I leaned back in my chair and stared at her. She and Pelleas had sent my men to the barracks and led me to their lodging. They had an entire tower to themselves—a fair, airy place with silk oriflammes hung on the whitewashed stone, brighter than any tower of Lothian would ever be. And more hospitable. Nyneve and Pelleas themselves had helped me take off my mail and helm and sword and heavy boots. They had ordered me a warm bath scented with rose petals and they had given me a velvet robe and soft buskins to wear. In the sunny top room, we sat on soft chairs almost like thrones while a servant brought wine.

“What did he say?”

“He said he would not prevent you.”

It was not what I wanted of my father, the King. I tried again. “What about years ago? When you first took me to Lothian, you said you would tell King Arthur I was alive. What did he say then?”

Under the table Gull lay gnawing a meaty bone the servant had brought her from the kitchen; I felt her press warm against my feet. On Pelleas’s shoulder, the falcon fluffed her milky feathers, clacked her beak, and turned her golden-eyed gaze on me. A falcon’s eyes are set on the front of the head, like a person’s; her regard felt nearly human, though fierce. I liked seeing her perching there unleashed and unhooded, able to fly if she chose, able to look at me.

Nyneve was looking at me also, but not so fiercely. “He said nothing. He is the King; he cannot always speak what he is feeling. He was glad, I think.” She paused to consider. “And afraid. Mordred, you must understand how noble he is. He believes what Merlin foretold, yet he will greet you with courtesy.”

I wanted far more than courtesy from him; I became sulky to hear her speak of him so warmly. Also, I had drunk wine, and I was not accustomed to it. Some childish urging made me say to her, “Morgan le Fay says you love him.”

If I was hoping for a blush from her or a jealous growl from Pelleas, I got neither. Sitting beside her, across the table from me, Pelleas glanced at her with a smile. And she smiled just as merrily at me.

“I do, indeed; how could I not love him?” Then she rolled her eyes. “Though not as Morgan would like to think.”

“I thank King Arthur’s goodliness that Nyneve is alive and mine today,” Sir Pelleas said to me.

His quiet words made me feel how young I was, a spoiled child when they were treating me as their honored guest, a spiteful child trying to make trouble between them. I pushed my wine goblet away. “He gave her to you?”