Morgana nodded. His plan was sound. It might work. Or work enough. She doubted Mordred ever entirely trusted anything he was told. She's catch sight of him sometimes as he listened to reports. You could almost imagine him looking down at some dead thing, turning it over and over to examine it from every angle, to find every flaw, every possibility. She was never entirely sure whether she was fooling him or he her. Perhaps he'd always known what she'd been doing, and was keeping her safe for some reasons of his own. Nothing was certain anymore. She had to second guess everything; every thought, every dream, every move. It was easy, so easy to get lost.

And yet, Mace's firm embrace was like an anchor, drawing her back to herself. The world grew more solid, more consequential. The floor beneath her feet was hard and dusty, there was a chill to the air, and the gentle thumping of his heart was all that was good and comforting in the world. She didn't want him to let go.

But he must.

Morgana drew away from him, wiping a tear from beneath her eye with a finger. She felt exposed, like he was seeing more of her than she'd ever wanted him to. She was togetherness, she was practicality, she was forthright - she was not tears and shaking hands. Morgana smoothed the skirt of her dress, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She held herself apart from him, drawing herself up, back straight, her hands coming to rest clasped together across her stomach.

Did he see it? The longer hair, the slimmer frame, the softness that had fallen from her face? He looked as he had always looked. Handsome, rugged, strong, and inescapably kind. Her gaze settled on the hazel of his eyes, on the gentle smile lines in the corners, and she found herself smiling too.

"How is Tristan," Morgana pressed him, "can you at least tell me that? Is there anything I can do for him? Anything I can send?" Her right hand strayed to her mouth, shaking fingers tracing the line of her lips. She closed her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. "He must hate me terribly."

Her attention drifted to the windows, suddenly yearning for the open countryside; for the feel of the wind on her face and the soft whisper of the trees. The curtains held her apart from them. Almost accidentally, she found partof her consciousness drifting through the thatch. It settled itself in Chip. The breeze ruffled his feathers, the freshness of the air filled his lungs. Bliss. Morgana drank it in like a lost traveller in the desert finally offered water.

"Of course," she replied matter-of-factly. She nodded, sorting through her jumbled thoughts for something meaningful to tell him. "He's been growing his spy network, his reach is growing, and they keep changing the supply routes. The guards talk about it sometimes, but there doesn't seem to be any obvious pattern. He's planning decoy wagons, dressed up to look like a usual run but with some of the more efficient guards concealed in the packing. Your camp needs to be careful." What else, what else? "Oh," Morgana resumed, "there was a name. The guards encountered an alliance officer a few months ago but no one's heard anything about him since. Mordred doesn't like not knowing all the pieces on the board. He made enquiries at the forum but they didn't know anything. Guy Penry, they said? I don't know if that means anything to you."

She sighed and shook her head, rubbing her hands across her face. "Is there anything you need to know?" she asked him. "If you have questions, I can do my best to answer them. That might be more helpful for you."

Morgana leaned into him again, her chest pressed against his. His breathing seemed steadier than hers felt. That, at least, was reassuring. The distractions he offered were just as reassuring.
"Do I just have to watch?" she asked him, "or do I get to have a go?" She perked a gently arched eyebrow as she took his hands slipping her fingers through his. "You know I'm an excellent horsewoman," she teased, "you can watch me give them all a run for their money."

She squeezed his hands and looked up into his face.

"I'd like that," Morgana said, more seriously, "when this is all over, it will be nice to get away; to see different mountains and stand under a different sun. Just the two of us."

Pulling one hand free of his grip she rested it against his chest.

"Kiss me."