“You haven’t traveled since Yule.” Merlin countered Arthur’s volume with an agitated whisper. “You haven’t seen the ways infrastructure is failing. We have over one hundred mages, and magic is breaking down at a rate we cannot keep up with. Your kingdom is suffering. If you think word of our weakness has not reached the Saxon—”
“Can you guarantee that she will not be harmed?”
Oh shit. They were talking about Vera. She leaned close enough to look into the room and found the two men separated by a table. Arthur leaned over it, braced with his hands wide on its surface. If he sounded angry, it was nothing to how enraged he looked.
There was silence before Merlin answered. “I can guarantee that I’ll be able to retrieve her memories—”
“I won’t hear it.” Arthur’s tone was measured and even again. It was as much of a peace offering as Merlin could hope for.
“You must!” The mage rounded the table to Arthur’s side. “When the Saxons attack and you have no plan, no one’s survival will be guaranteed. This is your duty!”
That was the wrong thing to say. Arthur leveled Merlin with a cold stare. “And what of your duty? So far, the mages have made promises about magic that they cannot keep.” His voice was rising again. “What of your responsibility? That you would ask me for a human sacrifice for the magic you don’t understand is appalling. But that it’s Guinevere? You said she was like a daughter to you.”
“She was. She is!” Merlin cried. “Which should convey nothing but the importance of—”
Arthur slammed his fist on the table again. “I told you not to return without a safe solution. You do not rule this kingdom. You do not rule me. And you will not touch her.”
Vera was careful not to move in the silence that followed, aware that even the softest noise would be audible.
“If you do not wish to serve under me,” Arthur said quietly. Merlin huffed. “I will release you back to the council of mages. Is that what you want?”
“Of course it isn’t,” Merlin said. “Your Majesty, is that what you want?”
Arthur cast a glance toward the door, and Vera jolted backward and out of view before she heard him say, “Prove to me that you can unlock her memories and keep her safe.”
She couldn’t stay here. In a daze, with her head buzzing, Vera left. She knew where she needed to go.
The door to the mages’ study was closed. Merlin could be coming back any moment, but she’d decided the chance of a word in private with Gawain was worth taking. He might not even be there, but … she knocked.
“Not now,” Gawain’s voice scolded from beyond the shut door. “I already told you that I will meet you at the festival set up—” he’d flung the door open midsentence and stopped as he saw Vera there. “Oh. Sorry.”
“Is this a bad time?” she asked, curious who he’d been expecting to find.
He opened the door further in invitation, and Vera obligingly stepped in. “I’m just finishing …” he gestured vaguely toward his desk as he closed the door.
There was a glass instrument on the desk—a round globe with a tube as wide as the tip of Vera’s pinky stemming from its bottom and running beside the bulbous main container up to the top.
“What is that?” she asked. She was stalling.
But Gawain’s expression brightened. “It’s … well, magic creates a sort of pressure. Its presence impacts the atmosphere of a space, particularly an enclosed space.” He picked it up. It fit comfortably in his palm as he held it between them. “This device is able to measure that pressure. I’ve just done my first successful test.” He beamed at her.
“Brilliant,” Vera said, bewildered by what it meant. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you. It is rather brilliant.” He laughed like he held the key to the world in his palm. “It’s actually revolutionary.” When he met her gaze again, his excitement faltered, and his head tilted. “But that’s not why you’re here. Is there something wrong?”
“How is the kingdom outside Camelot?” she asked, endeavoring to sound casual. “Is magic doing better out there, too?”
Gawain set the device down. “Why do you ask?”
She’d come to believe that any time Gawain shirked from answering a question, there was a reason. Vera’s heart fell, afraid she’d already gotten her answer. “I overheard Merlin and Arthur arguing about it.”
He sighed and moved the chair that sat beside Merlin’s desk closer. Then he sat on the edge of his desk across from Vera. “Conditions have worsened. Especially in the eastern part of the kingdom.”
“They don’t have a Gawain,” she said, trying to make light of it while a pit gnawed at her insides. She was shaking a little and sank into the seat.
He smiled briefly. “They don’t have yourself and His Majesty.”
“You’re getting better at jokes.”
