Vera inhaled sharply. Arthur started, too.
“I—none.” He looked at Vera like he was being freshly crushed. “Not that you ever told me, at least. If … if I hurt you, you never told me.”
“Whatever it is, the body’s memory is deeper than the mind,” Gawain said, repeating the phrase he’d uttered only minutes ago. “There is something vitally important in your mind. And your intimacy may well trigger your memory to come back, but … I may be wrong, but I believe you’ve been wise to refrain from intercourse.” Dear God. There was the Gawain Vera expected, clueless that this made her want to melt into a puddle. “At least until we understand the magic playing into it. And you also should not engage in any more memory procedures.”
“Then what are we supposed to do?” Vera asked.
“If Merlin’s right—if it is a curse laid by Viviane, there is more than one way to break it. Magic work loses strength over time. Viviane’s curse would naturally weaken, especially after her death. We can hasten its end by fortifying the powers already in existence all around Camelot. One gift is good. Multiple gifts used together are better. People don’t tend to try combining gifts often. I can help the gifted of Camelot with that aspect.
“And you can build up the kingdom diplomatically. We must do everything we can to bolster the country—the people’s connection with you, with one another. Empower them; build the kingdom up to its fullest. That can break the curse if a curse is truly what’s at play.”
The “if” stayed with Vera. Because if it wasn’t a curse, then what in God’s name was it?
The story of Vera’s attack would not be publicly shared. They’d made some progress with the people of Camelot; they didn’t need news getting out of another attack on the queen. It would be a small circle who knew even a version of the truth: the king’s guard and the priest who’d already seen the carnage. The whole next day was spent crafting and sharing the narrative that Vera and Arthur together were attacked by a Saxon spy. That Arthur had been the one to kill him. No one would be informed of Vera’s injuries. It was the falsehood Arthur had told Merlin before he departed, too.
The lie felt wrong, especially when it came to Percival, who’d supported Arthur—and Vera, for that matter—with all his energy. But Gawain had been insistent. They couldn’t take a chance that word would get out and begin to unspool the story. One lie had born another. How had the queen healed so quickly from stab wounds that the mage shouldn’t have been able to heal?
Because she’d taken a preemptive healing potion.
Why had she taken it?
Because Merlin was doing dangerous magic on her mind.
Why?
Because she had no memory. Because of what Viviane had done.
One truth led to all the truths. They were too deeply entangled in lies.
Arthur hated it. “We should have trusted the people with the truth the day Viviane attacked,” he said, his face taut with regret as Percival headed back to the training field, having been told the latest fabrication.
“No,” Gawain said. “The high council of mages is suspicious of the queen’s entire story—as I was. Naiam is our leader, and she is well-known for being just, but the lower council listens to Ratamun more readily. I fear his lust for power would blind him. This magic is too tempting a force. For the council alone, you never could have been truthful.”
“Because they could learn to use that magic?” Vera turned to him.
He pursed his lips. “In a manner of speaking.”
“What does that mean?”
“There are some things about mages and magic that I could not tell you even if I wanted to.” He eyed her keenly. “You needn’t worry. Focus on your work with the king.”
Gawain was right. She and Arthur would continue what they’d started before Yule: being seen together through Camelot as a loving couple. This time, Vera was determined to do it right, determined to play the part of the proper queen. She would be serious at meals and reserve demure smiles only for when the men laughed. She wouldn’t make the mistake of avoiding conversation and appearing standoffish like before but would speak sparingly like a well-bred lady might. What she didn’t know about courtly customs, she’d learn. And she and Arthur would convince the people that they were soulmates. That the kingdom was everything the subjects dreamed of during the years of war, and the people could rest safe in their benevolent leader and his dutiful, loving queen.
It was the seventh century, and Vera had already allowed for too much selfish distraction. Her moment of clarity during Thomas’s attack rang true: she wasn’t just a vessel for Guinevere’s memories. Of course. She was a vessel for everyone else’s memory of Queen Guinevere as well.
She had to do better.
And she’d have her first opportunity later in the morning when she and Arthur were to meet in the town square and visit the market together. First, Lancelot was taking her to the armory to try out various swords and chain mail to ready her for training. He was rather giddy, but she couldn’t enjoy it for her laser focus on what was to come next.
It was at the forefront of her mind as he accompanied her back through Camelot, and a raucous cheer sliced through her anxious reverie. She and Lancelot simultaneously snapped their heads toward the sound: the keep-away pit, which was surrounded by the largest crowd Vera had seen there and was the source of the uproar.
“What in the Gods’ names … ?” Lancelot murmured. His feet seemed to drift of their own accord, the pit’s crowd drawing him in like a moth to the flame.
The crowd parted easily as he touched a shoulder here or gave his charming and crooked smile there, Vera merely riding his draft up to the front.
He laughed loudly as he reached the crowded wall. “I’ll be damned.”
Vera squeezed through a gap, edging around Lancelot’s shoulder so she could see what was happening. At first glance, nothing was strange aside from the considerable crowd. Then her eyes found him. How she could have missed his form, commanding and graceful, for even a second amongst the half-dozen players was beyond her. There were four men left in the game on one side of the pit, and on the other, there was a tiny girl who looked like she belonged in nursery school and who was hiding behind the last player.
