“Brilliant,” Vera said, bewildered by what it meant. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. It is rather brilliant.” He laughed like he held the key to the world in his palm. “It’s actually revolutionary.” When he met her gaze again, his excitement faltered, and his head tilted. “But that’s not why you’re here. Is there something wrong?”

“How is the kingdom outside Camelot?” she asked, endeavoring to sound casual. “Is magic doing better out there, too?”

Gawain set the device down. “Why do you ask?”

She’d come to believe that any time Gawain shirked from answering a question, there was a reason. Vera’s heart fell, afraid she’d already gotten her answer. “I overheard Merlin and Arthur arguing about it.”

He sighed and moved the chair that sat beside Merlin’s desk closer. Then he sat on the edge of his desk across from Vera. “Conditions have worsened. Especially in the eastern part of the kingdom.”

“They don’t have a Gawain,” she said, trying to make light of it while a pit gnawed at her insides. She was shaking a little and sank into the seat.

He smiled briefly. “They don’t have yourself and His Majesty.”

“You’re getting better at jokes.”

But Gawain didn’t so much as chuckle.

Vera needed to be brave now. “It sounded like Merlin’s figured out how to break through my locked memories.”

“That’s my understanding as well,” he said slowly.

“Arthur wouldn’t hear it because Merlin can’t guarantee my safety.”

He nodded. “A prudent choice.”

“I was relieved at first … to not have to do it.” But the relief had hit a wall. She was terrified to let magic in her mind. But if the kingdom was suffering, and they weren’t any closer to breaking Viviane’s curse outside the walls of this city, what choice did that leave? She didn’t want to do it.

What if Merlin was right, and it was the only way? Late spring was no longer a distant imagining. The kingdom was running out of time—and so was Vera. “I can never go home if I don’t remember,” she said. “Do you know how Merlin would get through my mind?”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s not so different from what he did before.”

She tried to hide the way an involuntary shiver pulsed through her, but she was sure Gawain had seen it. His deep-set eyes were fixed on her.

“Would it be like before with the pain and …” The pain. She could feel that searing, shattering horror just thinking of it. And there was the hole left in her memory, gaping where Vincent’s face should have been. “And the loss,” she added.

“I don’t know,” Gawain said.

“What if … could you try?”

Surprise made him look younger. “I only know the theory. I’ve never put it to practice.”

“Well, neither has Merlin,” Vera said. “Could you?”

Gawain frowned. She had spent enough time with him to know that he did this occasionally—went silent mid-conversation to think. So she waited.

“I could try,” he said. “I won’t pretend that my motives are entirely altruistic. I am curious. I’d like to study this block better for myself. I have the potion for it. And …” At this, he leaned forward and said through a tight jaw, “I will not proceed without your permission.”

If someone had told Vera three months ago that she’d choose Gawain to meddle inside her brain over Merlin, she’d have laughed. Merlin was the one Guinevere had trusted. Even Vera’s childhood dream memories included him making Guinevere smile on her dark days. And Merlin—the one the queen confided in when she came to her senses. Merlin, who had saved Guinevere’s life.

Not entirely out of kindness, though. He’d saved her to fulfill a task, one he believed vital to their survival. She’d heard it said more than once: Merlin would always put the kingdom first. Ahead of everything. Everyone. Vera should be half as selfless as him. This was her purpose, dammit.

But … what did it hurt for Vera to have some foreknowledge of what she’d be getting into this time? And Gawain, the rude and insufferable young mage who’d spied on her most private moments, who none of them really knew, was the one she chose to trust. Gawain, the secretly tender soul who thrived when teaching others how to use magic and dreamed of gifts being used to make musical instruments rather than weapons.

Yes. It was selfish, maybe even foolish. But she chose Gawain.

She took the potion and felt all her senses awaken as she sat in the chair. He stood behind her as Merlin had, his hands in the same position over her ears, fingers on her temples. Vera’s heart raced, pounding at her chest as if it wanted to escape her body.

Yet as soon as he breached the space where her mind began, it was different. He moved gently. As he roamed through the corridors of Vera’s mind, she could sense his care in avoiding things that weren’t pertinent. He inspected her memories from a safe distance like a child with his hands in his pocket at a museum, scrolling quickly past her moments alone with Arthur. Paying no heed to Lancelot at all. He didn’t tug anything to the forefront, though he lingered near the spots where Merlin had interfered before.

Those sections felt like … like torn paper. A page ripped from where it belonged.

She knew—she didn’t know how, she just knew—that if he’d gone any closer to those jagged places, it would have hurt. But he didn’t. Vera began to relax.

Then, Gawain reached a spot where he outright stopped.

“Oh,” he said, stunned, and it echoed through the cavern of her mind. “Can you feel this?”

She shook her head beneath his fingers. There wasn’t anything where he stopped. It was … blank.

Wait.

It was blank. No other part of her mind had been empty.

“I think if I …” His presence moved closer to the dark void, drawing a perimeter around it, bringing it into focus for Vera. It had a feeling to it, too. A dull throb that was quite at home in her, like a toothache she’d had for so long that she’d forgotten about it.

It was a barrier.

“Holy shit,” Vera said. It was expansive and—this was it. She was entirely certain. This was everything she couldn’t access. It was in there. Gawain traced along it, back, back, back into the recesses of her memory.

“I would guess that the front, where I started, are your most recent memories. It’s ironclad. I believe this part,” he said of the space farthest into her mind, “is early in your life as Guinevere. It feels more porous. We could probably find some openings there, though it will hurt if I apply pressure.”

They were close, though. Now, having sensed it and knowing that it truly was there, Vera couldn’t stand the thought of walking away. “Can you try?”

Gawain’s presence went still. “Are you sure?”

“I am.”

She braced herself for it to begin. When he started to apply pressure, the pain came with it. She gasped, and he hesitated, but she’d felt it. The barrier had given a tiny shiver.

“Keep going,” she said. But he didn’t move. She’d lose her nerve if he didn’t go now. “Do it!”

He did, with renewed vigor. The agony swelled like her head was being slowly crushed. Vera had a death grip on the arms of the chair, her teeth grinding together with such force they might crack. It hurt so badly that she couldn’t breathe. That explosions of light appeared on the backs of her eyelids. That awareness and reason drifted far from her grasp.

Then it all stopped.

Gawain’s careful presence was gone inside and out, his fingers having released her. Vera was left gasping as the pressure abated into sweet, blissful relief.

“I was fine,” she barely managed to mumble as her chin lolled onto her chest, which only served to emphasize that, indeed, she wasn’t.

She rubbed at her temples—they were shockingly hot to her own touch. Vera opened her eyes and blinked. She couldn’t see straight. She heard a loud scraping that didn’t make sense before something cool and solid was pressed into her hand.