Sword

by Realm Lovejoy

  I shake my head at him, every motion painful. “I knew you’d view it that way. That’s fine.”

  Lancelot is silent. Finally, he shakes the clipboard at me. “In an official interrogation,” he says, taking a breath. “I’m supposed to beat you and demand answers.”

  “That’s nice.”

  Lancelot sighs with agitation. “But if you want my advice, I’d say you keep your mouth shut until your defender shows up.”

  “How kind of you to give me advice,” I say coldly. “But you just don’t want my words to be recorded, that you messed up—”

  Lancelot throws the clipboard against the wall, dangerously close to my ear. It clatters onto the floor loudly. “I’d quit the sass, Le Fay! What little life you have left is bound to get miserable.”

  Lancelot picks up the clipboard again as he takes a few deep breaths and suddenly looks tired, as if he lost days of sleep just by standing in front of me. He lingers. I wait for him to leave. He doesn’t.

  “Is your hand okay?” I finally ask.

  “It won’t be the same,” he says slowly. “But I can still use it. I can still do my job. But my mind, Le Fay, is what’s the most injured.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  Though it’s sincere, it sounds hollow in this cell.

  “I’m done,” he says.

  “Aren’t you supposed to ‘beat’ me?”

  Lancelot looks at me in the eyes again. “I’ll tell them you gave me no answers.”

  A different kind of pain forms in my heart. “Mercy? Why, Lancelot? It’s not your job to show mercy.”

  “I make decisions that I believe in,” Lancelot says. “I’ve never regretted a single shot I’ve had to fire with my gun. And I’ve never regretted the times I chose not to fire.”

  The pain increases as I remember Lancelot letting go of his gun.

  “Mercy doesn’t make me weak, Le Fay. It never did and never will. I know who I am. Can you say the same for yourself? Do you fully understand your actions?”

  He steps away.

  “But how can you know yourself?” he says almost to himself. “You’re so young. Too young.” He shakes his head and leaves the gag and blinders abandoned on the floor. “You had a damn bright future, kid.”

  Lancelot exits. The door locks with a click. As his footsteps fade, the pain in my heart continues to grow.

  I have not received food, though I was given small amounts of water twice. It’s hard to tell how many days have passed. I black out from weakness and cannot keep a straight thought in my mind. My arms look thinner. My hands are numb.

  I wonder how Arthur is doing. He is no doubt in shock from seeing the violence at the shore. He’s too young and sheltered to suddenly have to take in life-and-death situations. Merlin must be taking good care of him as his Maven, right?

  Guinevere, Tristan, and Isolde must be horrified by the news. Do they hate me now? Are they disgusted that they ever spoke to me?

  Thinking of Father hurts the most. Guilt consumes me when I think of his grief and I wonder if he’s ashamed of me. I can only hope that Arthur was able to deliver my message, but somehow, it seems unlikely. He’s back in tight security. Now that Arthur knows what it’s like to walk without knights, does he feel suffocated to be back? The security could have only gotten tighter.

  The door opens, breaking me out of my thoughts. Several Gray Knights enter, Merlin among them. My heart skips a beat, seeing him again. The knights recoil, crinkling their noses. Only Merlin politely keeps an indifferent look. If I truly reek, he hides it well. I have always underappreciated Merlin’s politeness, thinking that it’s cowardly, but now I think it takes a great deal of willpower and strength to maintain grace and kindness in situations like this.

  He’s in a well-tailored gray suit with a light tie. His Maven badge shines over his right breast. The badge still evokes a sting of longing within me. Merlin’s eyes look as lifeless as the concrete floor of my cell. Then as he looks at me directly, horror floods through his eyes before he turns to the knights. “It’s inhumane. She is being treated worse than an animal. How long has Ms. Le Fay been kept here?”

  “A week,” Agravain replies. “She is to be tied in place for two weeks with no food and minimal water.”

  Merlin pales. “She could die.”

  “No, sir. People can live for nearly a month without food.”

  Merlin rubs his forehead as his face twists with pain. “Please, leave me with her.”

  My eyes widen with surprise. Merlin would want to spend a single second with me in this state?

  “But, sir…”

  “You may wait by the door,” Merlin orders sharply.

  The knights obey him and file out the door, giving me a look of disgust on the way out. For a second it’s surreal how much things have changed since Arthur’s Round. Merlin is now more important in Camelot than the knights.

  “I’m sorry,” Merlin says to me once they’re gone. “It has taken me this long to gather the courage to visit you. I’ve spent the past week in sleepless agony, but words will not suffice to explain my state.”

  I respond with a raspy sound from my throat, unable to formulate a word. I meant to tell him that it was okay.

  “I know you think this is worse than death,” he continues. “But there is hope.”

  Hope. The word seems as drab as the grayness of my cell.

  Merlin steps closer to me. I turn away, unable to bear the thought of him seeing me up close. He takes a key from his pocket. His nice suit is practically touching my filthy prison frock as he undoes the shackles on my arms. Sharp pain shoots through my wrists. I groan.

  “It’ll hurt. Sorry.”

  He holds on to my dirty waist as I collapse against him. My own powerlessness hurts worse than my body. Merlin manages to support my whole body weight. He slowly lowers me to the floor. Next, he unshackles my feet. The rush of blood feels like razor blades slicing into my legs. I scream and curl up on the floor. As blood circulates into my limbs again, my body buzzes with searing pain like a million venomous snakes are biting me everywhere.

  “My bones,” I moan. “My bones are broken…”

  “They’re not,” Merlin assures, still crouched next to me. “You’ve been in the same position for a week. You’ll feel better in a few minutes.”

  I bite my hand to suppress the screams. The worst part of my punishment is having the man I respect—enough for me to consider him a rival—see me like this.

  You’ll get in trouble, I say, except my words are garbled.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” Merlin says.

  His eyes well up with sorrow as he studies me. Merlin gets a packet of salt and one of sugar out of his pocket. He opens them and pours them both into my hand. I put the powder into my mouth and for a second, it tastes good, but soon the salt burns, and then I want to puke. Merlin cups his hand and water appears in it. He brings it to me and I drink deeply. The water is cool and delicious as it soothes my parched throat and sizzles life back into my veins. The pain in my body subsides slowly. My vision clears.

  I look down at myself. My skin is pale—almost translucent, with flowering blue bruises everywhere. A red rash covers most of my skin. My prison gown is stained, as it was the last time I saw it, but it’s gotten dirtier with larger stains. Slowly, I realize it’s from urine. I shiver in horror, backing against the shackles I was freed from.

  “I wish you hadn’t visited,” I say weakly. “I wanted you to remember me in a better way.”

  “You fail to understand… I never paid attention to any flaws you may have.”

  “Why not?”

  Merlin doesn’t attempt to reply. Though he’s sympathetic, he’s maintaining his distance. It makes sense. I’ll be dead soon.

  I stare down at my hands covered in cuts from the cuffs and take a breath. “When will they kill me?”

  “There will be a trial first,” Merlin says.

&
nbsp; He is still on the floor, his fancy suit touching the filthy ground. He puts his hand on my knee.

  I shake my head to protest the contact. I am far too dirty for anyone to touch.

  He reads my mind. “It doesn’t matter to me, Morgan.”

  Disturbance crawls through the pit of my stomach. Pain deeper than anything physical stings me. Somehow, despite unspeakable horrors that crossed between us, he is still by my side.

  “I’m sorry I hurt your shoulder,” I say. “It was a bad circumstance.”

  “I hurt you worse,” he replies. “I think we both understand what had to be done.”

  I nod as he gives my knee a comforting squeeze.

  “I’m on your side,” he says.

  I close my eyes, fighting tears. “I need you to be on his side. Will you take good care of Prince Arthur?”

  “I will. I’m completely devoted to Camelot now.”

  He mentioned he wasn’t a part of the Luminaries before when we spoke behind my house. Yet I still open my eyes in shock and meet his gaze. “Really?”

  Merlin puts his hand over his heart. “I was inspired by you—how you took your role seriously. If you can stand by your beliefs despite the risks, then I can too. I’ve always wanted to be brave like you.”

  His words make my chilled skin slightly warmer. It’s impossible to tell if Merlin is telling the truth, but I can only hope.

  “But you seemed really afraid and conflicted,” I say. “What happened to that?”

  “The fear won’t go away,” he admits. “But that’s a reason to fight. My constant avoidance of conflict has only made things worse.”

  “If you finally see that, then my efforts were worth it.”

  “I wish there was something I could have done to help earlier. If only I had been able to…”

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “I’m going to help you the best I can. Do you want to clean up? I won’t look.”

  I nod. “That’ll be a small relief. I feel like a barn animal.”

  Merlin moves to help me stand. I get up on my knee. Pain shoots up my leg. I have no strength to push myself up. It’s as if my whole body is made of rocks.

  “I can’t stand,” I finally admit.

  “It’s okay. You can shower sitting.”

  Merlin steps away from me, closes his eyes, and puts his hands out, palms facing me. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

  With heavy arms, I pull the filthy prison garb off of me. The stench of sweat hits me and I recoil. I have nothing on underneath. I avoid looking at my beaten and limp body that’s gotten very thin. Father would be horrified to see how frail I’ve gotten. He always wanted to make sure I was healthy and ate a hearty breakfast every morning. He encouraged me to not pay attention to the media’s idea of beauty with the slim stars and models. Because of his upbringing, I was never stick-thin. Now one could see my skeleton under my skin. I shudder.

  “I’m ready,” I say.

  Water streams down from several centimeters above me. Tears overwhelm my eyes because it’s the most comforting feeling I’ve had in a long time. I sigh as the warmth splashes over my head, soothing my battered bones and easing my itchy skin. I drink as much as I can since I will likely not have water for a while.

  Through the water, I watch Merlin. His eyes remain closed and he is as still as a statue as he focuses on the water.

  The ache in my heart grows again. The water isn’t just warm in temperature—but it carries emotions. His emotions.

  Merlin loved me.

  I knew he had a crush on me in Arthur’s Round—though at times it was hard to tell if it was a façade he created. The crush seemed like a temporary or superficial thing, as if it was meant to fade once he met someone else or realized that I wasn’t emotionally available. I didn’t know that he loved me in this way.

  The sad part is that the love is past tense. His emotion is clear to me through the water—the love is stained with regret and sorrow. The love perhaps was meant to be unconditional, to go on and on forever—but an ax brutally swung down, cutting it short.

  I don’t want the shower to ever end. But after a few more minutes, Merlin stops the water flow. As the water trickles down the drain, the cell becomes cold again. I shiver, hugging my middle. Terror returns to me again. Fear to put the garb back on, being shackled to the wall, to be trapped with the knowledge of love Merlin once had for me.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I ask Merlin.

  Merlin opens his eyes and then closes them again. “Put your clothes back on.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?” I repeat. “If you loved me, why did you wait until I was in my most pathetic state?”

  “I told you—the water reflects my thoughts too much. Didn’t I tell you that when I met you?”

  He spelled my name at Arthur’s Round tryout.

  “Regardless,” Merlin continues. “It doesn’t matter. What goes unsaid should remain unsaid. I chose not to take action on my feelings. You can respect that, can’t you? It’s obvious you have no room in your heart for anybody.”

  It’s true. My heart used to be filled with ambition. Now in prison, my heart is empty. Too empty. I shut my eyes.

  “You shouldn’t have visited me,” I say suddenly upset, raising my voice without meaning to. “You should go!”

  “Don’t yell,” Merlin implores warily as he looks toward the hall where the knights are waiting. I forgot they were still near.

  Boots clamber toward the cell. The knights appear on the other side of the bars. They narrow their eyes at me. I’m still naked on the floor.

  “What’s going on?” Agravain asks.

  “I told you to wait,” Merlin replies to him. “I was allowing Ms. Le Fay to move and get cleaned up.”

  “Why is she yelling? You show her mercy, and she acts up?”

  Agravain opens the cell, gets his billy club out, and marches toward me.

  Merlin grabs his shoulder. “Stop. I have this situation under control.”

  Agravain shrugs his hand away. “The witch can’t be controlled.” He runs at me.

  He strikes just as I bring my hands up to protect my head.

  “Stop!” Merlin shouts.

  My arms ache from his hit, forcing me to lower them and curl up into the fetal position instead. If only I could use fire. I wait for the next attack, covering my head.

  But the hit doesn’t come.

  I lift my head from the ground and slowly twist around to look at the knights. They all gape at me, white down to their lips. Even Merlin looks utterly shocked.

  “What?” I demand, frightened by their look.

  Is my starved and battered body that disgusting to them?

  Agravain points at me, stuttering incomprehensible words.

  “Impossible,” someone whispers.

  Merlin is the first to speak clearly. “Ms. Le Fay, where did you get that tattoo on your back?”

  His words make me shiver. “What tattoo?” I demand. “I don’t have a tattoo.”

  “Tell me. Did you touch Excalibur in Avalon?”

  I nod nervously. “I know I wasn’t supposed to, but Prince Arthur wanted me to touch the sword.”

  “You have the tattoo of dragon wings on your back.”

  I open my mouth in shock. Pendragon’s Blessing? I hold on to my middle as sickness grows in the pit of my stomach. “I don’t have that kind of tattoo.”

  Merlin makes a sound of frustration. “This can’t be.”

  My heart skips a beat. “It’s a mistake. Excalibur must have confused the magic…”

  “Is she a bastard?” Agravain asks.

  “Do you have a birth certificate, Ms. Le Fay?” Merlin asks.

  My head begins to hurt. “No.”

  “Do you know where you were born? Who your father is?”

  “My father is Sir Gorlois!” I shout, my voice tearful. “I don’t know
where I was born.”

  “Is there proof of your biological father?”

  My heart stops and terror strikes through me. Memories whirl past me like leaves in a storm. Mother taking me through the forest. Me keeping my mother a secret. The mysterious attacks on me during Arthur’s Round. Fire crawls up my throat and I have the urge to destroy the world.

  “My father is Sir Gorlois!” I scream.

  Merlin’s eyes become cold as he turns to the knight. “We should leave her. She’s becoming upset. We’ll investigate Ms. Le Fay’s background in the office.”

  “We have to shackle her first,” Agravain says as he steps toward me.

  “No!” I snarl.

  He grabs me.

  “I am not a bastard!”

  With new strength, I claw at his face with my nails. Knights pull me away. A club smacks me across my body. Boots kick at my ribs. I try to fight them, screaming and screaming, the sound amplified in the cell.

  “Get out for now,” Merlin shouts over my yells. “Until she calms down.”

  Merlin goes out first and the knights follow him. I push my naked body against the bars of my prison and stretch my arms out, wanting to hurt somebody—anybody.

  “NO!” I wail, my scream echoing throughout the prison halls as I beat the bars. “My father is Sir Gorlois! My father IS Sir Gorlois!”

  Chapter 14

  I beat the bars until my knuckles are black. When I wake again, I am back in my standing position, clothed in the old smelly gown, the chains wrapped around me once more.

  Was everything just a dream? It has to be. It should be. I can’t have the world as I knew it turn into an abstract puzzle piece right before I die. All I had left was myself—the life I understood as my own. Now I don’t even have that.

  Merlin suggested that I was a Pendragon.

  With reluctance I recall that Nacien looked at me when he spoke. Called me King. Pendragon’s Blessing appeared after I touched Excalibur. The Sword Scroll said royal blood would guide a Pendragon to Excalibur. And for part of the way, I did lead us to Avalon with my magic.