“Thank you,” Enid says. “I was getting to that. The most surprising part of this case to me, ultimately, was not that she was in Arthur’s Round or that she seemed prestigious, but that the defendant showed obvious signs of mental instability that went ‘unnoticed.’”
Enid says the last word with accusation. I frown. Is this her angle?
“Her counselor, Ms. Laudine Pelles,” Enid continues, “has noted in Camelot records, that the defendant suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder, anxiety, and severe depression. That she was concerned about her mental stability and feared that she was highly impulsive and reactive, possibly even violent.”
So is that what Laudine was jotting down in her notebook every time she sat across from me? How did Laudine come to these defining conclusions? My mind reels back to the days in Arthur’s Round, trying to understand how I gave the impression of being “severely depressed.” I assume the note about violence is from when I lit Mordred’s tie on fire. I grimace. Is Enid on my side or not?
“That’s huge,” Enid says with emphasis. “How were these notes dismissed? Why were these crucial warnings about the defendant’s mental state ignored? Furthermore, the defendant was accused of lighting the Maven’s tie on fire, lighting the lab on fire, and there’s a record of her having an outburst during her Magic Form Test.”
I feel like shrinking into my chair. Is this the first trial in history where the defender prosecutes the defendant?
“How did someone so obviously unstable get her outbursts dismissed again and again? The defendant should have been sent out of Camelot to get proper treatment. Camelot is a strict place. Members are dismissed immediately if they show signs of danger or instability. But the defendant was severely overlooked. I have interviewed Ms. Laudine Pelles and she states that it’s possible the defendant lost complete control of herself. Whether she kidnapped Prince Arthur due to madness or whether it was the defendant’s unconscious suicide wish, one fact is clear, she was not sane the night of the Maven Ceremony. But this is not a simple ‘guilty but insane’ scenario. The guiltier party for the kidnapping is Camelot itself.” She takes a breath, allowing the statement to sink in as the crowd goes into a disturbed silence. “I’ve got some ideas why the defendant was overlooked. It’s not every day you see a young girl as beautiful as the defendant, Morgan le Fay.”
“Objection,” Bagdemagus snaps.
“Overruled,” the judge says.
I forget to breathe. Where is Enid taking this? How are these statements supposed to save me?
“Sir Lancelot is responsible for the security of Camelot,” Enid continues. “Yet he never kicked the defendant out of the Round. There are faculty members that have said they’ve witnessed Sir Lancelot flirting with the defendant before. Clearly Sir Lancelot’s judgment is clouded by his attraction to her.”
“Objection,” Bagdemagus screams again.
The judge denies him.
“You said it yourself,” Enid says to Bagdemagus. “The defendant ‘seduced’ Merlin. I worry about our future if seduction can crumble Camelot so easily. There’s more. When the defendant received her role as a Black Knight, she showed signs of obvious distress, not showing up to Camelot for weeks. Sir Lancelot—right then and there—should have written her off and advised her to seek mental help. Instead, Sir Lancelot, the High Knight himself, went to her home and forced her to come back to see the Maven role—a role she wanted—being given in celebration to Mr. Ambrosius. Had she not been pushed, perhaps she wouldn’t have snapped. Furthermore, Sir Lancelot was in charge of Prince Arthur’s security the night of the alleged kidnapping. So what, pray tell, was Sir Lancelot doing when the defendant was with Prince Arthur in King’s Hall alone? Who’s ever heard of this? Someone being alone with the Prince?”
Merlin frowns, leaning into his hand and looking toward the ceiling with contemplative irritation.
“Let’s ask the question again,” Enid says. “Should the defendant be sentenced to death for her mental insanity that was made worse at the hands of Camelot? Or should Camelot admit to screwing up? Why worry about one small, unstable witch—when the whole Camelot faculty is so irresponsible! This could easily happen again if Camelot doesn’t shape up.”
The crowd goes into a buzz of yelling and murmurs. The judge strikes his gavel to silence them.
Her argument isn’t a bad one, but there is no way Camelot would ever admit to making a mistake. Especially not Lancelot.
Bagdemagus is up again and goes into another rant about how evil I am. I wonder if they’re going to toss me into a lake to see if I sink or float.
The court is eventually adjourned. Enid gives me a quick pep talk before she lets the knights take me back. “We need to make the impossible happen,” she says, not looking at me. The way she picks up her papers and turns up her nose tells me that maybe she really thinks I’m an “evil witch,” too.
“By the way,” she says, leaning toward me. “We’re trying to sell that you’re attractive—can you at least shower before presenting yourself in court?”
I smile bitterly. “You’ll have to forgive me. I missed my spa appointment this morning.”
Does she have any idea what prison is like? I have not looked at my reflection ever since I’ve been imprisoned, but I’m sure I look worse than I could ever imagine, just by looking at my gnarly, dirty, rash-covered, scratch-ridden hands.
She shakes her head at me before walking away, likely concluding that I’m out of my mind.
When the knights escort me, one of them says, “You oughta be ashamed of yourself.”
I regret some of the actions I had to take, such as taking advantage of Merlin and Lancelot—both people I respect. But I know I did these things for the right reasons.
Maybe that’s what all guilty criminals say.
“I am not ashamed,” I say firmly.
Chapter 15
When they return me, I’m finally permitted a regular prison cell with an actual bed, a toilet, and a sink. Everything in the cell has been fireproofed and the sprinkler system is still in place. Such trouble they go through to make sure I die by their hands instead of my own. I take a seat on my new bed. Studying the dirty hem of my prison gown, I wonder when Merlin will visit me again. It’s hard to tell the passing of time without a clock or window, but it seems like it’s been weeks since he visited me last. Though I don’t blame him for not wanting to see me again, it somehow seems cold to not even write me a note. After all, we’re still friends, aren’t we? Just after the knights leave, a new figure walks up to the barred door. I smell his familiar foresty scent.
Merlin looks out of place as he breezes into my cell in freshly ironed clothes. His hair is slightly tousled as if he just got back from sailing. He truly seems to be from a different world now. Under his arm, he has a rolled-up newspaper. It’s like he’s stopping by someone’s home during his walk or something. Not visiting a prisoner.
“Hello,” he says.
“Hi,” I reply, trying to hide my bitter tone.
Frustration festers inside of me that I could miss someone so badly and be so hurt by his absence. Upon waking each day, I’ve wondered if I would see him. I’ve even prepared things to say to him. Now that he’s really here, the dialogue escapes me. I remind myself that I am not entitled to any visits from Merlin, and I completely understand that I should be the last person he’d want to see.
“I’m so sorry I haven’t visited,” Merlin says. “Camelot doesn’t give me a break.”
I turn away and muster the most nonchalant tone I can. “You don’t have to visit me.”
Though I try to appear tough, I fear that he can see my reddened eyes, the tear tracks on my dirty cheeks, and my bloody fingers with the nails chewed down to the quick. How can I appear casual? But if there’s anyone who won’t point out my weakness, it’s Merlin.
“I’ve been worried about you,” he says with emphasis. “And I’ve also been worried about Arthur. I’m
tutoring him with no luck.”
“Arthur performs best under pressure,” I offer.
Merlin sighs. “I’ve been trying everything. That’s part of why I haven’t been here. I don’t want to leave Arthur alone while he’s vulnerable.”
I cradle my head in my hands. “It’s like I did everything for nothing if Arthur can’t use his magic…”
“Well, it’s my problem now,” Merlin cuts in, his tone a bit defensive.
When I glance back up, Merlin is studying the floor and then I see it: resentment. I study him, wondering if he’ll dare speak his mind.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “For taking the Scroll. I didn’t do it to harm you.”
“It was… embarrassing,” Merlin says with sadness before he fixes his hair and breaks into a laugh. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Of course you don’t. You never want to talk about your feelings. The brief look he had in his eyes reveals a depth of hurt and something else—insecurity?
“It seems I’ve hurt you so many times,” I say. “You should walk away.”
“I think about that,” Merlin says. “I think about it a lot.”
We fall into silence.
“I have a question for you,” Merlin finally says, his voice heavy. “Was it all my fault?”
He glances at me with hesitance. I narrow my eyes, taken aback by the question.
“I feel like if I didn’t exist,” he elaborates. “None of this would have happened.”
“Don’t give yourself so much credit,” I say, trying to lighten his mood.
Merlin smiles sadly. “I can’t help but feel a huge weight on my shoulders. I’ll break into pieces. I can feel the cracks spreading.” He holds out his hands and looks down into his palms. “I’m changing, and it scares me. But I’m going to hold on to the hope that you can come out of this alive.”
“I’m not going to get out of this, Merlin.”
“Listen to me. A mental insanity plea is what you need to get out of the death penalty.”
I blink a few times before I inhale sharply with disbelief. “I’m never complying with that plan. It’s untrue.”
Merlin eyes me carefully. “There’s some truth to it. You know your behavior was not normal.”
“You think I’m insane,” I say coldly. “Is that how you’ve always viewed me?”
“Insane is a harsh word,” he hedges.
“I didn’t kidnap Arthur out of insanity. You can’t honestly think that I was so consumed with jealousy over the Maven role that I took it upon myself to be the one to take Arthur to Avalon. I was, of course, jealous, but I’m not pitiful like that! I took Arthur to ensure his own safety.”
“And I am forever grateful for that,” Merlin soothes. “I’m not sure what would’ve happened if I had taken Arthur myself. I understand your intent, but the fact is, your action was still abnormal and you have to admit you were in a vulnerable state at the time.”
I growl and cross my arms, unable to tolerate the idea of it. “I don’t understand why I would go through this only to live in prison forever.”
“If you’re declared insane, you will be sent to Dartmoor Sanitarium, which is a lot better than prison.”
I can’t help feeling angry, though Merlin means well. I don’t like the idea of being locked up as a crazy person in the padded cell of a hospital. I also can’t stand the idea of going to Dartmoor, where it will be too far for Merlin to visit me. I know it’s a stupid thought, but that alone makes it worse than prison. I’ve never felt this way before—wanting to see someone badly enough to endure discomfort in exchange for the brief moments of happiness.
“You have to use anything you can,” Merlin continues. “What Enid said, about Lancelot, is it true?”
My face heats up. “What?”
“If Lancelot went against his honor as a knight, you must admit it to the court.”
I shake my head. “I’m not getting Lancelot in trouble. He doesn’t deserve to have his career ruined. I already hurt his hand and I feel bad enough about that.”
“Your life is on the line,” Merlin counters.
“Enid has blown a little flirtation out of proportion.”
“She’s not talking about flirting. She’s saying that he completely dropped the ball on everything because he was enamored with you.”
I shake my head. “I’m not dragging anybody down with me. This is my own mess.”
Merlin flinches and his voice becomes strained with emotion. “You’ve already dragged everybody down. Me, Arthur, your father, Guinevere. We are all tormented every day, worrying about you.”
My lips thin. “You’re kicking me while I’m down.”
“Live, Morgan. If not for yourself, for others.”
I stare down at my tightly clasped hands.
“Something to think about,” Merlin continues. “I’ll visit you again. Perhaps you’ll have an answer by then. If your answer is no to the insanity plea, it will be my last visit.”
I grimace, unable to hide that he just wrung my heart.
“I know it’s harsh,” Merlin says. “But I can’t accept your execution. I can’t visit you knowing you’ll die. I feel guilty about that, that it’s too painful for me.”
“I understand,” I say hoarsely. “But do you really have to leave now?”
“Yes.”
Who knows when I’ll see him again? I quickly scan my thoughts for the things I want to tell him.
“I have a few questions before you go. Some things I meant to ask you before.”
“What is it?”
“Do you know anything about a place called Sarras?”
Merlin shakes his head. “I have never heard of it. Is it a part of Britain?”
“I’m not sure. Mordred mentioned it. It has something to do with my mother. Is it true about my mother and King Uther?”
“You ask as if I know something you don’t, but I’m afraid the knowledge of your bloodline came as a shock to me. I can confirm that the mark on your back is irrefutable evidence that you are a Pendragon. The Relic Keepers themselves checked while you were unconscious.”
My stomach turns to lead. “I just can’t believe it. You’ve met my father…”
Merlin’s eyes soften. “Your genes don’t change the fact that Gorlois is your father on an emotional level.”
“It’s hard to swallow,” I say, rubbing my forehead. “I know that being a Pendragon is supposed to be holy and all that. But it makes me feel like less of a person. Like I’m some kind of accident and a piece of trash.”
“The truth doesn’t have to take away everything you value, Morgan. The memories you have with your father are still there, regardless of the fact.”
I try to suppress tears of frustration. “I just can’t come to terms with it.”
“You don’t have to come to terms with it, not yet. It takes a long time to accept something shocking, and it’s okay. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself.”
“My time is limited,” I say bleakly. “There’s a clock ticking in my head, always. I want to be at peace with my life before…” I trail off. Merlin looks toward the doorway, clearly uncomfortable. I sigh. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you. In this damn cell I’m just trapped in my head all the time. I get so lost.” I regret my words when I see Merlin’s troubled expression. “I guess I shouldn’t say that.”
Merlin doesn’t say his usual, it’s okay. And he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t endure the terrible role of being my pretend helper when there’s no happy ending.
“Okay. One more question,” I say, changing the subject. “How’s Vivian?”
Merlin recovers from my previous statement and blinks in confusion. “She’s fine. You know, the same old. Why do you ask?”
I take a breath. “She tracked me to Avalon and attacked me there, saying she was taking Arthur back. Do you know what Vivian was doing in Avalon?”
Merlin’s jaw drops bef
ore he shakes his head with disbelief. “I don’t understand. While you were gone, Vivian took a leave of absence because her father was sick.”
Interesting. She went behind Merlin’s back. Why?
“She had the same tattoo as Maleagant,” I say.
Merlin pales. “You didn’t tell anyone, did you? Did Arthur…”
“No,” I assure hurriedly. “I didn’t tell anyone, of course. And Arthur is in the dark about it. He thinks Vivian was there to save him.”
Merlin exhales as he rubs his head. “Oh, thank you. I can’t imagine the horror of having you both tried for high treason at the same time! Please don’t judge her harshly. She got wrapped up with the Luminaries in the past. It was supposed to be behind her.”
I explain to Merlin about how she visited me with Mordred and cut my palm open to test the necklace for blood magic.
Merlin’s face becomes darker. “So they’ve enlisted Vivian again. She’s always the go-to when they sense betrayal.”
“Betrayal?” I ask.
“He knew I wouldn’t give him the Scroll…,” Merlin rambles to himself, his voice growing inaudible as he stares off at the wall.
“Merlin?”
Merlin turns back to me with annoyance on his face as if I’ve broken him out of sleep. He shakes his head. “I’m afraid there are dangerous times coming.”
“Explain it to me.”
“You’re not on the chessboard anymore. Don’t concern yourself. It’s not healthy to have all these thoughts in your head right now. All you need to focus on is getting out of the death penalty.”
“I’m looking for closure,” I exclaim with desperation in my tone.
Merlin’s face takes on a look of revulsion at the word “closure.” Merlin walks away with purpose. He clicks the door shut and lingers there for a second, pronouncing his exit. “I hope you consider the insanity plea,” Merlin says coldly. “Then maybe, you’ll be back on the board. A part of me thinks this is a bad idea, but in the end, I want you to live, and maybe that’s selfish. And closure?” he says the last word with bitterness. “I’m not willing to give you that. For the sake of all that’s holy—live, Morgan.”
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