Bet staggered to her feet. Aviva had come. She was the one who had broken those windows; she was the one who had turned defeat to victory. "I'm here," she said. "There's—"
"There's a door," said Aviva. "But it's locked from the inside. Can you get it?"
There was a metal staircase going up the side of the room. Bet staggered over to it, pulled herself up by the railing, aching, tired, amazed to be alive. The door was one of those crash-bar emergency exits. Bet pushed, and as soon as the door opened a crack, Aviva flung it open and pushed in, grabbing Bet in a tight hug, so hard that she pushed Bet back up against the railing of the little landing on the top of the staircase, soft against the pitted metal of Bet's armor.
Right. Armor. Bet let it fade. The air from outside was cold, and Aviva was warm against her, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Bet leaned forward, kissed Aviva's forehead. Then she tilted Aviva's head back and kissed her, tasting her tears, swallowing her sobs.
After what seemed like forever, Bet broke the kiss. "Is Maish—"
"Maish is fine," said Aviva. "It's going to be some time before he can be ridden, but he's fine."
"So how did you get here?" asked Bet. "You have the tokens of your power on you... If you took the—"
"I got a ride from my father," said Aviva. "Which is why I couldn't open the door. I've promised not to use magic except in cases where someone's life is in danger."
"What?" said Bet, confused.
Aviva didn't let go of Bet, but she did give her the frown that meant that Bet wasn't understanding something because she wasn't trying hard enough. "I realize that you've had a considerably worse day than I have," said Aviva, "and I'm so glad that you are alive that I don't know if I'll ever feel this happy again in my life, but I've had to open up to my father about a number of things that I did not intend for him to ever know, and it wasn't as successful as I might have hoped."
Bet had just had an absolutely terrible day, and had been so certain that she was going to die that she was still mildly surprised that she was alive. Her smile at Aviva was absolutely genuine. Somehow, her lady had found the perfect thing to say. The stink of the dragon was still on her, and its vast bulk lay stretched out in the treasure vault behind her, but Aviva had grounded her in the world of normal problems as well. "I take it his car is idling a block over, and he's not at all happy about you having a lady as your knight."
"It is, and he isn't," said Aviva. "He's even more upset about magic, which makes sense. One is... look, I can't stay long. I have to go talk to a rabbi about what magic I can use, and under what circumstances, and... you're okay?"
"I'm okay," said Bet.
And then Aviva did let go, to look at her. Then she grabbed her again, around the waist, pressing in close. "You have a burn on your cheek, and your arm is bleeding, and—"
"I'm okay," repeated Bet. "Honest. I've fought before."
"Bet," said Aviva. "Don't face dragons alone. Don't."
"No," said Bet, softly, trying to find a way to hold Aviva that wasn't awkward. "Never again alone."
Aviva blinked up at her and then gave a solemn nod. "Good," she said. "You'll have to decide what to do now; if you want to leave the court behind, they will not pursue, but... Well, you'll have to decide."
She would. "And you'll help me?"
"I have to go," said Aviva. "My father... I have to go. But I'll see you soon."
"No advice?" said Bet.
"You are the one who slew the dragon," said Aviva. "You have to choose. But do what is right, Bet."
She went up on her tip-toes and kissed Bet's chin. Then she left, out into the sharp winter sunlight, where a minivan was waiting half a block away.
Bet turned away, pulling the door closed behind her, to consider the dead dragon and the piles of treasure all around. There was a lot there, and while it seemed like Aviva wasn't going to be helping her, she was going to need a lot of help dealing with it. She got out her phone and started dialing.
She wasn't going to be coming into work for the next few days, even if that meant losing her job. And she was going to leave the warehouse even more short-handed. Kyle wasn't the sort of person that was usually inducted into the mysteries of the Last Court—for one thing, convincing people like Kyle that the world of the Last Court existed could be complicated. On the other hand, the corpse of the beast Asag was completely and immediately convincing, as was the stinking, spattered finery of his hoard. And Kyle was exactly the sort of person that she needed.
The feast of St. Uriel the Archangel lasted three days. Bet and Kyle spent most of it clearing out that hoard. There was enough cash for a U-haul and a few months' rent on enough self-storage containers to keep most of the stuff. Then Kyle got to work turning the stuff into cash, and Bet did her best to give the human remains a respectful interment. She lost the cashier's job, but they both managed to hold onto their warehouse jobs—Kyle was the manager's cousin.
Bet had been hoping that Aviva would show up sooner rather than later, but it seemed that she wasn't able to get away that quickly. She gave her brother a message that Asag Disposal Ltd. needed to talk to her about some temporary office work that she might be interested in, but she also very much doubted that the message was going to get through. Whether or not being gay was as major an issue as being a sorceress, Bet was pretty sure that being gay was a major issue.
Aviva wasn't the only one who had to face major and unpleasant issues. On the third night of the Feast of the Archangel Uriel, it was time to return to the Last Court.
Asag's head must have weighed almost two hundred pounds, and while Bet was strong, she didn't have enough free time to work on deadlifts. So she was sweating as she dragged it through the crowds at the Port Authority, down through the corridors and into the Last Court. The herald was silent as she entered, and the silence spread throughout the court. Aviva was there in her finery as Grand Sorceress, and she rose as Bet entered, eyes wide and bright.
The Pendragon stood. "What nonsense is—"
"Your quest is completed," said Ysabet. She was tired and sweaty, and she was pretty sure that one of Asag's horns had ripped her shirt. "Combat has decided on the truth of my claim."
The Pendragon shook his head, then shrugged. "Very well," he said. "We can no longer contest your rights as knight of this court. You have proven false the charges that had been laid against you."
"No," said Ysabet. "The charges that brought me back to this court were of discourtesy and disregarding your authority, of failing in my oaths and duties. I replied that my oath is void, that this court has no meaning or authority, and that the Pendragon is no rightful king. You assigned the truth of these claims to God, to judge by combat. This combat did not establish the injustice of your charges, Lord Pendragon. Through combat, God has judged my claims to be true."
"If you think," started the Pendragon, his wrath as real as a storm, "that I shall—"
His crown broke on his brow, the pieces falling to the floor with a clatter.
He looked lost without his crown. Lost and old and scared.
Someone had told her to be patient with those whose valor had failed them and that what was a story might become real. Bet looked over at Aviva, who still stood watching Bet, hand over her heart. She had been right about the second thing. Maybe she was right about the first.
"I have no malice left in me for you or for your court," said Bet. "You cannot stay here, but you, and all those who wish to go with you, may go unmolested to live in exile across the river."
The Pendragon puffed up, looking almost as he had before his crown had broken. Then his shoulders bowed, and he turned, and he left, supported by the Midnight Queen and by his herald.
It could well be that she had erred by allowing a second court to form, beyond her command. The crown was again whole, lying on the concrete. Bet picked it up, put it on, and the cold metal burned on her brows. It might have been a mistake, but trying to keep those who would follow the former Pendragon would also ha
ve been a mistake. Trying him by combat would have been a mistake as well.
She couldn't be sure of doing right. All she could do was choose which mistakes she made. For the start of her reign, she chose a mistake of mercy, rather than one of cruelty. It was her reign; the crown was whole, and she wore it.
"The court will convene again here tomorrow night," she said. "I will not force vows from any who do not wish to pledge again their loyalty to the Last Court. Come if you wish, stay away if you wish, go beyond the river if you wish. And this court shall have meaning. Pledge only if your swords are sharp, and if you are prepared to risk yourself for those who do not know they are at risk."
Wild confusion greeted her words. Crowds swirled around Bet, but a space surrounding her and Asag's head remained empty—people stared, filled with fear and admiration and rage, but none dared approach. None except Septimus Alabaster, Master at Arms of the Last Court.
He bowed to her on one knee, his head over the hilt of his sword. Bet hesitated, not sure what to do. Right. She had taken the crown. She was the Pendragon. "Rise, please," she said, according to the protocols of the Last Court.
Septimus rose.
"And will you be returning to this court when the Festival of the Archangel Uriel is done?" asked Bet.
"I will not, my Lady Pendragon. I shall be going into exile beyond the river." There was a dread finality to the way he said that.
"Septimus," said Bet, "you're talking about going to New Jersey, not about dying."
He hesitated but made no reply. The hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, quickly gone.
"At my trial," said Bet, "I asked you a question. I do not believe that you spoke the truth."
She had been thinking about that, as she had dragged Asag's head through the crowds of irritated commuters in the Port Authority, if she was wrong... Well, if she was wrong, he wouldn't call her out for a duel, for fear he might lose. But Bet was pretty sure that she wasn't wrong.
"Apologies," he said.
"Why?" asked Bet. "Why would you leave me to face the dragon alone, and why would you leave this court to go into exile beyond the river?"
Alabaster frowned as he considered her question. Then his back straightened, and he looked her in the eye. "Because I loved him too well to leave him then, to let him know that you were right and that he was wrong. Because I loved you too well to give you any answer but the one you sought. And because even though he is wrong, and even though he was cruel, I love him too well to let him go alone in his exile. I ought to have said something, or done something, but I did not. His fault is mine, and I will take that weight upon my shoulders and attend to his court, wherever it is, whatever its nature."
What was a story might become real. It might not, but it might. That was what stories were for. And Septimus's valor might have been misapplied, but it had never failed. "See that the nature of his court is as fair as you can make it, then," said Bet. "And should you change your mind, or should your duties there end, return please to the Last Court. There will always be a place for you at my table."
"Thank you," said Septimus, and he bowed and left, back straight, stride confident.
He was the only one who approached. The rest left, alone and in groups, furious and thoughtful and frightened, until it was just her and Aviva left.
"So," said Aviva, standing a few feet away from Bet, her hands clasped in front of her. "You chose the Last Court."
"In a way," said Bet. "Though it's the Last Court no longer. There's already another, across the river. And while I hold it... there's nothing wrong with shadows like this place, but I intend to stake a claim to stand both in the sun and the shadow."
Aviva nodded. "You—"
And "I—" said Bet in the same breath.
"Well," said Bet, "I guess we're in agreement: it's about me. You first."
Aviva curtseyed. "Yes, my liege," she said.
Which she was, which was something that Bet hadn't considered.
"You did the right thing with Aethelstan," she said.
Aethelstan—the former Pendragon. Bet barely remembered that was his name. "He'd be better off as Stan," said Bet. "And I doubt it was the right call. He's tried to send folks to kill me in my bed before."
"I did not say the right call, my liege," said Aviva. "I said it was the right thing."
Bet laughed. "It's good to see you, Vivi."
Aviva hesitated, then lunged forward and grabbed Bet tight, her arms around her ribs, her head just below Bet's chin. "I missed you," said Aviva. "You had to choose, and I... I'm glad you chose this, Bet."
"I did," said Bet. "Which raises a question."
Aviva didn't say anything, didn't loosen her grip.
"The Midnight Queen departed with... Aethelstan," said Bet. "And a court needs a queen."
"Yes," said Aviva. And though her grip hadn't loosened or changed, Bet knew that it wasn't a 'yes' to a general observation. Bet's arms curled around Aviva.
"But I don't want... There's nothing wrong with shadows, but I want to stand in both sun and shadow."
"I know," said Aviva, still not letting go. "My mother is spending a lot of time crying, and... it was the right thing to do, but it was very hard, and it's not going to stop being hard."
That seemed likely. Bet looked at the head of Asag, lying on the floor, looked at the remains of the feast on the tables that surrounded them. "There are conversion classes, though, right?"
"That's not going to help anything," said Aviva. "It's not better to be sleeping with a Jewish girl. It might well be worse."
"Still," said Bet. "It's something that I want to try."
"Why?" said Aviva.
"Because it's something that's important to you," said Bet. "I don't know if I'm going to go through with it. I don't know that I'm going to believe any of it. But I want to understand it. If it's part of what makes you brave and selfless and all that... I..."
"Thank you," said Aviva, still not letting go.
Fin
About the Authors
Alter S. Reiss
Alter S. Reiss is a scientific editor and field archaeologist. He lives in Jerusalem with his wife Naomi and their son Uriel, and enjoys good books, bad movies, and old time radio shows.
Naomi Libicki
Naomi Libicki is a science fiction and fantasy writer who lives in Jerusalem with her husband and son. She makes a mean apple strudel.
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