“Oh.” Of course. Funny she hadn’t considered that, but it was true. And her ability to go home, to get her life back, to get herself back was contingent upon a task far more complicated than Vera had naively imagined. “What if I can’t do what Merlin needs?”

Lancelot eyed her for a moment. “Merlin is single-minded in his commitment to the kingdom—to a fault, frankly. I’m not sure his expectations for you are reasonable.”

Vera scoffed. “And I’m not sure he’d trust your assessment of the situation.”

“Ah.” Lancelot flashed a crooked smile, reigniting his spark of levity. “You’ve already noticed that I’m not exactly Merlin’s favorite.”

“You’re about the only thing that broke his—” Vera searched for the right words to describe Merlin’s powerful calm.

“Stick-up-the-ass demeanor?” Lancelot offered. Vera laughed. “Go on, then. What did he say about me?”

“He said that you were Arthur’s dearest friend. And that you’re very loyal,” Vera said.

“Oh, that’s quite nice. And?”

“And … that you’re loud and foolish.”

“That’s—hmm.” At first, she thought Lancelot was indignant, but he was grinning. “He’s really coming around to me. Loud and foolish. That’s probably the nicest way he’s ever described me. Granted, he might have been edging it a bit trying to, you know, convince you to leave everything behind … but I’m calling this progress in the Merlin-Lancelot relationship.”

They’d been riding for nearly two hours before an amicable silence fell, with Vera’s eyelids close behind. They may as well have weighed a hundred pounds for the difficulty of keeping them open.

She woke with a start to a firm grip on her arm, holding her upright.

“About tumbled off there,” Lancelot said quietly. “You’ve had a thousand-year day. Go on and lie forward on your horse’s neck.”

Vera’s eyes were barely open. She nodded mutely and lay forward while Lancelot kept a steadying hand on her back.

She thought she heard him say “I’ve got you,” but it may have been a dream, for she was already asleep.

“Ishau mar domibaru.”

For a second time, unknown words reverberated through Vera’s body, words that she would have no memory of when she woke.

A soft glow brought Vera back to wakefulness, but it wasn’t the moon.

The side of her face lay on the horse’s neck, and the light came from Lancelot’s direction, not the sky.

Vera blinked, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. There was a lantern, a ball of light not unlike the ones she’d seen in Glastonbury, this one the size of a grapefruit and bobbing along between the two horses of its own accord. It didn’t create any harsh shadows nor hurt to look at directly, but lit the space around them in all directions, like a traveling bubble. She sat up and rubbed her face.

“Good morning, there,” Lancelot said. “Did you have a nice nap?”

She didn’t know how long she’d been sleeping. Long enough for her neck and back to be stiff from the awkward position and for the moonstone on her forehead to have indented her skin where it pressed against her. Her ears perked at the distinct clip-clop sound of hoof on stone. They’d left the marshland and arrived on a cobbled street. They passed a farmhouse with a thatched roof, and she saw a concentrated cluster of light not far ahead atop a great hill, guessing that it marked their destination. “Is that where we’re going?”

“Yes. Once we pass through the village gates, it’s only a few minutes to the castle.”

A few minutes to the castle. Vera’s stomach gave a jump. This was really happening.

They switch-backed along the path up the hill to a towering stone wall extending in either direction. If the wall stopped or curved, it was far enough away that Vera couldn’t see. She understood straight away why this spot might be chosen for a castle—the high ground for miles, defensible and fortifiable. The gates to town were shut and guarded, with men posted at alternating pillars atop the stone wall, only their dark silhouettes visible from the ground. The road was blocked by a massive wooden gate in the shape of an arch, split into two doors. With both swung open, it would be wide enough for most modern vehicles. Two soldiers were posted at each side of the gate. Lancelot called out to them, and they immediately recognized him.

The guard atop the wall shouted out, “Two on foot!”

The left side swung outward with an angry moan. The cobbled road snaked through the town. Homes were frequent in patches interspersed with shops and market stalls; a blacksmith here, maybe a pub there. The smell of smoky peatmoss fires rose from rudimentary chimneys, and the glow from hearths peered through cracks in window shutters where households stirred. Some lights through the town emanated a familiar sunset color, unmistakably the type of magic light that Lancelot carried.

They rounded the corner, and she saw it. She couldn’t imagine how she hadn’t noticed it sooner—perhaps clever placement of the structures on the hill. Even in the dark, though, the castle was unmistakable. It was not the cold medieval fort structure Vera expected. It was taller, the stone a light pearl color with an opalescent sheen in the moon’s glow. The same wall surrounding the town carved another path in front of the castle for an added layer of protection, each section divided by a turreted watch tower. Four much taller towers rose behind it, marking the castle’s corners. Three reached an equal and impressive height, topped by a round stone silo with a pointed cone roof. The fourth tower, farthest from Vera and Lancelot, was even taller and capped with a solid, flat-topped cylinder. Peaked roofs poked up from behind and between the wall and towers. There weren’t spires reaching twelve stories high, nor was there a moat with a draw bridge or cascading fountains, but it was beautiful in its simple and shining form.

“Camelot,” Lancelot said as Vera gaped in awe.

She raised her eyebrows. The stories had gotten the name right.

Lancelot led her through yet another gate into an expansive courtyard. There were stables to the left, and Vera smelled the horses before she heard them or turned to see their heads and hooves poking out above and below stall doors. One other structure in the vast field was jutting out on her right. It was the same pearl stone with a high peaked roof, but with one primary difference from any other structure. The door was flanked by a stained-glass window on either side and a triplet set of windows above.

Differently shaped glass panels in sea greens, evening blues, greytinged white, and a sharp, stark red were chunked out by thick ribbons of some sort of dark clay between them. It didn’t form a picture, but the effect was a pleasant mosaic of colorful, shining pebbles. A squat stone cross was at the topmost point where one side of the roof met the other.

Beyond the chapel opposite Vera and Lancelot was the castle proper’s main entry. Lancelot dismounted his horse, and Vera followed suit. She hadn’t noticed the sleepy stable boy behind them until he handed her the satchel from the back of her saddle and led both horses toward the stable.

“It’s nearly midnight.” Merlin’s voice cut through the silent courtyard, sounding cross. He stood expectantly in the doorway to the castle. “What took you so long? You’re two hours later than I expected.”

“Pardon my chivalry,” chided Lancelot, hands at his hips. “You brought a woman through a thousand years and didn’t bother to ask if she was hungry.” He conveniently avoided any mention of their run-in with the thieving boys on the road, and Vera didn’t chime in either. She couldn’t tell for sure from where she stood beside Lancelot, but she thought he might have given her the tiniest hint of a wink. He palmed his light ball, which faded to darkness before shrinking to the size of a plum. Lancelot pocketed it as naturally as one might tuck away a five-pound note.