Margaret had the cakes sliced and ready on a tray.
“You are too good to us,” Lancelot gushed.
“Of course I am.” She squeezed his cheek and gave him a crinkly- eyed smile, reserving a pat on the arm for Vera. “Now, off with you so I can catch a wink of sleep before we cook for half the kingdom tomorrow!”
They grinned like schoolchildren, ready to make off with their prize.
“Oh! One moment,” Margaret said as she held up a finger. She bustled over to the cabinets and rifled through until she procured what looked like a large milk carton—except that it was made of leather. “You’ll see Merlin before me, I’m sure. I used the last of your tonic tonight, Your Majesty. Good timing that he’s back to make more!”
The smile hadn’t yet fallen from Vera’s face, but her insides lurched. “My tonic?”
“Well, yours and the king’s,” she amended as she pressed the jug into Vera’s hands. “I hadn’t thought to use the mage gifts to keep your health up through the winter months, but it seems to have fortified the both of you well.”
“How, er, how long have you been using the tonic?” Lancelot asked with a glance at Vera.
“Merlin gave me the first batch after Yule. Be a dear and have him refill it?”
Vera wasn’t sure if she’d answered or acknowledged Margaret’s words at all. She distantly heard Lancelot and Margaret’s voices saying some sort of pleasantries to one another—which were mercifully short. She had to get out of this room.
She left the kitchen as fast as she could without running and made it halfway through the courtyard before she stopped to let Lancelot catch up.
“I’d thought at least Arthur was safe from magic’s influence by now.” She wanted to fling the damn jug over the castle wall. “I never thought to worry about what comes from the fucking kitchens. Why would Merlin—”
“Stop it,” Lancelot said gently. “Maybe it is a health tonic.”
Vera leveled him with a scathing glare.
“All right,” he relented. “It doesn’t look good, but were you having fun tonight?”
“What?” He had lost his mind. “No! This isn’t my idea of—”
“Before,” he said. “Were you having fun before you knew?”
“Yes, of course—”
“Nothing has changed.” He nodded at the jug in Vera’s hands. “That’s empty. There’s nothing we can do about what’s already been done. Don’t let this ruin a perfectly fine evening.”
Vera scoffed. “That is idiotic.”
“Is it?” He chuckled. “You’re right. How foolish to let yourself enjoy a party with the greatest knights you’ll ever meet when you could spend the whole time miserable about something you can’t do a damn thing about.”
He had a point.
“And if you can set the weight of the world down for a few hours of dreaded fun,” Lancelot added, “I promise that we’ll talk with Gawain about it before the night’s over and see if he can give us some answers.”
She had to admit that sticking her head in the sand for a bit had its appeal. “Fine.” She sighed. “Lead the way.”
The group, with all their contraband in tow, had made it to the big room by the time Vera and Lancelot got there. She tucked the jug from the kitchen under a table near the door. Tristan lumbered in a few minutes later, weighed down with a bulging drawstring bag slung over one shoulder and a sheathed sword in his opposite hand.
“What’d you steal?” Lionel called as he arranged his bounty of lifted platters on the table with pride.
“Nothing!” Tristan said indignantly. There were two open tables, one on each side of the enormous fireplace. He slung the bag onto the smaller of the two as the other was already occupied by some of the knights. “These are for the king and Guinevere from my travels.”
“You brought gifts?” Lionel huffed. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”
Tristan grinned. “They’re gifts from Tang Gaozu.”
“I’m fairly certain you made those words up,” Wyatt said, though he and Marian crossed the room to get a good look at the sword. Its sheath was a dark and shining wood and was ramrod straight. Wyatt pulled the blade free by its jade-encrusted handle. It was sharpened to a fine point along its edge with a slanted tip. He frowned appreciatively as he balanced the weapon in his hands.
