I could not have seen my own bony face in the mirror if I tried. That small circle of metal lay like a mystery, all shadows and intimations. I stared, and lost sense of time, and the shadows began to swirl, and in the shifting dimness I saw the sheen of gold—and then—it was he, King Arthur, I knew it by the coiled druid vine work of his crown. He stood with his back to me, on some lonely shore, staring out to sea. I saw his wine-red cloak, his broad shoulders, his curling hair nearly as golden as his crown, and in a moment he would turn, my father, I would see more, I would see—his face—

But as if feeling a cold shadow fall upon me I felt the presence of Morgan le Fay in the room with me; could she see what I was seeing?

I did not know. There was too much I did not know about her. Where did she live? How did she come to travel like a queen? Where were her husband, her children? Did she have none? Had she killed them?

That thought came out of nowhere. It made me blink, and the vision of my father, King Arthur, vanished before he could turn his face to me.

Stiffly I struggled to my feet. “What did you see?” asked Morgan le Fay.

“Nothing, my lady. I saw nothing.” My heart was a white stag leaping in my chest; I would share nothing of my father with her. “I—I am weary, my lady. By your leave.” I bowed to her and bolted, running to my chamber.

My dreams that night were of Arthur, King Arthur, Very King, looking out to sea.

The sea. I only dimly remembered the sea, but those up-reaching waves were all entwined with my memories of my fishermother, warm white soup, the little hut under the wide bright sky. Perhaps it was because I had seen my father by the sea that I began to have bright dreams of him. Or perhaps, in a backward way, it was because of Morgan le Fay. I thought about her much, and what I chiefly thought was that Morgan le Fay had taught me scrying for a reason. What did she hope I would see? My father embracing my mother? My father placing me, an infant, in the boat where I was meant to die?

She wanted something of me.

The morning she left, I awoke to find on my chamber floor a small, muslin-wrapped packet that had been slipped under the door. I opened it and found the brazen mirror.

When I stood with my mother and brothers at the gates to see her off, she smiled upon me with some hard knowledge in her glittering eyes.

She wanted something. And whatever it was, I did not want to give it to her.