I stood up and buckled on my sword so as to appear before the Lady of the Lake as a knight and a warrior. But Nyneve stood smiling—I remembered that selfsame smile from when she had first greeted me, nearly ten years before—and shaking her head at me.

“Mordred,” she said, “you’d do better to put that aside, with your shield and helm and mail. Better to put off your boots and spurs too.”

“And go barefoot?”

“Assuredly. Don’t you remember? We took away all those toys once before, ladywater and I, in the river below Caer Morgana.”

I stood with my hand on my sword hilt, my mouth sagging open, gawking at her.

She said, “What made you in such a hurry to take up arms again? Or ever? You could have been once more a carefree churl, a lad with a little white dog, both of you lying in the sun. You could have gone off and picked wild cherries. You could have built yourself a hut and lived there and been a woodcutter, and Gull could have caught you rabbits to eat. Why didn’t you?”

Such thoughts had never occurred to me. It made my heart ache that they had not, but I firmed my mouth and let my face show her nothing. “I’m a true noble, as you once said.”

“Yes, and that little X behind your ear, it is a dark, dark bird flying lower every day. Put off your boots and your sword if you wish to speak with my liege lady.”

I did so, and followed her to the verge of the lake. Very still, the water gleamed a deep, glassy green in the morning light. Lilies floated with their yellow throats open to the sky, their petals stark white against the dark water and the velvet-green lily pads. I saw no castle, no court, no lady.

I looked around. “Where is she?”

“She is everywhere. To speak with her, you must go to sleep in the lake.”

12