“We’ve only got one shot at this,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“I guess so.” She took a ragged breath. “Are you?”

“I am.”

His ease soothed Vera some, and she found herself grateful for his steadying hand.

“Want a count of three or better to press on?” Merlin asked.

“Just go,” she said.

“All right. And … go.”

Vera took one deep breath and dunked her head beneath the surface. He hadn’t specified how deep she needed to go, so she simply stopped fighting the drag of her dress. It pulled her down until her knees reached the bottom. She kept her eyes shut, and even had she not, it would have been too dark to see if Merlin was submerged, too. She felt his hand drift to her shoulder, pressing down firmly—not a shove, but a steadying tether to hold her in place.

It didn’t feel extraordinary. It felt … like being underwater. Vera hadn’t asked when to come back up or how long she’d need to hold her breath. The seconds stretched on, and nothing happened. She stayed perfectly still. After twenty seconds, the tickle of a burn bloomed in her chest. By thirty, Vera was beginning to panic. She couldn’t hold her breath much longer in water this cold. What would happen if she tried to come up too early? Not consciously bidden, a survival instinct drove her feet beneath her, and the urge to stand became irresistible. As she pushed upward, the steadying hand on her shoulder shoved down with surprising strength.

Oh shit.

Her eyes shot open, and she looked into the dark water above her, searching for answers she would never see. Even in the dark, she could tell her vision was threatening to collapse on the edges. She was on the brink of losing consciousness when the water around her changed.

It was no longer liquid. Instead, it became a thick gel. Her frantic movements ceased; she froze. Everything was motionless, and then it was like a vacuum opened beneath her. Vera felt a great lurch and screamed into the gelatinous water as her body was violently sucked down, but she never hit the bottom. One second, her mind was vividly present in terror that she was certain would never stop.

From everywhere and nowhere, a voice she’d never heard before filled her.

“Ishau mar domibaru.”

Then there was nothing at all.

Vera’s haze cleared as she stared at the sky, eyes already open, watching wispy clouds float above. There was one sound at her lips: ish. The sound of a summer breeze whispering through flowered fields. There’d been more words; she was sure of it. She chased it through her mind and tried to grab hold of it, but it vaporized into nothing as soon as conscious thought touched it. She sat up.

“Did you say something?” a man asked. She turned. Merlin sat on the ground behind her, looking as disheveled as Vera felt.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. Water. She remembered it changing and the sense of being sucked down, and then—what? Vera blinked. How had she gotten out of the water? Or the temple?

She sat on green grass in an open field. Vera heard flowing water before she noticed the stream to her side. Her left hand rested in its shallowest part, on smooth rounded stones that barely an inch of water trickled over. But her hand was the only part of her body that was wet. The dress and bag and shoes—everything that had been fully submerged was dry. Vera reached up and touched her head. Her hair wasn’t even damp.

The stream meandered down the hillside before disappearing into trees and lush foliage below. Vera traced the waters back up the hill to where they came from, a gap in the rock not twenty feet above her. “Where are we?”

“Can’t you tell?” Merlin asked.

She turned to find him on his feet, brushing dirt from his robe and adjusting his pockets. Vera began shaking her head, but the movement helped assemble the puzzle pieces.

The mouth of the stream on a lush hillside. She fumbled to her feet, and her eyes shot past Merlin to a forest grove behind him. There was no well house, and the trees obscured the view, but she was almost sure that, had there been a clear shot, she’d be looking right at the Tor.

“Oh!” Vera spun in place, trying to take in every detail. “Oh!” she repeated as she began to recognize the landscape.

Down the hill further on, the grass was well-trodden and formed a trail along what she guessed she used to know as the road. It passed in front of Vera and Merlin and curved around the trees where she assumed it wove to the top of the Tor. And in the other direction, Vera supposed it created the footprint for what would someday be the road leading into town.

“Shall we?” Merlin gestured to the path before them.

“Erm, I guess.” Vera shifted the bag on her shoulder. “So that’s it? We’re here? It’s the year like six hundred something?”

Merlin chuckled and patted Vera on the shoulder. “Precisely the year six hundred something. Now we walk down to Glastonbury, get our horses, and finish the journey to the castle.”

Vera had assumed the time travel would also take them to their destination, wherever that was. She hadn’t realized she’d get to see Glastonbury in its ancient form. Surely there’d also be people there, residents living their medieval lives. What did they do to fill their days? What did they talk about?

A prickle of worry pierced Vera’s thoughts. “English is different now, isn’t it?” she asked. “How will I be able to understand and communicate?”

“You needn’t worry—oh, watch your step there.” Merlin guided her around fresh horse manure in the path. “You’ll understand everyone perfectly fine. And they’ll understand you. It’s—”

“Part of the magic?” Vera finished for him.

“You’re a quick study,” he said with fondness. “Any colloquialisms you use will be understood in the common tongue. No adjustments are necessary. Though,” he added, scrunching his face as if he almost didn’t want to say it, “you may want to say ‘fuck’ a bit less. It translates well but is decidedly less appropriate for a lady of your status.”

“I’ll do my best,” Vera said as she cast a sidelong look at the mage.

He chuckled, seeming far more amused than annoyed by her antics. She was in awe of Merlin’s ease in the face of everything that had to go right to get Vera here. All that remained on the daunting list was for her to regain Guinevere’s memories. The travel itself hadn’t jostled any to the surface. She was working out a way to bring it up when the gurgling stream nearby, the breeze through the trees, and the evening birdsong began to mingle with other sounds.

They’d emerged from the wooded area, and the bustle came from further down the lane. It was a din of voices—a lot of voices. And there was music: strings, flutes, and singing carried on the wind. There was a cottage to the left, and the two windows flanking its door had their wooden shutters open. A child of seven or eight ran with screaming laughter from behind the home and bodily dove through the open window, her pigtail braids flopping over her head. Right as she disappeared, what must have been her younger brother rounded the corner with a five-year-old’s delighted roar. He had to work much harder to clamber through the window behind the girl.

It was comforting to see children behaving the same as they would in her time. A gust of wind carried the smell of food cooking over a fire. It was late evening by now, and Vera’s stomach groaned in response. She smoothed her windswept hair back and realized her ponytail had come loose in clumps. Vera stopped walking to remove her hair elastic and fix it.

“That reminds me,” Merlin said, fishing through yet another robe pocket and procuring a delicate circlet crown. It was made of thin metal woven together in a rounded pattern and finely shaped down to a point where there was a single oval-shaped moonstone. “You’ll want to wear this.”