Ganymede chomped at his bit and tossed his head, more than ready to get moving on the road. I hung back, not necessarily because I wanted to but because I had to. I had to wait for my father to stop arguing with the armorer on whether or not I really could handle the sword at my side, my mother to stop fussing over Gaheris, and Gaheris to get on a horse that was really a size and a half too big for him.

Agriviane and Mordred, at least, weren’t causing any trouble— and with the two of the family that had inherited Mother’s scheming side, that came as a surprise. Agriviane, barely a year younger than Gaheris, had made a few wistful comments about his tagging along as my squire instead of our brother, but Mordred had stood in brooding silence all morning. If he hadn’t been only five, it would’ve worried me— there was something strange about that boy, and in the two months since Morgan had brought him here, I couldn’t shake it off. He’d bmade a move to talk to me after I’d mounted my horse, but the stallion’s evil tempered and his snapping was more than intimidating enough to a five-year-old boy.

Gaheris finally wiggled out from between Mother’s arms and got on his horse, muttering something vague and irritable about his being thirteen. My father told the armorer— finally— that since it was his opinion that mattered, anyway, he didn’t see why I couldn’t just take the sword, and the man wandered off in disgust. Father turned to me. “You take care of the both of you, boy,” he told me. “Goodness knows Gaheris’ll need it.”

Gaheris stuck his tongue out at Father in reply. I only laughed— Gaheris did need to be taken care of. He had the readiest— and sharpest— tongue of anyone in the family, with the possible exception of our aunt Morgan, and he hadn’t learned when to keep it in his cheek.

I nudged Ganymede into motion, as eager to get on the road as the stallion was. Mother stopped me with a comment. “Be sure to give Arthur my regards.” She’d told that to me last night, but it wasn’t so much the redundancy as the tone. Her voice was clipped, cool, businesslike— I might understand that in Father, who had, after all, lost a rebellion against him, but Arthur was her brother.

“Let’s go,” Gaheris muttered, “that tone gives me the creeps.”

I shrugged— “Yes, Mother.” —and let Ganymede trot off after my brother. What gave Gaheris the creeps, he refused to stay around for long.

It wasn’t until nearly the time we were out of sight Orkney that he spoke again. “I’m not sure Mother meant too well by telling us to give Arthur her regards,” he commented.

“What else could she possibly mean?” I demanded.

Gaheris shrugged. “I don’t really know, but neither of our parents have any cause to want us to give him those,” he added to it. He spoke as if he were an absolute authority, which was more than slightly annoying.

“Father already pledged his allegiance, he can be hung for going against Arthur again,” I reminded him snappishly. “And Mother’s related, how much ill can she mean with blood ties?”

“Uh. . . . ” Gaheris gave up.

I found the silence that came from stumping my brother a great relief— they were so few and far between. I almost thought I’d have been better off with Agriviane— a good boxing in the ears could quiet him.

He took it up again on the boat, with very characteristic doggedness, and I did my best to ignore him. Arguing with Gaheris was absolutely the worst thing a person could do, at least on a matter of opinion.

It continued in the same annoyingly similar way for several days. Gaheris was like a bulldog when he got ahold of an idea, and I couldn’t very well disprove this one beyond reasonable doubt. The only thing left was to simply put up with his theories.

Fortunately, Ganymede hated all other horses on principle, which cut me off entirely from conversation, and Camelot was only a four day ride away.