Silent for a spell, her eyes closed and her muscles melted slightly. “Careful,” she muttered. “I haven’t been with Gwen, with anyone, since before I got marooned on Ketch.”
Lam cursed exquisitely, and Ari laughed. “Yeah, that might be the root of your problem.”
Ari kept her eyes closed. “I know. After Kay… we weren’t ready. I thought we’d get together once I reached Camelot, but now there’s the baby and the Arthur nonsense…” Ari didn’t know where they were. Excruciatingly in love. Thwarted by cycles and stories. Either doomed or destined. Or both. “I did leave a trail of disappointed barmaids across the continent.”
Lam chuckled, and that’s when Jordan managed to kick them both in the ribs at the same time. Lam collapsed on the ground, holding their side while Ari yelled, “Damnit, Jordan!”
“If I had a fire hose, you’d both be blasted over the city walls.”
“Good thing you don’t, then,” Lam said, wincing as they sat up. “How’d you get out?”
“My queen gave the child king an ultimatum. His balls or my freedom.”
“And Jordan is over King Arthur.” Ari got up, dusting her armor. This would work; it had to. “We’ve got your Lionelian armor in the stable. Suit up. Hide your face and curves.”
“We’ll need four for a proper melee,” Jordan said. “Who is your fourth?”
Ari cleared her throat and motioned behind her. The king approached from the keep, flanked by half a dozen palace guards, arm in arm with Ari’s wife.
Jordan nodded in appreciation and left for the stable while Lam tugged their helmet on; it was imperative that neither of them be recognized before the melee. Ari was convinced that if the people saw them fight, and then saw Lam was a commoner and Jordan a girl, perhaps they would see how stupid they’d been by believing only noblemen could fight. Perhaps then Ari could come out of her own gender prison.
Arthur wore a look of pure naivety, but at least he was also wearing his fine armor. “Sir Lancelot, my queen believes you can help me. Will you teach me to ride dragons?”
“Your enemies aren’t going to stop trying to assassinate you unless you make a show of strength,” Ari said.
“And you know the recipe for strength?”
“I do. You’re going to fight with us in the melee against Sir Kay’s team.”
Arthur blanched. “But I’ve never taken a hit. Not even in practice. Merlin believes that might does not equal right.”
“Might equals might.” Ari looped her sword, warming up her wrist. “And that’s not to be underestimated.”
“Oh, gods,” Lam muttered from behind her. “Here we go.”
Ari winked at Arthur, causing his eyes to widen, and then she swung her sword at his polished, shining silver breastplate with all her strength. In the aftermath, the boy king lay on his back, staring at a sky as blue as his irises. Ari was immediately clobbered by six palace guards.
“I… didn’t feel a thing, apart from the blasted force,” Arthur murmured dreamily from the ground. “Leave Lancelot be.” He waved a hand and the guards moved back.
“That’s decent armor.” Ari grabbed his gloved hand and pulled him to his feet. “I’m glad it’s built for battle and not just looks.”
“What if it hadn’t been?” Arthur asked, touching the new dent across his sternum.
Ari shrugged. Gwen swore in French. And the training of King Arthur began.
On the morning of the melee, the tournament ring sat atop a grassy knoll like a perfectly centered crown. Its red banners bore the crest of Pendragon, waving proudly, dramatically… even though there was little wind on this blue summer morning.
Ari had arrived as early as the vendors, watching the masses file into the stadium, marveling at this view of Camelot. Like the castle, the tournament ring wore architectural glamour. Old Merlin had spared no expense when it came to demonstrating Arthur’s grandeur.
Ari warmed up with a long sword in the ring. All the while her thoughts leaped from the chalice to Gwen to her friends and back again. Jordan and Lamarack joined her, both camouflaged in shining armor, identities hidden beneath their helmets. When the three of them were shoulder to shoulder, they looked out over the gathering crowds, to Sir Kay’s team amassing on the far side.
“I wish we were jousting,” Lam said, rotating their hand-and-a-half sword. They wore the red leather armor Mercer had “gifted” them during Ari’s fake coronation. For all Ari’s Mercer loathing, she had to admit that Lam looked drop-dead gorgeous in that gear, especially after they’d burned off the Mercer logo on the right breast with a hot iron. “My jousting was always better than my swordplay.”
Ari snorted. “Promise me that’s a euphemism.”
Lam chuckled from inside their helmet.
“They won’t invent jousting for a few hundred years,” Jordan corrected. “That’s later Middle Ages. We’re in the early Middle Ages.”
“There’re different Middle Ages?” Lam asked.
“Hundreds of years, according to Merlin,” Ari said. “We’re pre–religious overhaul, apparently. Merlin said that was ‘a blessing.’”
Lamarack cocked their head. “Wait, what are these ages in the middle of?”
“After people discovered science,” Jordan said. “Before people wanted science.”
“You’re saying we’re in a time of self-selected idiocy?” Lam deadpanned.
Ari adjusted her leg armor. “I’m saying we’re about to fight a fake battle in a sports arena for a bunch of drunk villagers at ten in the morning. They’ve got a ways to go as a culture.”
“Sounds like Lionel to me,” Lam said.
Ari watched the crowds continue to file into the stadium. “There’s more people here than the wedding,” she noted. “Word is out that Arthur will fight.”
“Blood is a greater draw than love.” Lam’s voice was poignant. “If they figure out you’ve chosen a handmaiden for your team, they’ll riot.”
Ari swung her sword to wake up her shoulder. “Lam, come on. You know pissing people off
