Текст книги "The once and future queen"

Автор книги: Paula Laferty

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

In one fluid motion, Arthur decided to leap. He slid his upper hand to the back of her neck, and his lips were on hers, kissing her with an insatiable hunger.

Vera hadn’t realized she was on the cliff too, but she jumped with him. It was an explosion within her as she kissed him in return, her yearning quickly becoming a sense of need. Arthur pulled her closer, his fingertips weaving into the hair at the nape of her neck as they embraced. She wanted more.

She wanted everything.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered in a hurry.

But she would not. She could feel his lips curve into a smile under hers as she pulled his body toward her and pressed herself against him, the two opposing forces meeting.

An unwelcome part of Vera’s mind interrupted the bliss: the memory of him not half an hour ago calling her Guinevere. He’s seeing you as Guinevere. She could not bury the notion. As badly as Vera wanted this, wanted to be close to him, wanted to be with him … As much as she ached for him, she would never forgive herself if doing so was a manipulation of his love for the woman she couldn’t be.

Her body must have betrayed the thought for an eyelash of a second, and Arthur noticed. He broke the bond between their lips but stayed close, his forehead resting against hers.

“Are you all right?” His voice was even deeper when he spoke so quietly, and Vera shivered at his chest rumbling against her.

“Arthur, I’m not her. I can’t be her. I—” Vera fumbled. She knew she didn’t have the right words, but she forged on anyway. “I would … If I could bring you comfort …” All wrong. She hated them as they came out of her mouth.

Arthur went rigid. He held her for a single deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and he pulled away. Their bodies separating from one another was like being cleaved in two. He turned and took two quick steps away, then turned back, mouth open and eyes on the floor at her feet. He stood there as if about to speak but instead shook his head. His face darkened: all that was gentle moments before went rigid.

“No,” he said through gritted teeth. Vera wasn’t even sure he was talking to her. He turned on his heel and left the room.

“Shit,” Vera said. She didn’t go after him. She drank water. She paced the room. And she went to bed, knowing that he wouldn’t be there in the morning, terrified she and Arthur had ruined every step forward they had taken with a few moments of tipsy impulsivity.

The unseasonable warmth of the last few days transformed under the influence of a north wind while Vera slept. She hadn’t thought sleep would come at all. Not only was she in a strange place and alone, but the spot Arthur would have occupied was an unavoidable reminder of his absence, like the negative space in a painting. In one breath, she replayed the instant his lips found hers. In the next, her stomach fell with the memory of anger returning to his face before he left the room.

Vera didn’t want to roll over when she woke to the soft light of morning, knowing his empty place would send her down the same path of cyclical delight and dread as she mentally replayed her every move from the day prior. She turned over, consoling herself that at least she might spread out or double up the covers to make her cocoon of blankets all the more insulating against the cold.

But the bed wasn’t empty. Arthur was there, fast asleep, lying on his side facing Vera. His features were peaceful with the weight of consciousness lifted from him. She’d like to stroke his cheek with her finger as she’d done last night.

Instead, she got up, endeavoring to get ready quietly, but even dressing in her simplest traveling gown didn’t lend itself to quiet. The skirt rustled no matter how deliberately she maneuvered it. When she finished, the unreachable ties at the back of Vera’s gown hung loose, but it would be good enough until she found Matilda.

In her rustling around, she hadn’t heard Arthur get up and cross to the fireplace. He knelt there, feeding logs onto the smoldering embers and stirring the flames back to life. She avoided looking in his direction, telling herself she wanted to give him privacy as he dressed for the day. Mostly, she was afraid that she’d find the shell of him from before if she saw him too closely. She knelt on the cold floor, folding her dress from last night and trying to fit it back in the bag without making a mess of things.

“Guinevere?” Arthur said from behind her. She jumped at his voice and played it off as she stood to face him. Anxiety flooded her: there was his masked stare. “I … had more to drink last night than was wise. I apologize.” He didn’t offer any more explanation, and a pit dropped in her stomach at his apology. They’d been so close to being something more than two people forced to share space—very nearly friends.

And now, she’d lost him.

“It’s all right. We both did.” Vera said.

He gestured to the laces hanging down on the back of her gown. “Would you like me to—?”

She didn’t. It was too reminiscent of last night, of what they were now calling a regrettable mistake. But it would also be nice to be ready and not face Matilda or any uncomfortable conversation that might stem from their interaction.

Arthur was careful not to so much as graze her skin.

When they left their lodgings and stepped outside, the harsh wind stung Vera’s face as she belatedly realized that she’d packed away her cloak. Arthur draped his over her shoulders. They didn’t look at one another.

She’d let herself be foolishly swept up in her own fairytale, and now all that was left was a steady and subtle nausea churning in her stomach. He had deemed their embrace an act fueled by drunkenness and requiring an apology.

But there were bigger concerns. Truthfully, the prior night was a near-perfect model of what was happening in the kingdom; a sheen of happiness when all felt right for Yule—but it was a superficial layer atop a more sinister reality.

Their departure from Glastonbury was delayed as village leaders discreetly called on Gawain to repair a lengthy list of magical issues. And Vera overheard the report that Lancelot brought Arthur: another attack. This one was farther north along the French coast, much closer than the previous. Combined with the late night of celebration and the less hospitable weather, it made for a subdued journey to Camelot.

After Vera and Arthur’s silent trek to their chamber, Vera was ready to crawl under the covers and sleep all day. She anticipated that Arthur would retreat to the side room, but he didn’t. He unfastened his sword belt and hung it by the desk. Then, he just … stood there, staring at the floor and worrying at his chin with his thumb and forefinger.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I don’t know how to tell you—”

There was a knock at the door.

Arthur let out a low exhale before he went to open it.

“May I have a word, Your Majesty?” Was that Gawain’s voice? Vera leaned forward so she could see. Neither of the mages came into this tower. Yet there he was.

“Not now,” Arthur said. “I will come to your study when—”

“No,” Gawain said. “No. It must be here. Immediately. It’s about the curse and the queen’s memory loss. We cannot risk being overheard.”

Gawain turned sideways and scooted past Arthur into the room without invitation.

Vera and Arthur shared a glance. She nearly cracked a smile before she remembered that he wasn’t the one she could share that with anymore. Her face fell, and she swallowed.

The three of them sat near the fireplace, Vera leaving plenty of space between her and Arthur, and the young mage leveled his blank stare at them.

“I have my doubts about the nature of magic’s demise, and I wonder if pursuing the queen’s memories is the wisest course. I’m not sure if the queen told you about our conversation—”

“She did.” There was a note of defensiveness in Arthur’s voice that bewildered Vera. “She told me right away.” It was true. She had told Arthur all about her interaction with Gawain. But that had been before last night.

Gawain barely nodded before he launched right in. “I’m guessing there’s more to your memory loss than I know … more than Merlin is willing to tell me, I’m sure. From my observation, it seemed the potion had fostered some of the hoped-for attraction between the two of you but without any results on your memory. Am I correct?” he asked Vera.

Arthur had moved, his hand half raised as if to stop Gawain. But the words had already been spoken. Words that Vera didn’t quite comprehend, but a singe rose over the surface of her skin—like she’d touched a scorching oven burner, but her mind hadn’t yet recognized the damage.

A potion. For attraction.

Gawain had to be mistaken.

There hadn’t been any potion. Well, except for the one for the memory procedure and that was only for the procedure, wasn’t it?

But …

She’d never asked Merlin what was in it. And her attraction, that … desire, that need for Arthur was new.

Fuck. Her head swam. Her feelings for him had come from the potion. Did Arthur know? Did he know that Merlin had drugged her into desiring him? Her cheeks flamed with the shame of it as she tried to think through how pathetic and desperate she’d behaved with him. He’d certainly reciprocated, though. And it wasn’t as if he’d had a potion.

Wait.

There’d been the package from Merlin. The one Arthur had grimaced at. The one his eyes shot to in their room when Vera had been drinking the apple wine.

No. No, no, no. He wouldn’t lie to her about that. Gawain was mistaken. Or … Arthur didn’t know. He couldn’t.

She expected his denial or outrage, but he stared back at her, still as a statue.

Vera’s field of vision narrowed. Her ears started ringing.

“There’s another route we could …” Gawain was still saying something, but his words melted in with the ringing and became noise, and noise only. Vera’s breath sped up, and her rage expanded with each moment Arthur held her stare and silently admitted his complicity.

“Are you going to say anything?” she said, interrupting an oblivious Gawain mid-sentence.

Arthur cast a fleeting glance at the mage. “It’s complicated.”

Vera was so angry she could hardly see straight. “Oh. It’s complicated,” she repeated, drawing out every syllable.

Gawain glanced warily between them as he shifted in his seat. “I am unsure what is happening.”

“I will un-complicate it,” Vera said as her muscles began to shake with tension. She wished that she could have screamed at him, but she’d never felt smaller. “Stay away from me.”

She didn’t want to be near him for another second. She stumbled out of her seat, nearly losing her footing as she rushed for the door. She was in the back courtyard before she realized her feet were taking her there. The water tower loomed ahead of her. Merlin’s tower.

She wasn’t even sure the mage was here. He’d wisely avoided her since the day with the procedure—and the potion. But the door to his study was open, so she stormed right in.

Merlin sat at his desk and looked up from the assortment of potion bottles in front of him, the shock at her entry shifting from a smile of greeting to concern as he saw her face. It all flickered through his features in the space of a second. “Guinevere?” He stood, keeping his fingertips on the desk below him.

“Is that it?” She pointed at the bottles on his desk.

“What?” Merlin’s bewildered stare followed her eyes. “Oh, this,” he said. He picked up the smallest bottle and walked toward her, holding it in front of him. “This is a brand-new potion I’ve developed for—”

Vera snatched the bottle that he cradled so delicately and threw it with all her might at the wall behind him. It shattered, the crash and Merlin’s subsequent shock urging her on.

“For secretly drugging me and fucking with my feelings?” Vera asked. But it wasn’t a question. Not really.

Merlin sighed before he, infuriatingly, smiled sadly. “No.”

“Where is that one?”

“Guinevere—”

“I will smash every goddamn one if I need to.” Her eyes shot to the shelves where Merlin’s hundreds of colorful bottles blinked back at her in the orb light.

“That would be unwise,” he said quietly. He crossed back to his desk and sat down, scooting the remaining bottles there to the corner farthest from Vera. “Many of those are rare, one of a kind. And I’ve no access to the necessary gifts to replicate them. Including the potion for traveling through time.”

Vera’s chest tightened as she turned back to the shards of glass sprinkling the floor beneath the remains of the potion that dripped down the wall. What had she done?

“That,” Merlin said, “was a potion I made to help crops persist through poor conditions. I’d hoped it would help the kingdom in the coming season.” He gestured to the seat near his desk. “Will you please … ?”

She stayed rooted to her spot. “Why didn’t you tell me what that potion would do? I should have had a choice.”

“I would have,” he said. “But I thought it unwise in front of Sir Lancelot. And after the king forbade me from further work, I didn’t have ample opportunity to speak to you.”

“But you made time to get a fucking potion to Arthur,” Vera shot back.

Merlin nodded slowly. “I did.”

“Well, it didn’t work. It’s not going to work. There will be no connecting.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Merlin said. His calm was infuriating. “I thought I’d made it clear how important this work is.”

Vera lifted her eyebrows. “Gawain said the memories might not be necessary.”

“They are.”

“As you have assured me,” Vera snarled. There had to be more to this. More reason. “If connecting with me is all that’s needed to save Arthur’s kingdom, why the hell is it so impossible for him? What aren’t you telling me?”

Perhaps he saw in her eyes that she would not leave this room until he answered. Merlin gestured patiently at the seat near him. This time, Vera dropped into it.

“I’ve been surprised,” Merlin began slowly, “that you never asked why Viviane cursed us—surprised, but grateful. I’d hoped you would remember on your own, and I wouldn’t have to be the one to tell you.” He didn’t move. His expression hadn’t changed, but goosebumps rose on Vera’s arms and skittered up her neck.

“When the wars ended, and Arthur began to establish the kingdom, Viviane grew disenchanted,” Merlin said. “She’d believed he would be a different sort of ruler than the power-hungry conquerors, and make no mistake, he is. But she wanted more. She dreamed of a rather idealistic economic structure, and when Arthur accepted money from the rich to build the kingdom and allowed them their titles of nobility, lands, and power, Viviane was dismayed that it was all the same. What was the point in fighting to build a country like every other? Her perspective wasn’t without merit. In many ways, it was a fair critique, the kind of thing a ruler like Arthur wants in his advisors: someone to challenge him and hold him to a higher standard. But he’s also pragmatic. He knew we needed to start somewhere.

Merlin rubbed at his temples and closed his eyes for a moment, like the words were draining him. “Viviane was an exploratory mage. She travelled to discover and develop new ways to use magic. She was away frequently. We did not know that Viviane used those travels to seek out another leader, one she deemed more worthy than Arthur. Her plot began when she found a Saxon ruler who shared her vision. Viviane intended to orchestrate the fall of Arthur and his kingdom.”

Merlin’s eyes lingered on her as if hoping she might remember the rest of the story so he wouldn’t have to say it. “Viviane bewitched you. You were a key piece—the key piece of her plan against the throne.”

Bewitched. It echoed in her mind, the subtle and persistent tap of a piece that didn’t quite fit. “What do you mean by bewitched?”

Merlin didn’t answer.

“Did she use a spell or a potion or something?” Vera pushed, dread rising in her gut.

Merlin glanced down at the desk before meeting her eyes. It all but confirmed her suspicion: the “bewitchment” had nothing to do with magic.

“Viviane was very powerful and very convincing. And you were uniquely situated to be swayed. You endured awful things. She saw how that weighed on you and capitalized on it. And there was no one better positioned than you to fill that role. You had the king’s trust and access to all military information. It was easy for you to pass intelligence. Who better to help bring down the leader than the person closest to him?”

A new word now: betrayal.

“Bring him down? I wouldn’t—she wouldn’t—” In truth, Vera didn’t know what Guinevere would have done. “But …” She thought of how Arthur loved his people and the magical pull that brought him to the throne. Of all the parts about this that were untenable, that may have been the most. “The people wouldn’t stand for another ruler. She had to have known that! They would revolt.”

Merlin steepled his fingers in front of his lips. If she hadn’t known the conversation’s context and had only walked in the room then, she’d have thought he was wrestling with a complicated maths problem. “The magic that calls Arthur to the throne would end upon his death. I don’t know the specifics of Viviane’s plan. I can’t say whether she meant to kill Arthur or if she wanted that done by your hand.”

“No,” Vera breathed. She didn’t know what she’d imagined, but it wasn’t this. This was so much worse. An affair with Lancelot would have been child’s play in comparison. And Arthur—she had seen the way his face had hardened last night. “Arthur knows, doesn’t he?”

She needed no answer, but Merlin gave it. “Yes.”

Ah. There it was.

She was a traitor. To Arthur, first and foremost. All the time he had been cold, had physically pulled away from Vera … He’d been exceedingly generous, all things considered. No wonder he stayed so deliberately distant. If Vera had anything more of Guinevere in her than memories, she was a danger to him and to everything he’d poured his life into.

Vera dropped her forehead into her hands. The fuel was sucked from the fire of her anger, suffocated by the truth. Her remaining feelings of disdain for Arthur melted into shame. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I thought we had time for you to remember on your own,” Merlin said. “It used to be that my life force could sustain magic across the entire kingdom. Its reach has diminished. Now it won’t even hold reliably to Exeter.” Bitter frustration bubbled into his voice, and the pallor of his face looked greyer than before, as if merely thinking of his recent endeavors exhausted him. “And there are the attacks in the Frankish Kingdoms—another one quite recently. I’m not convinced it’s unrelated to Viviane’s ruler. The only chance we have of reversing the damage is if you remember what she did. If the magic continues to weaken this rapidly, the Saxons will seize upon that and invade even without Viviane. We’ll need your memories then, too, to stand a tactical chance against whatever intelligence you gave them.”

Vera tried to swallow and found her mouth dry. “And once I remember what Viviane did, you’re not sure you’ll be able to fix it, are you?”

Merlin held her eyes for a breath before he shook his head bitterly.

“That’s not much of a hope,” she said.

He clasped his fingers together and leaned toward her. “It’s all we have. If we can’t restore the magic, our society will crumble. The Saxons will invade, and they will win.”

Though she didn’t move, aware of the bite of her fingernails pressing into her palms and the way the front edge of her chair was becoming uncomfortable against the crook of her knees, Vera felt like she was falling forward or like the room was tumbling backward around her. She couldn’t tell which. She only knew the sensation was in her mind because there was Merlin before her, an upright anchor to reality while her mind spiraled.

“But that—how do you know what should happen? That’s the way my history books tell it. The Saxons do eventually conquer.” Vera dragged words, leaden and heavy, from her depths and forced herself not to think of anyone, especially not of her friends—not of Lancelot, who would be the one leading the armies to their end. “Maybe this is the way things always were supposed to be. That magic dies, and Arthur’s kingdom—” Her stomach churned. “That Arthur—” And Lancelot and Matilda and Percival … Vera clamped her mouth tightly closed, stifling the urge to throw up as a wave of nausea crested through her.

“Surely you don’t hope for that,” Merlin said softly, and there was no question in it. She willed herself to keep her face blank, to keep the intrusive vision of her friends bleeding on the battlefield from her mind.

“No,” he said. “That’s not the way it should be.”

“But I’ve lived there. There’s no magic in my time.”

“How do you know that?” His lips ticked up at the corners, and his eyes glimmered. “Just because you haven’t seen it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

She had never considered that her own world might not be as it seemed. “Are you saying—?”

“It’s complicated, Guinevere. All of it. And the future isn’t fixed.” Merlin held up a hand in anticipation of Vera’s protest. “I know. You lived there. You came to be who you are there, but the only thing that tethers that reality into being is you.”

“That can’t be. I—I served food. I cleaned toilets,” Vera protested weakly.

It brought a wry smile to Merlin’s face. “Yes. And you held existence intact with every scrub. That’s the rather tricky bit about the presence of magic in our world. It’s a guiding force, much like the way it called Arthur to the throne and the way it makes me feel certain he should stay there, but it doesn’t control us. We can break its call to our detriment.”

“What can I do?” Her voice croaked. “Can you make me remember? Is there magic that can pull it out?”

Vera saw Merlin’s eagerness, but a careworn determination quickly replaced it. “There is,” he said. “It is invasive, and it will be painful.”

“All right,” Vera said. What choice was there? How could she choose her own comfort and damn the kingdom—damn the future? “How do we do this?”

“The procedure requires your consent, and you can end it at any time. I will enter your conscious memories and …” He paused, considering. “Add my memories of you from before. I’ll use things that parallel emotional experiences of the life you know to help regenerate the life you don’t recall. That’s the part that hurts. And it’s best we only do this once, so when you’re ready, you should take this.”

He held up a glass vial between his thumb and middle finger. The grey substance in it swirled of its own accord, only held in by the cork stopper. It was more than mist and less than liquid as it listlessly tapped at the cork like it knew that was the way out. Vera didn’t have to breathe the question aloud. Merlin was already answering it.

“It does have an element that increases your attraction to Arthur. I’m sorry, but we can’t proceed without it. That connection is the essential thread of your memory. Largely, though, this is a sensitivity potion. It won’t help you recall anything from before, but it will make all that you experience today more vivid. You won’t forget a single moment of what’s to come. I do not wish to mislead you, Guinevere.” He dropped his free hand to her arm. “This will not be pleasant. If we do it right, it could make all the difference.”

It gave her pause. The first procedure had been frightening and debilitating enough.

“I’m surprised,” Merlin said, pulling Vera from her anxiety. “You never asked me why Viviane turned on you.”

She hadn’t thought to. “Why?”

“Oh, dear girl.” The wisp of a sad smile crossed his face. “You changed your mind. Your love for Arthur pulled you back. Call Viviane’s hold on you bewitching, call it convincing … that you could break it was no small feat. You came to me, and you told me everything. I shouldn’t have let you be unprotected for a moment after that. I will never forgive myself for that error. I was within seconds of being too late.” He shook his head before looking at Vera with deep fondness, maybe even admiration. “The point is that you were willing to sacrifice your own life to try to fix what was broken.”

Merlin spun the glass vial idly in his fingers. Guinevere had a part in creating the mess, but she’d given her existence in an effort to make things right. Vera felt no connection to the actions of her former self. Nevertheless, she was riddled with a sense of responsibility. She could endure pain to complete the undoing of Guinevere’s betrayal. Indeed, she was quite literally made for it.

Vera took the vial from Merlin’s outstretched palm. She unstopped it and threw its contents back like a shot of liquor. The grey substance slid over her tongue, smooth and tasteless. It left a trail of warmth in its wake all the way down her throat.

As it all settled in her stomach, the warmth turned into a burn, and her impulsivity felt like a mistake. Vera gripped the desk in front of her, gasping helplessly. The stinging heat began to fade as soon as it started, replaced by something different than she’d ever known.

The tips of her fingers prickled with sensation. She felt not only the chair beneath her but the wood’s grain through her clothing. The dim room now seemed bathed in light, and beyond the cellar’s earthy aroma, Vera caught a whiff of baking bread from dinner preparations in the kitchen. She could hear the whirring mechanism of the well cranking above. Her senses had taken on all the fire of the potion. This must have been how Randall felt all the time.

Merlin stood and rounded the desk to stand right behind Vera. “Do I have your permission to enter your mind?” he asked. Vera was relieved that it was nearly a whisper.

“Yes,” she breathed. Her heart pounded as loudly as the fire crackling in the hearth.

“If you need me to stop, say the word.” Merlin raised his hands and carefully positioned them on Vera’s head. His palms sealed over her ears firmly enough that they created a suction, making a surreal growling white noise. His middle and index fingers pressed into each of her temples, the next finger right on her cheekbones, his pinkies along her jaw, holding it tightly in place. Vera trembled under the pressure of the mage’s surprising strength.

“Ready?” he murmured.

She tried to nod, but Merlin’s hands held her skull in place.

“Close your eyes, Guinevere.”

She took a deep breath and shut her eyes as she exhaled.

“Let’s begin.”