“I do,” Brangien muttered. Perhaps she thought the veil obscured hearing as well as vision.

Even with the fire crackling in defiance of night, of cold, of beasts and creeping things, the stars were waiting. Men had not yet figured out how to beat those back. The girl traced her favorite constellations: The Drowned Woman. The Swift River. The Pebbled Shore. If any stars winked a warning, she did not see it through the sparks the fire sent heavenward.

They pushed the horses harder the next day. She discovered she was less afraid of the forest behind them than of the city awaiting them.

What peace she could find was in the sway and bump of the horse beneath her. Horses were deeply soothing to touch. Calm and purposeful. She stroked her mare’s mane absentmindedly. Her own long black hair had been plaited that morning by Brangien, woven through with threads of gold. “So many knots!” Brangien had said. But she had not seen their purpose. Had not suspected. Had she?

There were too many unforeseen complications already. How could the girl have known this young woman would explore her hair so carefully? And Mordred, always watching. He was beautiful, smooth-faced, with mossy-green eyes. She was reminded of the elegance of the snake gliding through the grass. But when she caught him staring, his smile had more of the wolf than of the snake.

The other knights, at least, cared nothing about her except out of duty. Sir Bors pushed them ever faster. They passed tiny villages where the homes huddled together like the men had in the forest, protecting each other’s backs and staring outward at the land around them, fearful and defiant. She wanted to dismount, to meet the people, to understand why they lived out here, determined to tame the wild and exposing themselves to threats innumerable. But all she saw were hazy forms and green and gold hints of the world around her. The veil was a more intimate version of her guards, sealing her away.

She stopped disliking Sir Bors’s pace and wished they would go even faster. She would be happy to have this journey behind her, to see what threats lay ahead so she could plan for them.

Then they came to the river.

She could make up her mind about nothing out here, it seemed. She was glad for her veil now. It hid the winking treachery of the water from her, and hid her panic from those around her. “Is there no way around?” She tried to make her voice both light and imperious. It did not succeed. She sounded exactly how she felt: terrified.

“The ferryman will see us safely across.” Sir Bors delivered it as a fact. She longed to cling to his certainty, but his confidence flowed swiftly past her and out of her reach.

“I would be happy to ride longer if it meant we could avoid the crossing,” she said.