It effectively pierced the bubble of tension as he averted his expectant gaze from her. When the first petal of sunlight appeared, Arthur gasped.
“I’ve never watched the sun rise before,” he said. They sat in silence until the sun broke the horizon’s plane entirely, a coin of gold hovering low in the sky, bathing the land in its glow.
“It wouldn’t have been wrong if you had spoken up in your own defense,” he said, his eyes on the horizon. “I wish you would.”
“I’d just as soon you not give me any more reasons to.” She’d meant it as a joke, but his response didn’t match her smile. It was like a weight was dropped on top of him.
The weight of his loss, perhaps? She wasn’t the only one grieving. Vera wrapped her arms tightly around her knees. “Is that what Guinevere would have done? Shouted at you?”
His breath came out a hard laugh. “I’m not sure. There were certainly many things she needed to say that died with her.” He clenched his jaw. The tension was gone before Vera had time to decide what it meant. “You’re like her in many ways. I like those things about you,” he added when she bristled. “And you’re different in as many ways.”
“Did you love her?” she asked it quickly.
His response was nearly a grimace. Guilt? She thought of Matilda. If Vera and Arthur were being honest, she may as well lay it out. “Are you in love with Matilda?”
His grimace fell. Arthur looked as though ice-cold water had been dumped over his head. He actually laughed. “Is that what you think?”
Vera shrugged sheepishly and nodded.
“I do love Matilda,” he said carefully. “But it’s never been romantic. She’s family. Our mothers were sisters. Matilda is the closest to a sibling I’ve ever had, except maybe Lancelot.”
Now it was Vera who laughed. “You could have mentioned that before.”
“I didn’t think to because—”
“Because I used to know.” She finished the thought for him and then corrected herself. “Guinevere knew.”
Arthur sighed. He stood and took a few steps forward. He shook his head and started pacing, deep in thought. “I hate that your life has been stolen from you. This is such a mess.”
“It is. I love my home. My parents. It’s a simple life, but it’s good.” She wasn’t sure how to reckon with her feelings but tried anyway. “But there are parts of being here that are rather lovely. I’ve never really had friends before. And … being in Glastonbury for the Solstice, getting to see it in a way no one from my time could even dream of?” She looked around and was re-stunned by the sunrise and the circle atop the Tor. Then her eyes fell on Arthur. Being here with him was the part that made her heart stutter. “This is spectacular. I’ll cherish this morning forever.”
Arthur smiled, though some of the mask returned, covering a flash of shame. He strode a few paces, turned, and did the same in the opposite direction. If she let the silence hang long enough, she knew he’d find the words he was struggling to churn up. But when he turned to pace in the other direction again, Vera realized she’d seen this before.
She gasped, and Arthur looked up at her, completing the vision, matching it perfectly.
“It was you,” she whispered.
“What?” Arthur was bewildered.
“Last Solstice, I was here. I was right here, sitting in this spot, and I thought I saw a ghost.” She swallowed. Her hands shook. “It was this. I saw this exact moment. I saw you.”
Vera regaled Arthur with the whole story on their way down the Tor—what she saw, how it matched up—all in great detail. “I know it was you,” she said. “I’m sure of it. Is that completely mad?”
But he didn’t think it was mad at all. Maybe the veil of magic and time was thin: same day, same place. Maybe it was luck. Either way, whatever it was felt like it meant something, that at least something that was happening was right with the universe.
They made a quick stop for Vera to change her shoes and throw on a dress before meandering on down the High Street. The street already bustled with the daytime revelers getting a jump on shopping the market’s celebration wares. Arthur stopped at a food cart for sweet apple pastries, piping hot but so delicious that even when the steam singed Vera’s tongue, she closed her eyes in bliss.
Wisdom would have been waiting to take another bite as the next one was more toward the middle and rich with even more gooey filling approximately the temperature of molten lava. The special drive of post-run hunger made a different decision. At that point, Vera had two choices, neither particularly graceful: let the bite fall from her mouth to the ground or do her best to suffer through it. Vera chose the latter and was inelegantly sucking fresh air into her scorched mouth to cool the traitorous apples as Maria approached. Arthur tore his concerned stare from Vera’s antics (which, of course, she couldn’t explain because she had a mouthful of food) to greet Maria.
For Vera’s part, she did her best to smile without fully closing her mouth (the steam had to have somewhere to vent), nor appear she was in absurd, self-inflicted pain, which she obviously was.
Maria took no notice. “Good morning, Your Majesties!” she gushed, her voice arching melodically over the words. “Look at you two. To see you together again … and my goodness! Inseparable, it seems. Well, I suppose it only makes sense after being apart so long.”
Vera squinted as she swallowed, another misstep as she now felt like her throat was hot enough to breathe fire. Maria, however, carried on. “We weren’t going to ask because we know the queen has been recovering. But now that we’ve seen the two of you together—that’s to say, we’ve seen how well the queen looks …” Maria beamed at her. Vera heard the hidden meaning. The rumors of trouble between her and Arthur had made it this far.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“Do you remember the year that the two of you opened the festivities? With the Yule Carola?” she asked.
