I went looking for Nyneve and found her, not in her tower, but by the central fountain in Queen Guinevere’s garden—the one place in Camelot where Gull was not allowed to follow me. It was a peaceful place, that garden, full of order and symmetry, quite unlike the twisted wilderness outside the castle walls. A high square of hedge enclosed it for shade and silence, and inside, straight white-cobbled paths ran under trellises of roses—any churl can grow violets, but a noble garden fosters great roses, red and white, and beds of lilies and carnations. Fruit trees stood in the garden too, apple, pear, pomegranate, their fruit hanging as yellow and red and heavy as the flowers. And in the trees, golden cages held linnets and blackbirds and nightingales. I felt bad for the birds—would not sweetly singing birds have winged to those trees without being caged there? Still, it was a royal garden, a jewel among gardens, heady with roses, a fitting haven for the Queen. Few folk were allowed there, but Nyneve was a favored courtier, and so was I. King Arthur cosseted me, and so, perforce, did the Queen.

On the soft turf by the fountain, Nyneve sat gazing into the water even though it stirred constantly and she could see nothing there. After encountering Pellinore, she had made her way to water for comfort, I knew, just as I had made my way to her.

When my shadow fell on her, she looked up at me with a small smile. I sat beside her and watched the fountain water sprinkling down. In the basin swam rose petals—white, yellow, pink, red—and under the petals, small golden fish. There was no darkness in the water. “Not ladywater,” I remarked.

“No. This is shallow water.”

We sat in silence, and I felt the hardness of my shoulders begin to ease, and I sighed.

Nyneve asked, “How is Gawain?”

“Drinking himself into a rage.”

“And Garet?”

“Not much better.”

She nodded, knowing much without my telling her. “It will be nasty. These things can go on for years. Sir Torre is Pellinore’s son. Sir Lamorak, Sir Percival, Sir Agrivale, Sir Dornar, they’re all his sons. They will all be honor bound to avenge him if Gawain harms him.”

There was so much troubling me that I could speak only around the edges of it. I said, “Gawain claims we are all murderers.”

“Did he speak for himself?”

“Yes. How—”

“His first quest. He defeated a strong knight. The man lay on the ground begging for mercy, but Gawain swung his sword to kill him. As the blow fell, the knight’s lady threw herself in the way, and Gawain could not stop the sword. He beheaded her.”

I sat dumbfounded. My brother Gawain, whom everyone adored, had done this evil thing?