CHAPTER

37

Galahad’s stomach lurched at the sight of his nemesis, now free of the room he’d locked him in. He commanded his arm to move, to swing Excalibur and protect his friends, but there was nothing he could do. Morgan’s spell held fast.

“Ow!” Red exclaimed, suddenly hopping on one foot. “That hurt!”

Looking down, Galahad saw that Jasper had kicked Red, right in the shins.

“Call off your animals, Du Lac!” Red howled. “I’m here to call a truce!” Red held up his empty hands. “Your command of magic may be better than mine, but I know more. And I’m done trying to be someone I’m not.”

Galahad felt as though Red had sprouted another head—except that would have been less strange than this conversation. “Why should we trust you?” he asked. “How do I know you’re not a spy?”

“For one, I’m helping you get loose.” Red held up both his hands and intoned in a loud voice, “Dissolvo.”

Galahad felt the rigid tensions of Morgan’s spell suddenly melt away, and he saw Cecily immediately run up to Red’s side with her sword brandished.

“What do you want, traitor?” she demanded, seething.

“You don’t have to trust me. I know I haven’t earned it,” Red said, keeping his eyes steady on Galahad. “But perhaps I can prove myself by helping you stop my mother—and in exchange, I want amnesty.”

“I don’t know I can promise that,” Galahad said. “You tried to kill King Arthur, remember?”

Red looked down, and Galahad was surprised to see something like shame on his face. “Yes, well, I’m sure the hero of Camelot could put in a good word.”

Galahad hesitated. His hand wavered. Something about Red’s tone of voice made him curious despite his better judgment.

“One last question,” Galahad said. “Why would you turn on your mother?” he asked.

Red looked uncertain. “That day with the carp. You had somehow transferred its pain into me. It felt awful. I never knew that’s what my mother’s magic felt like to living beings. . . .” His voice trailed off, and his eyes held a faraway expression, as if he were reliving that moment.

Slowly, he shook himself, then continued, “Mother is brilliant. But she should never be in power. She has only ever thought of vengeance her entire life—of taking back what’s hers. Her heart has no room for anything else—not even me.”

Red’s eyes were bright, and his jaw tightened. Galahad saw much of himself in Red at that moment. He also knew what it felt like to be seen as a tool for someone else’s war. Still, Galahad didn’t fully trust Red. He could sense from Excalibur that Calib was wary as well.

A clacking from the direction of the balcony made them jump and turn. Two bats were perched outside. One wore a crown askew while the other wore a neck ruff and nursed a small rip in his right wing. Sensing their distress, Galahad ran to help them.

“Close the window,” the crowned bat gasped. “Quickly! Before the infernal hawk finds us again.” Galahad obeyed, but before he could tell them that the hawk was gone, along with Morgan, the two bats started attacking him and Red.

“Away, you two-faced Two-Legger!” the second bat wheezed, still out of breath. The crowned bat, meanwhile, had a chunk of blond hair in his mouth and was pulling—hard.

“Stop!” Calib yelled to the bats. “King Mir—it’s all right! Galahad and Red are on our side!”

The bats stopped midsqueak. “Are you sure?” the bat king panted.

“My apologies, King Mir,” Galahad began, “but I—”

“Ahem?”

Startled, Galahad, Red, and all the creatures turned around to see Britta standing in the hallway, tugging on a curl as she took in the room. “I was coming to show the queen the final scroll when I heard shrieks,” she said.

She looked a little pale. “I ran here as fast as I could, but then you—he—I mean . . . Are you talking to the animals?”

“Yes,” Galahad said. There was no point in denying it.

“How fascinating,” Britta said, her eyes growing wide as she took in the bats and mice. “Have you always been able to do that? Did Morgan, with her new powers, give you that ability?” Britta paused and took in everyone’s injuries. “Galahad, where is Queen Morgan?”

“She is launching her attack on Camelot,” Galahad said. “And we must hurry to stop her.”

Britta’s expression went from confusion to anger.

“No,” Britta said. She unsheathed a short sword, which hung on her belt, next to her quills. She brandished it dangerously. “I’ve worked too long on those translations. And just when Morgan promises to bring my family over, you’re going to ruin that for me?”

Britta looked ferocious, and so Galahad again raised Excalibur, just in case she attacked. “Britta, there’s something I have to tell you. Morgan hasn’t been saving Saxony—she’s the one who caused the drought.”

Britta shook her head, her curls bouncing. “That’s not possible. Saxony has been in decline since long before Morgan arrived.”

“Maybe Mother did not start the drought,” Red said, stepping forward, “but I’m sure she pushed it along, both for her own magic and to have the Saxons turn to her in their time of need.” His face grew stormy. “She used you. She lied to you, like she lies to everyone!”

“Red’s right,” Galahad said, hardly believing that he would ever utter such words. “Morgan won’t stop. So many will suffer if we let her win. The only person she really cares about is herself.”

“But Papa and my sisters . . .” Britta’s sword tip lowered as she lost her resolve. “She promised me she would bring them here! This is their only hope.”

“No, not their only hope,” Galahad said.

As quickly as he could, Galahad told Britta everything, including his plan to vouch for Britta and Red and her family. Cecily and Calib nodded along on his shoulders. When he’d finished, Britta looked as if she might faint.

“If this is all true,” she said, “then the queen—I mean, Morgan—shouldn’t have this.” She pulled out the scroll she had brought and unfurled it like a treasure map. The parchment was covered in an old cipher, different than the others—one that Galahad had never seen before. He couldn’t understand any of the words except the title, which was written in big, swirling letters across the top:

Merlin’s Last Quest.