He lunges, grabbing my hand and dropping the Grail as a result.
My hand sizzles. I scream as he climbs over me, clawing at me. Weakened, he’s unable to conjure flames—and I don’t want to give him the chance to. I bring my knee up and shove it into his ribs. I clamber up as he falls back. He grabs the Grail from the ground and runs at me, ready to strike me over the skull. I bring out flames toward him. He stumbles back, his feet meeting the cliff’s edge.
I reach forward to catch him. “Mordred!”
My hand misses his wrist.
A horrified expression washes over his face as he falls back, throttling into the abyss of the black river, Grail in hand.
“Mordred!” I scream. I kneel over the cliff, looking into the darkness.
It’s pitch-black below.
All I hear is the coursing river.
My eyes burn. I bring my wounded hands to my face. My skin stings as the tears flow over them.
Chapter 20
Weakly I stand up, backing away from the river and picking up the necklace to place in my pocket.
“May your soul be guided,” I say to the water below.
Taking a breath, I prepare to move on to the next obstacle—get out of the cave alive with Arthur and Merlin. I push aside the fallen stalactites with the last of my strength. Breathing heavily, I limp back to where Merlin and Arthur were.
Arthur is crouched next to Merlin, helping him up. They are both battered with bruises, their hair matted down with sweat. Next to them, Merlin’s backpack is open.
The two tense as they look my way.
“Morgan!” Merlin calls as he tries to walk toward me. He falls forward, catching his fall with his hands. Shaking, he looks up. “Where’s Mordred?”
“Mordred is dead,” I say. “He fell into the river.”
Merlin’s gapes. He shakes his head as if to wake himself and turns to rummage through his backpack. He stands and strides to me, holding a roll of gauze. He unrolls it and presses the gauze against my head. I shudder.
“Hold it there,” Merlin says firmly. “You’re bleeding profusely. We’ve got to make it out of here. Can you walk yourself?”
I nod. “Yes, but… I’m slow.”
Arthur studies my wounds, tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Morgan.” He sobs. “It’s my fault. I let Mordred take me here. And I couldn’t even help you.”
“All is well, Arthur,” I say, though nothing looks so “well” right now. “As long as you learned that you are meant to be King. That you are important.”
Arthur nods earnestly—hope in his eyes.
“But,” I say, “your rule shouldn’t be because of guilt. I know it takes a long time to let go of guilt, so be patient with yourself.”
Merlin takes Arthur’s side, holding his arm. “Come, we need to get back.”
Arthur limps, sweat rolling down his forehead. Merlin maintains a strong grip on Arthur, but Merlin himself is pale and out of breath.
“Thanks,” Arthur says to Merlin. “I was never very nice to you.”
I try my best to follow them, keeping a flame going for visibility. I stumble forward, my fire dimming. No matter how hard I breathe, the oxygen doesn’t seem to reach my lungs. I can barely see Merlin and Arthur ahead. My vision fogs as my head spins. My legs wobble as if made of rubber.
“Morgan,” Merlin calls out. “Can you keep going? I’ll light my flare so you don’t have to use fire. Save your energy.”
Merlin cracks a flare on the cavern wall. The world is illuminated once more. Merlin and Arthur turn to observe me. Covered in dirt and blood, the two look grim, like knights in a trench. I must look terrible myself.
“I… can’t.” I wheeze. “I can’t move anymore. You two need to keep going.”
“No,” Arthur says, stepping toward me. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”
Merlin studies me intently before pulling Arthur back. “We are going to do as Morgan says. She can’t keep up.”
“We can’t just leave her here!” Arthur snaps, tears escaping from his eyes.
“There’s no other option. Morgan has sacrificed everything for you to come out of this safely. You cannot insult her effort. Let’s move.”
“You don’t care about her!”
Merlin looks at Arthur sharply. “I care about her. That’s why we’ve got to move. Now.”
“Listen to Merlin, Arthur,” I say. “I’ll follow. Everything will be okay.”
Arthur continues to cry as Merlin pulls him into the cavern. Merlin looks back at me with sadness. I nod at him.
Thank you, I say to him in my mind.
The two slowly and agonizingly move on until I can no longer see them.
Hang in there, Merlin. You can do this. I know it.
Darkness closes in around me like a suffocating fist.
All I hear is my labored breathing and millions of droplets echoing down the maze of rocky folds. The smell of old earth and damp rock strangles me. My consciousness begins dimming in the dark cave. Darkness can get darker. I become one with the shadows.
I forget I have a body. I become the cavern and the droplets that are singing. The trickling sounds are getting louder. I already feel that my bones are buried here. Ancient, preserved, cold.
I want to move. I’ve promised myself to tell Merlin how I feel. To see others I love again. Yet my limbs won’t obey my mind.
As I fade, I see golden light above me, the color of heaven.
Chapter 21
There’s buzzing in my ears. I feel as if I’m falling. Screaming. The world is a blur.
Light splinters. It’s the kind of image you see when someone goes to heaven in the movies. When I fully open my eyes, the world is not so golden but stark. My wrist comes into view. It’s over a blanket. Clear plastic tubes are coming out beneath bandages.
“Morgan.”
My eyes focus. Beyond my wrist, Lancelot is sitting in a chair next to me. A beep from a machine briefly rings out. I hear myself break into a pant as if I’m buried in rocks.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Lancelot says with panic. He leans closer to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’re okay now.”
Slowly I recall the darkness. The cave that seemed to envelope me into the earth.
“What happened?” I ask hoarsely.
“Do you recall a man named Galahad?” Lancelot asks.
I nod. “He’s the knight in Corbenic.”
“He went into the cave opening to seek everyone. That’s where he found Merlin and Arthur struggling to walk. He retrieved you as well. You were barely alive. The Grail Guardian and Galahad nurtured you all for a day before taking you back to the outskirts of the Waste Land. She had Galahad guide you all to us. They took turns pulling you on a cart. We were waiting for you on Sarras. We brought you, Merlin, and Arthur back to Camelot, and now you’re in our infirmary.”
I close my eyes, exhausted and yet stinging with mortification that I had to be carried. I remember Elaine—the lonesome woman in the Castle of Crows. Why didn’t Elaine come with Galahad? Didn’t she want to see Lancelot again, even for a few minutes?
I sigh. “Everyone is okay?”
“Yes. Thanks to you.”
I keep my eyes shut.
“You did a great thing out there,” Lancelot continues. “Merlin and Arthur told us all about it. That—”
“I’m very tired,” I cut in gently.
“Of course.”
He gives me a pat on the shoulder. “Rest well. We’ll have a celebration for you guys when you’re better.”
“A party for a prisoner?” I question.
“Morgan. You know you’re no longer a prisoner. You’re a hero.”
“A hero,” I say flatly.
I hear Lancelot rise to leave. His boots thump against the linoleum floor. He turns on the TV on his way out.
As I drift to sleep I hear the newscaster: “…In a shocking turn of events, the o
nce disgraced Morgan le Fay has saved King Arthur. We’re here at the gates of Camelot looking to interview members. In the meantime, here are some local reactions to the news.”
I knew all along Morgan le Fay was good. She didn’t have the eyes of a psychopath.
I think the world can finally see her for who she is.
I turn toward the window as the voices continue. Positive words stack upon each other.
But I know the world has not truly seen me yet. I, myself, have not met the true Morgan le Fay.
Guinevere visits me, placing a vase full of marigolds next to my bed and then bending down to embrace me. I hug her back. She has grown thin as a bird.
“Are you eating properly?” I ask as she straightens.
Guinevere pulls up a chair next to the bed and sits.
“I’ve been under stress,” she replies. “But I’ll be much better now. You’ve made everything better in our world. I heard of your bravery.”
I stare down at my exposed arm. The wound from the Questing Beast is still a shiny scar. It has a strange bluish tint to it. Guinevere follows my gaze.
“That’s a wound from dark magic,” she says.
“Yes, it’s the same wound Fisher has on his leg.” I turn to her. “Could you do me a favor? Request my blood to be drawn and use it for a transfusion for Fisher? I’m not sure if it’ll work, but I think my blood might be the antidote against the curse.”
Guinevere nods. “I can certainly ask Fisher if he’d like to try it. Of course, we’ll have to make sure your blood is compatible with his.”
“Thank you.”
Guinevere begins talking about the news. Her words blur in my mind as I drift off to sleep.
After some time, I’m back on my feet and feeling less weak. I’m given a wrapped present delivered by Brysen.
“From Camelot,” she says. “A dress for the party.”
I half expect a maid’s old dress to be given to me. Instead, the Cabinet bought me a fancy new gold dress embroidered with a million tiny details. The dress shimmers at each turn. It’s too glorious—it doesn’t suit me. I would have done well with a simple black dress. I put it on so as not to insult them. As I turn in the mirror, I see that they’ve made sure it didn’t reveal the mark of the Pendragon on my back.
Knights escort me to the Grail Room. They don’t roughly hold on to my arms like they did before. Instead, they walk behind me, arms behind their backs. People gawk as I walk past. Heads turn. Most of them give me a little bow.
As soon as I enter the Grail Room, clapping explodes. I stare wide-eyed. Every single person looks at me with a smile rather than contempt. It’s overwhelming to take in, the sudden change in my exterior world. One moment everyone hates me, and now they love me?
Golden light shines everywhere. Here, it’s the opposite of the cave. Everything forces me to be external: to observe, to greet, to enjoy. In the cave I was internal: only conscious of my own beating heart, the sound of tinkling waters dripping through caverns. What I felt in the cave seems more real than what I feel now. This seems like a dream.
Like a ghost I drift through the crowd, not feeling like I’m really a part of it. Everyone looks at me openly rather than sneaking glances and whispering to each other.
Tristan and Isolde step through the crowd, both holding up goblets of cider.
“Congratulations,” Isolde says.
I turn to her, remembering what I had done the last time I saw her. “Isolde, I’m so sorry for pushing you. I didn’t mean to.”
Isolde gives me a nod. “I know.”
We fall into awkward silence. Tristan shrugs and smiles. “We were happy to see Agravain beaten.”
Guiltily I look down. Agravain is now dead. I recall his lethal burn and how he was left in the cave.
Ahead of us Merlin emerges from the crowd. After being in the forest with him, I’d nearly forgotten how he looks without dirt caked on his clothes and skin. He looks as if he stepped out of a glamor magazine.
Merlin nods to Tristan and Isolde. “Good evening.”
The two return his greetings with a bow and politely walk away, sneaking glances at us.
I curtsy. “Mr. Ambrosius.”
“You must be happy,” Merlin says when I straighten. “Finally you’re getting the recognition you always wanted.”
“Pardon me, sir,” I reply. “But that’s not what I wanted. I wanted fair magic user rights and justice and to protect our peace. We still have a long way to go.”
“So are you saying you still want to be Maven?”
“I’m not suited for the role at the moment.”
Merlin raises his brows and does a double take. “What? Why?”
“I’ve got a journey ahead of me still, and I believe you’re a great Maven.”
Fear swims in Merlin’s eyes. He never trusts me when I’m kind. “So if Arthur requests you be co-Maven with me and the Cabinet approves, you’d reject the proposal?”
“Yes.”
“Stop that,” Merlin hisses. “I don’t like this conversation at all. You don’t sound like yourself. I wanted to talk to you because I’m supposed to report on the next step. So, Morgan. Are you going to be a Black Knight?”
“No,” I say simply, walking away. “You won’t have to concern yourself with my next step. Excuse me.”
Merlin follows me through the crowd. “What do you mean? What are you going to do?”
I head to the balcony and open the French doors, casting a glance at Merlin prior to stepping out. Merlin follows me. The sky is twilight-colored. The air warm. Strings of amber light decorate the banister and finely sculpted shrubs. I lean on the stone balcony staring off into the hills beyond the Apple Grove.
This is much better. The quiet. Serenity. Merlin stands by me, mirroring me and looking at the same scene. The heavy scent of lilac is in the air.
“I’m going to be taking a break,” I finally say to the sky.
Some birds scatter in the air, singing.
“A break?”
I nod. “Yes. I’m departing tomorrow morning. To Dartmoor. I want to go to the Healing Center by the sanitarium for a while. I studied the brochure while I was in the infirmary. It looks like it’d be good for me.”
Merlin pales as if spooked. “But… you refused to go to Dartmoor.”
“I think the countryside will be a nice place to heal and rest.”
“But… why?”
I turn to him. The night breeze snakes between us, ruffling his hair softly. “You were right, Merlin. It was wrong of me to toss away my life so easily a few months back. While we were in the cave, I realized there are a lot of things I haven’t reconciled with. That whole thing with my mother. I understood for the first time that I want to… live. I want to be happy. And I want to heal. So… I want to go away for a while so I can meet my own self as I truly am. I haven’t had a chance to dive deeply into my own mind. I think this is a good time for it.” I smile. “Especially since I know Arthur is safe… for the time being.”
I half expect Merlin to beam at those words. Instead, his face falls as if I just shredded his heart and threw it off the balcony.
“I…” He starts but trails off. He shakes his head.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you,” I begin.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
Merlin walks toward the French doors. I halt him, grabbing his arm.
“Merlin. I love you.”
Merlin wrenches my hand away. He walks away, leaving me alone on the balcony, the cricket songs ringing in my ears.
Chapter 22
I push my luggage through the hallway of the Knight Station. The party from the last evening weighs heavily in my mind. I expected Merlin to reject me, of course, but to completely ignore me? It seems unnaturally cruel. Doesn’t he know by now that I had good intentions? That I see my errors? It doesn’t matter to him, and that hurts worse than his hate.
&nb
sp; Yet I must put all my emotional ties with Camelot and its people aside now. It’s time to let go, at least for a while.
I stop by Lancelot’s office on the way.
He stands as soon as I enter and walks around his desk to greet me with a half smile on his lips. One that I will miss. “Leaving, huh.”
“Yes. I’m going to stop by to see my father on the way.”
“Good. He’ll be very happy to see you.”
“Thank you for everything,” I say, saluting him.
Lancelot doesn’t salute back. He grabs my shoulders and pulls me into a firm hug, leaning his face into my hair. “Call me if you need anything. I mean it.”
I smile, parting from him. “Thank you for being my friend.”
“Oh, just a friend, huh?”
I slump my shoulders showing him my exasperation. “You need to stop flirting with me. You know you don’t mean anything by it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
I grin wider. “I’ve seen you throw a coin in the Grail Fountain every morning that I’ve looked. I’ve seen the photo in your wallet.”
I recall the photo of the blond lady in his wallet while I was snooping in his quarters back when I was in Arthur’s Round. I had put the photo away, not knowing who it was at the time.
Lancelot glares at me.
“You’ve never stopped loving Elaine,” I say.
Lancelot lightly shakes his head, looking toward the window. “She chose her job and that’s the end of the story.”
“How many years ago?” I ask. “You can’t resent her for what she chose so long ago. If the story’s over, why carry her in your heart? Because maybe it’s not over. Things change.”
Lancelot looks back to me, smiling again. “Is this what this is? You’re different now.”
“For the better, I hope.”
“You deserve to do whatever you want for once.”
“Thank you. Speaking of Elaine…”
Lancelot cringes to hear her name again.
“Her father, Fisher, is suffering from a wound from the Questing Beast.”
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