“This is the place where medieval dreams come true, better known as Lionel. We used to come here every summer so that Lam and Kay could smash about like would-be heroes at knight camp.” Ari rested a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “From the ecstatic look on your face, I’m guessing you’d like me to sign you up.”
Merlin stammered, trying to figure out exactly what he felt. It was strong, if nothing else. This place tugged on inner strings that connected him to the first Arthur, the start of the cycle.
“I know you get mad at planets, but don’t break this one, okay?” Ari thumped him twice.
“That was a moon!” he cried weakly.
“Well, Lionel has a delightful new reputation of incensing Mercer,” Ari said, looking no small part proud. “Almost like home.”
Merlin followed her across the sands, taking stock of what he knew about this universe. First, Mercer was the bad guy, obviously, run by an ominous figurehead known as the Administrator. He was so ominous, in fact, that Ari had caught Merlin chuckling along with him to one of his infectious pop-up ads and taken away the device he’d been screening. Second, Ari’s home planet was called Ketch. Her people had badmouthed Mercer and were punished by an impenetrable barrier that kept everyone—including Ari—out. Merlin was no small part disappointed; it sounded like twenty-first-century buffoonery.
Kay trudged beside Merlin, one hand cupped over the eye Ari had blackened in their fight over control of the ship. He resembled a low-budget pirate. Lam, who had been nothing but easygoing on Error, exhibited nerves as they neared the grand painted gates of the city, right before sweeping up a figure who leaned against the left gate. Lam clasped their equally beautiful brother in a tight hug that pulsed out a few groans.
Ari wasn’t far behind. She and Val curtsied—which made them both laugh—and then Ari rammed into him with another punishing hug. Kay’s greeting made it clear the unnecessarily elaborate handshake had not died out. And then the one called Val came to the end of the line.
Merlin held out his arms in a tight, tentative V. “Are we hugging?”
Val laughed. “What have you brought with you?” he asked Ari, eyeing Merlin. “Is this a setup?”
“What? No. What?” Merlin’s words were tiny, sharp cutouts of panic.
“The stranger in robes doth protest too much,” Val said.
“Shakespeare!” Merlin shouted, as if this were a tossed salad of embarrassment and quiz bowl.
Val’s eyebrows inched up, lips quirking. Was he impressed? Amused? “I’m Val.”
Merlin’s cycle-driven brain filled in the rest of that name with ease. Percival. Lamarack’s brother, and another of Arthur’s knights, peerless and loyal. Merlin was glad to have him in the mix. Although, him might not be the right word. Merlin didn’t want to make the same mistake he had with Lamarack. “Are you a young man or a young woman or… a fluid or…?”
“A set or a non?” Val filled in smoothly. “The first one, for the most part. He/him is fine. You?”
“The first one!” Merlin said, confident he’d gotten one thing right.
“Well then, welcome to Lionel, young man,” Val said, his expression on the verge of laughter.
Merlin couldn’t figure out what was so funny until he realized they were the same age. The idea stunned Merlin into studying Val more closely. He had Lam’s smooth dark skin, but instead of Lam’s dreadlocks, his tightly shaved black hair showcased the long line of his neck, the adorable protrusion of his ears. Merlin’s blood fizzed in a dangerous and unpredictable manner. It took him a moment to realize he was having his first run-in with teenage hormones.
“This is the part where you tell me your name,” Val said, layering the words with a smile.
“That’s Merlin,” Ari said, pulling Val’s focus and making Merlin eternally grateful. “Now that we’re all such good friends…”
Val put up a stop-before-you-hurt-yourself hand. “I know Mercer is after you, Ari. Do you honestly think that I work for the queen of this planet without knowing who is and isn’t wanted by that vile corporation?” He pointed to a sign behind him, just inside the gates, hand-splashed with red lettering. ABSOLUTELY NO MERCER GOODS ON PREMISES.
“And I know you think you need to rescue me, but I can’t run off and leave Lionel.” Val rubbed his eyebrows. “I have a rare and exotic disease called a job. I know none of you’ve experienced that, so let me break it down. One of the symptoms of having a job is that I have to stay on the planet where the job is. Speaking of, I have an important tournament to work. I should send you back to Error, but you can stay. Just don’t tell the queen I said that.”
Merlin could tell from the way Ari nodded that she already had ideas about how to pry Val from the face of this planet.
Textbook Arthur.
Merlin followed everyone through the gates, not unhappy to stay. Step two—train Arthur—would have better results on a medieval planet than a miniature spaceship. He needed Ari to embrace her destiny. Though after what he’d just been through, embracing seemed like a tall order. He would settle for an awkward handshake with destiny.
They wove around women who sold things to the incoming crowds. Corsets pushed their bosoms halfway to their chins, roses and daggers tucked into significant cleavage. “Nice robes,” one said in a husky tone, and Merlin perked with delight. “You order those special?”
“They were made by the enchanted spiders of the Near Woods,” Merlin said.
“Good for you,” the woman said, tossing him a free map and a package of nuts. Merlin didn’t recognize the half-moon shape, but they were browned and buttery. He ate them in handfuls as they reached a market lined with open-faced shops. The wind whipped from a new direction, bringing the tantalizing aromas of roasting meat, tangy mead, and spiced stews.
Best of all, a castle hewn from Lionel’s tan stone sat at the far end of the market, swiped from one of Merlin’s most nostalgic daydreams. And yet, as he studied the structure, he found it different from traditional castles. The framework of the towers and crenellations seemed to be metallic. The moat sloshed with a dark, queasy liquid—definitely not water. But the magician’s old heart perked nonetheless. Merlin wanted to know who lived in that castle. He might be on step two of the cycle, but that didn’t stop step three from pushing its way into his thoughts.
Nudge Arthur onto the nearest throne.
“Ari,” he said, “do you happen to know who rules this planet?”
She shrugged. “Some queen they bring out on a palanquin. She’s older than the sun.”
“Not anymore,” Lam said. “Val got a promotion when the new monarch took the throne.”
“Who is it?” Kay asked, tipping a paper cone to pour roasted nuts into his mouth.
“You don’t know?” Lam asked.
Kay crunched the nuts and shook his head.
“We’ve been a little busy hiding out to keep up with planetary politics,” Ari said.
“You really don’t know who the queen is?” Val asked. “Ohhhh, this is going to be fun.”
Lam braced their hand on Ari’s shoulder. “I’m putting her out of her misery. It’s Gwen.”
Merlin wished that Lam was holding him up. The weight of the past poured down on him, making it hard to breathe. His thoughts swam away, as if trying to escape that name—an emergency evacuation of sorts.
“My old girl?” Kay said whimsically, surprising Merlin out of his panic.
“Your girl?” he blustered.
“He asked her out once during knight camp,” Lam added. “Not successfully. But it’s hard to let go of the past.” Merlin knew that all too well. He was the poster boy of knowing that. Ari’s expression dragged him away from self-pity. She wasn’t chewing her bottom lip; she was eating it. Lam noticed as well. “Ari and Gwen never did get on well. Talk about sparring, their verbal duels were majestic in intensity.”
“We worked it out,” Ari said, her voice cramped and odd. “No big deal.”
“Personally, I love when Ari tries to lie,” Kay interjected. “It’s like watching a dog bite its own tail.”
“Gwen,” Merlin tried, in a last-ditch effort to avoid the worst of the cycle’s pain. “Gwen… eth? Gwen… dolyn?”