Once & Future (Once & Future #1)(17)

Lam braced their hand on Ari’s shoulder. “I’m putting her out of her misery. It’s Gwen.”

Merlin wished that Lam was holding him up. The weight of the past poured down on him, making it hard to breathe. His thoughts swam away, as if trying to escape that name—an emergency evacuation of sorts.

“My old girl?” Kay said whimsically, surprising Merlin out of his panic.

“Your girl?” he blustered.

“He asked her out once during knight camp,” Lam added. “Not successfully. But it’s hard to let go of the past.” Merlin knew that all too well. He was the poster boy of knowing that. Ari’s expression dragged him away from self-pity. She wasn’t chewing her bottom lip; she was eating it. Lam noticed as well. “Ari and Gwen never did get on well. Talk about sparring, their verbal duels were majestic in intensity.”

“We worked it out,” Ari said, her voice cramped and odd. “No big deal.”

“Personally, I love when Ari tries to lie,” Kay interjected. “It’s like watching a dog bite its own tail.”

“Gwen,” Merlin tried, in a last-ditch effort to avoid the worst of the cycle’s pain. “Gwen… eth? Gwen… dolyn?”

“Gweneviere,” Val said. “Queen Gweneviere.”

“That’s right up your game, huh, magician?” Kay asked, delighted. He turned to Val. “Is she in the market for a consort? I’ll bet marrying Gwen would get Mercer off our back.”

Val laughed heartily. “Oh, yes, Kay, do place yourself in the running. The sign-up for consideration is right over there.” He pointed to the tournament ring. “All you’ll have to do is defeat the queen’s champion—who has destroyed a hundred and seventeen contenders to date—but I bet you’re up for it. Tell me, how did you get that black eye?” Val winked in Ari’s direction, as if he knew her handiwork a mile away.

Trumpets bayed, and a uniformed person announced that the tournament would begin in three hours’ time.

“Three hours?” Kay cried. “We can’t wait around that long. Mercer will eventually catch up to us. What are we going to do? Challenge them to a duel?”

“That’ll be short enough,” Ari said breezily. “You and Lam failed knight camp, what, four summers in a row?”

Merlin’s hopes scattered like a cone of perfectly roasted nuts in the mud. “They failed?”

“Who needs to be a knight when you can be an outlaw?” Lam asked with a rueful laugh, spinning back to Val. “I know this is not your preferred life path, but you need to come with us. Mercer is not kidding.” No one mentioned Lam’s hand; no one had to.

As much as Merlin wanted to stay on Lionel, he didn’t want Ari facing Mercer until she was ready.

That was how his Arthurs died.

Val sighed. “Come to the tournament. Mercer isn’t invited, and if they do crash the party, Gwen will knock them out of the sky. After, I’ll think about going with you. But only if my queen agrees. She might have given Ari a run for her money, and tossed handkerchiefs at Kay,” he shuddered, “but she’s the best damn sovereign Lionel’s ever had. She needs me.”

Ari clenched with determination. Merlin couldn’t help thinking she’d need very different weapons to face this Gweneviere. He could see only one thing to be done: prevent them from interacting. Merlin could do that, couldn’t he? He was a magician, after all. And Gweneviere breaking Arthur’s heart was a repetition Merlin was most keen on avoiding. This cycle was already so different. This could be different, too.

No devastating heartbreak. No finding this Arthur on all fours, weeping so hard that not even one of Merlin’s famous indoor downpours could conceal it. He imagined Ari’s predecessors in that broken position; updating it with her image made him sick.

Of course, there had been one Arthur who had no interest in Gweneviere.

And Merlin had made him weep the hardest.

Merlin mustered his most mature voice. “We should avoid this queen’s business.”

“Agreed.” Val looked them over one by one. “Another thing. If you want to stick around, you need to change. Plenty of shops here sell appropriate garb.”

“Garb?” Kay asked, as if the word was making him as uncomfortable as the clothes inevitably would.

“Your fiery-haired friend can keep his robes,” Val added. It took Merlin a quick beat to realize Val meant him. He kept forgetting his hair was red instead of gray. That bother aside, he felt more than a little proud that Val had singled him out—or at the very least, his attire.

“He’s the only one with good clothes?” Kay asked, pointing at Merlin. “Him?”

“The rest of you look so… future-y,” Val said in a distinctly pained way. “Come find me at the tournament ring when you can blend in.”





Merlin waited in a small courtyard as everyone else got dressed in the public restrooms. The result was a buffet of Old Earth costumes. Kay wore highly anachronistic cargo shorts that would have made him look like any white American teenage boy of the late twentieth century if they hadn’t been paired with a billowing linen blouse and bracers on his wrists. Lamarack looked slightly better in dark-blue leggings and a tunic that showed off how broad they were in the shoulders. Ari had picked a shirt with a crosshatch of leather cords at the chest, and a shiny leather pauldron.