by Ines Johnson
Because I was.
Theirs.
And they were mine.
I waved to Lady and Sir Hawthorne as they strolled toward the castle. Little Nigel Crissman ran a few circles around me before hugging my legs and then taking off into the back door of the kitchen. A few other townsfolk stopped me as I headed away from the castle as they made their way toward it.
It was dinnertime. Meals were a community affair here in Camelot. I walked against the flow as what appeared to be the entire town made its way into the dining hall. After years of being lost in the crowd, I was surrounded. Every day I was never want for company.
Day in and day out there were tons of tea invitations. These were all residents of the United Kingdom inside our own little town. Therefore, British mannerisms reigned supreme and pinkie fingers rose like clockwork early each evening as the people sipped their hot beverages.
There were weekly, sometimes daily, shopping sprees galore. This was a town populated by more women and witches than men, wizards, and knights. If we women weren’t shopping, we could often be found watching sappy shows and chick flicks, saturating the town with even more estrogen.
There was training throughout the day with the squires who each had a special place in my heart. Well, aside from Baysle, who still just rubbed me the wrong way and vice versa.
When training was over, I tended to my knightly business at the Round Table. Which was a lot of talking and reporting and more talking and strategizing. Men liked their war strategies.
My evenings were often occupied by the other two Galahad girls. Gwin and Morgan and I became thick as thieves from day one. We’d gossip and cackle in one of our bedrooms like a real coven.
I loved every minute of it. But it was also suffocating at times. Solitude had once been a friend of mine, and I often missed it.
I, alone, was left outside the castle once the meal service began. Looking up at the darkening sky, I inhaled before heading toward my destination. When I needed a moment to breathe, I always headed down to the stables.
“Good evening, my lady.”
“Hey, Achila.”
My magical mare bowed her head in greeting. The other horses raised their heads from their bales of hay and did the same, but they remained mute. Talking to humans was a chore the dams and stallions performed only when necessary. Whenever I rode Achila, it was often quiet. We both preferred the sound of the wind, and the beating of her hooves, to conversation.
Achila trotted toward the rack of saddles. “Might I offer you the pleasure of a ride?”
“You know my heart.”
I mounted Achila, and we took off into the evening. The skies were awash in shades of blue from light periwinkle where the clouds tucked in the sun, to cobalt where the trees touched the horizon. The moon lit the way as we raced past the ancient Roman fort towards the river. As the dark blue shadows moved across the earth and sky, my mind wandered.
I couldn’t help but wonder what Baros might want with a ring that granted invisibility. For a man who prided himself on his appearance and physique and his martial prowess, I doubted he could keep himself from adoring eyes for too long. Maybe he wanted to hide from the Olympians after trying to raise their filicidal father?
But that couldn’t work. Zeus held Baros’s soul. The Greek god could call Baros back to him with a simple thought.
When Nia and I had left Athens, after the adventure of locating Demeter’s fabled tablet, Zeus was preoccupied with making up with his sister-wife, Hera. From what I knew, they were still making up. But what would happen when Zuzu and Hera (she didn’t have a nickname which I always assumed led to her ire with her siblings) patched up their incest? Would Zeus call Baros’s soul to the carpet? Would the golden god unravel Baros’s spirit and send him to the afterlife?
As we raced across the moors, a pain radiated from my chest. I signaled Achila to slow down as my heart began to pound. She slowed and the wind slapped me in the face. I turned my face to the side and felt the wind change course, as though it were trying to smack sense upside my head.
I pulled Achila’s reins, bringing us to a stop, and dismounted. We’d been riding along the water’s edge of the River Usk. I knelt down at the river and splashed cold water on my face.
It must’ve been the magic in the waters that cooled me off. It slowed my racing heart. It also brought me to my senses.
I had no business feeling sorry for that man. I was a hero now with heroine responsibilities. My duty and my vows were to protect the weak and defenseless, to live by honor and seek justice, and … A whole bunch of other things. The list of the chivalric code was really, really long. I couldn’t be expected to remember it all. I still couldn’t remember the entire Girl Scout code, which is probably why I’d never graduated past a Brownie.
The point was that Baros had made a choice. The wrong choice. I wasn’t going to break my long list of vows for him—especially when he’d never made any promises to me.
Don’t get me wrong, this wasn't revenge. It was my job. I’d catch him, then hand him over to the authorities to mete out any punishment, but not before I got my questions answered and got my closure with him.
My stomach grumbled, twisting itself into a knot. It had to be hunger. I’d missed dinner because I wanted some solitude. I called Achila, and we headed back to the castle. The mare left me to dismount at the kitchen doors and made her way back to the stables.
I entered the kitchen to the smell of good food. Well, they smelled good to my nose. I knew no one else would want the dish. Igraine was often cooking the old-time meals. But I was one of few who would actually eat them.
Tonight she’d made garum. It was a fermented sauce made of fish intestines, blood, salt, and herbs. She’d let the dish sit out at the window to get some sun. In the past, medieval folks would let it sit out for up to three months to get good and yummy. I hadn’t had this since I was a kid. My mom would only ever make it when my dad wasn’t at home. For some reason, it assaulted his nose. Not mine. I dug in.
“I hear you’re going on your first quest in the morrow,” Igraine said.
Her white hair framed her round face. Igraine was over a thousand years old but didn’t look a day over seventy. I was pretty sure she was the oldest person in all of Camelot. And she showed no signs of slowing down.
I nodded in answer to her question instead of speaking around a mouthful of food.
“I would’ve thought you’d be happy,” she said. “But I sense your heart is heavy.”
Igraine was an empath. She could sense feelings, and also the path of a person’ past, and the trajectory of their future. But her powers were often beyond her control. Sometimes, she saw things she’d rather not bear witness to. Personally, I wasn’t particularly interested in having this conversation.
“The man we’re tracking, he and I used to…”
“You loved him.”
I held up my hands to ward off that word which people kept throwing at me. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
Igraine only offered me a knowing smile.
“We were fond of each other,” I conceded. “But he never loved me.”
“Love is never equal. There’s always a trade. But if the tide is constantly low, you should lift the anchor. Your parents crashed into each other. I’ve never seen a love like that. Well, other than Arthur, the first, and Mara. Come to think of it, I remember Nia had a paramour. He looked at her like she’d pulled down the moon. What was his name?”
I knew instantly who she was talking about. “Zane.”
“Yes, that’s him. It was clear he loved her more than she did him, but not by much. I sense they will come to an equilibrium sometime in the future.”
Sucked for Tres Mohandis, the guy who was currently trying to pull Nia into an even current of affection.
“First loves are hard,” said Igraine. “They are the ones you expect to last. If the love fades, then the doubt takes root. The next attempt at love isn’t often as strong with the tendri
ls of doubts now present in the heart. But even with the doubt that first love never dies. Just look at Gwin and Lancelot.”
It was obvious that Gwin and Lance held a torch for each other, even though they tried to hide it. Zane didn’t hide the way he felt about Nia. It was written all over his face when he looked at her. It was in his art as he painted each stroke of her form. He’d shout out his feelings to anyone who’d listen.
No one had ever done that for me. And, hey, it was cool. I wasn’t that type of girl anyway.
“It wasn’t love,” I insisted. “Between me and Lenny.”
Igraine looked at me knowingly, but she didn’t argue. “It’s very unsatisfying when you want to take a dip in the waters, but the tide is low. It’s equally irksome to be drowned by a crushing wave of surf.”
Both instances sounded pathetic to me. I didn’t want to be shallow or drowned. I just like immersing my body in water from time to time. And I wasn’t talking about the ocean, if you know what I mean.
“Call the water whatever you like,” said Igraine. “But just like water changes states, that feeling of new love never truly fades, especially the first time you experience it.”
I wasn’t sure if that comforted me or not. Did I want Baros to return to me? Did I think he could turn good? I know there was good in him. Hell, look at me. I’d played the villain for a good portion of my life. Now I was reformed … where it counted. Maybe when I found him, I could turn him to the light side of the force.
Hell, I probably could. I just needed to be sure and stay away from his lightsaber. That always screwed me up.
“Loren, dear, just remember the path we travel doesn’t matter. It’s the decisions you make along the way.”
Igraine’s words felt prophetic. Likely because she was a seer. I knew that her words would come back around. Hopefully, they came back to give me a helping leg up and not bite me in the ass.
Chapter Seven
“You got everything you need?” asked Morgan.
“I think so.” I placed my father’s satchel inside the hard shell of a suitcase. I usually traveled with only the soft pack, but ley line travel could sometimes end with a person waist deep in waters, and I didn't want my things to take an unnecessary bath.
“Wish I were going with you,” said Morgan.
I shook my head. “That did not go so well the last time we went off on an adventure together.”
She scowled, but I noted it wasn’t at me. Arthur had made his way into the Throne Room accompanied by Geraint and Lance. The tension in the air thickened as Morgan stepped behind me, and Arthur stepped in front of me. I expected a war, but neither drew up arms. It was a rare calm day between those two.
“Where’s Gwin?” Arthur asked.
“She was in the infirmary,” I said.
A low growl came. I didn’t look over to see from whom. I knew it came from Lance. Gwin was tending to Merlin, who was doing a remarkably slow job of dying.
“I’m here.” Gwin came into the Throne Room. There were bags under her eyes, and she moved sluggishly.
“She can’t make this trip,” said Lance.
“Of course I can,” she insisted.
Lance’s featured gentled along with his voice as he stepped closer to her. “You’re tired.”
Gwin’s lips parted as she looked up at him. It was as though time stopped, and the violins played as the two regarded each other with care and attentiveness. But it was over just as soon as it began.
“I’m needed,” Gwin said. “It’s my duty.”
Lance grit his teeth as she stepped around him. But he said nothing more. Just took up sentry behind her.
Gwin raised her hands. She began a chant, her voice quiet and hoarse. I felt a tiny buzz of magic build, but as she flicked her finger, the magic only fizzled. Gwin sighed.
Her gaze caught Lance. He didn’t wear an I told you so smirk. Instead, he looked at her with that same gentle care. His eyes seemed to implore her to take it easy.
Gwin turned to me and Geraint, resignation on her face. “Do you think you can delay your trip for a few hours? I just need a nap.”
“She needs more than a nap,” said Lance. “She needs some time off to rest.”
I expected Gwin to argue. In fact, she opened her mouth. But no words of contradiction escaped her lips. No one was more shocked than Lance when she gave a slight nod of her head.
“Why don’t I try to open a ley portal?” I asked.
The room had been quiet a second ago at Gwin’s pronouncement, but you could hear a pin drop when I offered up my magic.
“I have enough magic,” I said. “I just need some guidance on wielding it.”
Gwin came to stand beside me. She directed me to lift my hands and focus my mind until I could feel the energy behind the door. I could feel it, rushing at me like a huge wave. It built and built. It was too late when I realized that wasn’t a good thing.
“Pull back, Loren.”
But I didn’t know how. I felt the magic in my fingertips. I figured I could shake some off, like excess salt spilled on the table. I was wrong.
The magic left my body through my hands and crashed into the wall. But the crash happened from behind the door. The hinges flew off, and the door flew into the Throne room. All that was left was a hole where there had been a doorway.
“Why don’t we just book a flight?” I said. “We’ll be there by the evening.”
The sun was low in the sky as our plane took off. I pushed the button to recline my seat the whopping two inches granted. Beside me, Geraint gripped the seat rest. He’d chosen the aisle seat, which didn’t bother me. I loved looking out the window during takeoff and watching the world recede away.
I turned to Geraint. “I take it you don’t like air travel?”
His brown skin looked green. The arches in his eyebrows had flattened. “Magic, I trust. Machinery, not so much.”
I released my seatbelt and turned to him. “You know Ger—”
“Buckle yourself back in.” His voice was loud and reverberated off the cabin walls.
I turned with a smile and did as he said. “I didn’t know you cared.”
“I’m responsible for you now. It would reflect badly on me if you were thrown about during turbulence.” His voice sounded more annoyed than cautionary.
“I think we got started off on the wrong foot,” I said. “Why don’t we try again.”
“Try what again?”
“Getting to know each other,” I said. “Becoming friends.”
He didn’t respond immediately. He took a moment to roll his eyes before he opened his mouth. And then we hit a pocket of air. Geraint gripped the seat again, his brown knuckles losing their color with the strength of his hold.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll go first. Tell me about your parents?”
“They’re both dead,” he said through gritted teeth.
“What a coincidence. So are mine.”
I waited for him to respond. He didn’t. He didn’t appear to get how this getting to you know you thing worked.
“So, I gathered that your father was the last Sir Geraint?”
When I looked to him, he was taking a deep breath. Slowly, his fingers unfolded from the armrest now that the turbulence had stopped.
“What’s your real name?” I asked.
He raised an eyebrow at me. I learned that knights were pretty possessive of their knighted names and all but eschewed their birth names when they claimed the seat. So far, I’d only gotten Arthur’s real name and that was only under the duress of Banduri encroaching upon Camelot.
“Was your mother a witch?” I asked.
He sighed in answer.
“Mine too. Another coincidence.”
Geraint turned and glared at me, but I was undaunted. We would be spending the next few days together. I would break him down.
“I’m an only child,” I said. “What about you?”
“Two brothers.”
I was surprised he
offered. “Wow, two younger brothers.”
“I’m the youngest,” he corrected.
Another surprise. I would have assumed that the title went to the oldest son. But then again, Arthur was the younger brother of Merlin. The sword had passed over Merlin and chose Arthur to wield it.
I assumed it might be a sore point with Geraint’s brothers that their youngest brother had been chosen. Couldn’t hurt to ask. I wasn’t doing well penetrating his armor so far anyway.
“How do your brothers feel about their baby brother taking the title?”
“One’s dead. The other is …”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Which of course made me all the more curious. But I decided to table that until we were bosom buddies, which, given my calculations, would happen in about seventy-five years or so at this rate.
“Do you believe men and women can be platonic friends? I’m only asking because I have to assume that’s the reason you’re not opening up to me. Maybe you have a thing for me?”
“Maybe I just don’t like you,” he said.
I let out a trill of laughter. “Nonsense. Everybody likes me. And that includes you. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have saved me back during the Battle of the Banduri.”
“You mean the battle between your old school friends?”
Ouch. He had me there. “Let the record show that I extended friendship to them. They threw the first punch.”
“Didn’t they slap your offer of friendship down with a toxic bluestone? That’s informative.”
I glared at him.
“Did you ever consider that maybe I just want to sit here quietly?”
I shook my head. “When you sat quietly, you were tense. You’re completely relaxed now.”
Geraint blinked. Then he frowned. He looked down at his hands. They were no longer gripping the armrest.
“Admit it,” I said. “My pestering you is relaxing.”
He scrunched up his face and pursed his lips as though he were unwilling to let any admission pass through.
