“What if it doesn’t work like that?” Ari asked quietly.
“Do you know something I don’t?”
“It’s not Excalibur, Gwen. I don’t have King Arthur’s soul anymore. I might not be able to lift this sword, and we need to have a game plan for when that happens.”
Gwen pushed her toward a small fortune-teller’s booth. The attendant took one look at Gwen and dropped to her knee. “Queen Gweneviere!”
Gwen pulled the woman to her feet and kissed her on both cheeks. The woman burst into sudden tears, and Gwen moved fast. “I need you to do something for me. Take my crown to…”
Ari didn’t hear the rest as Gwen whispered in the woman’s ear. She nodded slowly. “Yes, my queen. Of course.”
“You will be free soon,” Gwen said, her commanding presence slipping over her like a perfectly tailored dress. “I promise.”
The woman disappeared, and Ari eyed Gwen. “What are you up to?”
“Giving my people some hope,” she said. “Do you really think the sword won’t free itself for you?”
“I don’t know. I just think we should have an alternate plan.” Ari looked at Gwen, truly looked at her. No wonder Mercer hadn’t recognized her at the gates; she’d been hollowed by pregnancy and the Middle Ages, but she was still the Queen of Lionel. She was still so magnificent that her former subjects took one glance at her and dropped to a knee.
“Ari, we have twenty-four minutes until the last Ketchan starship covers this dome like a beacon of unstoppable change. This is what we wanted. A last stand with witnesses.”
“It’s not all I want.” Ari grabbed Gwen by the hips, deadlifted her onto the fortune-teller’s high table, and kissed her. Gwen’s next words disappeared into the press of their bodies. Ari’s mouth couldn’t get enough, her hands pulling Gwen’s hair back as she tasted the skin of her neck, the edges of her breasts. It was sweet but also desperate.
Gwen gripped Ari with her arms and with her legs. And she didn’t let go. Neither of them did. “We’re going to make it through this,” she said in Ari’s ear.
“Okay,” Ari’s voice was rough. “But do I have to wear this fucking outfit?”
Gwen laughed warmly, cupping Ari’s cheek.
Val’s voice floated up from Gwen’s watch. “Ari? Gwen? What in the hell is happening? You should be at the sword by now.”
Gwen stared at Ari’s costume, and she started to peel off the jumpsuit. “Slight change of plans. We’re going disguised as ourselves.”
“That makes zero sense!” Val hollered.
Ari slipped out of the dress, glad she’d convinced Val to let her wear her own clothes underneath. Gwen pulled the dress on. It was too long at the hem and far too tight in the bodice, but that only created a stunning amount of cleavage. When Ari stood again, Gwen’s hands slid up her forearms to her shoulders and chest in a way that left Ari prickling with the best nerves. “Ready?”
“With you? Always.”
They wove their fingers together and stepped out of the tent—to a waiting crowd.
Apparently Gwen’s fortune-telling subject wasn’t great at keeping secrets because a host of Lionelians were waiting, most of them wearing half medieval gear, half Mercer work uniforms.
And they weren’t alone.
Ari’s parents were there. They held hands and nodded proudly. Ari passed them as they started a procession toward the sword, reaching out to clasp hands with Captain Mom. Thank the celestial gods they’d made it this far. She tried to tell them with her eyes that it would be okay, they had a plan.
Mom winked.
The fortune-teller returned to Gwen’s side and handed her something small that Gwen swiftly slipped into her pocket. Ari went to ask, but Gwen just shook her head. The group formed a protective circle around Ari and Gwen, escorting them to the sword.
Val radioed in, rushed and whispering. “Mercer’s definitely onto something! They’re gathering in ranks!”
Together, and growing in number with each shouted hail, the Lionelian resistance made their way to the center of the park where a host of armed associates barred the path. “Let them through! Let them try the Sword in the Stars!” people shouted until the crowd became a small riot.
Ari kept her hand in Gwen’s as the associates scrambled, motioning to each other, radioing for help. Just behind them, beyond the circle, Ari saw the glittering hilt of the sword that was either a gift from their child or the most tempting trap ever laid.
And then Terra, the new Mercer Administrator, appeared, parting the crowd in her matronly gown. Ari could feel the chalice tucked in her pocket. What would happen if she could get Terra to drink from it?
What question would Terra have to ask?
Terra smiled. “Ara Azar and the former Queen of Lionel, welcome. What an interesting choice to come to us and be condemned to death, but then, public executions do match our medieval theme, don’t they?”
Boos and angry shouts rippled through the crowd.
“We will try our hand at the sword,” Ari said, turning her eyes on Gwen. “Both of us. If we fail, you can kill us.”
The crowd quieted with a snap.
Terra appeared annoyed. She flipped a hand at them. “Go on then. Try your luck.”
Ari didn’t like her willingness. It felt almost like she knew something. The girls entered the ring of dozens of heat gun–toting associates. They approached the flat, worn piece of the moon that bore the blade, and for a few moments, the charade fell away.
Ari felt herself smile as she looked over the golden hilt and silverish handle. It reminded her of the blue cast to her armor in Camelot. Her eyes took in each letter of Kairos. She looked at Gwen and found her smiling too, brown eyes bright. “You first.”
Gwen slid her fingers over the handle. She gripped it tightly, and Ari swore it moved at her touch. But when Gwen pulled, the blade stayed, firm and tight in the soft, ashy lunar soil. Gwen stepped back, exhaling with slight
