Sword

by Realm Lovejoy

  I shake my head. Mother had an affair with the King? It’s too much to take. Was it when she worked as a Relic Keeper?

  Mother vanished from the map when she raised me, hiding in the woods. She said Gorlois le Fay was my father.

  I love my father—he is my father to me, no matter what. My father raised me. Taught me what love was. Influenced me to be a good person. He gave me warmth. Happy memories. Without him I’d just be a shadow of a person. Some crazy girl lost in the woods with no family.

  No matter what anyone says, I want to be Morgan le Fay. Gorlois’s daughter.

  The prison door creaks open again. I perk up in hopes that it’s Merlin. I want to apologize to him for going berserk after his act of kindness. Instead of Merlin, a man with dark hair and clothes steps in, followed by a blond girl. My breath gets trapped in my throat.

  Mordred and Vivian.

  Mordred’s lips thin as he eyes me. Vivian rubs her arms. She’s in a hooded sweatshirt and she warily looks out of the cell as if afraid to be caught. So she did make it out of Avalon.

  “I hate you, you know,” Mordred says to me. “I know it was you who burned Maleagant to death.”

  It was actually Merlin who killed him but I don’t say it in fear of him being punished by their group.

  “Maleagant was my dear, dear friend,” Mordred says, his eyes glinting darkly. “I knew you’d be dangerous. You’re a damned Pendragon—destructive like the rest of them.”

  “I’m Morgan le Fay,” I spit.

  Mordred’s eyes are full of hot anger and a muscle twitches in his jaw. I can understand that I thwarted the Luminaries’ plan to ambush Arthur in Fortunate Forest, but there must be something more to his anger.

  “What makes you think that I really am a Pendragon?” I demand.

  “All the signs point to it,” Mordred says with a measured tone. “I knew the day I saw you in the Arthur’s Round tryout that you were not ordinary. The knight who changed you into the prison garb also saw your tattoo. We wanted to keep it quiet but I didn’t anticipate Merlin was going to undress you.”

  Vivian suddenly whips her head around to glare at me.

  “He didn’t undress me!” I snap. “I—”

  “Why don’t you keep your bloody hands off my boyfriend?” Vivian snaps. “You damn slut!”

  I flinch, shocked that he had moved on so quickly. And slut? Does she seriously think I seduced him as a disgusting prisoner in this depressing prison?

  Mordred raises his hand to silence her. “I don’t care about the details,” Mordred cuts in. “But I’m unhappy that more people know about this. This detail had to be brought to the King’s attention due to legal obligations, but we are stopping it there. Not even Prince Arthur and Queen Igraine know about it.”

  I shudder at the thought of the news spreading. “How did King Uther react?”

  “He was furious, of course. He claims he knew nothing of it and that the ‘affair’ was against his will. That Morgause was evil, that she seduced—”

  “Like mother, like daughter,” Vivian cuts in bitterly.

  I ignore her. “Is that why she was really executed?” I demand. “Because of King Uther’s dirty secret?”

  “No,” Mordred says. “She did go through a proper trial for the murder of Lot. King Uther never pressed charges against her because he wanted to keep it quiet.”

  If I really am a Pendragon, Mother must have known I was born with a grave already dug for me. She would have to hide forever. Why did she take such a huge risk?

  Mordred’s eyes glint dangerously. “Morgause always had an ulterior motive and maybe you do too. Did you really not know, Le Fay? Isn’t your knowledge why you bulldozed your way to Excalibur? You wanted to be Queen?”

  “I took Arthur to Excalibur! It was all for him!”

  “Did you really? Or did you really take yourself there?”

  I struggle against my restraints. “I refuse to believe this. My father is Sir Gorlois.”

  “Think about it. Everything you’ve ever done was because you were a Pendragon. You muscled your way into Camelot and Avalon despite your ‘father’ trying to keep you hidden. Now you will be executed for kidnapping. You will be like your mother—burned, and your ashes will lie in the prison basement next to hers. You thought you were special all along, but really you’re just a mistake and a tarnish to the bloodline, better off erased as quickly as possible.”

  “Even if I die,” I say, “I’ve still accomplished my goals. Because of me, you can’t touch Arthur.”

  Mordred narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “Arthur is now too powerful for any of you to attack him.”

  “Arthur?” Mordred laughs. “Arthur can’t perform magic yet.”

  “I saw him use wind magic in the forest. He knocked Agravain back.”

  “He has been unable to use magic despite Merlin’s best tutoring. Arthur is still defenseless.”

  My heart sinks. “That can’t be…”

  I begin to question what I saw in the forest, but I know what I witnessed. Arthur used wind magic. Once a magic user taps into his magic, he should easily be able to access it again. What’s wrong with Arthur? Is he indeed flawed somehow in his abilities as he feared?

  “In the end, you lose,” he says and then turns to Vivian. “Will you do the cutting or cover her mouth?”

  Cutting? I shiver, glancing between the two with widening eyes.

  “Neither,” Vivian scoffs. “She’s disgusting.” She hugs herself again, looking around with wary eyes. “I won’t touch her.”

  “Damn you,” Mordred snarls.

  Vivian ignores him but her eyes glint as if his anger gives her pleasure. It’s hard to get a sense of who’s the dominant one.

  Mordred digs into his pocket and pulls out something gold. My necklace. The one Mother gave me that he confiscated.

  “Knife?” Mordred asks Vivian, regaining his composure.

  Vivian brings her manicured nails out, pointing toward the empty air. An ice knife crystalizes, sparkling in the dim light. My stomach flip-flops as I back against the wall, causing the chains to rattle.

  Mordred grabs the ice knife from the air with a handkerchief and inspects it. “You’re good for some things.”

  Vivian rolls her eyes.

  Mordred walks toward me with the ice knife. Before I can scream, he grabs my hand and slashes my palm open. I cry out. Blood pools across my palm. Scary déjà vu flashes through my head at the sight, as if this has happened before, but I cannot conjure a specific memory.

  “What the hell,” I snap. “How dare you…” I trail off as Mordred presses the necklace against the blood. He pulls the bloodied locket away and tosses it to Vivian. She yelps as she catches it.

  “Watch it,” she cries. “You almost got it on my clothes!”

  Mordred closes his eyes with annoyance. “Just tell me. Is there blood magic on the necklace?”

  Vivian shakes her head, still angry. “This is just an ordinary necklace.”

  “Dammit.” Mordred throws the ice knife down and it shatters. The ice will melt and leave no evidence of their attack. “I’ll toss the necklace out then.”

  Panic flitters through me. I can’t lose my necklace.

  Vivian takes the handkerchief away from Mordred and wraps the necklace in it.

  “I’d like to keep it,” she says.

  Anger flares inside of me. I try to remain calm, telling myself it’s better in her hands than being thrown out. Though technically, it shouldn’t matter to me either way. I’ll never get to touch the heirloom again.

  Before I can curse them for their attack, Mordred brings his hand to my face, barely touching it. “Did Morgause try to take you to Excalibur?”

  I recall the Scroll in the cabin and shrug. “I’m not sure. I was young. I only know we lived in Fortunate Forest and she owned a copy of the Sword Scroll.”

  “Are you sure that’s the
only scroll she had?”

  “Yes, that I know of.”

  Mordred tilts his head with suspicion. “Did she try to take you to an island by boat?”

  I shake my head. “We were in Fortunate Forest my whole childhood. If she intended to take me to Avalon, she never succeeded.”

  Mordred’s eyes flash. He strikes me across the face, hard. I cry out.

  “You’re lying! Avalon is insignificant compared to what she really wanted! I know for a fact that Morgause was interested in taking you to Sarras.”

  I grit my teeth. “I don’t even know where or what Sarras is. I told you. I was in the forest…”

  Mordred hits me again over the bruise that’s already blooming on my cheek.

  “You tell me,” I gasp, grimacing. “You know more than me.”

  “Does the Grail mean anything to you?” Mordred demands.

  The Grail?

  “That’s something in legends,” I say. “Like a fable.”

  Mordred shakes his head. “I don’t believe this,” he mutters to himself. “In the end, was Morgause just an ordinary… mother?” He turns away.

  “You give Morgause too much credit,” Vivian says with a bitter tone.

  My vision blurs as I try to lift my head. “What the hell are you guys talking about?”

  The Grail? Sarras? What does it mean?

  Mordred doesn’t answer me as he walks away, Vivian following him.

  “Wait,” I cry. “Vivian.”

  Vivian freezes and looks over at me with fear in her eyes.

  “Why did you attack me?” I implore. “What are you up to?”

  Vivian turns away, continuing her way toward the exit.

  “I know you’re not evil,” I go on. “You saved Arthur with me before. You don’t have to go along with the Luminaries’ plan. You have a choice. Do you really want to be a part of Arthur’s murder?”

  Mordred works on the lock at the door, struggling with it. He eyes me through the bars. “Let me tell you something, Le Fay. Ganeida wasn’t supposed to attack Arthur during the final Magic Demonstration Test. She was going against orders. Vivian stepped in for that reason.”

  I stare at him, my mind blank with shock.

  Mordred finally finishes the lock and he turns away. Vivian had already vanished.

  I only hear one word under his breath: Disappointed.

  The torment of isolation goes on for what seems like days. My mind keeps hanging on to Merlin in hopes that he’ll visit again. But he doesn’t. Perhaps this time around my flaws are too much for him to handle. I don’t blame him.

  The highlight of my week: stretching my legs and adjusting my eyes to brighter light. I get to walk, though escorted by knights. My hands are still cuffed and my whole body aches. Knights and other workers pass by me with solemn looks of disgust and hatred. The knights take me through security and outside. The daylight stings my eyes. I only smell the crisp air and the scent of freshly cut grass briefly before they shove me into a car.

  The trial begins today. I’m still unbathed and dressed in the same prison garb.

  Buildings blur by as the knights drive me away. The whole world is surreal like a movie. After being locked up, it seems unreal that people get to live their lives like this, in a beautiful city, wearing wonderful clothes, and doing whatever they wish to do.

  Once parked in front of Camelot Court, knights pull me out of the car and escort me toward the building. Cameras flash and people scream. I look for Father, but all I can see is people waving around signs that say Burn the Witch. My stomach knots as the knights try to hurry me to the large wooden door. Once through the door, the outside noise cuts out, but my heart continues to hammer.

  They seat me on an oak bench in the courtroom. I keep my head down, unable to stomach any more looks of horror from others.

  Someone sits by me. “Hello,” a woman says.

  Enid Liconel, the defense attorney assigned to me that I met briefly in prison. She simply instructed me to keep silent. She gives me a look of suspicion, arching her brows. Next, her lips thin as if I disgust her.

  Enid wears business attire and appears to be in her forties. She has a smart brown bob and wears black-rimmed glasses over her beady eyes. She wears strange lipstick the color of tree bark on her lips.

  “If we succeed,” she says, “you could spend your whole life locked up.”

  That’s the best-case scenario.

  “It’s better than death, right?” she says in a matter-of-fact voice.

  She doesn’t get it—and probably doesn’t care to, judging by her tone. Being in prison is like being in a coffin—except you have to be awake for the eternal silence and endure the stench of your own corpse, rotting in slow motion.

  I nod, but say nothing.

  Tired of waiting for me to talk, she looks at the seated crowd, eyes darting back and forth, studying the room like a perched bird looking for prey.

  The whole court is quiet, save for the occasional cough. The smell of cheap coffee taunts me. I would kill for coffee. I imagine the taste of bitter water, mixed with syrupy sweetness. It’s something I’ll never taste again.

  On the other side of the room, Merlin sits. My mood perks just the slightest bit to see him again. He is busy talking with someone in business attire while looking at his cell phone. He doesn’t glance at me and I wonder if he knows I’m even here.

  Enid nudges my arm and points at a lawyer seated on the prosecuting side. He is looking over his paperwork. “That’s Prosecutor Bagdemagus, who handles most trials for the King.”

  Instead of studying the prosecutor, my mind stays focused on Merlin. What is he saying? He has to act like he wants justice for his prince. He has to appear to hate me. Merlin is constantly juggling different expectations from different people. But if anyone can juggle without messing up, it’s Merlin. It’s a quality that is to be both admired and feared. All I can do is hope that he is truly on my side, even if he has to act as if he’s not, and that he has chosen to protect Arthur.

  Once everyone is seated, the judge enters and the bailiff instructs us to rise. Once the judge is seated, we all sit back down.

  The judge is an old man with small, black, diamond-like eyes that look up from beneath bushy brows. He smacks his gavel on the table with a force that makes everyone jump, then goes into a briefing about this trial. He glances at me quickly. By his look, I can tell he wants me dead. The judge invites Prosecutor Bagdemagus to begin with his opening statement.

  Bagdemagus has a strong nose that juts out of his face like a beak. He holds himself straight with confidence. This should be an easy trial for him to win. He’s already won, really.

  Bagdemagus begins. “In the entire history of the United Kingdom, we have never witnessed high treason to this degree. A prince has never been kidnapped. But today, we are here because the unthinkable has happened. A young woman who was supposed to serve the King, and was trusted to do so, kidnapped her own prince. She premeditated kidnapping him by isolating him from the knights. There is evidence of violence: Prince Arthur suffered from blunt trauma to the head. She then dragged his unconscious body to her car.”

  The crowd murmurs in horror. Some people even wipe tears from their eyes.

  “She could have murdered him there!” Bagdemagus shouts. “She then drove off with him into the woods, where she kept him hidden for weeks. When the knights came to rescue Prince Arthur, the defendant retaliated and injured several knights with her fire. A lot of damage has been done to Prince Arthur’s state of mental health and well-being. He was near starved and with various injuries on his body.”

  Injuries? Is Bagdemagus talking about the bramble scratches from our trek in the woods?

  “Not only that,” Bagdemagus continues. “Even prior to the kidnapping, there is evidence that the defendant was of bad character. She had frequent temperamental outbursts and was of a manipulative nature. Several witnesses saw the defendant seducing Merlin
at the Maven Ceremony. As we know now, she did this to steal the Scroll.”

  Merlin looks away, coloring as he frowns. I begin scratching my neck.

  “The defendant is an evil witch, Your Honor. The worst criminal in our history. There are citizens marching as we speak, demanding that we burn the witch. She must be sentenced. King Uther naturally wants her executed to show the world what happens when one attempts to betray the King and endanger the sacred bloodline.”

  Several people mutter in agreement. I stare at my hands as hopelessness weighs heavily on my shoulders. I am obviously guilty of kidnapping. Why torture me with these useless trials?

  When it’s Enid’s turn to speak, she stands and then walks around the floor, heels clacking. She seems calm, which I can’t understand. After all, Bagdemagus’s statement was strong and I can’t imagine an argument against it.

  “This case appears simple,” Enid begins. “But I find it very fascinating. This is not a standard case of an evil young woman committing a crime. What surprised me the most was that the defendant—who has been pictured as a mentally unstable psychopath since the crime was committed—was an Arthur’s Round member. My question to the court is, if the defendant was of bad character and in such a poor mental state, how did she get into the most prestigious group in the UK for her age? In order to be a Round member, one must have excellent grades, pass numerous exams, and be in perfect mental and physical condition. With all the rigorous work, one must be absolutely committed to serving the King. The defendant displayed only excellence in all her studies and exams and always complied with rules that were enforced. The physical exam of Prince Arthur reveals that aside from the head trauma from the struggle in King’s Hall, he was not abused in the forest thereafter. During the interview, he called the defendant ‘a friend.’”

  Bagdemagus objects and the judge permits it. “We don’t consider the testimony of victims diagnosed with Stockholm syndrome. It’s not uncommon for kidnapped victims to feel a false affinity for the kidnapper over time. Prince Arthur’s words are unreliable for the court and will not be considered. And as for your fantastical painting of the defendant’s academic endeavors, I’m sorry to inform you that she was in counseling for her repeated temperamental outbursts.”