by Lily Luchesi
“‘Please heed my warning and join. I do not wish to cause harm to any of you unnecessarily.’”
The herald was allowed to leave, though Morgan privately thought that ‘shooting the messenger’ was a superb idea. Queen Aritza turned and faced the majority of the Coven.
“You heard the little King. You may give up the Goddess’ blessings and live a mortal, or you may honour her and die a witch. I will leave it up for each of you to decide.”
* * *
Everything felt strained the next two weeks. No one knew who, if anyone, was going to go to Camelot, until a few people were missing from lessons, or the Main Hall announcements. Not many, but enough people vanished every day for Morgan to know what happened: they defected, running away like cowards to Camelot and a king whose legacy was built on killing witches.
It did not truly feel personal until Merlin was nowhere to be found. His leaving was a punch to the gut for Morgan. They had not truly been friends since they were thirteen, but prior, they had been inseparable. They played as children, were partners in their studies, and spent every meal together.
She thought she knew him. But then again, he was an orphan with few friends. Perhaps Camelot felt like a fresh start for him. Or, perhaps, he was as cowardly as everyone else who defected.
Accolon and Fiona had a public argument in the Main Hall one day. He was leaving. She chose to stay. It ended in tears on both sides, and the whole ordeal left Morgan emotionally drained.
She went to Gwen’s chambers in the castle and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” she called.
Morgan opened the door and stopped short at the sight before her. It took a moment for her brain to register what she saw.
Guinevere had multiple rucksacks filled with clothing and other personal items inside. She looked prepared for a long trip … or a permanent relocation.
“Are you packed? It’s nearly the deadline and I’d like not to be killed by mad knights,” she said, tying up one of the sacks.
Morgan was speechless.
“Well?” Gwen turned around and put her hands on her hips. “Why are you looking at my things like that? Did you expect I’d leave them?”
Still nothing.
Gwen seemed to realise why Morgan was so stunned. “Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re remaining in the Coven?”
That accusatory tone broke Morgan’s silence.
“Of course I am! I am not a coward, bowing down to a king to grovel for my life at the expense of my identity.”
“Are you saying I’m a coward?” Gwen demanded.
“I am saying you’re scared, and misguided. Please, don’t go. Stay. It will take time, perhaps a year, before he can launch a full-scale attack on us. Perhaps by then we can be in Europe, or somewhere. Do not lower yourself to his standards!” Morgan begged.
Guinevere shook her head. “I thought we wanted a future together.”
“I did. But not at the expense of my dignity. Nothing is worth that. Not even you,” Morgan admitted.
“I want to survive to have that future!” Gwen said.
“And what about me?” Morgan asked, crossing her arms and hugging herself tightly. She maintained eye contact, as uncomfortable as it was. “You’d leave me without a second thought?”
Gwen looked away, having the grace to look ashamed. “I value my life.”
“More than you value me, or the blessing the Goddess gave you?”
Guinevere’s silence was all Morgan needed to confirm that she was correct: Guinevere cared more for herself than anything or anyone else.
“You are making a mistake,” she warned.
“No, you are, by staying here to die like a swine in a pen!” Gwen said. “I want you with me.”
“If you loved me, you’d stay,” Morgan said.
“And if you loved me, you’d come with me.”
Morgan refused to allow the tears gathering in her eyes to fall; refused to let Gwen see how hurt she was.
“Then I suppose that is the crux of the matter, is it not?” She began to back away and opened the door behind her. “I pray that you can sleep at night after this. Gaia knows I will.”
With that, she dashed to her chambers, which she shared with Fiona, collapsed to her bed, and sobbed until she felt her heart must burst from the pain.
Chapter Three
Three days later…
Merlin Emrys gingerly sat down on the straw bed in the dormitory made for most of the new residents of Camelot, cringing at the rough feel of it compared to the artificial featherbeds magically created in the Coven.
No sooner did he sit down when there was a loud banging on the thin wood door. Hard enough to cause the entire flimsy thing to rattle on its hinges.
I might have renounced magic, but I will not hesitate to use it should a threat arise, he promised himself as he stood and opened the door.
Accolon stood there, clad in the armour of the Round Table. “The king wishes to see you, Emrys,” he said without greeting.
“Why?” Merlin asked, eyes narrowed.
“I do not know, but I suggest you hurry and not keep our new king waiting,” the former witch warned.
Merlin donned his thin blue cloak and followed Accolon through the field and to the castle in the distance. Most commoners didn’t live so close to the king, but it seemed he wanted all magicians kept close underfoot for the time being.
He got his first good look at the castle and its high battlements, turrets, drawbridge, deep moat, and thick, slate grey stonework. It was masterful, and quite impressive when one realised they did not use magic to build it.
“How did you wind up a knight?” Merlin wondered as he gazed at the coat of arms emblazoned across Accolon’s breastplate. “We’ve all only just got here.”
Accolon shrugged. “I think he wants to keep some of us close, or wants to see if I’ll slip and use magic while in battle. Doesn’t matter to me one way or another, I’m glad to be alive and here.”
The drawbridge lowered slowly, bridging the gap between the land and the moat that the nearby river kept fed with freshwater and the occasional fish or two.
The wood was solid as stone when Merlin walked across it, and he wondered if the moat, being that it was such clear water, actually made any difference at all if enemies were to attack.
If magicians wanted to, certainly it would be no hindrance whatsoever.
They passed the outer wall and into a large courtyard, almost as large as the one for the entire Coven’s castle. The Pendragons had entire flocks of animals just to feed and clothe those who lived and worked in the castle.
Waiting for him within the castle walls was … Guinevere.
His step faltered, hoping this would not result in yet another battle of wits. He was unsure if he could stomach the recurring emotional wounds even within Camelot. The reason he chose to leave the Coven was to escape. And it seemed like all his former tormentors were there. Though he had yet to see Morgan or Fiona. But if Gwen was there, it stood to reason Morgan was, too.
“Emrys,” she said, sounding more pleasant than she ever had before when speaking to him.
“Breton,” he replied, standing with his hands behind his back. His fingers gripped the wand he had hidden up his sleeve.
“I’m to take you to the king,” she said. “Come.”
Merlin followed her through the high-ceilinged halls, bursting with questions but fearing to ask.
She abruptly stopped on the third floor, before a large, carved wood door. Her eyes turned steely and she whispered, “Agree with whatever he has to say, Emrys.”
“Excuse me?” He narrowed his eyes at her and crossed his arms, leaving his wand secure in his sleeve.
“Trust me. Please,” she said, and then walked away without another word.
More confused than ever, Merlin straightened his shoulders and knocked on the door.
“Enter.”
He opened the door to a sumptuous sitting room. Arthur was on a plush sofa,
a few books on the table before him and one in his hand.
“Merlin Emrys, correct?” he asked, sitting up straighter.
“Yes, my lord,” Merlin said, hoping that was the correct way to address him.
“Come in. Close the door and have a seat,” Arthur invited.
This was the first time Merlin ever saw the newly crowned king. He knew Morgan, Gwen, and the others had spotted him many times when they went out and explored the border between lands, but he had never been invited along.
Arthur was taller than he, more filled out and deeply tanned from his time on the grounds. He had golden blonde hair and big eyes. His smile was easy, and reminded Merlin a little of Morgan, when she did deign to smile.
“Thank you for welcoming us into your kingdom,” he said as he took a seat in a velvet armchair.
“I wished for more of you,” Arthur admitted. “I did not like the idea of going to war.”
“Then why are you?” He knew it was bold, but Merlin couldn’t stop himself from asking.
Arthur glanced down at the book he read, what looked like a journal, then back up at Merlin. “It was my father’s wish. He would be furious if he knew I was allowing so many of you refuge within Camelot.”
“Is thinking for yourself looked down upon in the human world?”
Arthur chuckled, surprising him. “Tell me, why did so many of you within the same clique of the Coven take me up on my offer, yet two did not?”
“Forgive me,” Merlin began, “but I am not part of any sort of clique. I am quite the outcast, and I came because it was my desire to survive and start a brand new life for myself.”
“According to Miss Breton, you, she, Accolon, Fiona Guilfoyle, and Morgana Le Fay were all quite close,” Arthur revealed. “Yet Guilfoyle and Le Fay did not come. In fact, Miss Breton claimed Miss Le Fay was insulted at my offer.”
Morgan didn’t come?
“I had assumed Morgan and Fiona did come,” Merlin admitted. “I am surprised they remained behind.”
Arthur pursed his lips and continued. “I have spent much of my time the past two days with Miss Breton, learning about your Coven, your kind, and those of you who are my contemporaries who arrived alone, without any family to be seen. How did that come to be?”
Merlin sighed. “I will tell you the truth, and perhaps you may dislike it.
“Guinevere is the daughter of two average humans within your villages. She chose to stay with her own kind in the Coven, or was turned away by Camelot. I am unsure. Fiona has family in Eireann, from a Pagan commune there. Accolon’s parents are Elders, they vowed to remain in the Coven long before he was born.
“Morgan and I are orphans. The Le Fays, Gorlois and Chiara, were sworn enemies of your father. I am sure you were told. They were accused of treason against Camelot and captured while out one day. My parents tried to assist them. All four were executed, and since your father found them within your borders, albeit in the fields kilometres away from civilisation, our Queen had to accept the ruling.
“So, you see, I had no one to accompany me. Perhaps now Guinevere may reunite with her family, and Accolon chose to abandon his family for his freedom.”
Merlin finished, eyeing Arthur carefully to gauge his reaction.
“I see…” He paused, pensive. “I apologise for your parents’ death. I do not believe they warranted such punishment. And since my father’s passing, he lost those councillors and knights closest to him save Lancelot, who now runs the Round Table. I wish for you, Accolon, and Guinevere to join me in the castle, part of my new regime. Accolon, as you know, is a knight. Miss Breton agreed to be my head advisor. And I wish for you to remain within the castle, Mr. Emrys, and wish for this to be a fresh start for you.”
“What would you have me do?” Merlin asked slowly.
“Something my father would die all over again to know: I wish you to be the Royal Magician.”
Merlin paused, certain he was hallucinating. “What?”
Arthur laughed. “Do not look so shocked! Miss Breton said you were good at what you did, and were the only witch to still use a wand. That shows me you did not mind being different if the job was done.”
Merlin nodded. In truth, the wand was a comfort to him. When they phased them out, he kept his and used it when not in class because it made him feel better to have it upon his person.
The real question was, why was Guinevere complimenting him so?
“Do you agree to retain your powers at my behest?” Arthur asked.
After a pause, Merlin replied, “Yes. I do, my lord.”
He was dismissed then, and he left to slowly wander the halls, wondering how on Earth he got to this place, thirteen years after his parents were executed by the former king.
He did not remember the day they died. All he knew was that they and the Le Fays were there one day and then gone forever the next.
The ensuing loneliness was cut as he was introduced to little Morgana, a quiet girl with a big heart, obsessed with plants, animals, and potions. The two formed a quick friendship, bonding with their shared interests and the fact that they were both utterly alone in the world.
As they grew up, they began to grow apart, until one day Merlin found himself alone while Morgan was on the arm of Guinevere, included in the group that had formerly tormented them both in and out of class.
He was truly, utterly alone since then. And now everything he felt he knew and believed was turned on its axis.
I must speak to Guinevere.
He found her in the gardens, smelling flowers.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, ensuring no one else was around to overhear.
“Are you mad, Emrys?” she countered, stepping back.
“You despised me. Yet the king told me how wonderfully you spoke of me; so much so he is allowing me to keep my powers. I am loathe to believe you behaved in such a way out of the goodness of your heart. Morgan might feel differently, but I have never known you to be altruistic.”
Gwen smiled prettily. “One thing you are is intelligent, Emrys. I don’t like you. I never did. Gaia knows why Morgana does. But you are right: I have not done any favours for you out of the goodness of my heart.
“I have a plan. And I will need you to help me fulfill it.”
Chapter Four
One year later...
“You should not be going out!” Fiona hissed at Morgan. She was in her nightdress, reading by candlelight. “What if the Guards catch you? It’s against the rules.”
Morgan couldn’t help her amusement. “Suddenly you’re concerned with rules, Guilfoyle?” She finished lacing her boots. “I cannot shake this feeling. I am going to walk the grounds within the forcefield. Besides, I believe I am more competent than half the brutes hired to guard our borders.”
She tied her cloak in the front and flipped her long, inky black hair from beneath it. To magnify the cham to create a little ball of light, she took her old wand with her. As she pocketed it, she got a flash of memory of Merlin using his wand.
His smirk when he bested the non-wanded magicians in Duelling Club was fleeting, yet somehow it was burnt into her memory.
Shaking her head, she bid Fiona a goodnight and exited the dormitory. The castle halls were dark and cold; all torchlight was extinguished after midnight so as not to draw any unwanted attention in the darkness.
Her boots were silent on the worn stone as she went down three flights of stairs to the main hall. She waited behind the balustrade, ducked down, as two Guards passed on their rounds. Once they were out of sight, she quickly made her way to the front doors, opening them with magic so as not to make any noise.
It was warmer outside this autumnal evening than it was inside, and a million stars twinkled above her, lighting her way. Of course, that also meant that others could see her. Not that humans could easily come within the Coven borders, it was better to be safe than sorry.
“Celare,” she whispered, casting the concealment charm over hersel
f. It didn’t render her invisible, rather it caused her to be unnoticeable were she quick and quiet enough, and should no one be looking specifically for her.
She went around the back of the castle, to where the wharf sat, feeding the river that ran through the Coven and the rest of England. Surrounded by a copse of tall, thin trees on one side, and lazily drifting weeping willows on the other, it was a beautiful place to be. Even when clouded with horrible memories.
Including the vividity of the lurid description the paper had of Accolon’s death at the hands of Camelot’s knights.
“Former witch outed as traitor; execution imminent.”
He had been stabbed five times with an iron blade, his heart removed, and then burnt as the kingdom watched.
The images haunted Morgan even when she slept. And now the paper had brought yet another blow to her aching heart, driving sleep even further from her.
It was darker here by the lake, so Morgan took out her old yew wand and cast “Solare.” The tip began to glow a bright, warm yellow. “Volant.” The brightness at the tip detached and floated in the air some distance above her, illuminating the immediate surrounding area for her to see.
She walked along the shore, watching the water, trying to shake the feeling that something odd was happening or going to happen. Part of her wondered if she should have gone the other way and sought advice from Pegasus.
“Guinevere Breton will be the new Queen of Camelot!”
Traitor, Morgan thought, the same rage burning in her heart for the past day flaring up again. Her and that wretched Merlin both. I hope they meet the same sticky end as Accolon.
As she mused and fumed, the long, leaning willows to her left rustled. Immediately, she was on edge, brandishing her wand as though she used it daily.
That was too large to be a squirrel, she thought. Was it perhaps one of Pegasus’ foals, come to the water for a drink or perhaps a midnight swim?
More rustling, this time further down, as if whoever or whatever was hiding didn’t want to cross where she stood.