Camelot Burning (25 page)

Then he falls still, either dead or passed out from delirium.

Thirty

Arthur stands.

No one missed the fateful warning. Some have realized that news like this after one attack is no coincidence and declare as much. The serfs are the first to move. They push through knowing Camelot's bitter truth: they're the least likely to get to safety first.

War, on its way. All of Camelot knows it now.

And I still need to talk to Marcus.

Father has forgotten me for Gawain, so I grab my mother's arm. “You must get to our quarters.”

Her eyes see right through me. I wonder if her husband ever knew of her apprenticeship. “Vivienne, you're coming, too!”

I shake my head. She must know why I have to disobey her. “This is something I can fix.”

I turn and shove through the crowd. People run in every direction, battering against me like a cruel hurricane of bodies. I fight through them. I find a break and make out Marcus's lean frame, black blazer, tangled hair. And anger on his face as he beelines for someone watching from afar. Someone I thought was at the trial, but I'd been mistaken.

Owen.

Marcus breaks into a run and slams my brother into the stables. I gasp. I have no idea where this rage came from.

“Damn it all!” I curse, running for them. A chopping sound briefly draws my eyes to the sky where, through the chaos, an aerohawk catches the wind and soars east.

I can't think about that now.

Owen won't back down easily. His fist strikes Marcus's jaw, and Marcus jerks back. Owen pushes him away. “Bugger off, ser
f
!”

“Hit me again!” Marcus growls. He shoves Owen back into the stables. “Fight me, you coward!”

My brother's head smacks against the wood with a sick thump. He slumps and then clambers to his feet to run out of Marcus's way. Galahad and Percy sprint for them.

“Stop!”

“We don't have time for this!”

I nearly reach them, but Percy spots the harried look on my face and steps in my way. “Get out of here, Viv,” he hisses. “They're sending for aeroships to take the subjects to safety. Keep to protocol—make sure you get aboard.”

I ignore Percy. “Stop it!” I scream.

Galahad seizes Marcus's shoulder. “Break it up! Let him go, Marcus!”

But Marcus won't budge. “He told Camelot about Lancelot and the queen!” he declares, arm pressing into my brother's neck. “Only a handful knew, and you were already angry enough at him, Owen, weren't you? A knight wouldn't have made such a stupid move. It must have been a
squire
!”

My mouth drops, and I yield to Percy's stubborn barrier. He goes still, and Galahad's usual air of nonchalance turns into shock.

Owen …

My brother seethes. “Lancelot cared more about Guinevere than the threat Morgan was. We all saw it! He could have sent an assailant to Glastonbury, and all of this time wouldn't have been wasted. Instead he took advantage of Arthur's leave? Serves what he got.” His voice wobbles, his hands shake. “And you … ” Owen's eyes on his former friend are wrought with venom, as though he knows more than he lets on about Marcus. “You were nowhere to be found two days past. Perhaps you shouldn't talk about betrayal, Marcus.”

Marcus's eyes don't waver. He seizes Owen's collar, tightening his knuckles into my brother's neck. Another tremor comes over Owen.

“Say what you like, Owen, but Lancelot is a brother to me! For years, he and Galahad were my only family,” Marcus fumes. “You nearly cost him his life! And the queen's!”

Owen shakes his head. “You heard what Gawain said! Le Fay's nearly here! I–I didn't mean to send Lancelot to the gallows. I mentioned the scandal in jest!” He trembles. “I didn't mean for this to happen!” Owen swallows. “Percy, Galahad … I didn't mean for this.”

Percy abandons me to set a gentle hand on Marcus's shoulder, pulling him from Owen. “You might as well have betrayed blood, Owen.”

Owen's hand grazes his neck. “You look at me as though I were the one who humiliated Arthur, but I'm not the one in the dungeons.”

The dungeons?

When I delivered the queen's letter to Lancelot, I heard screams rattling from below my boots. Whoever their prisoner was, I can only imagine it was someone whose sins were crimes against the knights' quest or an outsider who yearned to steal Excalibur.

But Camelot was supposed to be a paradise. My father once boasted that Camelot needed dungeons as much as she needed gallows—useless to a kingdom many considered perfect.

I breathe against the sobs in my throat. “Oh, Owen.”

Owen's face reddens. His hands shake. “I didn't want him to die. I didn't want either of them to die.”

A knight calls from the main castle, “Percy! Galahad! To the Round Table at once!”

Galahad steps close to Percy, as though whispered words could stay secret in Camelot. “We have no idea what kind of magic or weaponry—”

“Copper,” Marcus says, unable to look at my brother again without hurling him against the stables. “Fire it into the temples of Morgan's army, just as you did to defeat Pelles's soldiers. I saw it in the woods.” He looks at me, but not for too long in case it would be noticed. He might be wondering if I'll speak, but we both know I can't. Not if I want to keep my place in the clock tower. “The sorcerer knows this. By now, he will have relayed instructions to the blacksmith. Our ammunition will be ready in time.” He speaks as though he knows the blacksmith's capabilities.

Galahad nods. “We'll need you to tell us everything, Marcus.”

Percy sprints for the knights' quarters, relaying the information. I cradle my arms at the coolness of my brother's betrayal and the squire's heart. Galahad holds back.

“This won't be brought to the court yet, Owen. We need you on the wall with the archers. Let's go.”

Marcus leaves through the stables. Likely to cool off before he'll consider obeying Galahad. I can't imagine how he'll respond when the Round Table asks his reason for leaving the castle in the first place.

My brother shouts after Marcus, “Keep your head down as you ride.”

Marcus looks back, steel-eyed.

“It's your Achilles' Heel,” my brother says. “Just in case war comes before you'll speak to me again.”

Then Owen looks at me with the face of the eight-year-old boy I once knew, one who had to fall from high branches every now and then in order to remember he was made for the ground and not the sky. He turns away like he can't bear the thought of his sister being present for such humiliation and follows the knights. I watch him go.

After a heavy moment, I run after Marcus. “My lord!”

In the royal stables, Marcus catches sight of me, clenching his jaw and avoiding my eyes. I grab his arm terrified he'll walk away, unsure of how I would handle that. My fingers linger on his sleeve, wanting to feel his hand. He faces me with eyes that scratch like shards of glass.

I swallow. “Merlin needs your help, and it kills me to relay the message.”

He blinks once, and his gaze drops. My hand has clasped his.

“Merlin is likely consumed by magic at this point, and it's no business of mine to be involved anymore. I have to report to the Round Table. I'm lucky I still can.” His voice is distant. “My lady will be so kind as to let me go.”

“Marcus, please,” I breathe.

It's the first time I've used his name in front of him. He looks at me as though time has stopped.

“Merlin's weapon,” I recite from the scores of moments when I practiced this speech. “It's nearly ready, but—” My fingers clasp his tighter, and for a moment I think it'll be impossible to let go. “What I'm to ask of you could send you straight into death's arms.”

His violet eyes have faded to an angry gray, brokenhearted by the sacrifice he made to save my good name from the kingdom's gossipy wrath. Or perhaps Marcus is as logical as I am and did it so I could finish building Victor.

Whatever his reason, he yanks his hand free, but instead of storming away, his palms cup my cheeks, and he marches me to the stable walls until we're hidden from the anarchy of Camelot. His thumbs stroke my lips, and his face melts with sadness.

“Then leave with me. We did plan to.” He forces a sad laugh. “Let's go to a place where you can be as happy as I saw you once.”

I breathe in the thought. “The weapon, it'd go unfinished. Knights would be defenseless against Morgan. She'd find the coordinates to Avalon. What if she found out how to override Excalibur somehow so her son can wield it? And knighthood, how can I ask you to give up on such an honor? Even if your mother were never the reason, no one would sacrifice—”

“For love?” Marcus challenges. “I doubt that. Knights are selfish and fleeting, seeking a different bed every night in the kingdom that's not the paradise you think. If they knew what love was, they'd hold onto it like it could save their lives.”

My hand inches up to graze the cheek now bruising from my brother's fist. He leans into my palm, closing his eyes but somehow managing to keep the anger on his face.

“Lancelot wouldn't even give it up,” I whisper.

“Because he was cursed by Morgan. There's no hope in that.”

The clock tower chimes the hour. Time doesn't wait. Shouts tell us the castle has sent for aeroships for those who would flee Camelot. Just as Percy said. Protocol. A chance to leave for another place, a better life. My fingers trace Marcus's rough, unshaven skin, tickling my hand. My cheeks sting with tears.

He pulls me close, grabbing under my hair with both hands. Lips barely touch mine. “Ask me to leave right now, and I wouldn't give it a second thought. The knights are my brothers, but they don't need the son of a serf to defeat Morgan.”

“You would just leave when Camelot's under attack?”

He shakes his head. “Camelot is its people, not towers or balconies. They call for an evacuation. Who cares about this damned place?”

“Morgan would claim the Grail.”

“That's not for certain.”

I shake my head. I know an evacuation of Camelot doesn't account for all. “Your family—”

“I'll find a way to get my mother out of here. This isn't the only kingdom.” He pulls away in fear, as though I'll say no and he's desperate for the yes. “Here we'll live lives we'd never choose for ourselves.” His eyes lift to mine. “You'll be married. To someone not a serf. Is that why?”

I'm furious it would cross his mind. “How can you even think that?”

“Then come with me.”

He sets his mouth atop mine, ignoring the salty tears coating my lips, but I pull away before he can embrace the kiss. I wrap my arms around his neck and cry against his warm skin.

“I can't. If your family were to face Morgan unarmed, I'd never forgive myself.”

He goes cold. Like a statue. If I couldn't feel the slowing of his heart, I would have wondered if he'd turned into one of Merlin's machines.

I breathe, hiding the sobs in my voice. “This is our duty now. We can't let her win.”

“Duty. Right.” He unravels my arms from his neck and pauses like he wants to make another remark, even parting his lips before changing his mind.

“Marcus—” I whisper.

“I'm needed by the knights.”

He heads for their quarters, shutting the heavy door behind him, leaving me standing cold and alone.

Thirty-One

Nighttime falls over the kingdom.

Angry voices from the day linger in the courtyard like an army of ghosts forever calling for blood. People pass me on my way to Merlin's clock tower like I'm just another phantom. Carts and wagons with children wrapped in threadbare blankets flood the streets. Serfs and orderlies take all they own to escape the castle haunted with madness and threat. Royalty can do no wrong, and they've had enough. They won't stay another night in this bewitched place, not when kings can age overnight and knights are treasonous. Not when some have already heard more accurate rumors about the attack the other day and speculate about what sort of war approaches.

They vow to head north. Together.

The sky is black with unnatural clouds. No star shines powerfully enough to break through. I imagine how Caldor's wings would have caught a few wisps to repaint the skies.

Inside Merlin's tower, the sorcerer stands alone by his window, watching below. “It was the right thing to save them, Vivienne. Forgive an old man's cruel pragmatism.”

My eyes burn with tears just hearing that. “Where's Azur?” I want his answer to be “in the catacombs, of course,” but I know what aerohawk I saw fly off.

“Gone,” Merlin says in a blank voice. “Left without even a goodbye. I'd thought he'd descended below, but he left the
jaseemat
in his stead. The aerohawk … ” He gestures the window, and I look to the bare land where the ground is scuffed, the aerohawk, missing. Once again, Azur Barad has fled Camelot, and I've been left behind.

“He hasn't abandoned us … ”

“I don't know.” Merlin looks away, humming a song, mumbled lyrics passing his lips without coherence. Maybe he has none. Maybe he's too far gone.

Only I can finish the weapon. No escape for me. Or Marcus.

“The mirror, Vivienne, in the catacombs.
Jaseemat
turns looking glasses into windows between two souls. I haven't decided if it's perfect irony, being so damn similar to magic, or if Camelot's superstitious serfs got the mythology right.” With heavy breaths, he wipes his sinewy neck of exhausted sweat. “It's how Azur and I kept in contact, and thank God indeed my soul was complete, despite what I did in the woods.”

He nods at his work table where a small looking glass lies. Easy to carry and hold, the frame a tarnished copper. My breath stops at seeing such a valuable trinket. “And now?”

Several days have passed since the woods. Many minutes since Azur left Merlin to his own devices.

Snuff box in hand, Merlin inhales a pinch. “Go downstairs. Unveil the looking glass. I'll stay with you as you work.”

Below, flames dance on the pyre, fingers of fire reaching around me. The password is a whisper in my mind.

“
Ahzikabah.
”

The flames collapse, letting me pass.

Alone, I drop my gown to the floor and kick it aside. I put on the sleeveless uniform I know my mother made for me. The leather apron knots around my waist. I bunch my hair on top of my head and use a soft steel netting to keep it off my neck. Camelot's nobility would be delighted. I pull down my custom-made goggles and ignite the furnace. The flick of a switch starts the assembly lines, spitting out steel bearings and arrowheads. I'll bring them to the blacksmith for reinforcement at dawn.

I unveil the looking glass, which at first appears as any other. Seconds later it changes, a strange thing to watch: Merlin's blue eyes appear and vanish just as quickly. The surface absorbs the light as though water could seep into it.

With a shocking scream, the furnace blares. The valve and its rotating pistons send steam toward the mosaic ceiling.

“What if I can't finish in time?” I whisper. Fit one shoulder's firelance barrel against Victor's skeleton. A coil of six, perfect and untouched, ready to expel death at
jaseemat's
breath of life.

“You cannot think like that.”

“Azur left … ” I still can't understand why. Twist the bolt clockwise to lock the barrels in place. Align the interlocking sprockets. With one rotation of the handle, the firelance's magazine spurts out nonexistent bearings.

“It cannot matter anymore. You must have faith in yourself.”

I nod bitterly, knowing Azur would ascribe to the same rationality. Solder the six spidering copper veins to the barrels so
jaseemat
controls the firings.

Victor is nearly done. Its nose is a pointed drill strong enough to slash through pipes and break through the ceiling. Firelances in the shoulders are fit with their proper gears and triggers. The monster's talons will dig and kill.
I can do this.

I set my goggles aside and fit a protective mask to my face.

“You didn't tell the squire.”

I pretend I didn't hear. Diamond cuts red-hot steel with precision, sending sparks around me.

“It has to be him, my dear. There's no one faster.”

My eyes well behind the mask. I manage a quick nod, and Merlin goes silent, letting me work.

A hammer bangs out the edges. Piping fits under Victor's body, right by carefully crafted propellers that will move the monster to the surface, into the air. Heat sends thick rivers of sweat down my skin, but I stay focused, every burst of steam one step closer to something I pray will work when I'll ask Marcus to risk his life to activate it.

It must work.

I
'm forced awake by the sputtering furnace cracking loudly against the air.

My eyes open to near darkness. On the table, my arms serve as a cushion for my head as I sit atop a stool. There's an unpleasant crick in my neck as I straighten. My limbs are sore; my muscles are stiff.

“Perhaps some tea will help.”

My mother stands next to me in an ice blue gown. She offers me a porcelain cup out of which steam snakes into the air, smelling faintly of Merlin's Irish tea. In her other hand lies a wooden box boasting cryptic symbols scratched into the surface. “Merlin thought you might need the early kick.”

“What is that?” I motion toward the box, but take the tea. “Azur—”

“He's not here.” She sets the box on the desk out of reach. “Spare a few minutes to gather yourself properly.” Her eyebrows lift in a motherly fashion.

My fingers trace the rim of the teacup. “How long have you known?”

My mother tilts her head as she thinks. “You destroyed Merlin's hookah at a feast when you were ten, and you were damn well lucky he was too drunk to care. When morning came, and he'd sobered up, he asked me permission to school you in this world. How you were able to see a toy aeroship in parts of his pipe was beyond him.”

I smile. The following week, Merlin approached me with assignments I'd have to complete before I could learn more in the clock tower. Destroy Lord William's bifocals, turn the pieces into a working telescope. Rearrange the construction of Lady Carolyn's loom so that with the crank of a wheel, the threads would weave themselves. But I wasn't to tell a soul any of this, not even my mother. Propriety had to be kept.

I sip tea as she studies the completed weapon I spent all hours of the morning testing and retesting. Victor is shelled and shining like a glorious statue in an emporium, its inner workings as intricate and deadly as the rules of life. An armored neck lifts to a black-eyed face with a domed eye that controls navigation, using the same eastern science Merlin showed me in the woods. My own touch.

While a terrifying monster, Victor also serves as an elegant representation of mechanical power. The wall is proof of that—one side is completely obliterated into rubble. I didn't realize what sheer destruction the firelance shoulders were capable of when I set the gauge to a stronger firing speed.

The world certainly hasn't seen anything close to the likes of this before.

My mother sweeps a layer of metallic shavings off the table, wiping her fingers onto her dress. A tiny smile seduces her lips. “I haven't stepped down here in years.” I realize why she never told me she knew—any mention of a place like the catacombs in Camelot wouldn't remain secret for long.

Her eyes drop to my uniform, ripped at the arms and now shortened. A scandalous length as it shows my boots and knees entirely, but it was the only way to avoid suffocating in the heat. The corset atop is belted with a strip of lace Merlin found in the catacombs years ago, as though someone from Lyonesse ventured inside once. “I see my dressmaking skills are not up to par these days.” She flicks an eyebrow. “For the catacombs, anyway.”

I set down my tea, and we share a smile. She looks back at Victor, a scrutinizing eye on every detail of my work.

“Merlin told me of the flaw in my design. To be fair, alchemy was a mere theory instead of what Azur has made of it today. Purely the possibility of gold from charcoal, nothing more.”

I open my mouth to reassure her the blueprints have been changed to account for the glitch, and then blink. “Your
design?”

“Made during the Celtic threat.” She searches the blueprints and points in the bottom right corner to where her signature lies. “Merlin's conception, my ingenuity.”

I stare at the handwritten notes of my mother. “Why didn't you continue?” Did she never consider leaving Camelot like I have?

She looks around at the chaos of the lair. “This was not the place for me, especially as your father was Arthur's advisor. There's nothing wrong with following your heart, Vivienne. It let me contribute something special to this kingdom of ours.”

“It is a fantastic invention.”

She shakes her head. “I was able to give them you.” She kisses my forehead. “Be cautious. Camelot is chock-f of secrets. Knowledge that could change the course of history might be hidden right in front of you. Our world is not what you think.”

I know that now. The past few weeks have shown me a different side of the home I thought I knew. Ever since the day Caldor truly came alive.

My mother frowns. “Something else troubles you.”

I look away. Now is not the time to speak of broken romance.

“I always knew dandies of the court would be nothing but foolish boys to you. Whoever he is, nobility or not, you don't want death reaching him before you have the chance to tell him the truth.”

I'm about to ask her how she could possibly know, but no secrets in Camelot seem safe anymore.

I have to change the topic, and perhaps my own mother could shed light on the mysteries in my mind. “What do you know about Avalon?”

Her lips part in surprise, but before she can speak, Merlin interrupts from the looking glass. “Vivienne. Morgan draws near. Use Azur's
jaseemat
to bring Victor to life. Then run like mad.”