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wrought? None. Which some said was only to be expected, as Arthur’s own mother had also cuckolded her husband at Tintagel. Some now called it “the place of horns,” since so many men had been deceived there. Lynet bore her guilt and she accepted the price. But she could not help wondering if the high king did the same.
    â€œWe are of the queen’s blood, and she knows it is our father who keeps her peace and faith, and Arthur’s,” said Lynet softly. “And Laurel says she is an honorable woman.” While Lynet had been fostered Queen Iseult, Laurel had been sent to Camelot to wait upon Queen Guinevere, and to tie the family that much more closely to the high king and his court.
    â€œSo Laurel says, but what did she see of the queen?” Colan’s eyes narrowed, seeing only his own thoughts. “A woman ruling in a foreign country in a court of riches, surrounded by an army to keep her safe and tribute to keep her well fed. While we here cling to the coast and fight off the Saxons and the Eirans and shiver and starve in the winter and watch our wealth whittled away year by year.”
    Lynet shrugged, suddenly irritated. She did not want to be reminded of troubles about which she could do nothing. She was tired. Her feet and hands ached. She wanted her bed and the oblivion of sleep. “Surely the chieftains have brought new troubles enough without bringing old ones up with them.”
    â€œBecause, Lynet, our father will be home soon. I mean to confront him at last. This accusation of murder is the final sign. We cannot wait any longer or Cambryn will crumble apart,” his words dropped to the barest whisper.
    Lynet swallowed, her throat suddenly dry and tight. “What do you want from me?”
    Colan reached out and grasped her hand, a gesture he seldom made. “Your support, sister,” he said. “You are the one who is closest to our father. You know his heart. If you stand beside me, I might be able to make him hear. If you do not …” he shook his head. “I do not know what will happen to us.”
    Lynet swallowed again, and looked at her brother’s hand holding hers. To be needed, to be wanted and reminded that she was still loved by her father, it made her weary heart want to sing. But, at the same time, he was talking about forcing a confrontation that could do nothing but bring more division to Cambryn.
    She drew her hand away. “Get to your bed, brother. Let the morning take to care of itself.”
    Colan stood. “Will you think on what I have said?”
    â€œYes,” she answered, turning away so she saw only the stones of the wall. “Yes.”
    She did not turn back, but she felt him leave. Lynet bowed her head, all the weariness of the sleepless night and turbulent day washing over her. She swayed a little. She could not stay here. She could not speak of small matters with so much filling thought and heart. Meg and the others could manage very well without her. She lifted the trailing hems of her skirt, and she left the great hall as quickly as she could without running.
    By the time she reached the room she shared with Laurel, Lynet was shaking yet again. She sat on their broad, low bed and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Drafts crept beneath the shutters, wrapping around her neck and finding their way into her slippers to chill her swollen, painful feet. Angrily, she shuffled to the hearth and poked at the fire, smashing at the coals to set loose the gouts of flame. She tossed on bricks of turf and watched smoke and flame rise together, and then sat down again. Slowly, carefully, she peeled off her soft slippers and eased down her stockings.
    The feet beneath belonged to a much older woman. They were scarred and knobbled with the toes twisted and splayed. Any change in the weather made them ache. At the end of a usual day they were so tender and swollen, she usually had to soak them in cold water and