“But that’s just it,” Lamarack said. “None of us know exactly what the story requires. Except Merlin who has so inconveniently forgot.” Merlin opened his mouth but then shut it.
“Why am I always the only one who comes prepared?” Jordan sighed before hiking up her linen dress to reveal a leather strap around her muscled thigh that carried two deadly knives and a thin, rolled-up book.
Ari pinched it in two fingers as she read the title aloud. “MercersNotes: King Arthur and His Knights.” She handed it to Lam, unwilling to be holding anything Mercer.
“So far very little lines up,” Jordan admitted. “Excalibur, Arthur, and Merlin are here. Gwen could be the woman described as Gweneviere. Old Merlin does hate her, and the people believe she’s beautiful and ‘exotic.’” Ari’s eyebrows shot up; it was a miracle Gwen hadn’t killed them all.
“What are we supposed to do with this?” Ari asked. “Make the time period match this story exactly?”
“Reality inspires legend, but legend is not history,” Merlin said thoughtfully.
“And Mercer’s slapdash quality control might bite us in the butt,” Lam said, holding up a few blank pages for them to see.
Jordan snatched it back, flipping through. “I’ve read this a hundred times. There have never been blank pages before.”
They all exchanged looks.
“So…” Ari said. “Since we came to the past, we’ve somehow erased part of the legend?”
Merlin cried out sharply. “What was that chapter about, Jordan?”
Jordan thumbed through it several times, and the quiet in the barn felt a bit stark. Finally, she looked up. “Lancelot. This was the chapter about Sir Lancelot. He was probably one of the knights Ari slayed so mightily this afternoon.” Ari didn’t have time to enjoy the first compliment she’d ever received from Jordan.
“Is this Lancelot important?” Lam asked, wincing as if they already knew the answer.
Merlin and Ari eyed each other wearily.
Ari was summoned to the king’s court the next morning by a nervous messenger who had definitely expected to find the blue knight dead.
Merlin helped her into her armor with clumsy fingers while yammering about the future consequences of a missing Lancelot. “Arthur won’t be the same. Lancelot was his greatest friend, his guiding force, his best knight.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Ari’s thoughts stung with images of her brother, whose scowling loyalty had won him the role of Kay in her own futuristic version of the cycle.
“And you do know that the story of Lancelot and Gweneviere, while tragic and mildly awful, was the first tale of love in the Western canon to treat women as more than baby makers. Did you know that T. H. White, my favorite of the Arthurian chroniclers, even proposed that Lancelot was bisexual? To say that he was ahead of his time was—”
“Merlin. I need you to focus.” She pointed to the spot where he’d completely botched the ties of her chest plate to her back plate. He retied them while she examined him. “Are you sure you’re from this time period? You don’t know how to tie armor and you can’t remember—”
He surprised her with a bout of juvenile anger, kicking at the straw. “I know I can’t remember. There’s a great black hole in my head where most of this time period should be. Perhaps it’s because I’m here twice over and that’s completely unnatural!”
“Hey.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. We’re all trying to figure out how this works.” She decided not to add, And it’s obvious that your backward aging is in overdrive. Ari was sure he’d noticed. Merlin handed over her sword, and she shoved it in the sheath at her belt, missing Excalibur for the millionth time. “You’re worried about Val.”
“So? You’re equally worried about Gwen. You called her name in your sleep enough times to wake up all of Camelot!”
“Ah, you heard that?” Ari’s body flushed so hard it felt like her armor was in the sun. That was no innocent dream she’d been enjoying. “We’ll find Val, Merlin.”
He ignored her. “Let’s discuss your cover story. You’re from southern France. Oh, but it won’t be called that. Franks Land, maybe? You came to Camelot for the wedding, to honor the new king, but you have to go home right away. You don’t believe in silly things like equality and gender freedom. You’re the manliest man who ever existed.”
“Of course. No codpiece can contain me.”
“Your name is Sir Ironfist,” he snapped. Ari snorted. Merlin’s lips puckered. “Well, you try coming up with something formidable and not ridiculous. Go on.”
Lamarack stepped into the stall, winking at her. They were such a sight for sore eyes after so long by herself; they’d always been her rock. “Summoned to court. This’ll be entertaining.”
“Sure,” Ari mumbled, trying not to think about facing the person who’d turned into a damn bird and flown away, leaving Gwen in the middle of that battle to take the heat meant for him. Arthur wasn’t starting out very high in her opinion. Merlin tried to give Ari one more pep talk, but she cut him off with a hug. “It’ll be okay, old man.”
Merlin smiled a bit at Ari’s nickname for him. But it faded, fast. “I believe, here at least, I am the young man.”
Ari donned her helmet and left the stables, heading through the main doors of the keep. The guards didn’t stop her—like all things in this time, appearances meant everything. In her fine armor, she was treated like a prince. As long as no one figured out she wasn’t packing man pieces, they’d act as if she had the divine right to look down on everyone. So much of this culture made her wretchedly sick. She could only imagine how Gwen was doing with it.
Gwen. Every step brought Ari closer. It sent heat through her veins, reviving the dream that had woken her up to find her legs swimming and her breath tight…
Ari found herself in the throne room without knowing how
