Grail

by Realm Lovejoy

  “Ms. Le Fay,” Arthur greets with no emotion. “You may stop bowing. We are here discussing your role as a servant and what your role should entail. Sir Lancelot has a proposal. Do you care to educate her, Sir Lancelot?”

  I straighten up and glance at Lancelot. His brows are tense, but his eyes are determined as he studies me.

  “Ms. Le Fay,” Lancelot begins. “I’ve proposed the idea of your remaining a slave to Camelot but in a different manner. Your skills are not aligned with cleaning duties, as reports from Brysen has shown. You create more work for the maids with the damage you’ve done such as repeatedly breaking things with your clumsiness. According to Brysen, you’re a terrible maid and gardener—cursed with a black thumb rather than a green one. However, I recall you were physically strong and scored high as a knight with natural talents. I have requested you to apply your service to our military instead, as a Gray Knight.”

  I gape in shock.

  Pellinore is quick to interject. “We do not like the idea of a traitor becoming a part of the military. Lancelot has a counterproposal that you train for a period of no less than ten years without participating in missions or guard duties, and if you prove yourself loyal with no offenses, you may participate in high-risk missions later. By that, I mean the kind of mission where you’re likely to die. It will be a part of your servitude to us. You may service us if you remain under strict monitoring and continue to see Dr. Laudine Pelles for psychotherapy twice a week. If you commit any offenses during your training, such as losing your temper, fighting, going near the King or Maven, or any other disobedient acts, you will be sent directly to Dartmoor Sanitarium to be locked away with no consideration from us again.”

  So Camelot still wants me chained or dead. I lick my dry lips, trying to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

  “The sanitarium,” Pellinore continues, “by the way, is a very generous alternative to prison or the death penalty. It is a healing facility for the ill and mentally troubled. You will have daily psychotherapy sessions and be well taken care of. This alternative was kindly requested by the King and Maven.”

  I swallow, briefly eying Merlin and Arthur, who still refuse to look at me.

  “I agree that my service is better suited for the military,” I finally say. “If I may ask, what about my magic? Shouldn’t I be a Black Knight?”

  “We disapprove of your magic,” Pellinore replies. “But if you can be a good Gray Knight for ten years, perhaps we’d approve your magic later on.”

  Ten years is a long time, but I’d still be young at twenty-seven years of age. It’s better than never using magic again.

  “I object to the entire idea,” Merlin says, glaring at Lancelot. “This not only endangers Ms. Le Fay’s odds of success to remain out of confinement, but also Lancelot’s role as a High Knight. The rumors are already getting out of control for you, Sir Lancelot.”

  Lancelot shows no reaction to Merlin.

  “I get the impression this proposal was made to make Ms. Le Fay happy,” Merlin continues, “but this is a disservice to her. Dangling a carrot in front of her, telling her she could one day use magic is cruel. Training as a knight is far more high risk than janitorial duties. She is more likely to be pushed, and her erratic behaviors will once again become a liability. I can predict the future of this proposal. Ms. Le Fay will lose her temper, and she will be sent to Dartmoor Sanitarium.”

  “You’re no oracle, Merlin,” Arthur says. “My father made this table one of power. While I maintain Father’s ideals, I make this a table of justice. Justice is a concept I value more than power. It’s not right to assume what Ms. Le Fay will do. I believe the decision to make Ms. Le Fay a servant or a knight is up to the woman herself. Which is the lesser of two evils for you, Ms. Le Fay?” Arthur looks at me for the first time since my execution. My heart briefly swells with pride for his matureness. All I can remember is who I used to be. The girl who used fire.

  “I want to be a knight,” I say firmly.

  It’s strange to hear myself say I want something that I detested only months ago.

  Lancelot smiles. Mordred laughs under his breath as if it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. Merlin shakes his head; his expression chills me with the same silent rage in his eyes as he had when the judge announced my execution date. Why can’t he understand that I don’t want to be a janitor? Is it so outlandish of me to choose being a knight?

  “Two months tops,” Merlin says, putting his hands on the table before standing up with everyone else. “That’s how long her Gray Knight charade will last.”

  Lancelot stands up with enthusiasm and walks over to me. “I’ll be showing Ms. Le Fay to the knight’s quarters.”

  He takes my arm, pulling me away from the other knight’s grasp. Gently he leads me out of the room.

  “Is that better?” he asks once we are in the hallway, away from the others. “This was all I could do to help you.”

  “Yes.” I swallow, overcome with emotion. “Thank you. I can’t believe you’d go this far for me.”

  “I wish the results were better. But maybe if you become a great Gray Knight, you’d be a Black Knight in no time.”

  I nod. “Yes, that’s my hope.”

  “Your living quarters isn’t too great,” Lancelot admits with regret. “They want you in the junior room with max security set up.”

  Once outside, we walk across the green grass to Knight’s Tower. Inside the building it’s more modern than King’s Tower, the same way I remember it.

  He guides me to where the knights’ quarters are and stops in front of a door with the number twenty-six on it. He opens the handle to reveal a small room that looks similar to a prison cell. A sterile white and gray space with a small bed. No window. But it’s better than the closet room, which was full of dust. By the bed are boxes full of uniforms and plain slacks and shirts. On the nightstand is a small cup with a toothbrush inside it.

  “There’s a shared bathroom down the hall,” Lancelot says. “Maids work around the clock to provide anything knights may need. You just put in a phone call. The only things you can’t have are sharp objects—a special request of the Cabinet.”

  I touch my burnt hair. “That’s too bad. I really want to get rid of this nest.”

  “I can cut it for you,” Lancelot says, taking a small army knife out of his pocket. “But it won’t look fashionable.”

  I give him a sarcastic smile as if fashion mattered.

  I turn around, and Lancelot begins to slice off the burnt parts. I see the frizzled strands fall to the floor like ash. For a second I can remember clearly pain as red lights flashed into my eyes. I can still smell the burning. Biting my lower lip, I fight the overwhelming emotion pushing at me. I can’t tell if I’m sad or angry. Perhaps I’m just defeated and tired.

  “It will grow back,” Lancelot assures.

  “It’s not that.” I sniff.

  Lancelot touches my hair, patting it straight and fluffing it. He lightly turns me toward the tiny mirror on the wall. “See.”

  My hair is shorter than I’ve ever had it, down to just below my shoulder blades. It used to be past my butt. I look unfamiliar, my face reddened by my emotions.

  “You look better without the really long hair,” Lancelot says.

  “What?” I ask, frowning at him in the reflection.

  “It made you look like you were homeschooled in the boonies.”

  “I was homeschooled in the boonies.”

  “Well now you look more chic! Like a city girl.”

  “I don’t care about your opinion.” I scoff.

  “You should.”

  I shake my head. “You should leave before I lose my temper and get arrested again.”

  Lancelot walks away from me and grabs a piece of paper from the top of the dresser. “This is the menu you can order from. What do you want to eat? I recommend the beef Wellington. It’s the best.”

  “I’m not
hungry.”

  “Come on. I’ll order it for you, and you’ll eat it. I’ll get you a pie too. You’ll need your strength tomorrow.” Lancelot points to the floor. “I’ll get a maid in here to clean this up.”

  I take a long breath and finally relax my shoulders a bit. “Thank you. You really helped me a lot.”

  Lancelot rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, well… you won’t be thanking me for long. I have to be honest with you. The training is brutal. And I can’t be your friend anymore. I don’t think you’ll like me very much as your boss. I’m not nice, but don’t take it personally. It’s my job.”

  “I understand,” I say earnestly.

  Though I have to admit that it does sadden me to no longer have him as a friend.

  “Yeah, sorry in advance,” he says with regret before fixing a smile back on his face. “Anyway, relax tonight. You have to be up at 5 AM; we start with a workout and jog. If you’re not up, someone will probably barge in here and smack you over the head. Lady or not, everyone gets treated equally as brutal. Just… don’t get pissed off. Keep cool and follow orders. Don’t ask questions. Don’t make faces.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say.

  “Good luck.”

  He winks at me for what may be the last time and makes his way to the door.

  “Hey, Lancelot,” I call out.

  He pauses.

  “Aren’t you worried about, you know, the rumors and stuff?”

  Ever since my defense attorney, Enid, accused Lancelot of being in love with me, the press has churned out countless speculations.

  Lancelot turns slightly. “The public has to get bored of trying to make a scandal out of me one of these days.”

  “I wouldn’t want to hurt your career after everything you’ve done for me.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” he says, finally glancing at me with more firmness. “Be successful, all right? Don’t lose your temper. If you can keep that promise, my career will be just fine.”

  “I promise,” I say.

  Chapter 5

  I’m awoken by a sharp alarm that drills through my ears. I jolt up in shock. The sound is coming from the ceiling. I remember Lancelot’s instructions and stumble out of bed to get ready.

  Once dressed, it’s surreal to see my reflection. I wear the gray uniform, the same kind my father wore in his youth, with the silver trim. The badge displays the sword insignia. I eye the time and hastily pull my hair up in a ponytail and hurry out of the room.

  In the hallway, knights are already walking ahead. I follow them.

  We assemble in the same gym where I trained as part of Arthur’s Round. The mural of old heroes looms over me. I remember hoping to join them one day.

  Other knights, Gray and Black, filter into the gym. As eyes sear into me, I feel smaller and smaller, becoming crushed under the mural and the dream I once had. Is this truly better than being a janitor? A nonmagical servant, standing amidst everyone who hates me? Even Urien, who used to flirt with me, avoids my gaze.

  I catch sight of other familiar people: Tristan and Isolde. There is more confidence in their postures compared to when they were in Arthur’s Round. Tristan’s face is more angular now, but his hair is still boyish with a beach-swept wildness about it. The two see me, and their faces fall in shock. Agravain stands ahead, openly glaring at me.

  Lancelot walks in. Everyone whips their head to attention.

  “Knights,” Lancelot greets curtly.

  “All hail King Arthur,” everyone shouts in unison, breaking into the Knight Salute, except me.

  I put the vocal greeting into my memory bank for future reference.

  “We have a new member today,” Lancelot says loudly as he scans the crowd, briefly eying me. “As I’m sure you’ve all noticed. This decision was made by His Majesty, His Maven, and His Royal Cabinet. Let me be clear. There is to be no gawking, harassing, or questioning. Disobedience will not be tolerated. Now if that’s understood, let’s start with our daily routine. Start with fifty pushups.”

  Everyone immediately falls forward. I follow suit self-consciously, trying to mimic everyone else.

  Lancelot’s boots pause in front of me. “Keep up, Le Fay,” he says.

  By the time workouts are over, I’m drenched in sweat and panting. Lancelot orders us to go to the locker room to change into our jogging clothes. As everyone files out, Isolde lingers behind. She casts me a glance and motions with her chin to follow her.

  She leads me to the women’s locker room.

  “Your locker has your room’s number on it,” she whispers to me.

  “Twenty-six,” I say.

  She guides me to the locker. When we get in front of locker twenty-six, Isolde blushes and looks down.

  I see red letters scrawled across the front of it.

  Whore.

  The words cut into my eyes with accusation. Above it, my mug shot, the one where I look hideous with eye bags. My ghostly gaze stares back at me emptily. Another clipping of some gossip magazine page—claiming I’m sleeping with Lancelot—is next to it.

  “You can report this abuse,” Isolde says uncomfortably.

  I don’t feel the normal anger that often comes over me. The words and the photos seem like a disembodied thing—something I can’t connect to.

  I turn to Isolde. “Why are you helping me anyway? Don’t you think I’m an evil whore too? For all I know, you could have done this.”

  Isolde looks at me with her clear, gray eyes. “You saved Arthur when that fire almost took his life during our magic test. I remember that day clearly. I admired you. I don’t understand why everyone has forgotten that—that you saved him and he wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

  “I also kidnapped him,” I counter.

  “And he reached Excalibur,” Isolde says. “You didn’t harm him.”

  “I suppose the negative always burns brighter for the public.”

  “You still have a chance,” Isolde replies. “To make the positive burn so bright nobody can deny it.”

  I nod slightly, smiling at the idea that seems impossible. “I hope so.”

  Hope isn’t something I’ve had for a long time. I tell myself that I’m here as a Gray Knight because I do have hope, however faint it is, it’s there.

  Hope is indeed hovering afar I think, as I lift weights with the other knights in the top-floor fitness area. Through the window I stare at King’s Tower, wondering what Arthur is doing in there.

  While keeping physically busy does make me feel better, the new routine is surprisingly harder for me to mentally cope with. It’s not even the passive bullying, the rigorousness of the workout, or Lancelot’s constant barking that drives me insane. It’s the rigid structure of it all. There is no randomness in my day, no chance to break out and do something different.

  Indeed, things between Lancelot and I are completely different. He barely looks at me, and if he does, it’s to yell at me. It’s nothing personal. He shouts at everyone. Sometimes he even gives a knight a smack on the head for disobeying. He’s rough around the edges—a snake ready to spring, so different from the relaxed guy I know. He doesn’t joke around, and he never smiles. There’s a melancholy about him as he takes long walks around Camelot during breaks. Every morning I spot him tossing a pence into the Grail Fountain. The coin shimmers at the feet of the Grail Guardian, the beautiful woman looking down into the Grail. The way Lancelot pauses before throwing in the coin makes me believe he has a wish. What does a man like Lancelot wish for?

  It turns out I don’t know him that well.

  I remind myself that it doesn’t matter anymore. I can part with the strange friendship we had.

  What I can’t part with is my worry over Arthur’s safety. Mordred is still regularly in his presence. The most frustrating part is that there’s nothing I can do.

  I wipe the sweat from my brow as the timer goes off. Done with my training for the day, I decide to go down to the lo
cker room to shower. I put a towel around my neck and head toward the elevator to make my descent. Once inside, I sigh and stretch my neck.

  The elevator pauses on the next floor.

  Merlin walks in.

  My heart freezes. Why is he in Knight’s Tower? Merlin stares at me for a second. The doors shut behind him. He immediately checks his phone, not acknowledging my presence, and then he hastily presses the button for the next floor.

  There’s so much I want to ask. How is he doing? How is Arthur doing? Has Arthur gotten better with his magic? Yet my words stay trapped in my throat. Merlin’s body language, his back to me, says that he’s still angry. I suffocate in his silence.

  When the door opens, he rushes out, and I know with certainty that once the door closes, I may never speak with him again. I walk after him even though my action could be a huge mistake.

  “Merlin,” I blurt out. “Wait.”

  My voice sounds terrible—a beggar’s voice—and I immediately regret my decision.

  He turns briefly, his eyes burning with annoyance.

  “Morgan, you know the rules.”

  I raise my hands. “I won’t step close to you.”

  “You aren’t supposed to speak to me.”

  “Then I’m talking to the wall,” I reply, lowering my arms and turning to the window. “I’m worried about you. I think about you every hour of every day.”

  “It’s too late for you to ‘worry’ about me, Morgan. I could have used your worry a hundred times in the past.”

  “I know. After all we’ve been through, I want your forgiveness. For us to be friends in spirit even if we can never speak to one another.”

  “We were never friends to begin with,” Merlin replies coldly. “You barely tolerated me since the first moment we met. You have humiliated me and crumpled my world.”

  “I never attacked you personally—all my actions had unfortunate repercussions on you.”

  I risk glancing at him.

  Merlin waves his hands. I sense he’s about to depart. “I don’t want to see your face or hear your voice again. We’re finished. Do you understand? Stay away from me.”