Gwen wasn’t sleeping. She wasn’t doing much else, either. All wedding planning had been put on hold until they could be absolutely sure there would still be a groom, and even her mother was leaving her alone. This should have been a relief, but Gwen found herself with far too much time on her hands and nothing to fill it with. Once, she had longed for nothing more than her life of solitude, but now it felt somewhat hollow; the only bright spots in her day were the times when Bridget could get away from the last events of the tournament and come to sit with her.
‘Who’s with him?’ Bridget said now, as Agnes let her into the room. She was holding a plate of spiced buns studded with currants. ‘Elaine sent these for you, from the kitchens.’
‘Oh. Oh – thank her, for me,’ Gwen said from her armchair. Her eyes felt raw and swollen from crying. She was wrung out and useless, incapable of doing even the smallest task. ‘Sid is with him. He needs a proper break, though.’
‘He won’t take one,’ said Agnes, sighing. ‘Even when he’s not there, he’s not sleeping.’
Gwen could have asked how exactly Agnes knew that Sidney wasn’t sleeping, but by this point, it was pretty self-explanatory.
‘Did they say anything more about his head?’ Bridget asked, putting down the plate and coming to sit with Gwen. The bruising hadn’t seemed too bad at first, but when they’d cut away all his hair – Gwen had cried watching, as if they were cutting all of her hair, not that it really mattered compared to everything else – his head had looked oddly swollen, and the expression on the physician’s face hadn’t given Gwen much hope.
‘No,’ Gwen said. ‘They didn’t say anything.’ And then she burst into tears.
She didn’t see Agnes leave the room, because she couldn’t really see anything – she felt Bridget’s hands on her though, tentatively smoothing her hair away from her face and stroking her back. Gwen reached for her, feeling foolish and lost and small, and found herself being hauled into Bridget’s arms properly so that she could cry there.
‘You need sleep,’ Bridget said eventually, when Gwen’s sobs had gone more the way of sniffles. ‘Bed.’
Gwen allowed herself to be steered into her bedroom and sat down on the end of her bed; she watched through blurry eyes as Bridget knelt to untie Gwen’s boots, easing them off, precise and careful. Gwen’s heart hurt, watching her; she leaned forward to kiss her, and Bridget caught her by the wrists, holding her steady.
‘That’s not sleeping.’
‘Stay,’ Gwen said, knowing she sounded desperate and only slightly caring. ‘Please.’
Bridget considered Gwen; she must have looked completely pitiful, because a moment later she was taking off her own boots so that she could climb up on to the bed.
It should have been awkward, but Gwen was too exhausted to care; she lay down, and Bridget lay down next to her, both fully clothed and staring up at the canopy ceiling.
‘I don’t even like him,’ Gwen said eventually, and Bridget laughed quietly.
‘He grows on you.’
‘Like mould,’ said Gwen. ‘Like one of those plants that strangles trees.’
Bridget turned her head to look at Gwen, her expression knowing. ‘Keep slandering him if it’ll make you feel better.’
‘It won’t,’ said Gwen. ‘Can we talk about something else, please?’
‘Like what?’
Gwen shrugged. ‘Anything.’
Bridget hummed thoughtfully. ‘I won again yesterday. At the lists. It’s as far as I’ve ever made it in a royal tourney. Only a few events left.’
‘You did?’ Gwen said, turning over on to her elbow so she could look at Bridget properly. ‘That’s – that’s wonderful. You should have told me.’
‘It didn’t seem important, considering.’
‘Well, it is. You’re incredible. Glory to House Leclair, honour upon your family name, et cetera, et cetera.’ Bridget laughed quietly up at the ceiling. ‘Has anybody else in your family ever competed?’
‘No,’ Bridget said. ‘My father would have, but he has a knee injury from a bad fall. And House Leclair has only been around for three generations, so there isn’t a particularly wide pool of applicants. My grandfather picked the name himself.’
‘Oh. Didn’t he want to use a Tai name?’
‘They don’t have family names in Sukhothai. I think he chose Leclair from a book.’
‘Which one?’
‘The Big Book of Vaguely French-Sounding Names,’ Bridget said seriously, making Gwen snort with laughter. ‘I do have a Tai nickname, but it means frog, so I’d rather it didn’t catch on at court.’
‘Frog?’
Bridget gave her a hard look and refused to elaborate. ‘Sir Marlin was knocked out yesterday too, so it was an excellent day all round.’
‘Good,’ said Gwen, thinking of the Knife having to leave Camelot in disgrace and finding that it instantly lifted her spirits. ‘Bridget, if you won the tournament, would that be it, for you? Would you feel like you’d done it?’
‘What do you mean?’ Bridget said. Without her seeming conscious of it, one of her hands had found the end of Gwen’s braid, and was very slowly pulling it loose.
‘I mean …’ Gwen said, slightly losing track of her train of thought as Bridget’s fingers tugged gently at her hair. ‘I mean, would you stop touring the tourneys all year? Find … something else to do? It can’t be easy, the way people treat you because you’re a woman. I imagine it must get quite wearing.’
‘No,’ Bridget said, her fingers briefly stilling. ‘No, I don’t think I’d stop. I enjoy it. It’s a lot of hard work for very little glory, but you can find joy even in the worst and the most mundane parts of it, if you approach them with the right attitude and surround yourself with good people. Besides, I know I’m not the best I can be, yet. I’d like to get there.’
There was a brief silence while Gwen pondered this. She was trying to gather the courage to say something, and felt her heart start to beat very rapidly, a rush of blood in her ears, as she opened her mouth to do it.
‘What’s going to happen when summer is over?’
Bridget had finished unpicking one braid, and moved on to a second. ‘I imagine we’ll throw conkers at Sidney’s head.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘So am I. Though it won’t be a particularly challenging target, his head is enormous.’
Gwen pulled away from her hand to sit upright. ‘Bridget. When summer is over, and the tournament is over, and everybody leaves …’
Bridget looked up at her, impassive. ‘What are you asking me?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you want me to say?’
Gwen threw up her hands. ‘I don’t know!’
‘Yes you do,’ Bridget said, calm and infuriatingly correct.
‘Fine,’ said Gwen. ‘Fine. I want you to stay. Stay at court with me.’
Bridget closed her eyes for a moment; when she opened them, Gwen found it difficult to look at her. ‘Stay with you and do what?’
Gwen shrugged hopelessly.
‘Be your … lady-in-waiting?’ Bridget said evenly. ‘Wear nice dresses and go to dances and watch you from across the hall every night at supper?’
‘No! I mean – yes, you might have to do some of that. All right, all of that. But would it really be so bad?’
‘We don’t even know each other that well, Gwen,’ Bridget said, in such a kind and understanding tone that Gwen wanted to punch something inanimate.
‘But I like what I do know about you. I want to know more. If you leave … we won’t even get the chance. Tournaments will always be there, you can put them off for a year or so, you can—’
‘Let’s not talk about this now,’ Bridget said softly; to Gwen, it sounded like a death knell. She had assumed that Bridget felt exactly the same way as she did, but suddenly she had no idea why. All they had been doing was kissing – a lot of kissing, whenever they could, precious minutes snatched in quiet corners where Gwen lost herself entirely in Bridget’s gentle mouth and firm grip – but that didn’t mean Bridget really liked her. The thought of this – that she had misjudged everything, right from the start – felt like being plunged into ice water and left there to burn.
‘I want to talk about it now,’ Gwen said, trying to keep her voice as calm as Bridget’s was, and failing. ‘Would it really be so bad? To stop competing for a while? To see if we might … be something?’
Bridget sighed up at the canopy, scrubbing a hand across her face. ‘Yes. Yes, it would. I want … more than that, from my life. I’ve been fighting for that for a very long time, I’ve had to bruise and break myself and bleed for it, so what you’re offering … I’m sorry. I care about you. But it’s not enough for me.’
Gwen lay back down, feeling leaden. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed and felt fresh tears break free to slide slowly down her face.
‘But I know what I want now,’ she said, her voice cracking.
‘Gwen,’ Bridget said, reaching for her hand. ‘Summer isn’t over. I’m still here, and I’ll be back next year. I could come at Christmas.’
‘Christmas?’ Gwen whispered, horrified. ‘I can’t wait until Christmas.’
‘Please don’t cry. Just – come here.’
Gwen allowed herself to be pulled into Bridget’s arms, but she felt completely unmoored, even when Bridget pressed a kiss to the top of her head and told her again to get some sleep. She wanted to respond properly, to try to argue her case, but she was exhausted and heartbroken and really … what else was there to say? Bridget wasn’t going to stay. Bridget didn’t feel the same way about her, and never had. It hurt and hurt and hurt, each second suddenly steeped with melancholy, as if they were already saying goodbye.
It seemed like Gwen had only just drifted off when she was woken by a frantic knocking at the door – she experienced a moment of confusion, followed by her stomach dropping through the floor. It felt as if it could only be bad news, and she was light-headed with panic as she scrambled out of bed, Bridget close behind – but when she reached the outer chamber, she saw that Sidney had already been admitted, and was currently enthusiastically kissing Agnes by the fire.
‘What?’ Gwen said, and they broke apart. ‘Don’t tell me you knocked like that because you were just so desperate for—’
‘Fever broke,’ Sidney said, grinning at her; she found herself smiling back, her eyes just as misty as his were. ‘They think he’s going to be okay.’
‘Fever broke,’ Gwen repeated, sitting down heavily in a chair, Bridget letting out a long whistle of relief behind her.
He was going to be okay.
If nothing else in her life was going to go right, perhaps it was worth it, just for Arthur to live.
Agnes and Sidney were already kissing again.