“No. Ari, do you know the stories about Arthur’s son?”
Ari’s mind turned a corner and ran into a stone wall. Something Merlin had said when they first met floated through her thoughts like a dark cloud through a blue sky. You don’t have children, by any chance? He’d been terrified of the idea that any Arthur reincarnations might have kids. “Gwen, the baby couldn’t possibly be…”
Mordred.
Even the name made her stomach turn and her hand close on the sword at her belt.
“Mordred was the son of…” Ari had to pause and peer backward into her memories of Morgana’s Arthurian lessons on Ketch. “… Someone else. I’m sure of it.”
Gwen put a hand on Ari’s heart. Each breath felt heavy with the weight of the space between them. “But that’s just it, Ari. All the stories are different. I don’t know. I can’t know. What if I’m the one who gives birth to Arthur’s son? The murderer.”
“Won’t happen. This kid is half-Kay, not half-Camelot, and that means the only murdering will be sandwiches. Believe me?” Ari leaned in, so close to Gwen’s face that she felt that spinning inside. That perfect, out-of-control sensation of their love.
Gwen nodded many times, tears slipping free.
“I should probably kiss you before Merlin drops that curtain. I mean, can I kiss you, Gwen?”
Gwen’s yes was a press up on her toes. Their lips met soft and joyous. Warm and light. Then they parted. For the last fucking time, Ari vowed. “I don’t care that this place can’t accept us together. I know how magical we are. I’m growing old with you, lady.”
The next day, Ari’s stallion reminded her of Kay, veering off the trail to snack, baring his teeth whenever Ari pointed out that maybe he was being a jackass. “We should keep to the trees,” she called out to Arthur. “This road is a hunting ground for enemies to your kingdom.”
“My road is that bad?” Arthur said, turning backward in his saddle.
“For commoners it’s nearly a death sentence. I dodged about thirty arrows on my way through the morning of your wedding, and I was traveling with a host of knights.”
“Hmm, I should do something about this road.”
“Instate a guard,” Ari suggested.
“Maybe.”
“Do you always have to process my ideas as if they might conceal harm?”
“Do you always have to do things the moment you imagine them?”
Ari folded her arms. “If you haven’t noticed, my last plan ended up with you showing off your warrior stuff. They’ve started calling you ‘The One True King.’ You’re welcome.”
“Yes, but that handmaiden’s victory was a disaster. Surely you see that. She made Sir Kay seem less of a man. He will seek revenge.”
“Jordan is a knight.” Ari’s teeth bit so hard into the word that Arthur went silent. “And she can handle anything he throws at her.” Ari and Arthur navigated a labyrinth of briar bushes, directing their horses with care. “I now understand why it took you forty tries to pick a girl,” she muttered.
“What was that?”
“You tell me you know I’m a woman, and then you act as if it doesn’t matter. Explain.”
“As long as I’m the only one who knows, I don’t see the problem.” Arthur kept going, undeterred. “I told you I’m used to lies. I assure myself that a person like you, or like my queen, needs to have secrets to feel a sense of control. My mage, Merlin, is quite similar. Secrets are his safety. A condition of being so powerful.”
Ari felt almost as if Arthur had grown to understand Gwen faster than she had, which was annoying. “And as you are the all-powerful king, you keep secrets?”
“They don’t suit me,” he said, eyeing her as if she should have recognized this about him already. “I sometimes wish they did.”
Ari felt that one deeply; she ached to tell Arthur about his sister, Morgana, the extremely powerful enchantress who would chase her lost brother’s spirit across human history, determined to help him, even sacrificing herself for the chance.
Maybe it would make him feel less lonely.
But she couldn’t tell Arthur the future, so instead they rode out of the woods, dusk filtering over the horizon of a great, gray-misted lake at the foot of rough mountains. A small, empty boat sat rocking slightly on the shore. They left their horses and boarded, observing the quiet as if it were a threat. When she kicked them away from the rocky shore, Ari’s left boot soaked through, sending a rush of shivers up her leg. They sailed into the mist, until they couldn’t see any part of the woods or mountains anymore. All was gray.
“We’re meant to call for them.” Arthur peered into the mist. “The mists of Avalon cannot be reached by anyone other than the enchantresses. And they don’t allow men inside, so we’ll have to stay here. Well, I will.” He tried to smile at Ari, and she scowled back. “They will come to see us. Or they won’t.”
“I’m no good at waiting.”
“And I’m not surprised.”
This time Ari’s scowl slipped into a smile and Arthur seemed delighted by his success. Before Ari could say anything more, the gray mist crystallized into the shape of a person. Her brother. Ari blinked, blinked again.
Ghost Kay was watching her. Standing on the water’s surface with his arms folded and his silver hair a mess. All of a sudden she swore she could taste the sterile air of Error, smell her brother’s old rubber knight’s suit…
“Lancelot?” Arthur asked.
“Something is messing with my head,” she admitted, squinting. “Can you see him?”
Arthur shivered. “It is this lake. The mists belong to Avalon, to the enchantresses. The water belongs to another.”
Ari looked down to face the dark, still surface. “This is the Lady of the Lake’s… lake?”
“Yes.” His voice was deeper than usual. “There are strange stories of this place. Merlin won’t go near it.”
Ghost Kay disappeared, and Ari leaned out toward where he’d vanished, rocking the boat. “Stay with me, Lancelot,” Arthur called. Ari looked down
