Once & Future (Once & Future #1)(22)

Ari adjusted herself within the armor, leaning into the joints at the elbows and shoulders. This wasn’t her first time in full jousting gear. That first year at knight camp, Ari had been on the line with Lam, Kay… and Gwen. Val kept to the sidelines, tying on the tightest corsets until he nearly passed out. Ari had wanted to be a knight. She’d believed in the honor, loyalty, and comradery… until it felt fake. Like pointless pageantry. People like Gweneviere took it so seriously that Ari didn’t want to play anymore.

Ari glanced at her brother and his shining black eye. Merlin’s taunt about using her brawn and not her brain riled through her like a blast of steam through an engine.

Or was it remembering Gwen?

She was watching now, wasn’t she?

Then you know what? Ari would give her something to watch.

When the jester dropped the flag again, Ari’s horse was off the mark faster than the black knight’s, sprinting toward grave injury, if not certain death. The black knight drew closer, the moment tighter, and the crowd louder—until lances crashed. Ari’s erupted in a spray of wood, while the black knight’s shot to the side.

Ari trotted around the ring holding her broken lance aloft and screaming a battle cry that felt oh so appropriate. The crowd ate it up. Her eyes trailed to the lofted pavilion in the center of the stands where Val clapped with a distracted expression beside Lionel’s young queen—who had the audacity to give Ari an approving nod.

“You still love playing games, huh?” Ari’s words soured the air in her helmet. She sat straighter in her saddle and watched as Gwen turned her face toward the sky. The Mercer ships were still missing. What game were they playing?

Ari clopped back toward her squire, who looked pretty disappointed. “Hey, didn’t I win?”

“Get down and ready for the next round!” He pulled her off the horse, took her lance and shoved a sheathed sword in her hand.

Ari began to hand it back. The sheath was jeweled and distinctly not hers, but when she tugged on the pommel, she found that it was her sword. Apparently she and Excalibur were both hiding in fancy armor. “What am I supposed to do now?” she asked.

“Oh, Lord, Pete. How much did you drink before the tournament? This is the last time I squire for hopeless contenders.” He grabbed her shoulders and swung her to face the center of the ring. “Now you’ve got to defeat the black knight. In hand-to-hand combat.” He chuckled. “Good luck,” he added, with all the sincerity of a middle finger.

Ari walked toward the center of the ring while the black knight waited with her sword poised at the ready like she could hold that huge piece of metal aloft forever. Show-off.

Ari knew enough about Lionel to know this was all about showmanship, but she was tiring. She drew her sword and tossed the sheath in the hard-packed sand. The cheers did not buoy her as she walked to the fight. Each step was heavier than the last, and she was sweating through whatever clothes Merlin had magicked beneath the suit of armor along with her skin and bones.

The black knight’s eyes were hidden in the shade of her visor, and Ari thought that could only help. She didn’t wait for trumpets or flags or fanfare. She swung at the black knight, loving the ringing clash of their swords connecting and surprising the knight.

How’s that for brains, Merlin?

They fought in a tight circle, and Ari was fully aware of Excalibur’s prowess. The sword directed her advances. Her retreats. Even her footsteps felt like a dance set to a strict tune. Excalibur was enjoying this, but then, so was Ari—especially when she realized that the black knight had stopped playing. The girl’s swordplay went from rigid to motivated to on fire. Ari’s arms burned from the strain as they clashed and came together again and again. And she really—truly—wasn’t ready when Excalibur went flying from her gloved hand and landed in the dirt.

The crowd went berserk, and Ari fell on her butt.

The black knight stood over her, sword point resting on Ari’s breastplate.

“You people aren’t playing to the death, are you?” Ari said between labored breaths.

The black knight cocked her head at Ari’s voice and then used her sword to whip off Ari’s helmet. Ari glanced around as the crowd rioted with what felt like psychotic joy.

The black knight removed her own helmet. “You are an impostor.”

Ari took in the grown-up version of Kay and Lam’s favorite bully. She was young, like all of them, but she wore it better. Her neck was thick, her hair brilliantly blond, and her pale cheeks flamed. She’d been Gwen’s best friend—and yet she did not recognize Ari.

“Answer,” she said, her voice tight.

“I’m the forty-second reincarnation of King Arthur,” Ari said, surprised to find that those words left her lips with the weight of a truth.

The black knight squinted, as if she were trying to see past Ari’s strange words. “I remember you. You’re that girl with the awful brother. What was his name? Keith?”

“Kay?” Ari tried not to laugh. She couldn’t wait to call him Keith and see how well that went over. “He’s going to be tickled you remember him.”

The black knight squinted even harder. Then she looked up to the pavilion box. Ari glanced over her shoulder, too. Gwen was leaning over the railing, looking at Ari with either pleasure or immense disapproval. Funny how they looked related on her poised, beautiful face.