I take a step toward him, some fire returning to my heart. “You know we had a bond—something between us that was special and strong. How can you just ignore me like this?”
Merlin raises his chin, suddenly taller. His eyes aren’t the way they used to be, like two peaceful ponds—they’ve changed. Now they’re storm clouds.
“I know what we had between us,” Merlin says. “It was sickness. I’m attracted to women like you—the abandoners. It’s my sick head that made me want to be loved by someone who didn’t want to love. It’s my unwanted orphan syndrome or something. I’m different now. I know who I am, and I know who you are. Ever since the last court case. You heard my words, didn’t you? You ruined my life. I will never forgive you.”
“Sickness?” I repeat. “Orphan syndrome? Did your therapist tell you that?”
Merlin flinches. “At least I’m seeing one! I want to improve myself and get better, unlike you. I want to heal. I’m sick of being a desperate man.”
“You are right about one thing. People can change. I want to heal too. I want us to heal.”
“Let me make this clear,” he says. “I don’t want to forgive you. There’s no healing the wound you gave me—it’s already a scar, a scar I’m going to forget about. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t value her own life. That day you tried to commit suicide…” He pauses, shuddering as if disgusted by the memory. “I knew that I couldn’t be with someone like that.”
“I was going to be sentenced to death,” I defend. “It wasn’t exactly suicide.”
“You don’t get it, Morgan. You don’t value your life. I see it clearly. You’re broken, and I wanted to fix you. But you’d rather keep breaking.” Merlin shakes his head. “I’m tired of this cycle.” He glances at his watch before looking back at me. “I have to go. I’m meeting Lancelot. The next time you try to speak to me… I’m reporting you. We’re finished.”
Merlin walks on.
I want to scream at him because I’m drowning and he refused to throw me a life preserver.
What’s more frustrating, he’s doing the right thing. Merlin is moving on because he has recognized that I’m toxic to him. His words swim inside me like ice whirling in the current.
I look out the hall window toward Emerald Field. The place we once walked across together. His smile when he talked to me—so sweet, so everlasting. I didn’t know it’d fade and become a dream. I want to bang my fists against the window as if to alert the ghost of myself walking across that field. Look up at him! Stop staring at the grass. Smile at him! Look at him. He’s smiling at you.
I wish I could’ve known back then how much I cared for him. But of course I can’t warn my past self.
Instead, I can only stare on, eyes burning and stinging.
Chapter 6
As agreed upon, I attend my psychotherapy session with Laudine. She sits across from me, studying her notes with a slump to her shoulders. I can’t help but wonder, does she blame herself for what I did? Did she honestly think should could have predicted my actions?
“How do you feel today?” she asks me.
“Sad,” I say.
She widens her eyes with surprise and picks up her pen. “Oh? Why are you sad?”
“My friend Merlin will never forgive me.”
She contemplates this for a second, perhaps shocked that I called him a friend.
“Ah.” She finally nods. “I suppose there is nothing to do but to accept that fact. Oftentimes a problem is very rooted in the person’s inner world and has nothing to do with you.”
“No,” I say. “I caused this to happen. If I hadn’t pleaded guilty, he would still be my friend today.”
“He cares for you then,” Laudine says. “It’s natural he is hurt that you put yourself in danger. He suffered from a traumatic event when he was scheduled to execute you. You remind him of that moment. The pain plaguing his mind and body is something he has to deal with, and the healing is on his own time—not yours.” She twirls the pen for a second. “Do you understand what I’m saying? Do you feel you have your own turmoil to deal with?”
I let out a heavy sigh. I don’t want to talk about myself. I prefer to talk about Merlin, but of course Laudine is not interested in solving Merlin’s problems.
“I’m at a dead end,” I admit. “There’s nothing for me to deal with anymore. More accurately, I suppose there’s no point in dealing with pain or problems. I keep waking up to a world where I’m someone I never wanted to become.”
“Well, Morgan, believe it or not, the fact that you are expressing yourself openly is a significant improvement from a year ago. Acceptance is the first step toward healing. Perhaps when you look at the outside world, it appears that you are confined and the world seems unfriendly. Yet, inside yourself, there’s a big universe. So what’s going on?”
I shrug. “All the stars in my universe exploded into supernovas. I’m just empty space now, full of dust.”
Laudine makes several more attempts to get into “my universe,” continuing the symbolical talk that new stars are born from dust.
“Forget I mentioned dust,” I say with an agitated sigh. “I meant nothing. There is nothing. Not even dust.”
Slowly the sadness returns to Laudine’s eyes, and the movement of her pen stalls. She reminds me again that I’m improving and then lets me out to go to training.
On my way to the gym, I pass through the knights’ training center. Through glass walls, I can see Black Knights practicing. Fire users are controlling flames, gently arching through the air. They move their hands, focusing. As I watch, I long for that enlightening feeling of intense concentration. The warmth running through my veins. The place where nothing matters but me and the living force I control. Using fire took me to a land of safety and healing.
I hear someone clearing his throat behind me. I whip around. Lancelot. For how long he’d been standing there I can’t tell. I was supposed to be in the gym with the Gray Knights five minutes ago.
“I was on my way to the gym,” I say honestly.
“No gym for you today,” Lancelot replies. “Follow me.”
I lift my brows quizzically.
Lancelot walks down the hall, not waiting for me. His stride is brisk. I follow quickly.
“Have you been keeping abreast of the news?” Lancelot asks.
“I see the news playing when I’m in the cafeteria,” I reply.
“Then you must be aware that the world is waiting for King Arthur’s speech?”
I scrunch my lips, not recalling anything about a speech or lack thereof. “Speech?”
“Yes, he’s supposed to make a public statement about his father’s death.”
“He hasn’t done that yet?”
“It should have been done weeks ago. He hasn’t gotten through a single recital without breaking down.”
“Well, maybe he shouldn’t be forced to make such a speech then,” I say with more hostility than I intended. “I mean, it’s his father. He just died. It’s a sensitive subject, and Arthur is still young.”
Not to mention… Arthur is the one who ended his father’s life, though by accident. Because of me. It was my fault. It’s no wonder speaking of his father’s death to the world is too much for Arthur to bear.
“It has to be done,” Lancelot says. “He’s scheduled to give a speech tomorrow afternoon in London, whether he’s ready or not. If he crumbles in front of the world, so be it. The world needs a sense of closure. As the King, it’s his duty.”
I frown at the idea of him forced into a vulnerable position. I want to help, badly, yet I cannot do anything.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask.
Lancelot finally looks at me. “Arthur says that if you come with him to London, he thinks he can get through the speech.”
My eyes widen. “Arthur said that?”
Perhaps Arthur still thinks of me as a friend—someone who can support him. For the first time
since I’ve been imprisoned, I feel warmth in my heart.
“Of course I’ll go with him,” I say.
“It’s not an ideal situation.” Lancelot sighs. “We don’t want you traveling outside of Camelot, but we’re desperate at this point. We’ll do whatever it takes to deliver the message.”
Once we reach King’s Tower, we go up the secure elevator. On the ninth floor, we walk down a long hall over a scarlet rug with ornate patterns. I gawk at the murals of medieval scenes on the ceiling. We head to enormous wooden double doors. Two knights stand on either side. They open them for us.
Behind a huge desk, Arthur sits. He catches sight of me and hurriedly rises up from his seat, nearly knocking over his chair and a miniature globe on his desk. He then looks past me, at Lancelot.
“You may leave us, Sir Lancelot,” Arthur says.
“I cannot,” Lancelot says.
Arthur’s lips thin briefly before he looks at me again. His eyes become warm, and he strides over to me quickly. I freeze as he suddenly closes the distance between us. He engulfs me in his arms. I lamely stand, shocked, before I hug him back, nearly laughing with nervousness. The billions of buttons and badges on his uniform dig into my ribs, but I don’t mind. I marvel at how much taller and sturdier he has gotten. I can feel the grief and loneliness in his tight grasp.
“Everything will be okay,” I whisper, squeezing his shoulder blade.
Arthur parts but retains his grip on my arms, holding me and looking at me with reddened eyes. “Ms. Le Fay,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I wanted so badly to make things better for you. This…”—he motions at my knight badge—“was as far as I could go.”
“I’m grateful,” I say.
“It’s so good to see you,” he says, beaming yet with sorrow still in his eyes. “I haven’t even been allowed to talk to you. Believe me, it pained me deeper than you could imagine to be forced to turn away from you. I’ve thought of you, every night and day. You received my request, yes?”
I nod. “I will go to London with you.”
Between us, our hands are clasped together. He tightens his hold.
“It wasn’t a command.”
“I know.”
Arthur closes his eyes. “Thank you.”
Chapter 7
The following morning I’m packed into a limousine. Two knights are seated across from me: Agravain and Lynette. Agravain slips a pair of handcuffs on my wrists as soon as I’m seated, not saying a word to me. I look down at my skirt, which is patterned with purple and orange flowers. Something I’d never wear. I’m also wearing a brown sweater in a most disagreeable hue, shawl, and sunglasses. The fabric smells like mothballs. I suspect these clothes are the maid’s old belongings. Although the fabric is unpleasant to the nose and eyes, it certainly does accomplish its job of disguising me, which is most important. The citizens of London will certainly want to kill me if they saw me.
We pass by layers of hills, just as green and peaceful as I remember them. Slowly, buildings increase as we near London. I can’t even recall the last time I was in London. I see brick buildings and roofs the color of granite and autumn leaves. Wrought iron fences, stone walls, parks. Soon more modern buildings appear.
We stop in the middle of the city where a platform is set up. Crowds are gathered around so thickly that the people in the back spill into alleyways. Knights holding rifles and pistols surround the platform and outskirts of the gathering.
The car drives toward the blocked-off alley, the policemen letting us in by stepping aside.
“When we get out,” Lynette instructs, looking at me, “you must snake your way to the front of the crowd. Don’t try anything funny. A set of eyes will be on you at all times.”
I look at her stone-faced, not replying since she didn’t ask a question.
Sighing, she reaches forward and unlocks the cuffs around my wrists. A knight opens the door and motions for me to slide out.
As I climb out of the car, I’m faced with the back of the velvet-covered platform. It reminds me of a circus tent. There’s a crew getting ready behind it. Among them, Merlin and Arthur. The two are reddened as they shout at each other about something. Merlin straightens Arthur’s badge while still scorning him. Before I can study further, knights pull my arms and point me toward the stage.
A trumpet sounds as someone begins the introductions. I recognize the nasally voice. Pellinore. A distraction for the audience. I hurry around the platform and snake into the crowd. I can only move by a few centimeters as everyone refuses to move out of the way. Someone shoves at me, annoyed.
One of the knights on guard, Gawain, steps forward. “Let the blind lady through,” he tells the people firmly.
The group stops suffocating me ever so slightly. I cram myself forward into the front, where Arthur can see me. Will he even recognize me in this ridiculous garb?
Pellinore finishes the introduction and lumbers off the stage. Next, Arthur steps up, Merlin following him. Having just finished their argument, they both have the bitter expression of two kids forced to attend a lecture. Arthur studies the crowd as he approaches the podium. I wave my arms. He catches sight of me, and I briefly tilt my sunglasses down so that he can see my eyes. Arthur gives me the slightest nod. He looks forward. In that moment, he looks years older than the boy who traveled through the woods with me. He was frightened then, as he is now, but this time he is scared and tired—tired enough to forget his fear.
“Thank you for gathering here today,” Arthur says, clearing his throat. “When my father told me I’d be king one day, I imagined it being something that would take place in the far future, when my hair had become gray and I had a family of my own. That was the case for my father, when he became king. It is with great shock that my role as king arrived decades too early due to a tragedy—a tragedy that has shaken up the world and has torn me apart.” Arthur’s voice quivers as he pauses, glancing at me. I nod, hoping to convey that he should be honest with how he feels. The crowd appears focused with intent but not with empathy.
“My father’s death caused me significant grief,” Arthur continues, “which is why I could not speak of him for weeks without being overwhelmed with sadness. It is my duty as a Pendragon, however, to be strong for this country. We grieve the loss of a great king. I can only hope to be as great as my father. He has instilled in me all his values. With humbleness I ask you, in the face of tragedy, to accept me as King and let me guide us to a future as my father wanted. A future honoring the Pendragon tradition and our diverse community that includes those with magic and those without.”
Some people clap.
“What about Morgan le Fay?” someone shouts.
I tense upon hearing my name. I try to remain neutral but can feel the sweat pooling under my sweater.
“The witch must drown!” another hollers.
“King Uther wanted her dead!”
“It’s her fault King Uther was on the stone steps and fell to his death!”
“She must’ve pushed him!”
The crowd rages on, red-faced, spitting. I wish I could dissolve into the asphalt. Instead, I feel the heat of their hate engulfing me. My chest tightens.
Merlin shifts his position, squirming slightly and glancing at Arthur nervously.
Arthur holds up his hands. “That’s enough,” he says. “We are honoring my father today, not protesting. We are not a country that maintains peace through death and revenge. We must rise above.”
The crowd won’t be quieted.
“You’re not like your father!” someone yells.
Arthur’s eyes shoot toward the area of the crowd from which the outburst came. From below, Lancelot hoists himself up on the stage. He steps in front of Arthur, pushing him back as he takes the mic.
“This ends King Arthur’s statement,” Lancelot says sharply.
Two knights grab Arthur’s arms and escort him back. The people boo and swear. People begin throwing their shoes
and bottles at the stage.
Lancelot points his pistol toward the sky and fires, the sound ringing through the air. I flinch. Knights all around begin herding the crowd away from the stage. The gunshot only fuels them.
“This is the end of Camelot!”
Just as Arthur is about to pass through the velvet curtains, something hurtles toward his head. I gasp. It strikes Arthur’s skull. Blood arcs in the air. Arthur hits the floor before the knights gather around him, making him vanish.
“Arthur!” I scream, scrambling forward, away from the crowd.
Hands grip my arms. Agravain. He drags me through the frenzied throng of people.
“Let go!” I beg. “Let me go to Arthur!”
Agravain shoves me behind the stadium where the same limo awaits. He shoves me in the backseat. As soon my back slams into the leather seat, the limo starts and jets forward. I scramble up, whipping my head around to look out the window. We are already far from the platform. Lynette sits across from me, her expression grim.
“Is he okay?” I ask in desperation.
She studies me with icy eyes before she speaks. “He would have been if you’d never stepped a foot into Camelot.”
Chapter 8
All night the vision of injured Arthur sticks in my mind. There has been no update on his status. The news displays the footage of his fall, and Camelot has released a statement that they have tracked down the culprit behind the attack and that the assailant is imprisoned and will be tried.
In the morning, there’s a loud knock. I scramble out of bed and open the door. Lancelot stands, looking worried as he always does lately. My mind jolts awake, and I twist around to look at the clock.
“Am I late?” I ask groggily.
“You’re skipping training again today,” Lancelot replies. “Arthur insists that you visit him immediately.”
Relief rushes through me. “He’s okay then?”
“He will recover eventually, but he’ll be weak for a month, at least. He can’t walk right now or stomach any food. What’s most problematic is his mental state. As you can imagine, the riot has upset him.”
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