That was, perhaps, the only reason they had any wiggle room with the time continuum.
“You are watching me as if contemplating eating me,” Arthur said, just loud enough for his timid voice to reach across the fire. “We rode long and far enough this day for me to imagine the possibility that you’ve only been playacting the role of a friend. Making a game of luring me out of my kingdom, away from my guards, so that you might kill me.”
“Not everyone wants to kill you, Arthur,” Ari said, feeling a pang for the reluctant royal. She’d been hunted by Mercer for most of her life, forced to always watch her back. “Besides, I told you the enchantresses will never take your offer of peace seriously if you arrive surrounded by armed men on horseback.”
“And you don’t count as such?” Arthur paused in his sharpening, staring at Ari with a daring look. “I watch you as much as you watch me, Lancelot. I know you keep secrets.”
Ari studied him. “I won’t keep the truth quiet if you ask the right questions.”
She swore she could hear Merlin exclaiming curses at the heavens for this offer.
Arthur slid Excalibur in its long, leather sheath. “Then my question is, why have you placed yourself at my side, good knight? Why do you seek to train me, improve public opinion of me, strengthen my kingdom with allies?”
Ari stood, pacing beside the fire.
“Will you sleep in your armor?” he asked, making her pause.
“Of course,” she snapped. “What if we were attacked in the night?”
“And what if I beheld your female shape?”
“My… what?” Ari actually drew her sword. Arthur pressed his lips nervously.
“You’re a woman. I suspected it from the start, but after the melee, I could just tell.” Arthur’s serious face split with a sweet, tentative smile.
Ari thrust her sword into the ground. “So you’re not surprised? Upset?”
“Everyone lies to me. The only control I have is to know how much someone lies. You’re not a man, but you are a mighty hero.” He nodded to himself as if this truth had taxed him, but not broken him. “If that is the worst secret between us, we can be friends.”
Ari was dumbstruck. She felt rather acutely as if she’d acquired a little brother. He was heartfelt to a fault, trusting, loving… lonely.
Like Kay.
And like Kay, the worst dealings between Ari and Arthur would not be the chalice or Ari’s ladyhood or any other subject. It would be one specific, vivacious queen.
Ari added more wood to the fire. “How far do we still have to go?”
“A day or less. We must arrive by nightfall tomorrow. That is when the door to Avalon appears through the mist.” Arthur curled on the ground, punching the roll of clothes that served as his pillow. That was the other thing about this trip; Arthur had left his finery behind. He wore plain clothes, no crown. Two people on the road had already treated Arthur as if he were Ari’s squire, carrying her fancy sword, and he’d seemed pleased with the arrangement.
“I believe I’ve underestimated you,” Ari managed.
Arthur nodded. “Imagine,” he said, “that you are no one. You are small and have no family. Imagine someone gives you a sword and tells you it was all a dream, your nothingness, your powerlessness. Instead, you are a king and this blade in your hands comes with a kingdom.”
Arthur’s voice dwindled, and Ari picked up his words, adding her own. “And with that kingdom comes thousands of voices. Those in pain, those who have been silenced or abused or even killed. You’re supposed to listen to all of them. You’re supposed to answer every single plea. You’re supposed to take down a monster larger than galaxies with a sword as long as your leg.”
“Yes. Exactly.” Arthur turned his back, his voice sleepy. “And I must do it all myself. Power is the worst kind of loneliness.”
Arthur fell asleep while Ari managed camp. Night was never silent in the woods, never safe. Large creatures hunted in the darkness while smaller ones hid. While Arthur slept, Ari examined him: thick blonde hair, mouth slightly open, his body all twisted up like a child.
While she stared, she felt the connection between the boy king and the ancient cursed spirit perched in her soul. This was the person who would one day save Ari’s life during the Mercer attack. “Where are you buried?” she murmured to the silent voice inside. “Why aren’t you at rest?”
Ari relieved the horses of their saddles and then sat against a tree, pulling a blanket over her. It was no easy revelation to feel sorry for the king, both the young man and the ancient spirit. It had been so much easier when she merely glared at the way he smiled longingly at Gwen. She wished Merlin were here so that she could ask for his advice. How had he dealt with wanting so badly to help someone who was set up for failure? And that was really it, wasn’t it? King Arthur and his knights ended in tragedy. Every single version of the story agreed on that much.
Equality failed. Love failed. Kingdom failed.
That was his true legacy.
Ari pressed her memories back to the moment within Merlin’s magical curtain. Ari hadn’t had time to plan something romantic, she’d simply slid to one knee, her face against Gwen’s chest, enveloping her entire lady—and the baby—in her arms. Gwen held on to Ari just as tightly, and they laughed and shook off biting tears. Relieved to have found each other. Blinded by the complications still between them. Ari kissed Gwen’s belly, waiting to see if she got a response, but the bump was still. “She’s sleeping.” Gwen lifted Ari’s arms until she stood back up, towering over Gwen.
“Still she?” Ari asked. “Shouldn’t we use they until we know more?”
“I say she because I hope it’s a girl.” Gwen fisted her hands. Something was hurting her.
“Are you in
