Lancelot had found them in the chapel with a summons for Arthur from Vera’s father and the local lords. Arthur offered to send Percival instead, but Vera had insisted she was fine. They all knew Arthur was the one who was needed. She planned to head to Merlin’s study alone after that, determined not to delay their session, but Lancelot fell in step with her rather than following Arthur.

“You aren’t needed for whatever diplomacy is about to happen?” Vera asked.

“Oh no,” he said. “Arthur’s far better suited for it. It doesn’t take being pushed beyond the brink of offense and exhaustion for me to start taking swings.”

She thought he’d bid her farewell at the door to Merlin’s tower, but he was right on her heels and looked at her expectantly when she stopped at the threshold.

“You’ve seen me safely here,” she said. “You don’t have to walk me all the way down.”

“Oh, I’m not just walking you. I’m staying.”

She’d been so certain that all the trouble she’d caused would have him running to get away from her. “I’m sure you’d rather be with the soldiers at training or—”

“Guinna,” he said sternly. “I want to be here.”

“Only if you’re sure …”

“I am. I insist.” His intensity fell away as an ornery grin stole over his face. “In case someone needs to take a swing at Merlin.”

At first glance, Merlin’s study remained the same: oddities dangling beneath hooks, piled on shelves, stuffed in baskets. It was a pleasant sort of mess that was actually tidy, with only the appearance of whimsical disorder—except for one island of pure chaos exploding from the epicenter of what was once Viviane’s empty desk. Bits of rumpled parchment and discarded piles of rubbish littered the floor around it. The desk was transformed into a makeshift stronghold, fortified by stacks of hefty tomes lining the edges of it on three sides and partway on a fourth, leaving a gap in the middle where Gawain now worked. Well, presumably, it was Gawain. All that was visible beyond the gap in the book walls was the seated lower half of a robed man.

Vera imagined completing the desk fort with a handwritten Keep Out! sign and smiled—until she caught Merlin’s eye over in the kitchen area. She’d imagined countless versions of what he might say to her, of how he might be angry. Disappointed in her. She’d wondered if there’d be pity.

But he simply looked a little bit frightened, which might have been worse than the alternatives. He busied himself, carefully combining ingredients on the counter. Lancelot plopped down in Merlin’s chair, going so far as to open the giant tome on his desk and flip through the pages.

“What are you doing?” Merlin snapped once he noticed.

“Reading,” Lancelot said innocently. “Merlin, what’s—” he bent his head low over the book, “the defensible transference postulation?”

The top of a head and two eyes barely crested the fort walls as Gawain sat up and blinked at Lancelot, his interest apparently roused.

“Hullo there,” Lancelot said to him. “Wasn’t sure that was you in there.”

“I’m leaving,” Gawain said. “I’ve been instructed that this is a private matter.”

Lancelot smiled pleasantly as he folded his hands on the desk.

“Yet you are staying,” Gawain added with no small amount of disapproval.

Lancelot’s grin widened.

Merlin crossed the room and slammed the book shut. Lancelot barely pulled back in time to spare his nose from being clobbered by it.

“The king has ordered it, Gawain,” Merlin said.

“There you have it.” Lancelot threw his hands in the air in mock annoyance. “I’m here on orders. Nothing I can do about it.”

Gawain tipped his head forward and glowered up at Lancelot through his eyebrows. “I do not find you amusing.”

This only further delighted Lancelot. “That is a shame.”

“We should be finished by supper,” Merlin said, putting an end to the conversation.

Gawain stared, fixated on Merlin’s hand—but no … Vera could see he held a glass vial. He adjusted so that his fingers covered it, drawing Gawain’s attention up as the elder mage delicately tilted his head toward the door.

“Of course,” Gawain said quickly, his chair’s feet raking across the floor as he scuttled from his seat, a rectangular plank of wood clutched in one hand. Vera had only noticed it because she’d thought it was a cellphone at first glance. It was exactly the right size. But he tucked whatever it was into his robe’s pocket and strode out the door without so much as a greeting nor a goodbye to Vera. She wasn’t sure he’d noticed she was there at all.

“He’s a good lad,” Merlin said. Then he sighed and shook his head. “I’ll have to think of what to tell him about you soon. He’s uncannily perceptive.”

“Oh yes,” Lancelot piped in, comfortably twiddling his thumbs in Merlin’s seat. “Really has a knack for nuance, that one.”

Merlin wasn’t any more pleased about Lancelot’s presence than Gawain had been. Their dynamic was that of a toddler who could smell the annoyance of his caretaker and who would now prey upon that weakness mercilessly.

He chuckled when Merlin snatched the closed book and turned away.

Stop! Vera mouthed in exasperation, though she smiled, too. She was nervous. His mischief was a welcome distraction.

Merlin led them over to the bathing pool in the darkest corner of his study. It was larger than it appeared from a distance and eerily the shape of a coffin. “We’ll be trying an enhanced form of sensory deprivation,” Merlin said.

“To, like, put me in a trance?” Vera asked.

“It serves that function and then some. With the aid of magic through a potion, your regular brain function will be nearly stilled. It lets the unconscious part of your mind take control.”

“How does she come out of it?” Lancelot asked as he inspected the tub and ran his fingers across the water’s surface. It was a good question. Being stuck in her unconscious mind would be its own form of hell.

“Mostly, it will take its course,” Merlin said, “but we can also set a limit, and I can pull her back if we go over.”

“And this will definitely work?” Vera asked.

Merlin quested his head back and forth. “It is the less invasive option. I don’t believe the block on your mind has been adequately loosened. This should help. I can’t say for certain that it will reveal a memory from your life before, but it will reveal something of your unconscious mind. At the very least, it will be a step in the right direction.”

Fear rippled through Vera. There were many things tucked away that she’d rather not touch, but her drive to recover Guinevere’s memories was stronger. She stole a glance at Lancelot. He’d stopped cracking jokes and stared at her with a tight smile and a furrowed brow. If he was here, she’d be fine.

“All right,” she said.

Merlin procured a heavy white gown that reminded Vera of a choir robe. She didn’t hesitate when she asked Lancelot to loosen the cords of her dress (though Merlin pursed his lips and minutely shook his head) before stepping around a privacy barrier to change. When she returned, Merlin passed her the small bottle and a thick, black loop of fabric.

“When you’re ready to get in, drink all of this. You’ll have about fifteen seconds before conscious thought fades. It should be enough time to safely get in the water, lie back, and put your eye mask on. Once you’ve drunk the potion, neither of us can touch you or the effects will be negated. I am ready when you are.”

Lancelot gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Bottoms up, love,” he said as he knelt down next to the basin.