Free Queen of the Summer Stars by Persia Woolley Page A

before dinner.
    “Perhaps that’s as it should be,” the Irish girl answered, twisting a sidelock into a wave and pinning it to the mass on the top of my head.
    “How can you say that? Bedivere’s always been Arthur’s right-hand man.”
    “And now Bedivere himself doesn’t have a hand.”
    “But you said he’d get well!” I rounded on her in dismay.
    “He probably won’t die, if we can keep gangrene from setting in,” she said slowly. “But he’s had a close call. He won’t be active again for some time, and Arthur needs a lieutenant now.”
    Brigit nudged me back around. My hair is my best feature, being thick and red-gold in color, and Brigit spent hours keeping it looking nice. Years ago both she and her cousin Kevin had been given to my father as peace hostages by an Irish family immigrating to Rheged. We’d grown up as fosterlings, and I’d come to rely on her wisdom and calmness as time went by. So I mulled over her words while she went on with the coiffure.
    Bedivere had been my first and closest friend when I came to Court, just as he had been Arthur’s. They’d worked as a team since they were children at Sir Ector’s court—Arthur thought up the ideas, and Bedivere made them happen. When I married Arthur they simply included me as a natural third. The three of us spent innumerable hours together, riding out to check horse pastures, exploring ancient hill-forts or lounging around the fire on rainy days, playing draughts and talking about projects that would help the Cause. It never occurred to me it wouldn’t always be that way.
    Now I was faced with the galling prospect of Arthur having a lieutenant who excluded me so thoroughly I might as well not exist.
    “Give this Lancelot a chance,” Brigit advised, putting Mama’s gold fillet on top of my head. “He’ll no doubt bring a fresh eye to things, and while it’s bound to be different, it may not be all bad.”
    I grimaced as she handed me the mirror and she burst out laughing.
    “Whatever would I do without you?” I grinned.
    “Probably get into no end of trouble,” she quipped.
    Next morning I went to the infirmary, hoping to find Bedivere awake. His craggy features were sunken and drawn, and his eyelids barely fluttered when I sat down on the stool beside his cot. All the fire and color had drained from him, as though lost in the torrent of blood that had gushed from his wound. From the sweet smell of the poppy I guessed he was sedated, so I made a prayer to the Goddess for him and quietly tiptoed out.
    It was clear that Bedivere would be convalescing for some time. I swallowed hard and reminded myself that Arthur needed a working lieutenant and it didn’t matter whether I liked him or not.
    ***
     
    In the days that followed I ran into Lancelot everywhere—in the Council Chamber, crossing the stableyard, pausing to note particular plants in my garden—his presence was unavoidable. He moved like a cat and proved to be superb with a blade, and I was sorely tempted to ask if he’d learned his technique at the Sanctuary; it was said that in the Old Days the Morrigan, great Goddess of bloodlust and death, had Herself taught heroes the art of war at such a school in the heart of Britain. But Lancelot made such a point of ignoring me, I had no choice but to treat him with equal coldness and keep my questions to myself.
    Cei went to live in one of Silchester’s finer deserted houses—the Seneschal’s love of privacy was well known. The rest of the Companions joined us in the Mansion near the city wall. Large and comfortable, it had been built to house members of the Imperial Post, and since restoration of a messenger service was one of Arthur’s dreams, it seemed a fitting place to make our headquarters.
    The new men settled into the ways of the Fellowship and their mood was good. Only Gawain was touchy and short-tempered, no doubt still smarting from the knowledge that Tristan had beaten Marhaus when he could not. He sulked as