“I think I’m going to…” Have an aneurysm. Throw Camelot’s first pity party. Give up altogether. “… find Lancelot and tell him the good news,” Merlin blurted, shooting up from his chair and nearly landing in the fireplace. “Thank you.”
Old Merlin nodded. “From now on, you will do nothing, go nowhere, without my say.”
Gods, what had he just agreed to? The stone in the doorways tumbled down, leaving rubble that Merlin could easily clear. The manacles unlocked and dropped to the floor. He ran, leaping, as that sweet, cidery old voice chased him out. “You’ll most likely die, and I won’t be held responsible for your idiocy.”
“Of course not,” Merlin said.
He was the only magician in all the ages stupid enough to get apprenticed to himself.
After two days of constant, non-magical chores—removing dust from books, rust from enchanted weapons, and owl droppings from everything—Merlin was finally allowed out of the confines of the tower for long enough to meet with his friends. He walked past the market in the hale, hearty sunshine, stopping to watch a puppet show in the square. One that featured everyone’s new favorite knight, Lancelot.
“Can we talk somewhere less public?” Lam asked as they approached Merlin.
“Public meetings are less suspicious. Trust me, it’s something I’ve picked up over a few millennia,” he said. “Let’s just hope the rest of them can make it.”
“One of them is already here,” came a crisp voice from behind.
Merlin turned to find Gwen, looking so different he hadn’t noticed her in the throng. She wore a headpiece of twisted rags with a half-veil, and she’d shucked her queen’s garb and replaced it with a simple white linen dress that did nothing to hide her bun in the oven. In fact, it looked like she was cooking an entire batch of tiny Gwen-and-Kays.
“You look different!” Merlin cried awkwardly.
“So do you.” Gwen angled her head, bunching her plum-colored lips. For a moment Merlin felt certain that she knew his magic and aging were knotted up together. She’d always been terrifyingly perceptive. “Your glasses, Merlin!” she burst out. “They’re gone. Too anachronistic?”
He’d lost them in the oubliette, actually. But it got worse. When Old Merlin had brought him up from the dark, he’d realized he didn’t need them anymore. His eyesight had greatly improved with this last leap into youth. “Yes, that’s right,” he said, eager to turn attention away from him. “And you… that dress!”
“It’s good to see the littlest knight on proud display,” Lam said.
“I had to borrow a handmaiden’s dress. Your note said to be low profile. This one is helping me fly under the radar. We’re very sneaky, aren’t we?” she asked the bump. Somehow that little question made the baby real to Merlin in a way that they never had been before. There was a soon-to-be-person in there.
The crowd roared a laugh, and Gwen squinted at the stage. “This again? They need a bigger repertoire.” Puppet Lancelot was dancing, his sword positioned at the front of his pants and bouncing to the beat. It was a lot of enthusiastic sword-wagging.
“That joke really is as old as time,” Lam said, just as Ari swaggered into the square. People’s eyes didn’t know where to stick—the Lancelot in the show, or the real one, shining and bold as she clanked her way toward her friends. Ari’s bluntly hacked hair and sharp features complemented the intense look on her face. When she reached them, she threw an arm around Lam’s shoulder and did a full-on double take at the sight of Gwen.
“Would you please take whatever you are doing down forty-two notches?” Merlin asked. “If I’m seen about town colluding with the lot of you, Old Merlin will find out.”
Ari narrowed her eyes on him. “You’re the one who wanted to meet here.”
“He has spies all over the castle! Believe me, I’m supposed to be one of them,” Merlin said, sounding peevish even to his own ears. “I got him to send me out to run errands. It’s easy to trick someone if you share a number of neural pathways.” Merlin pulled out a list, freshly inked. “I’m supposed to procure these… twenty-seven items before I return to the castle.”
“He’s got you buying magical groceries?” Lam asked. “Merlin. You made yourself into your own bitch.”
Merlin hung his head. “Harsh, yet fair.”
“Oh, thank gods, Jordan’s here,” Gwen said. “I haven’t seen her since the melee.”
“Does she think she’s still in the melee?” Merlin asked as Jordan strode toward them, in full armor. A few of the women and children’s faces glowed like she was an avenging angel, but judging by most of the ugly stares, a majority of Camelot had not made peace with the idea of a lady knight. “You’re all amazing at not making waves, did you know?”
“This coming from a mage who wore two-thousand-year-old robes into space,” Gwen said with judiciously pursed lips.
He gathered them farther from the crowd, reaching into his bag of magical ideas for an old trick. One minute they were all laughing with the show, the next they were gone, hidden behind a veil of invisibility. Merlin glanced at his body, relieved not to feel tangibly younger. “Now that we’re all well met, let’s not dally. Jordan, has my apprenticeship changed anything in the Arthurian legend?”
Jordan removed the MercersNotes from a small leather pouch and shook her head.
Ari squinted at the book. “Out of curiosity, Jordan, what’s the last page about?”
“The greatest mystery of the legend. Arthur’s final resting place.”
Ari looked at Merlin. “Do you know where Arthur’s buried?”
“No one does,” Merlin said. “He’s alive and well right now, so that’s well beyond our scope.” He clapped briskly, relieved to dismiss one more would-be problem. “Now. What’s happened in my absence?”
“Here’s an update,” Ari tossed out. “Arthur and I are going to Avalon. We leave in an hour. Alone. No guards.” Her eyes trailed to Gwen’s and stayed there.
“You’re… what?”
