tug. She inserted it into the keyhole, then pulled, releasing the unlocking magic.
The door swung open. Relieved and only slightly dizzy, she hurried inside and closed the door behind her. The barrel was a bigger problem, quite literally. It took her nearly ten minutes to shift it enough that she could squeeze through.
She hurried through the dark, slick tunnel. When she came out the other side, she rushed to the horses’ pen. To her surprise, it was not only Sir Tristan, mounted, waiting for her.
“What are you doing here?” Guinevere asked Brangien, who was holding the reins of two other horses.
“No lady’s maid would allow her lady to go on an unaccompanied trip with a knight!”
“But they would allow their lady to seek a dragon?” Guinevere mounted her horse, laughing.
“Well, no. But I can only control one of those things.” Brangien stuck out her tongue at Guinevere.
Sir Tristan led the way, and they pushed the horses as fast as they dared. If Sir Bors killed the dragon before she arrived, she would not be able to determine if it was under the sway of the dark magic. The dragon problem would be solved, but no answers would be obtained. As they rode, Guinevere asked Brangien to show her the knotting method she used. It was a good distraction.