“About tumbled off there,” Lancelot said quietly. “You’ve had a thousand-year day. Go on and lie forward on your horse’s neck.”
Vera’s eyes were barely open. She nodded mutely and lay forward while Lancelot kept a steadying hand on her back.
She thought she heard him say “I’ve got you,” but it may have been a dream, for she was already asleep.
“Ishau mar domibaru.”
For a second time, unknown words reverberated through Vera’s body, words that she would have no memory of when she woke.
Asoft glow brought Vera back to wakefulness, but it wasn’t the moon.
The side of her face lay on the horse’s neck, and the light came from Lancelot’s direction, not the sky.
Vera blinked, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. There was a lantern, a ball of light not unlike the ones she’d seen in Glastonbury, this one the size of a grapefruit and bobbing along between the two horses of its own accord. It didn’t create any harsh shadows nor hurt to look at directly, but lit the space around them in all directions, like a traveling bubble. She sat up and rubbed her face.
“Good morning, there,” Lancelot said. “Did you have a nice nap?”
She didn’t know how long she’d been sleeping. Long enough for her neck and back to be stiff from the awkward position and for the moonstone on her forehead to have indented her skin where it pressed against her. Her ears perked at the distinct clip-clop sound of hoof on stone. They’d left the marshland and arrived on a cobbled street. They passed a farmhouse with a thatched roof, and she saw a concentrated cluster of light not far ahead atop a great hill, guessing that it marked their destination. “Is that where we’re going?”
“Yes. Once we pass through the village gates, it’s only a few minutes to the castle.”
A few minutes to the castle. Vera’s stomach gave a jump. This was really happening.
They switch-backed along the path up the hill to a towering stone wall extending in either direction. If the wall stopped or curved, it was far enough away that Vera couldn’t see. She understood straight away why this spot might be chosen for a castle—the high ground for miles, defensible and fortifiable. The gates to town were shut and guarded, with men posted at alternating pillars atop the stone wall, only their dark silhouettes visible from the ground. The road was blocked by a massive wooden gate in the shape of an arch, split into two doors. With both swung open, it would be wide enough for most modern vehicles. Two soldiers were posted at each side of the gate. Lancelot called out to them, and they immediately recognized him.
The guard atop the wall shouted out, “Two on foot!”
The left side swung outward with an angry moan. The cobbled road snaked through the town. Homes were frequent in patches interspersed with shops and market stalls; a blacksmith here, maybe a pub there. The smell of smoky peatmoss fires rose from rudimentary chimneys, and the glow from hearths peered through cracks in window shutters where households stirred. Some lights through the town emanated a familiar sunset color, unmistakably the type of magic light that Lancelot carried.
They rounded the corner, and she saw it. She couldn’t imagine how she hadn’t noticed it sooner—perhaps clever placement of the structures on the hill. Even in the dark, though, the castle was unmistakable. It was not the cold medieval fort structure Vera expected. It was taller, the stone a light pearl color with an opalescent sheen in the moon’s glow. The same wall surrounding the town carved another path in front of the castle for an added layer of protection, each section divided by a turreted watch tower. Four much taller towers rose behind it, marking the castle’s corners. Three reached an equal and impressive height, topped by a round stone silo with a pointed cone roof. The fourth tower, farthest from Vera and Lancelot, was even taller and capped with a solid, flat-topped cylinder. Peaked roofs poked up from behind and between the wall and towers. There weren’t spires reaching twelve stories high, nor was there a moat with a draw bridge or cascading fountains, but it was beautiful in its simple and shining form.
“Camelot,” Lancelot said as Vera gaped in awe.
She raised her eyebrows. The stories had gotten the name right.
Lancelot led her through yet another gate into an expansive courtyard. There were stables to the left, and Vera smelled the horses before she heard them or turned to see their heads and hooves poking out above and below stall doors. One other structure in the vast field was jutting out on her right. It was the same pearl stone with a high peaked roof, but with one primary difference from any other structure. The door was flanked by a stained-glass window on either side and a triplet set of windows above.
Differently shaped glass panels in sea greens, evening blues, greytinged white, and a sharp, stark red were chunked out by thick ribbons of some sort of dark clay between them. It didn’t form a picture, but the effect was a pleasant mosaic of colorful, shining pebbles. A squat stone cross was at the topmost point where one side of the roof met the other.
Beyond the chapel opposite Vera and Lancelot was the castle proper’s main entry. Lancelot dismounted his horse, and Vera followed suit. She hadn’t noticed the sleepy stable boy behind them until he handed her the satchel from the back of her saddle and led both horses toward the stable.
“It’s nearly midnight.” Merlin’s voice cut through the silent courtyard, sounding cross. He stood expectantly in the doorway to the castle. “What took you so long? You’re two hours later than I expected.”
“Pardon my chivalry,” chided Lancelot, hands at his hips. “You brought a woman through a thousand years and didn’t bother to ask if she was hungry.” He conveniently avoided any mention of their run-in with the thieving boys on the road, and Vera didn’t chime in either. She couldn’t tell for sure from where she stood beside Lancelot, but she thought he might have given her the tiniest hint of a wink. He palmed his light ball, which faded to darkness before shrinking to the size of a plum. Lancelot pocketed it as naturally as one might tuck away a five-pound note.
Merlin sighed. “I’m sorry, Guinevere. It’s been quite a day.”
She followed the two men into an entry chamber with high vaulted ceilings that made the echo of their footsteps louder than the steps themselves. There was a door on each side—one to the left, one to the right, and a grander door straight ahead on the opposite wall. With a flick of Merlin’s wrist, the fixtures along the walls filled with light.
“Is he … ?” Lancelot asked.
“He’s coming,” Merlin said quickly, but uncertainty colored his voice. “Wait right here.” He hurried off toward the grand door opposite them.
A flutter rose in the lowest part of Vera’s belly. She was suddenly very conscious that she’d been on a horse for hours and had her face pressed against it. She straightened her circlet, making sure the moonstone rested in the center of her forehead, and she tried to flatten her dress around her legs.
“Do I look all right?” she asked without thinking, then felt immediately stupid and wished she could take it back.
Lancelot, however, answered without hesitation. “You look beautiful.”
