It reminded Vera of something she thought came from Hebrew scripture. “God?” she asked. Was that right? That the name of God was the breath of life?
Gawain shrugged. “That’s what some will say. Creator. God. It’s all the same, but the mages simply say ‘Source.’”
“The mages are religious?”
“Oh yes. The Magesary is its own religious order. We believe our power, our gifts, come from our Source. Whether that is a sentient being is up for personal interpretation. In any case, we all agree that magic is a gift to humanity, and it is our highest duty to continue the ongoing work of creation.”
“I can tell you take that seriously,” Vera said. If there was anyone who embodied that, it was Gawain. He alone had trained the gifted folks of town and had used magic to help revitalize Camelot in countless ways.
She peered over his shoulder and found Lancelot looking up at her at the exact same moment. He averted his eyes quickly. Vera scoffed.
“I’m fine,” she yelled at him. She expected him to relax and laugh, to come jogging over with some smart remark. Instead, he turned on his heel and joined Arthur and Percival.
“What is wrong with him?” Vera mused in exasperation.
“He couldn’t protect you. And it’s driving him mad.”
“What? That’s not it. We’ve done loads of dangerous things together. In fact, he’s usually the one encouraging it.”
Gawain raised his eyebrows. “Yes, but I’d guess he was also directly involved in those things. If something went wrong, he could intervene. That’s not the case in a joust. You were on your own.”
“I—” Shit. He was right. She glanced at Arthur, who carried on in his conversation. He seemed fine. Pleased even. She felt a pang. “You would think that’s how the king would react.”
“Of course not,” Gawain said, as if it were obvious.
“Why would you say that?”
Of the hundreds of ways Vera might have guessed the mage would respond, she’d have never gotten it right.
“Because he knew you didn’t need protecting.”
Vera had never believed that falling in love happened in an instant. It came about over time, as bonds were formed like a thread between two souls, a simple tether with affection that slowly thickened into a golden cable with love.
But it was in this exact moment when Gawain’s simple proclamation lodged in Vera as truth, and as Arthur smiled over at her (pride and ease and care—how was it she could see all that in one expression?) that Vera knew.
She loved him.
She’d done it.
She’d forgotten to shove her feelings out of reach. Instead, Vera had crowded in on them and ended up cradling her love until she couldn’t deny it. And now? Now, it was inescapable. In the days leading up to the festival, the words were right there, tempting her tongue every time she looked at Arthur.
But she kept swallowing them.
There was the rancid uncertainty of the love’s origin. Was it what she’d had for Vincent, mapped via magic onto a new source?
And if the whole kingdom was thriving like Camelot, they had to be close to breaking the curse. They had to. Which brought her to the simpler matter of reality: there and back again. Vera’s tale. She’d be leaving in late spring. That left … what? Two months? Maybe less?
So she wouldn’t breathe the words, but she would spend every possible moment with him. On the day of the festival’s welcome feast, Vera’s morning was chock-filled with helping ready the castle while Arthur took audiences with travelers and knights who had been pouring into town all week.
But they were both to have a midday break, and when the clock’s chime tolled, Vera made a beeline across the castle grounds, nearly charging in when she reached the throne room—the door was left ajar, after all, but she stopped short at the sound of voices. Arthur must not have been finished yet.
She inclined her ear toward the opening, trying to make out whether the conversation had the polite sounds of ending, but nearly jumped out of her skin when the next sound wasn’t that of a voice but of something (a fist?) slamming down on the table.
“It will work, Your Majesty.” She recognized that voice with a jolt. It was Merlin. Vera hadn’t realized he’d returned from his travels.
“I won’t allow it!”
She recoiled from the door. Arthur had … shouted. He was furious.
