Once & Future (Once & Future #1)(28)

“Okay,” Val said, leaning forward. “That’s your cue to explain.”

“Ari is the forty-second reincarnation of—”

“She told me that,” Val said, startling Merlin. Ari had talked about being Arthur?

“What did she say?”

Val flashed him a smile so bright Merlin’s headache flared. “All kinds of things while you were dancing with your robe pulled up to your thighs. Nice calves, by the way.”

Merlin groaned.

“But I’m asking about you,” Val said, finding two cups and filling them with water. “You’re the real mystery here.” He held one out and Merlin drank, playing for time. The truth was that he had no idea where he came from. He’d arrived in the first Arthur’s era, old and magical, with a tiny wooden falcon clutched in his hand.

That falcon had given him his name. Merlin.

Remembering before that—or perhaps beyond it—was as impossible as seeing the future of this cycle. “Here’s what you need to know about me,” Merlin said, downing the last of the water. “I keep coming back and back and back, and I can’t seem to make things better. You’ve heard of King Arthur?” Val nodded, curious and wary. “I’m the Merlin who serves Arthur.”

Val cocked his head. “If you’ve been at this since the original Arthur, how old does that make you?”

“Seventeen, apparently,” Merlin muttered.

Val refilled his cup, his slim back to Merlin. He had always dreaded talking about his age, and with every back step toward childhood, that dread doubled. “Is it possible your problem with Gwen and Ari’s marriage is about you? Living that long sounds like a recipe for baggage.”

Oh, good. A topic he liked even less than aging backward. “I sleep through entire centuries, so my burdens are lighter than you might think. And remember, I survived the era of psychology. You can’t pull any tricks on me.”

“I’m just trying to help.” Val turned, his lips beaded with water and demanding all of Merlin’s attention. “I thought I would only see you for a few hours yesterday, and here we are, sailing to Troy together. I’ve decided that’s a sign we should be kissing, at the very least. If you’re interested. But we should get to know each other first.”

The combination of Val’s matter-of-fact tone and the word kissing swirled together, making Merlin faintish. “What could you possibly want to know?”

Val sat on one of the tiny chairs, and when Merlin rushed to join him, their knees knocked. Merlin’s pulse answered in kind. “Start with the good stuff,” Val said, leaning forward with a smirk that could have killed Merlin, if Merlin was killable. “If you’ve been around that long, you must have fallen in love.”

Merlin had held back the truth for too long, and it rushed out. “Once.” It felt good to admit that—until it felt awful.

“What was this person’s name?”

Merlin winced. “Art.”

“Art?” Val said, with a deliberate blink. “You fell in love with one of your Arthurs?” He put a hand to his face, a grin shining between his fingers. “Oh, that is scandalous.”

Merlin talked fast to cover the fact that he was shaking under his robes. “He wasn’t the best of the Arthurs. He wasn’t the bravest or the most heroic. He was clever, though. And he said the most bluntly ridiculous things.”

So much about the cycles blurred, but Merlin could remember Art perfectly—a dark-haired man with melting brown eyes. They had kissed in the forest, under trees that seemed to hide them from an unfriendly sky. They had loved each other in a time when people pretended such things weren’t happening. Weren’t possible. And under the cover of that chosen ignorance, they had given each other words and promises and reasons to gasp.

“And then what?” Val asked, his much darker brown eyes wide and waiting.

“He died,” Merlin said. But that wasn’t true. Or at least, it was only half true. “I age backward, slowly. His death was all that could come to pass. So I… ended things between us.”

Val shifted back and looked at Merlin from a distance. “You forced yourself not to care about someone because you thought it wouldn’t end well? You really are old, aren’t you?”

A dry sound of disapproval rose from Merlin’s throat. “That’s like saying you’re eight years old because you used to be eight. I used to be an old man, but I’m not anymore. I’m aging, much the same as all of you are. I just happen to be the only one going in the opposite direction. And Ari is the last chance I have to stop getting younger,” Merlin said, his voice cracking, and this time not because of blaring hormones. “I tried to train her on Lionel, but she was barely interested. And now…” Now she was stuck in Kay’s bedroom, with Gweneviere of all people.

Merlin looked down again—at some point during this conversation Val’s hand had taken up residence on his arm. “What kind of training?”

Merlin described the game he’d created for Ari with half of his mind, while the other half told him, over and over, about Val’s hand touching the spot near his elbow, as if he didn’t already know. Merlin shifted his entire body closer. The metal chair screeched under him.

“You say you’ve seen a lot of Arthurs,” Val said, “but I’ve seen a lot of Ari. We’ve been friends since we were young enough to get into the mermaids’ grove on Lionel for free.”