At the fifth day’s end, I felt the passing of my year at Merlin’s upon the moment of midnight. I didn’t realize how the bond of magic had weighed on me until it lifted, the great forged chain dissolving as if it had rested on my chest all this time. I was free to return to Camelot, to my own life, to my future, yet I knew I could not go while the white hart still lay inert in the ground. I had come this far; I had to try.
I stole out to the giant oak as the jaundiced moon dipped behind the trees. First, I had sat a long time on the tower stairs, listening for sounds of life, but there were none. Still, my nerves were strung high; I could not afford to let Merlin see what I was about to do.
There was just enough moonlight to guide my way, my senses alert to every snapped twig and owl cry from the blackened forest. At the leaf mound, I crouched down and reached for my knife, drawing it decisively across my palm.
The pain was an instant, shrieking thing. Gulping the night air for fortitude, I pushed my bleeding hand through the leaves and into the grave, until I felt the white hart’s tufted hide. As I lay against the soft, cool ground, palm aching hot and blood-slick, I thought of Alys, years ago, making me promise I would never cut my hand again in pursuit of knowledge.
After a while, I began to feel light-headed, and the deer’s sodden hair told me there was little more I could give. Sitting up, I healed my slashed palm under a spectral dawn and hurried back to the house. All was quiet as I stole silently up to my room, where I washed my hands and threw the pinkish water from the window before slipping beneath the sheets, and was asleep before night gave way.
On the sixth day, nothing changed. On the seventh, I awoke to a symphony of birdsong so loud it defied the glass in the windows. As usual, I looked for Ninianne in her study and the garden, but she was nowhere to be found, and it occurred to me that she, too, had been free to leave for the two days since my bonds had dissolved. I imagined her, cloaked in violet, crossing the moat at the exact moment of our liberty, like the sun slipping free of an eclipse, and knew with an overwhelming certainty that she had gone. Still I remained.
The August morning was warm and breezeless, the oak casting a dappled green shade as I sat and watched the mound of leaves, as I had done every day for a week. I had not been there long when a slant of shadow cut across my folded legs: Merlin, calm but wild-haired in trailing nightshade robes, his arcane court sorcerer costume that I hadn’t seen for a long time.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Enjoying the summer, if it please you.” My old insolence rose up like groundwater; I was ready to go home.
He drew a hand down his purposefully untrimmed beard. “Watching this failure gets us nowhere.”
“Then it’s good I won’t be here much longer.” I felt vaguely like a child low to the ground, so I rose. Over my shoulder, the pile of leaves rippled.
“Where’s Ninianne?” I asked.
“Since the term of your agreement is over, Ninianne has no obligation to stay,” he said. “Why?”
“I wanted to bid her farewell before I left.” I was also seeking some way of keeping in touch, if her natural evasiveness would allow it, but would never tell him that.
Merlin eyed me with suspicion, but the leaf pile rustled and drew our attention, a sound far stronger than the delicate wind could muster. We approached in unison, a strange anticipation filling the air.
A lightning streak of white burst forth in a chaos of prongs and hooves, sending a spray of foliage skywards. Merlin grabbed my arm as the white hart cleared the hole, landing perfectly on four strong legs. It galloped a few bucking steps before circling back towards the oak tree, gleaming and unscarred, neck bending to chew on the fallen leaves.
“By the stars,” Merlin whispered. “It’s whole.”
His tone of fascination sent cold dread over my skin, recalling the last time he had seen one of my “marvels,” his hand on my neck and the fervour of obsession overtaking him. I pulled away from his grip and approached the deer.
It was perfect: hide smooth and unmarked as alabaster; no gouges or lacerations; no exposed ribs or peeling flesh. The missing front leg had entirely reformed—every bone, joint and hair—and when the hart raised its head to regard me, it returned my stare of wonder with a pair of clear pale-blue eyes.
Merlin followed, his demeanour strangely contained. He ran a hand across the animal’s stiff spine, stroking along the white flank towards its neck, fondly, as if it was a lover’s cheek.
I wanted time and space to examine the creature by myself, to understand what I had done, but the deer shied away from the sorcerer, pelting for the rushing moat. The water seemed too wide, too fierce, and for a moment I feared my feat of magic would fall short and drown, but with a great, springing bounce, the white hart cleared the rapids in an elegant arc, landing on the far bank and bounding into the trees without breaking stride.
I watched it go: beautiful, a miracle, a paean to my skill. To heal was incredible enough, but this was the summit of my abilities; a power formidable, its potential divine.
Merlin stepped back, his gaze on the trees alongside mine.
“My greatest work,” he murmured, then turned away in a billow of darkness and vanished into the house.
Where is He going? was my first thought. Then: What did he say?
When I reached his study, Merlin had fastened a waxed cape about his shoulders, black staff leaning against his chair. A leather saddlebag sat on the desk, a vague throb of life emanating from within. I peered inside and saw the box containing the Shroud of Tithonus.
“Are you going somewhere?” I asked.
“Camelot,” he replied. “I must go to the High King.”
“Good,” I replied. “I’ll fetch my travelling cloak.”
The sorcerer paused, one hand curling around his staff. “I think it best if I speak to King Arthur first, alone. He hears his prophecies from me, after all, and this wonder that we have discovered––”
“That I discovered,” I cut in, “making more progress in weeks than you did in years. We will tell Arthur together.”
“I will tell the King because it is I who looks after his interests and always have.”
He swept past me, pausing over my table. With quick hands, he gathered the decoy notes on my desk and rolled them up.
“That’s my work,” I protested as he shoved it into the saddlebag.
“Our work, Lady Morgan. Everything you have done was by my design. It doesn’t matter which of us put a crow in a box. What matters is who carves the realm’s fate into the stones of the future.”
A wave of realization crashed over me. “You’re going to tell Arthur it was all you,” I said. “You’re going to take credit for my efforts and claim it was your triumph.”
“It is my triumph,” he said. “Every relevant piece of knowledge you have, I gave to you, and if you hadn’t been here, I would have discovered it in time. Whose victory is it, if not mine?”
“You forget I am free to leave,” I snapped. “When I get to Camelot, we will see who Arthur believes.”
I charged to the door, but Merlin blocked my way. “Why would you leave now, when you are so close to greatness? For the sake of King Arthur himself, it is your duty to keep going.”
“No, Merlin,” I said. “Our deal is done. I have a son, a life to lead, people expecting me.” The thought of Accolon arrested me, the life I might no longer have with him. “My place at Arthur’s right hand is waiting. There’s always more work, but I can do it without you.”
“Lady Morgan, I don’t think you understand.” Lifting his staff, the sorcerer flung me sideways and into my chair, an invisible rope slithering around my wrists and torso. “I can’t let you go, not yet. Do not worry, I will adequately explain your absence in Camelot.”
I struggled uselessly against the magical bindings. “What in all Hell are you doing? You cannot tie me to a chair then leave!”
Merlin laughed. “Such dramatics, my lady. The binds will last only until I cross the moat. Hopefully, you will have calmed down by the time I return.”
“Where’s Ninianne?” I demanded. “She wouldn’t stand for this.”
“Ninianne does what I ask, always,” he said. “She knows whatever I do is best for Arthur, and she believes in him more than any petty dispute she could have with me. In any case, she’s gone, to seek a cave belonging to a pair of fabled lovers.” A greedy smile illuminated his face. “I am hoping she has finally been persuaded to consummate our love. We will return together, in a few weeks or so.”
“Do not count on finding me here.”
“I’d advise against unnecessary risks,” Merlin replied. “You will never cross the moat without the bridge, and I’m sure Ninianne has warned you the forest is not passable without me or her. You do not want to face what awaits you out there.” He picked up his saddlebag and regarded me with a sympathy that made my blood froth. “Be sensible, my lady. You are safe and comfortable, and there is plenty to do. Your return to Camelot will be soon enough, once I’ve achieved all I need.”
He leaned down and fondled my cheek; I would have bitten him if the thought hadn’t disgusted me. Then, without ceremony, he left, staff thudding down the stairs.
I strained up and looked out of the window, watching him glide across the bridge and lower it again into the roiling water. The fetters of magic melted away as Merlin dissipated into the trees, leaving me alone with my fury, the defiance I was born with and a faint, shivering fear.
How long could it be before he discovered the fraud of my notes, or realize that he could not resurrect even a butterfly without me? He would make a fool of himself before Arthur, then return swift and angry, or worse, obsessive and lust-filled, intent on devouring my skills any way he saw fit.
There was no space for pause, or to consider the impossibilities; I had to get out.