The next morning, when dawn had just anointed the horizon, I sprung out of bed and dressed rapidly in an old gown of Tressa’s. Hoisting up my mattress, I pulled out Excalibur and drew it from the scabbard before concealing the sword behind a false-backed cupboard in the alcove beside my bed. The scabbard I bundled up in old muslin, savouring its thrill of goodness as I slipped it under my hooded cloak and exited my chambers.
I left the castle by a quiet side gate, hurrying down to a large square that held a gathering of stables, armourers and smiths. Beyond, a twisting series of alleyways eventually led to an unmarked door under a faded sign.
The smell hit me the moment I entered—animals, dung and salt, the unmistakable odour of tanned hides—but the shuttered workroom I stood in was pristine: uncluttered workbenches; neatly hung tools; flagstones still damp from washing. In the glow of the hearth fire, a thin, dark-bearded man sat on a stool, strips of leather in his hand, and staring at me in disdain.
“Who in ten devils are you?” he demanded.
“I have a job for you,” I said.
“Don’t you know it’s a holy day?”
“I can pay.” I held out my palm, revealing a chunk of sapphire within a nest of gold chain—a necklace, awarded by Arthur for my last birthday. I was loath to part with it, but there was no other way. “With this, you’ll be able to live like a baron for a year, for a task that will cost you only a morning.”
The leatherworker rose, eyeing the stone. “What’s the job?”
I drew out the scabbard from my cloak and unwrapped it.
“What in God’s name?” he whispered.
“I need a counterfeit,” I said. “Completely identical. The leather must be exactly the same quality and colour, the jewels positioned with perfect accuracy. You may use the jewels from one to adorn the other, but the original scabbard must remain unharmed. And I need it this morning. A challenge, but I’ve heard you’re the best. What say you?”
He squinted at me, pushing spotless sleeves up wiry forearms. “I’m apt to it.”
Turning with surprising grace, he stalked back to his bench and hooked open a pair of shutters, letting down a column of morning sun. He poured a bowl of clean water and scrubbed his hands and nails, then gestured for the scabbard. Its life force tugged at me as I lay it on his palms.
“Come back at third bell,” he said.
“I’ll wait.” I perched upon a wooden storage case, and he shrugged.
For several hours I watched: his search for the perfect white leather; the measuring of Excalibur’s scabbard; his flowing hands, removing and reattaching the jewels with the delicacy of a mother tending her newborn child. Finally, he took two strips of blue leather and crisscrossed them around the true scabbard, covering the pinholes where the jewels had been and creating a striking object in its own right, fit for any sword.
Once finished, he brought both scabbards across to me on the muslin. “Here,” he said haughtily. “No man within five hundred miles could have managed such a fine job.”
I picked up the real scabbard first, confirming it still thrummed with healing, then studied the counterfeit. There was nothing to indicate that it was not the original. Excalibur’s death-defying counterpart would be safer than Arthur could have hoped for; no one predisposed to theft would put the true scabbard’s value above the jewelled one.
“Perfect,” I said. “Take your payment with my gratitude.”
The leatherworker snatched up the sapphire, and I took hold of the scabbards, only to be met with a tugging resistance.
“I did consider,” he mused, “that with all these other jewels, I could live like a baron for the rest of my years.” With his free hand, he drew a slim silver dagger from inside his jerkin and tilted the blade at my throat. “Go quietly now.”
A laugh rose up inside me. “You fool,” I said. “I don’t have time for this.”
Flint against steel. Lifting my arm, I struck my fingers against my palm. I hadn’t held fire since burning my husband, but the flame roared up instantly, blazing with purpose.
“Christ in Heaven.” The leatherworker stumbled backwards, falling onto the stone floor. He pushed the scabbards and the necklace towards me. “Here, take them and go.”
“It’s too late for that.” I stooped over him, holding my crackling hand alongside his cheek. “Leave this place. Forget you saw me, or that you ever set foot in this city. If I hear the slightest hint of this on the wind, I will burn you senseless and throw your body into the sea. Do you understand?”
He nodded, and I extinguished the flame. With a sweep of my cloak, I kicked the sapphire over to him, retrieved the scabbards, and flung open the door.
“Who are you?” he croaked.
I paused to answer, my name poised on my tongue. But I could not risk it, so I pulled my hood up and left without another word.
Later, I was pleased to receive an invitation from my brother, requesting that I meet him at dusk in the large ornamental garden outside the Great Hall.
A heavy quiet hung over the castle as I passed through its twilit galleries; there was no banquet that night, in solidarity with the knights sitting vigil in preparation for the tournament. Most were kneeling in St. Stephen’s Cathedral or their chamber oratories, some unfolding small travelling altars before retiring early to bed, or partaking of other, private rituals.
I found Arthur on the terrace’s balconied edge, overlooking a grove of apple trees. The balmy dusk hung with the scent of sweet cider, paving stones returning the day’s heat into the air. My brother acknowledged my arrival with a nod, keeping his gaze on the star-specked horizon.
“I heard you left the Queen’s presence rather abruptly yesterday,” he said. “Without asking her leave, and missing some duty you were meant to attend.”
“Yes,” I confessed. “Yvain had just left, and I wasn’t at my best. I’m sorry.”
He released a brief sigh. “I understand. However, your place in Guinevere’s service is what sanctioned your absence from Gore when King Urien formally demanded his Queen’s return. Upon her grace do you officially depend.”
“Of course,” I said reasonably. “Until I sit on your council, that is.”
A faint amusement crossed his face. “Maybe so. Nevertheless, the position you hope to hold in the future depends on my ability to justify my decisions. My wife is High Queen, mistress of this house and kingdom, and dearer to my heart than any on this earth. She and her wishes are to be respected at all times. Remember that.” He glanced at me, half smiling. “For my sake, at least.”
The message was clear: to ensure my seat amongst his councilmen, I must prove myself in more ways than loyalty and intelligence, but his appeal had landed upon my soft sister’s heart. I couldn’t argue with his show of faith.
“You have my word,” I said. “I will change my ways.”
Arthur shook his head. “I would not have you change, sister. Your great honesty and dedication to your true self is what bonds us. So long as we have love, trust and regard, we will always be in harmony.”
We shared a smile and fell into a companionable silence, watching the swifts wheeling and swooping against the violet-gold twilight.
“Is our secret safe?” he said suddenly.
“Yes,” I replied. “And well-hidden, by your command.”
It was a relief that I did not have to lie. Excalibur sat snug in the counterfeit scabbard behind my alcove cupboard, itself concealed under a tapestry of Pandora unleashing chaos upon the world. The true scabbard I had taken even more caution with, stitching a hidden panel into my favourite hooded cloak. The thick, dark-blue fabric held the miraculous object snug and undetectable between the shoulder blades, its voluminous hood an extra layer of protection. I could carry it anywhere and no one would suspect a thing.
Arthur exhaled. “I knew I could rely on you, Morgan. After all, who can I trust more than my own blood? Though there are some who would prefer I never trusted at all.”
I felt the shift in his thoughts as keenly as if it were pain in his skull.
“Merlin, I suppose,” I said. “A man who lives in seclusion and talks mostly to the skies has little use for trust. What can he know of family, love or loyalty?”
“The concerns of the heart are not his strength, it’s true. Though Merlin is loyal to me—that I do believe.” His fingers twitched atop the balcony, tapping out a fraught, irregular rhythm. “He suggested he attend the tournament, when we last met. I told him not to come.”
A bloom of victory flowered in my chest. “He would have only sought to detract from the celebrations. You are to be congratulated for taking such a stance.”
Arthur eyed me cautiously, as he always did when I dared criticize his great mentor.
“I’m sure such ‘frivolities’ hold no interest for Merlin,” I added. “Almost two years you did not hear from him, and this is when he times his return? Whatever he wants can wait. It was the right thing to do.”
“Perhaps, though he says the situation is urgent.” Arthur gazed up, contemplating the sky above Camelot’s spires and turrets, now embedded with night. “He says there’s trouble brewing among the stars.”
Isn’t there always? I thought.
“What trouble?”
“He said it will take a long time for him to know what will befall me,” he replied. “As his predictions become more serious, the cloudier they seem to be. I am used to it, but the waiting does weigh on me.”
“Of course it does, but it oughtn’t distract you. Let him seek the answers first.” I looked up at the stars that spoke so loudly of Arthur but somehow not the rest of us. “One sorcerer’s concept of destiny isn’t everything. If you want my view, Fate contains many facets, with possibilities far beyond what Merlin’s cloudy prophecies can deduce.”
My brother frowned. “Can that be true? It is against what I have been told my entire life.”
I took his arm, drawing his eyes down from the unyielding skies. “You are more than the stars, Arthur. Look at everything you’ve done with your own fortitude. So Merlin rode with you in a few battles, but you were the one who fought and survived, when you were barely of age. You faced rebellion and came out stronger, found your true love and married her despite the doubts of others. You built this castle, this court, and rule this realm according to your own ideals. Your vision.”
“What about what comes hereafter?”
“Do not think of hereafter,” I said. “Think of your successes now. Of your tournament—nine days where so much tangible good will be done for the kingdom. You must move beyond what occupies Merlin and be proud of what you are doing—what we can do—without him.”
Arthur’s shoulders drew back, his entire figure seeming to expand and glow with the effect of my words. “You’re right, Morgan—as ever. How I rule here, what I have built, how I approach my life as a king and man under God—that’s what matters.”
“It’s all that matters,” I said. “Regardless of what this new tangle of stars claims, you will weather it with the strength that resides within you, as you always have. Nor will you do it alone, for I will be at your side. Whatever comes, we will face it together.”