Before I even had the chance to fathom Accolon’s absence or the year ahead, Camelot’s official bells started ringing like a May Day Mass, calling the household insistently to the Throne Room.
Alys wasn’t speaking to me, so I went alone, arriving among the bustling court with the deep bell strikes clanging dents into my nerves. At the final echoing stroke, Arthur strode in through a door behind the thrones. He was sharply crowned and dazzling in red and white, a gold ermine mantle trailing from his shoulders, Guinevere on his arm in matching colours. He handed her into her royal seat, kissed her fingers, then turned to the front of the dais and took a long look at the room.
“Since so many of you have seen fit to arrive at a leisurely pace, perhaps I should be brief.” His voice rang out, cold as a winterburn. “I, Arthur, High King of All Britain, call this court in the royal city of Camelot to order.”
The last murmurs and shuffling feet fell to immediate silence. Arthur gave a terse, regal nod.
“Then we may begin. Change is coming—to Camelot, to this court and this entire kingdom. Our nation has advanced in its glorious purpose, but the work is far from done. Now is the time to build this noble and ancient realm into everything it can be—a sacred bastion of honour, prosperity and peace.”
He held the court rapt now, not a breath or movement under the Throne Room’s golden arches.
“There will be oaths to take, quests to answer, ideals to be sworn to and upheld. You will come when I ask it of you. Tell your liegemen to expect to be called. What we do hereafter will shape the country for centuries to come and advance the greater good in the name of God and the Crown of All Britain.”
With a sweep of his trailing gold mantle, he turned away, dismissing the room’s undivided attention.
It took several heartbeats for the congregation to recover, mood dissolving into a muted excitement. Above them, Arthur roved before the throne, speaking confidentially to the Queen, Sir Kay, a few others in his closest council. I hovered at the edge of the dais, trying to judge my brother’s true mood, but I could never read him fully from a distance. To know where I stood, I had to look into his eyes.
Arthur took me in as I ascended the steps, Guinevere viewing me from just beyond.
“My lord,” I said cautiously. “It’s good to see you back in Camelot.”
He accepted my bow with a brisk nod. “I’m happy to have returned. I hope your time here in my absence has been restorative.”
“It has, my lord, and productive as I’d hoped. The library is much improved.”
“Good,” he said. “I must make time to see what you’ve done.”
“I’d like that.” I paused, drawing a breath of courage. “Arthur, I––”
“Queen Morgan, how pleasant it is to see you,” Guinevere said, her smile devoid of all pleasure. She turned to Arthur. “Not to interrupt, but my father awaits your attention.”
My brother glanced at me, the words of my appeal still hanging unsaid. “Will you leave us?” he said to his wife.
The Queen bridled, her recovery immediate. “Of course, my lord. Though please, do not keep us waiting.”
I watched her sweep away. When I looked back at Arthur, his focus was on me, and I felt a strange, unfurling relief.
“How have you been, sister?” he said. “When we last saw one another you did not seem contented.”
“I know,” I said. “I hadn’t been thinking clearly, but for my troubles to come between us was the last thing I wanted. If I’ve disappointed you, then I deeply regret it.”
Arthur sighed. “I never wish for us to disappoint one another, Morgan, though it’s inevitable that we sometimes will. What matters is that our bond is restored in good faith.”
“That’s all I want, brother.”
We shared a tentative smile, and I saw a flicker behind his reservation: relief, perhaps, or something greater—the light of returning trust. “Then we must talk, soon and at length. Like we always did.”
“Any time you wish, I am here,” I said. “How was the hunting trip?”
“It went well,” he replied. “Time away from Camelot has been enlightening, clarifying. As soon as I was outside these walls, I saw the great amount of work that needs to be done. I must begin at once.”
“Is that why you returned early?”
His eyes drifted, clouding slightly, and I felt his answer in the instant before he opened his mouth.
“Merlin came,” he said under his breath. “Appeared to me in the Kingswood one night. He told me to return to Camelot in all haste.”
It was always in all haste with the sorcerer, a test to see how quickly Arthur came to heel. I bit back on my natural dissent. “It sounds important. What was the purpose?”
Arthur’s expression relaxed, hand reaching up to rest on my shoulder. “Can we speak now, in private?”
My heart leapt with hope. “Of course.”
With a ghost of a nod, he hurried us out of the Throne Room by a rear door, unheeding of Guinevere’s stare of pique as we passed.
To my great surprise, we went to his Council Room. The large chamber was dustless but gloomy, clouded skies letting in a grey-white light. A thick scent of cold lingered in the air, incongruous given the day’s humidity.
Arthur put a hand on the back of his gilded council chair, casting a crowned shadow across the map of Britain, then turned away, indicating two armchairs before the hearth. I sat down opposite him, glancing at the council seats; it would not be long before I was at the table proper.
I looked back at my brother. “What did Merlin tell you?”
“Much the same as before,” he said. “There continues to be unrest among my stars and I must prepare to face what comes. He told me to return here and await him.”
“Merlin’s coming to Camelot?”
Arthur nodded. It was unusual for the sorcerer to come to court. To my knowledge he had not done so since King Lot’s funeral and the reveal of his life candles two years ago. That day, he had also taught me how to hold fire and I had spurned his offer to further teach me his ways.
“He’s not usually so reliable,” I said.
My brother shot me a disapproving look. “I know you don’t agree with Merlin’s methods, but you must concede he is wise, and learned, and has given many years of service to Kings. Myself and my father, Uther Pendragon, before me.”
The name of his warmongering, brutal sire, so rarely invoked, hung between us like a demon’s curse. Arthur looked away; without Uther’s monstrous appetites and Merlin’s machinations he would not exist, yet recalling it conjured the fate of his mother. Our mother.
“What I don’t agree with is his influence,” I said. “Merlin beckons and you run to him. He tells you to cut short the hunting trip and you drive the entire court back to Camelot on Boreas’s coattails. His hold over the Crown has been too great. I fear his wants will counteract your own plans.”
Arthur regarded me in imperious fashion, a look that silenced the boldest lords. “The plans I have are because of Merlin. This country wouldn’t be half of what I have made it without his wisdom and foresight.”
Annoyance uncurled within me like a dragon’s tail. “It isn’t true, Arthur. I’ll say it as many times as is necessary. This is your kingdom, and you know well enough how to run it. Merlin’s prophecies, his rules and demands, only interfere with your vision. You and I, alone in this council room together, could rule the realm with clearer purpose than waiting on the stars. Don’t you see? You don’t need Merlin.”
The moment I stopped speaking, silence fell between us like a stone. Suddenly, Arthur rose, hooking his hands behind his back and taking long, concentrated strides alongside the council table, and for the first time, I had no concept of whether he was in agreement, furiously opposed, or something completely other.
“I don’t think you understand, Morgan,” he said eventually. “So let me explain in no uncertain terms. Merlin has been with me for most of my life. In my childhood he taught me, watched over my progress and ensured I was cared for by a loving family. It was he who made the sword in the stone appear, knowing only I could pull it free. When I rode off, crowned but still a boy, it was Merlin who stayed beside me, who oversaw every battle, every peace treaty, every victory I secured on my way to becoming a man and a true King.”
His voice betrayed no emotion, severe crown glinting as he paced. “What reason do I have not to go where he leads me? In many ways, I am his creation. Without Merlin, I would have nothing—I would be nothing.”
I stood, swallowing the rising mutiny in my throat. “You owe a debt of gratitude to Merlin, I’ll not deny, but the man you strive to become, the King people follow, love and respect, is your creation. Your courage and honour come from within. No one gets to claim they made—or could unmake—you.”
“I appreciate your faith, sister,” Arthur said, “but we did not know each other in my earliest years. As the realm grows and my life becomes more complicated, I need you to understand me in full.”
“I want to,” I said. “I’d do anything to help you and the realm, you know that.”
He nodded with serious purpose. “Then you and Merlin must finally meet.”
To my shame, I had not seen it coming. “No, brother. I’ve said it before. He and I operate in different spheres. Our interests do not align.”
“Not true,” Arthur insisted. “Your interest in my future is shared, not disparate. My God, think of the potential if you gained Merlin’s knowledge and applied it to your everyday wisdom. My sister as my closest court adviser—what a wonder it could be.”
It was an image I had long imagined, Arthur and I side by side, overseeing the kingdom: my brother happy and fully in command of himself and his realm; I using my skills and intelligence to help him, with the power to carve out my own existence. But in my dream, the sorcerer was excised from Arthur’s life, not embedded in my own.
Arthur strode around the table and pointed at the north coast of Cornwall. “I want you to sit here, Morgan, close at hand, and feel deeply what I feel. Do you want to sit on my council and be indispensable to my Crown?”
“You know I do, but––”
“Then you must accept the one true way to gain full understanding of who I am.”
He moved to the Great Chamber door and pushed it open, bringing forth another stream of claggy chill.
“Is Merlin here?” I exclaimed.
“You said you would do anything to help me, sister,” Arthur said. “One conversation is all I ask.”
In fairness, he didn’t know why I hated the sorcerer; we had never discussed what I experienced as a child, and Arthur had little awareness of what Uther Pendragon had visited upon my mother. I had allowed my resistance to the sorcerer to remain abstract to protect my brother from horror, and would keep doing so. I closed my eyes against the inevitable.
“All right,” I heard myself say.
Even in darkness, I felt him the moment he entered the room. When I raised my lids again, Merlin stood before me, twisted staff in hand, his mist clinging to the hems of a voluminous black robe. Two years had done little to his pointed, ageless face, his hair and beard still wild and lead grey. Liquid black eyes took me in with smooth efficiency.
“Lady Morgan, Queen of Gore,” he said in his waspish drone. “How pleasant it is to see you again.”
His mouth stretched into a self-satisfied smile, but for the first time, no cold wave of fright assaulted my senses. Somewhere along the tumultuous path of my life, I had been freed from fearing him.
“You’ve met?” Arthur said.
“Why yes, Your Highness,” Merlin drawled. “Lady Morgan and I go back far indeed. Farther than you, almost. I have long been impressed by her remarkable mind. To teach her is one of my greatest wishes.”
My brother regarded me with a youthful amusement. “What an intriguing idea! It suggests great potential for the realm. Did you not consider it, sister?”
“I was heavy with Yvain,” I said. “Not convenient, and my husband would never have permitted it. Now I couldn’t possibly imagine having the time.”
“I wonder what you would learn,” Arthur mused. “I’m sure if it interested you, an arrangement could be made.”
I was about to protest when the sorcerer cut in with surprising quickness.
“Minutiae, my lord,” he said dismissively. “Not a High King’s concern. Your Highness should leave Lady Morgan and me to discuss our similarities and differences, without boring the royal mind.”
“I don’t mind staying,” Arthur said. “It’s perfectly––”
“It is beneath you, King Arthur,” Merlin cut in. “You were like this as a boy—questioning too much and distracting from greater things. I insist my lord take himself elsewhere.”
I expected my brother to reprimand the sorcerer for his presumptuous tone, or certainly refuse to leave, but to my chagrin, he only nodded with a conciliatory smile.
“Of course. I have much to attend to. I will leave the two of you to your renewed acquaintance.”
Like a wine page who has filled every cup, Arthur left without pause, closing the Great Chamber door behind him.
The sorcerer turned to me with a vulpine smile. “Lady Morgan, alone at last. You look exceedingly lovely, if I may say so.”
It was as if he sensed my lack of fear; he had never once commented on my appearance, and I felt exposed, as if to a sudden cold.
“You may not,” I snapped. “I’m not about to share pleasantries with you, Merlin, now or ever. Nor did I consent to this meeting.”
“You must have, my lady.” Merlin inclined his head towards the door. “Unless you wish to tell the High King you have changed your mind. Though I doubt it will please him—he considered my idea to meet such a good one.”
“You asked for this?”
“I have posited it on occasion,” the sorcerer said. “You have avoided me so assiduously throughout your life, never even enquiring what work I am doing.”
“That’s because I don’t care,” I retorted. “Stars and prophesying and fogging up my brother’s mind—if I could put an end to your so-called work I would.”
The sorcerer cocked his head, considering me like I was a delicacy he had not yet tasted. “And how has your time in Camelot been, my lady? All those hours sitting at our lady Queen’s knee, listening to gossip and stitching bed robes for lonely nights. Have you felt the sting of your wasted time?”
I glared at him; he knew how to prick at my weaknesses, that much was true.
He smiled with a demureness that made my skin crawl. “If you had consented to let me begin teaching you two years ago, imagine the skills you would have honed by now, the powers you would have unleashed.”
“Is that what this meeting is about?” I said. “Your vain desire to teach me? I want nothing you have to give. Anything I wish to learn I can seek out for myself.”
He laughed, a harsh, rasping sound. “Forgive me, my lady. No one admires your intelligence more than I, but you wouldn’t know how to begin seeking the knowledge I have.”
“I’m sure I’ll endure it,” I said.
“That’s a shame. Particularly when King Arthur himself is so keen on the idea. Think how much more he would trust and appreciate you if you were as learned as I am.”
“My brother trusts me in ways you cannot comprehend,” I said petulantly. “In fact, you don’t want me in your vicinity, Merlin. I will never cease trying to make Arthur see you for the scourge you are. I would want to keep me as far away as possible.”
My tirade was just beginning when a sudden, nauseating ache took hold of my body, dust motes blazing like stars in my vision. I leaned against the council table, drawing deep breaths.
“Is something wrong?” Merlin said.
I glared at him in accusation, but he stood impassive, feet away, black eyes mildly curious. Another wave of unpleasantness washed through me. With great effort, I pushed myself upright and stalked to the door.
“Stay out of my way, Merlin,” I managed. “Never mention us in the same breath, or speak of teaching me, to Arthur again.”
The sorcerer rested his hand on the back of the throne and smiled. “Farewell, Lady Morgan. I will tell His Highness you are thinking about it.”