Camelot Burning (30 page)

Thirty-Seven

Owen's words trample my mind as ferociously as my boots striking the gardens' brittle grass. I run with the will I thought I'd lost, but so much could depend on whether I find Marcus, whether I can see him one last time, no matter—

No matter what his reason.

My heart twists in a painful knot as I think of how he didn't tell me himself. My own brother had to.

I sneak through the break in the wall. The lavender dress I wore to the wedding oh so long ago catches on the rough edges, but I pull free. He's by the lake. I need to get there.

I catch sight of shimmering waves as the wind blows across the water. Standing there is Sir Marcus of Camelot.

He turns when he hears me approach, eyes still smudged with kohl. The skin on his neck is pink where his new tattoo crawls toward his jaw. Silver bolt through one ear. Thick furs hanging on his shoulders. Scuffed black boots on his feet. Leather on his back.

I'm out of breath but too angry to care. “You weren't going to say anything? You were just going to leave? Without telling me you and Lancelot made an agreement?”

He refuses to look at me. “My lady—”

“No, Marcus!” Every step toward him is more painful than the last. “I had to hear it from Owen.”

His eyes fall shut and then open to mine. Sad and beautiful. “I'm still leaving.”

I draw even closer. “Because you think you owe it to Arthur's memory. But if the knights bring home the Grail, you'll cast away your title, just like that?”

“If
I
bring it back. If
I
do it.” His eyes bore into mine until he's certain I understand the difference. “I never wanted to be a knight. But Lancelot is my brother. He promised this to Arthur. And if my parents had to die, it shouldn't be for nothing.” He won't look at me as he says it. “Say what you'd like about serfs in the countryside, but we know pride just as well as anyone.”

“What will you do after, Marcus?” I challenge. “Why not stay a knight?” My eyes sting with tears. “It'll be hard to scratch off that tattoo anyway. You'll be a hero in Camelot. Honor, glory, women.”

“I don't want that.” He sighs in exasperation, looking around as though he could pluck the right words from dead foliage. “My heart belongs to someone I can never have. So if I'm off to find some old chalice instead, I need something … an escape to keep me alive. Something to give me hope when there's none.”

“Hope,” I breathe. “How could there be hope when you wouldn't even tell me?”

His eyes hold mine. “It's for me, not the girl I'm leaving. Camelot will soon forget me, and you shouldn't wait to see how long that takes, especially if you're to leave for the north. I don't ask that of you. I can't.”

My fists clutch the furs around his shoulders. My throat chokes at the idea of his memory having no bearing on my ticking heart. “Northern kingdoms be damned. You're stupid not to ask.”

His breathing goes choppy. “Vivienne—”

“Ask me.”

He takes my chin in his fingers. His hesitant eyes blink with uncertainty louder than anything he could say, but still he presses his lips to my temple. After an eternity of silence, he pulls away. “Wait for me,” he whispers with a spark of happiness, to which I nod fervently.

“I will.”

He tilts my head toward his and kisses me, breathing me in as though he could take me to wherever his road might lead. I lean my forehead against his. “You didn't say goodbye.”

“I could never tell you goodbye.”

“The vow?” I have to hear him say it.

One side of his mouth lifts in a smile. He shrugs. “Clearly, I'm no priest. Free if I claim the Grail for Camelot.”

It's quite the condition, but nonetheless he smiles, and it's as close as he can get to the violet-eyed squire who tried to kiss me under a starlit sky with the Round Table not feet away. I sputter on happy tears and bliss. His lips find mine, and my fingers weave through the hair at the back of his neck.

Ours is a moment of perfection in this new world.

“Good news, then?” a voice says.

We pull apart. Standing before the land gives way to the lake is the gypsy, leaning on her warped cane with burlap about her shoulders. She inches toward us, jingling silver loud with each step.

“You're Merlin's friend,” I breathe.

She nods. “An old friend. It's been ages since we last spoke. Once he became more interested in alchemy, he stopped stealing my magic. Doesn't even try anymore.” Metallic starfish earrings chime as they fall past her shoulders. She darts her eyes to Marcus, who regards her with caution. “Don't fret, boy. I'm of good use to you. But perhaps a formal introduction is in order. In the old language my name was much more eloquent, but to Merlin, I was always the Lady of the Lake.”

I shake my head, though logic warns me not to doubt her.

She catches my incredulity and casts her hand over the water. The smooth ripples churn into a vortex until we see the wet, sandy bottom covered in hairlike seaweed and more. Marcus and I hold each other as wind whips around us. With a lift of her hand, the vortex erupts and paints the sky midnight blue, speckled with starfish as constellations. Then it falls into a smooth, glasslike surface. The wind goes silent. The sky, back to its usual nighttime state. Marcus and I breathe heavily.

Goodness, I see how Merlin was an old friend.

“The alchemist from Jerusalem sent word that Merlin's soul is still of this world, through much effort on both their parts.”

My heart feels as though it's been brought back to life. There's hope. There's so much of it now.

She steps closer. “Merlin's incantation was broken. Now, nothing protects the kingdom. But that's where I come in.” She stares at me with ocean blue eyes. “I will protect Camelot. You, Vivienne, will continue with Merlin's work now that you've completed your apprenticeship. Through that, you'll help Sir Marcus and the knights.”

My mouth falls open. “Me? I'm not an alchemist. I only took an interest in Merlin's craft as an apprentice. I'm not—”

“Was it not you who built Camelot's greatest weapon? That feat was not for the unskilled. Trust yourself!” Then the hope in her voice turns to warning. “But mind the responsibility that follows. The discovery of Avalon depends upon you, and so, you must stay within Camelot's walls until the Grail is found. Civilizations will hear of Merlin's successor. They'll seek you, just as Morgan did, for coordinates hidden in the safest place possible.”

A lady-in-waiting doesn't have enemies. I could escape right now to a safer life in the north, as I've always wanted. From there, I could go to Jerusalem, if I could manage to get word to Azur. There'd be nothing to hurt me, no danger to face.

But I look at Marcus, and any desire for an easy escape flies into the sky. A life without all I love would certainly be an empty one.
To return to the clock tower, no less!

Marcus squeezes my hand. “That you're important to Camelot doesn't surprise me one bit. It's one thing Merlin and I agree on.”

My destiny is clear. I'd much rather face danger or isolation in Camelot than safety aboard northbound aeroships or amid the hot sands of the Holy Land. For now.

The woman's bright eyes lure mine back. In them, I watch a scene. A young mother, three months with child, takes her yellow-haired boy to the lake outside the castle. It's Owen, who climbs a high tree and falls to the water, taken by a zealous wave too far from land in a lake too deep for him ever to survive. His mother cannot save him, but they're not alone. A gypsy brings her boy to shore. As payment for saving his life, the gypsy makes an unorthodox decree to Lady Carolyn, the former apprentice of Merlin.

“Your daughter will be of strong intelligence and heart. She'll know the coordinates of Avalon. Scores of kingdoms seek the Holy Grail, but Camelot is the one that would use its powers for good, creating a joyful coexistence between magic and the mechanical arts.

“When the time is right, your daughter will know exactly where it hides. While knights battle pirates of the skies, she'll work in Camelot, hidden from the world.

“Then, she'll lead the Knights of the Round Table to Avalon.”

I gasp at the wealth of information in my mind. Enlightened thinkers. Sea and sky. The song I misremembered. The safe guarding Arthur's mystical steel, built in Greece, according to Merlin. All of it fits together like a pair of rotating sprockets.

Coordinates hidden in the safest place possible.

“Athens … Greece?” I breathe. Yes, that's what Marcus said in the gardens. “That's why the Spanish rogues are there. Avalon's a castle miles above the Great Sea of the Mediterranean.” But how would they know that?

Marcus blinks at me. “You're sure?” He looks at the gypsy for validation. She flicks an eyebrow that confirms it.

I nod. “It's in the sky. I've always known this.” I move to leave with him. “You'll need my help, Marcus. It's not of our world!”

The gypsy sets a hand on my arm. “Wait. Gawain's infantry fights a bloody battle against the Spanish rogues. To defeat them will take months. Long enough for someone in Camelot to build a vessel that would fly high enough to reach Avalon. How else could Sir Marcus claim the Grail?”

I blink. “You want me to build an aerohawk
?
Like Azur's?”

The gypsy inches closer, forcing me to peer into her stark blue eyes. “Think bigger, dear.”

Then I see it. Something of my own conception and ingenuity. I know exactly what to build. I knew it when I was ten, bored at a feast with crying children surrounding me. I knew how the pieces of Merlin's hookah could interlock in such a way that a toy aeroship would be born of them.

I could do it again. Only this time, Merlin wouldn't have to worry about his favorite smoking device. An aeroship to reach the high altitudes of Avalon. I could surpass Azur in this feat, whose kingdom's aeroships soar just below the clouds but cannot safely rise above them.

I nod at the gypsy.

“The catacombs have all you'll need.” She backs away into darkness or legend. The lake returns to gentle ripples.

Then the moon glows too brightly. Light bursts at an incredible speed, aimed for Camelot, hitting the castle, painting it with luminescence. The crater in the land fills with soil. Trees in the farmlands sprout buds, flowers, leaves. All that was organic in Camelot has been restored. In the distance, the knights' cries are ones of joy.

Joy.

Owen arrives on horseback. “We're leaving.” I reach his saddle, and my brother leans over to kiss my cheek. “But it's clear you aren't. Take care of Father. And send word to Mother when it's safe.”

I nod. “Return home.”

Owen gallops off.

Marcus takes my hand, drawing me into his arms until there's no space between us. His nose brushes against mine, his bandaged hands run through my hair. I lean into him, and he breathes me in as though he can't bear the thought of letting go.

I want to stop time.

My fingers find the lace around his wrist. I close his hand around the tail, recalling how lace was celebrated in Lyonesse. “Find your way back.”

He shakes his head. “Find your way to Greece.”

Marcus kisses me once more and sets another to my forehead. Then he mounts his horse and gallops off.

A normal girl would cry.

She would weep and perhaps run after him. She'd mourn for days, pining at the window. She wouldn't sleep or eat. And, really, that's such an illogical response. Still, once Marcus is gone, a strong desire erupts in my heart to see him again.

Like mad, I run back to the castle. I rush through the gardens and the village's abandoned shops and empty streets. I throw open the cellar door to the clock tower's summit. My legs twist and twist as I ascend. At the top, Merlin's tower is now roofless. Wind is my only companion.

I pass the desk, blueprints scattered throughout the wrecked space, telescope knocked over. The antiqued sword that was once Merlin's pride finds its way into my hand. I smile.

Journal entries torn from their spines are filled with erratic notes about the possible dangers of alchemy. About the Spanish rogues and whether they heard of the peril Camelot was in.

About Guinevere, the secrets she brought to Camelot, how the magical legacy of Lyonesse caused its watery end. How she was never cursed by Morgan since she never set foot outside the city walls.

But I push those aside. I extend my viewer and watch my beloved ride off, breathing in relief when Galahad's infantry reappears on the other side of the woods Morgan enchanted. Wind propels the knights north.

When they've blended into the furthest mountain, I collapse my viewer and set it back in my pocket. I look about the castle where the shimmering of the Lady of the Lake's protection glows.

I don't miss the cage in Guinevere's empty tower window, the canary's door now wide open.

My apron is on Merlin's desk. I tie it around my waist and pick up the goggles made especially for me. With one glance at the burnt skeletons of Caldor and Terra, I smile at the possibilities, foregoing any mourning of what was. My heart pounds at the wonderment of what other secrets might exist in Camelot.

There's only one way to find out.

I pull my goggles over my eyes and descend into the abyss.

The End.

Acknowledgements

To Justin. Thank you for being my toughest critic, despite what they say about spouses as beta-readers. Thank you for helping me make Excalibur awesome, for teaching me about Medieval weaponry, and for Chipotle runs so I could work on revisions. But most importantly, thank you for walking through life with me. I love you, sweets.

To Mom, who never seemed to mind that I wasn't to be a doctor or a lawyer. Thanks for everything, Ma. To Dad, my Padre, whom I greatly miss. The reference to good Irish tea was for you. To my sisters, Sarah and Monica. You inspire me. I've never met two women so strong and so present in life. Thank you for changing the world. To Papa Devlin, for teaching me everything there is to know about books. Thank you for Christmas carols in Stratford, for wheelbarrow rides, and for some easy wins at euchre. To my entire family, my in-laws, and my friends in Toronto, Kitchener-Waterloo, and Los Angeles. Thank you for your love when you found out I was actually a writer. I'm truly humbled by your support.

To my mind-twin and best friend, Carla. There is so much good in my life that I owe to our friendship. Here's to the amazing adventures still to come! Onward!

To Brittany Howard, for believing in Vivienne's story. To Marisa Corvisiero, my agent, for your wisdom, support, and the fantastic partnership we've begun. To Brian Farrey-Latz, my editor and partner-in-crime, for your patience, your collaboration, and your incredible ideas. To Ed Day, Mallory Hayes, and the entire team at Flux, for going above and beyond for me.

To Elizabeth Briggs, Rachel Searles, Jessica Love, Dana Elmendorf, Amaris Glass, PK Hrezo, and Sara Raasch. Thank you for amazing critiques, for always being there when I needed you, for retreats and brainstorming sessions, and for patiently obliging when I asked you to read my book JUST ONE MORE TIME I PROMISE I'LL NEVER ASK FOR ANYTHING ELSE AGAIN. I love you all forever.

To my online friends, and a special shout-out to my rad OneFours. YOU GUYS. Thank you for the friendship that is possible because of this strange new internet world.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.