by K. M. Shea
Guinevere smiled, but it seemed to Britt that she did so more because it was expected of her, rather than because she actually found Britt’s observation amusing. “Something is on your mind,” Britt said.
Guinevere, her reddish gold hair loose, nervously ran her fingers through her locks. “I wanted to thank you.”
Britt propped her arm up on the crenel. “For what?”
“For believing me and listening when I said I felt uneasy outside of Camelot—for investigating it, when you could’ve brushed it off as a silly worry.” Guinevere speared Britt straight to the heart with her level gaze. “No one has ever done anything like that for me before. No one has ever believed me and taken my thoughts seriously.”
The comment made Britt feel like a fake. “Yes, about that...I have to apologize, Guinevere, for I haven’t always given you the respect you deserve.”
Guinevere shook her head. “That is not true. You’ve always given me the esteem due my station. I have frequently enjoyed positions of honor during feasts and tournaments.”
“I’m not talking about honoring you as a princess, but honoring you as a person.” Britt shifted, still feeling ashamed. “You are so brave, Guinevere.”
Guinevere surprised Britt by laughing outright. “Brave? Me? It’s kind of you to say so, but I don’t know what part of me you could possibly be referring to.”
“It’s the things you do,” Britt said. “You dared to dream outside what life handed you. You dared to want more than a life as a bargaining chip. That alone is incredibly courageous during this century when everyone expects you to behave like a sheep. But your bravery doesn’t stop there. I know you set your life on the line by pretending to be my lady when Vivien arrived in Camelot. You set yourself between a user of dark magic and myself. That kind of valor is as rare as it is powerful.”
Britt sighed and tapped her fingers on the stone wall. “And it took me so long to see it in you. I’m sorry, Guinevere. Thank you for your patience, and thank you for standing by me when I didn’t deserve you.”
Guinevere’s lips trembled as she smiled, and her eyes were glazed with tears. “Might this mean, then, that we are friends?”
Her hopeful manner warmed Britt’s heart, and she internally vowed she would try her best not to make prejudiced, snap decisions about someone as she had with Guinevere. “We’re more than friends. We are true companions.”
Guinevere giggled and threw herself at Britt, embracing her in spite of Britt’s armor-covered chest. “I am so glad! Oh! I also wanted to share the court gossip with you! It seems Blancheflor has officially rejected Sir Griflet, and the ladies have grown concerned for Sir Lancelot—for he’s been acting so oddly lately!”
Guinevere’s chatter was interrupted by guards calling up the length of the walls. “Merlin has returned!”
Britt scrambled to attention. “Merlin’s back?”
A guard who had been running the length of the walls skidded to a stop by her. “Milord.” He breathed heavily before he bent over in a bobbing bow. “’Tis true. Merlin has returned! He rides his steed through the streets of Camelot and should be at the inner courtyard in a few minutes.”
The guard ran on to pass along the word, and Britt turned joyfully towards the inner courtyard. Merlin was finally back! Watching hopefully, she said, “I’m sorry, Guinevere. What were you saying?”
Guinevere laughed. “Go.”
“Go what?”
“Go greet him! I imagine he’ll storm the gates soon anyway. Even I know he’ll hardly be able to contain his glee when he sees all the kings who have taken their vows to you.” Guinevere giggled again, though she serenely knitted her hands together.
Britt lunged for the stairs, but paused before going down. “Guinevere…”
“Yes?”
“Thanks. For believing in me when I didn’t deserve it.”
Before Guinevere could respond, the inner gates opened, admitting Merlin on his scraggly horse. Britt, unable to contain her anticipation, zipped down the stairs with Cavall on her heels as fast as she could while retaining some air of decorum.
She made it to the stable just as Sir Ector, Sir Ulfius, and Sir Bodwain ambled out of the keep.
“Merlin!” Sir Bodwain shouted. “What news have you for us?”
Merlin’s usually fastidiously kept clothes were splattered with mud. He dismounted and shook his head. “Though I chased Vivien all the way to the main enemy camp, I was unable to secure the scabbard. I’m sorry, Britt.” His expression was bleak, and dark circles ringed his eyes as he gazed at her.
Britt offered him a reassuring smile as Cavall sniffed her boots. “We’ll get it back.”
Merlin shook his head. “We can’t. Vivien destroyed it.”
“What?” Sir Ector roared.
“She was either afraid I would catch her, or she feared that Britt’s rapport with Excalibur would call the scabbard back to her side, for she destroyed it as soon as we hit Roman territory and I was not able to openly ride after her.” Merlin rubbed his face. “I was able to get quite a bit of information as a result of my trip, but I would have much preferred to reclaim the scabbard.”
“The scabbard may have kept me from bleeding, but it wouldn’t have saved me if I was grievously wounded,” Britt said. “It is a little disheartening not to have it, but I’m much more relieved that you have returned. There’s so much to tell you!”
“Indeed,” Sir Bodwain rumbled. “To start with, Sir Mordred is the younger brother of King Anguish of Ireland, and talked all the Irish and Scottish kings into swearing an oath of loyalty to Arthur!”
“Sir Mordred?” Merlin said. “That little rat! I spent months researching his possible pedigree, but I never thought to look into Ireland!”
“It is maddening,” Sir Ulfius agreed. “But have you not realized it? Britain now stands united! We have done it, Merlin!”
Sir Bodwain and Sir Ulfius laughed and slapped each other on the back. Sir Ector wore a huge smile and patted Britt on the head like the proud parent he was.
Merlin was smiling, but he didn’t look nearly as triumphant as Britt thought he would when he realized he had achieved his dream. Instead, there was almost a worried wrinkle to the furrow of his brow. “It is indeed a reason to celebrate—particularly after we see this precocious Emperor Lucius out of Britain,” he said.
“There’s also King Ryence to deal with,” Bodwain said.
“We shall see to him during the battle with Rome!” Ector barked. “This shall be the last time he stands against my Bri—Arthur.”
“Yes, yes. Of course,” Sir Ulfius said soothingly.
Britt laughed at the display, and was surprised when Merlin leaned into her side and whispered. “We need to talk.”
She blinked at the abrupt request. “Of course. Maybe tonight?”
Merlin shook his head. “No. Now.”
Britt followed Merlin into his study. Though Sir Ulfius intruded long enough to deliver a tray of food and drink for Merlin, the knight then left the two of them alone.
Britt scrutinized Merlin, taking in his furrowed brow. “Don’t worry about the scabbard, Merlin,” she said. “It was a neat insurance policy, but it’s not like it could really save me if something went wrong. I mean, owning it didn’t guarantee I’d die of old age or something—”
“You are not going to die of old age.” Merlin sat in a wooden chair and stared at the food tray.
She paused. “Statistically, you’re right. But I have to ask is it really necessary to tell me that so flatly? I mean, I know there’s a pretty good chance I could catch a cold and die, but still!”
“You misunderstand me. It’s impossible for you to die of old age,” Merlin paused. “…Because magic has made you immortal.” He hurriedly grabbed a goblet of wine and tipped it back, as if he had just delivered Britt a death sentence.
Britt tapped her chin as she replayed his words. “What?” she asked finally when she could make neither heads nor tails of it.
> “The faerie spell I cast on you that brought you back through time is a powerful one. Truthfully, it’s a spell no human should rightfully use. If I’d gotten help from a faerie enchanter, perhaps it could’ve been avoided, but then again, since you are so far from the future, perhaps not. In fact, there are also chances of other side effects in bringing you back so far.” He said it in a rush, like he’d been holding it back for some time.
“Merlin,” Britt interrupted, “what are you trying to tell me?”
Merlin stared at his goblet. “The spell that brought you here is what made you immortal. You’re not going to age; you’re not going to grow old.”
Britt wanted to accuse him of pulling her leg, but his grim look was impossible to misconstrue. Feeling faint, Britt plopped down in a chair before her legs could give out. “You’re joking. You have to be!”
He finally looked away from his stupid cup and met her gaze. “I wish I were, but you are now like one of the faerie. Ageless.”
Britt’s spine kicked in, and she snapped upright. “No. That’s impossible. I will buy it that faerie don’t age, but if it were possible to make a person immortal, everyone and their brother would be using this spell. No, Merlin, you’re wrong.”
“I suspect the faerie know about the side effect of using that spell,” Merlin said. “And I believe I am the first person in history to use it, and very likely the last. Scientifically speaking, it’s useless. It’s impossible to cast on oneself, for you cannot call yourself back through time; neither are you likely to call an…employer…back through time, for I suspect the difference has to be centuries. I hate to say it, but you are likely an anomaly.”
Britt sagged against her chair again. “There is no proof…”
He shook his head. “You’ve been here several years, Britt, and you haven’t changed a bit. Your young knights have grown; they’ve bulked up and matured. Gaheris and Gareth no longer resemble baby squirrels, but bean poles. The fact that you are so surprised by these changes guarantees that the spell has done to you as I have said. Your grasp on time is tenuous at best because it no longer affects you the way it affects the rest of the world.”
Merlin’s observations resonated with Britt. For the past few seasons she’d been continuously surprised by the changes in Camelot and her knights. She assumed it was just because she was selfish and didn’t want to let anyone go, but if she no longer stood in the flow of time, it would make sense. That was why she had a hard time reckoning her mature knights with the gangly teenagers they had been when she first met them.
With that realization, Britt felt like the floor had fallen out from underneath her. She was ageless? Immortal?
In high school, she had learned history was chock-full of explorers searching for the fountain of youth or something similar. But now that Britt realized she had been granted what most would consider a blessing, she could see it was little more than a curse.
She would remain young and watch everyone she loved die. Again, and again, and again. No matter how many friends she made, she would be destined to be alone, forever. She would make it even back to her time…and be forced to lose her family all over again as they died from old age.
The skeletal hand of panic began to close around Britt’s heart. She was going to lose everything.
“No!” Britt shook her head and ruthlessly cut through the terror. “Perhaps you are right, Merlin. It will be impossible for me to die of old age, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be immortal. In fact, I can confidently say I will die. There’s too much chaos in this world for me to survive it unscathed. If I’m not stabbed in the heart, I might die by drowning, or in a war. Perhaps someday Lancelot will finally give in to his darker side and slip me a bit of poison, or maybe I’ll catch pneumonia. The bottom line is I may have stopped aging, but that doesn’t make me immortal. It just means I’ll get to go out looking and feeling young, whether that’s a week from now or a century from now.”
Merlin stared at her. “Only you could take something incredibly negative, like dying, and put a positive spin on it.”
Britt grinned. “It’s better to laugh, in cases like this, or I could lose my mind. Besides, you might accuse me of feeling idealistic about my kingdom, but when it comes to myself and my own well-being, I am a realist. The chance that I even make it to the century that I’m from is slim to none. So I’m not going to bother worrying about it when I’ve got a much bigger threat—which wears a toga and demands tribute—marching on my ally’s lands.”
Merlin leaned back in his chair, the tension gone from his shoulders. “I suppose I should’ve expected no less from you. But it doesn’t change the fact, Britt, that I really have made a mess of your life. First by bringing you here, and now by this.” He gestured, helpless to put her newfound immortality into words.
“There’s no denying you blew my life to smithereens,” Britt said wryly. She stood, too filled with nervous energy to stay seated. “But you’ve given me the most amazing gifts as well. You’ve let me become someone who helps shape the world, and you gave me free rein when it would’ve been easy to insist on doing everything your way. Thank you for bringing me back in time. Thank you for insisting I be your fake Arthur. I have friends and family here now who are so precious to me, and though I miss my old time, I do love it here.”
He stood and slowly approached her as if she were a wild animal. The strange light she had witnessed in his eyes back in Ettard’s castle was rekindled. “Britt…” He placed his hand under her chin, and the door opened.
“Merlin!” Sir Bedivere cheerfully chirped. “We’ve come to collect you to meet all the kings. They’re quite anxious to hear your intelligence regarding the Roman base camp!”
Kay did not linger in the doorway as Sir Bedivere did, but instead squirmed his way between Merlin and Britt. “It is good we came when we did,” he said as he narrowed his eyes at Merlin.
Merlin groaned, and though Britt really wished her foster brother had not chosen that moment to interrupt them, she cleared her throat and stepped away.
“Come, Merlin,” Kay ordered.
Merlin glared at him. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Obviously.”
“I always knew there was a reason we didn’t get along. Fine. Let us go meet our new allies. I will simply find Britt later tonight, when you’re sleeping!”
“I may be sleeping, but all her guards will remain with her,” Kay said as he and Merlin stepped outside the room.
“I ought to turn you into a newt.”
“As if you had enough magic to do such a feat.”
Merlin squawked as they strode down the hallway. “You take that back!”
Their interchange warmed Britt’s heart, not just because she was absurdly fond of both of them, but because of the way Merlin was carrying on…. Perhaps she had not misinterpreted their shared kiss. Maybe there really was more than just plain camaraderie now. (Especially with Vivien gone—good riddance!)
Britt bit her lip to keep from laughing and shouting. She let joy flood her all the way to her toes for a few moments before taking her emotions firmly in hand.
I am a king, she reminded herself. I have to think of my country first, not squeal like a schoolgirl and wonder what Merlin was going to say. The question still nagged at her for a while, but Britt forcibly cleared her mind. Rome had to come first. After that…well, with Merlin’s revelation, it seems she had a long time to figure out what was next.
She leaned against the door frame and offered Bedivere a smile. “Am I needed at all in those meetings?”
“As you are the High King, I should think so,” Bedivere said.
Britt sighed. “I thought being king meant I got to do more of whatever I wanted and not so many meetings.”
“It could be worse,” Sir Bedivere said. “After this war, they might try to name you the Roman Emperor as well.”
Britt shivered in horror. “I hope not. The last thing we need is for Merlin to get it into his hea
d that we should unite all of Europe, too.”
Bedivere laughed, and Britt joined him in the hallway, shutting Merlin’s study door behind her. She followed her marshal, pausing in surprise as they came to an intersection in the hallway and almost rammed into Lancelot.
The coal-haired knight bowed his head in deference to Britt. She nodded back at him and was surprised when he said nothing and continued on his route. Britt and Bedivere walked on, though Britt’s thoughts were considerably grimmer now.
Sooner or later, I will have to talk to Lancelot about our argument. His silence is making me nervous.
When the time finally came for Britt and all her allies to depart, Sir Ulfius, Sir Bodwain, and Guinevere—who were to remain behind in Camelot—escorted her to the stables to bid her farewell.
Bodwain scratched his graying beard. “Maybe I ought to come along after all.”
Britt laughed and handed off the satchel she carried to a stable boy, who loaded it onto her white mare, Llamrei. “I’m sorry to veto the idea, Sir Bodwain, but Merlin made it very clear he wants you and Sir Ulfius to run Camelot in our absence.”
“That may be so,” Bodwain argued, “but Sir Ector gets to go with you!”
“Sir Ector is mostly coming so I can keep an eye on him and make sure he does not go sticking his nose into danger,” Britt said.
Sir Ulfius smiled. “I wish you safe travels and victory in battles, My Lord.”
“As do I,” Guinevere said with a hasty curtsy. “The ladies of Camelot and I await your victorious return!”
Britt smiled. “With the three of you here, I know I have nothing to worry about. Thank you, and we will do our best!” She nodded to the two older knights and briefly embraced Guinevere.
The knights bowed, and Guinevere offered her a smile that was tight with worry.
Britt winked and then vaulted onto Llamrei’s back. “We’ll be back before you know it, and then we’ll all get to hear about Lancelot’s many exploits for the next year. Take care!”