Vera’s fire faded as the whole truth of it hit her. “Your mother is alive,” she said, turning to Lancelot.

He smiled sadly. “Yes. My mother, the mage who tried to kill you, is alive.” He turned to Arthur. “Even though she was supposedly executed by the mages. That’s clearly not the case. We’ve got more than a bit of a problem with our mages, sire. And now there’s this Mordred. He has Gawain’s instrument, and he has Gawain. That damn fool will never give them the power to use it. Do you know the kind of torture Mordred will put him through?”

He looked at Vera, lost for a moment in his turmoil. She reached for his hand beneath the table. “We’ll find him,” she said. “You’ll find him.”

“How?” Lancelot asked. Hopelessness mired his face.

“There must be something we can do! We have to tell Merlin,” Vera said, her voice rising. “He’ll think you’re dead, Arthur. And he has to know that Mordred has Gawain.”

She stopped. It was all wrong. “But … how could Mordred know about Gawain’s instrument? Gawain only told the council of mages and—”

Oh no. A mage on the council working with Mordred. It was the only explanation. Could the betrayal really run that deep? It was what Merlin had tried to warn her of, wasn’t it?

“Who performed Viviane’s execution?” Otto asked. “Do you know?”

“Merlin,” Arthur said darkly. “It was his duty as her closest collaborator.”

“He would have had a witness with him. Another mage,” Lancelot added. “Which means there is one more of our mages who know the truth of it.”

“And—and they’re the one working with Mordred?” Vera asked.

“I don’t know.” Arthur shook his head. “We have to get back to Camelot. There are refugees there, and if Mordred figures out how to use that instrument against our people, I can’t be sitting by in the countryside.”

Lancelot heaved a sigh. “I knew you were going to say that. We can’t, Arthur.”

“Convince me why we shouldn’t,” Arthur growled.

“Because I know you think Merlin’s not in on this, and you might just be wrong.” Arthur started to protest, but Lancelot raised his voice and spoke over him. “We can conjecture about it all we want, but he lied to you and not about something insignificant. It’s treason, Arthur. Even if you’re not wrong, even if there is some noble secret bullshit reason for sparing my mother, we can’t trust him. I don’t know why I’m saying it. You already know this. Plus, there’s another matter.” Lancelot looked at Vera and squeezed her hand. “By all rights, you should be dead. When you’re not, we’re going to have to explain how. I’ve never seen a gift like Guinna’s. They will want it. Our mages. Mordred. All of them.”

Arthur nodded grimly. “I never should have relied so heavily on the mages. I thought I was building a better world, not positioning myself as a high-stakes puppet.”

If Merlin and his witness kept Viviane alive, there must be a reason for it. They all agreed on one action they could take: they needed to find Viviane, to get answers and reclaim some power in the game. The kingdom was not fine, and they didn’t know who they could trust outside of one another.

“What now?” Vera asked. “How do we find her?”

It left them at a dead end. Lancelot angrily flung his orb on the table. He glared at it as it rolled to a stop, wobbling in place before changing direction. It spun one-half turn to the left and was still again. Lancelot dropped his forehead onto the table. They sat in defeated silence for a few moments before Lancelot jolted upright with wide eyes and snatched his orb in both hands.

Vera put a hand on his arm. “What are you—”

“Shut up,” Lancelot snapped as he jerked away. “Sorry. But shut up a second.” He closed his eyes. He spun the light in his hands, stopped, and held it in the new position. He repeated the action two more times.

He laughed. “Holy shit,” Lancelot said as he opened his eyes. “There’s more energy on one side of the orb. No matter how I spin it, it … hums on my left hand. Westward.”

“Do you think it will take us to her?” Arthur asked.

“I think it will do exactly that,” Lancelot said with a smug rap on the table.

Vera was ready to leave then and there. It wasn’t much of a plan, but doing something felt right. After Arthur, Lancelot, and even Otto insisted that she should rest for the remainder of the day, she grudgingly agreed. They’d leave in the morning.

Lancelot hassled Otto into heading to the barn with him so he could fix the door. Arthur tried to get Vera to lie back down but, seeing that she was stubbornly refusing, offered to go for a walk with her and show her around. She was eager to know more about his life.

“Your mother?” she asked as they walked out the back door.

“Died when I was young,” Arthur said. He offered Vera his hand to help her step over the knee-high garden wall behind the house. “That’s actually one of her dresses you’re wearing. I can tell it makes my dad happy to see you wearing it.”

He led her to a fenced pen with half a dozen goats grazing inside. She laughed at the smallest kid as it hopped around like a wind-up toy. They also watched Lancelot in the distance, jovially laughing with Otto as he clapped him on the back.

“He’s not okay, you know,” Vera said.

Arthur nodded. “Your passing out was the only thing that kept him from riding off in search of Gawain that very moment.” He was silent for a long stretch, his eyes still on Lancelot. “You know about him and Gawain.” It was a statement, not a question, and Vera held her breath to keep from reacting. “Did Lancelot tell you?”

“Oh. Erm, no. I …” She looked at her feet, Lancelot’s worry about what Arthur would think springing to the front of her mind. “I saw them together, but I didn’t think you knew—”

“Vera,” Arthur said sharply, “I need to be clear before you say anything else. I’m not sure how you feel about Lancelot’s proclivity or if that changes your opinion of him. I realized this about him when we were young and decided that it did not matter. You may feel how you want, and I won’t try to change you, but I will not hear a word against Lancelot on this matter.” His confidence fell as soon as he finished speaking. He glanced at her worriedly from the corner of his eye.

She’d thought she couldn’t possibly adore Arthur more, and there he’d gone and proven her wrong.

“What did you want to say?” he asked more gently.

Vera stared at him. As long as they were being boldly honest, there was only one thing left to say. She shook her head. “I love you,” she said. “I’m in love with you.”

He hadn’t been expecting that. His smile lit every part of his face as he moved his mouth soundlessly, looking like a man drunk on goodness itself. He bent his head and rested his forehead on hers. He was happy and also … relieved.

“I love you, Vera,” he managed to say through the obstacle of his joy.

When his lips found hers, they moved deliberately. There was no rush to their embrace, no sense that it could be stolen away. They said nothing else to mar this perfect bliss for quite a while.

“I heard you asking your father about how magic might manipulate emotions,” she finally said, hearing her voice quiver and willing it to be strong. “The way Merlin transferred my feelings for Vincent onto you frightens me. And I knew the potions have had a hand in desiring one another, but I’ve been wondering about how deep it’s taken us.” He gazed at her with so much yearning that she could hardly breathe. “Because,” and this part was difficult to say, “it’s also more than what it was with Vincent. I haven’t felt anything like what I feel for you in my whole life.”

He nodded. “I feel that, too. And what if it comes from magic?”

What if. Vera let all the questions hang there: what if it was puppetry? What if nothing they felt was real?

Arthur took her hand.

“Even if it’s all magic,” he said, “knowing right now that you feel the same is more than I could hope for.” Goosebumps raised all over Vera’s body. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers.