Jordan drew her sword. It was thinner than the broadsword she’d fought with on Lionel, the edges so sharp they seemed to punish the air for being in her way. “Ari was a warrior. I honor her death by helping the people she fought to protect. Her mission becomes mine.”
Merlin couldn’t help thinking of the other things that should be Ari’s that might soon be Jordan’s. With Arthur out of the way, Lancelot would no doubt step in and comfort the grieving Gweneviere.
As if she’d heard Merlin thinking about her, Gwen walked silently in from the main cabin, wearing the T-shirt Ari had lent her on their wedding night. Her face was red and creased where she’d been pressing it too hard into a pillow, trying to bury her grief, no doubt.
She walked to Ari’s side and put a hand on the clear surface of the coffin, as if it might convince Ari’s eyes to open. “You said you’d come right back,” she said. “You didn’t. You lied.” Gwen balled herself up, stiffened her body, and closed her eyes, as if part of her was joining Ari, dying in the cargo hold.
Merlin didn’t know what to do.
He touched the rivet.
It was cold. It was lifeless. It was a circle. Merlin started tracing it, but his finger was finished almost as soon as it began, and then the journey started all over again.
The portal to the crystal cave shone black and oily, like tea steeped so long it had grown evil.
Merlin had to go back to the beginning. He would sleep, and wait for the next Arthur to wake him up. He just hoped he wouldn’t grow too young in the meantime.
He’d closed the door to the bathroom to conjure the portal. All he had to do was take a step. But his dark reflection stopped him—dead-eyed, sickly, much too thin, still wearing a prison uniform.
Mercer had done this to him, and somehow he was still luckier than so many people they had hurt. Lian, still frozen like stone to keep her from dying too fast. Hex, dead. Ari… dead. So many people with lost families, splintered love. Merlin had a nice warm cave he could run to, but that wouldn’t stop Mercer from killing the rest of Ari’s knights. Whether they did it quickly or slowly, they would murder each of them while Merlin slept. Not being able to see it didn’t stop it from happening.
Morgana was right on that count, if nothing else.
He upset the portal with a fingertip, turning it back into the plain bathroom mirror. Then he threw open the door and called through the ship. “Val? Val?”
He came quickly—no doubt beckoned by the nervous tremble in Merlin’s voice. “What’s wrong?”
Merlin drew a shaky breath. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to leaving. “I need help. These clothes…”
“You’re right.” Val fingered the hem of Merlin’s prison shirt. “This is a problem.”
In one sleek motion Val lifted the shirt and tossed it to the floor. Then Val pulled his own shirt up, revealing a tank top that showed every line of his body as clear as the boundaries on a map. Merlin’s body went warm and helpless. This wasn’t why he’d called Val in, and yet, it was.
Val ran his fingers through Merlin’s tangled hair, tugging gently at his knots. “You can’t go anywhere like this. This look is entirely too ‘I’ve escaped from prison to murder everyone.’”
“They took my robes,” Merlin said, not wanting to admit how much it bothered him.
“I liked your stars and moons,” Val said softly, “but maybe it’s for the best. Think of it as a complete Merlin makeover.”
“You mean like in those teen movies from that hideous decade with the hairspray?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Val said, his pressed lips teasing and kind, two things Merlin had always assumed didn’t go together but with Val were interlocking pieces.
Val slid Merlin’s glasses off his face and set them on the edge of the sink. The lines of the room went swimmy.
“I need those,” Merlin said.
“Don’t worry,” Val said. “I like these old-fashioned frames. The darkness brings out the bright in your eyes.” Merlin let out a spatter of surprised, nervous blinks. “But I need them off to work.” Val slid a first-aid kit out from the cupboard and clicked the box open, picking out a small pair of scissors. He went back to running his fingers through Merlin’s hair, wetting it with water from the sink, pulling it smooth, snipping at the ends.
“It feels like you’ve done this before,” Merlin said.
“Oh, I’ve done everything,” Val said, with that sudden spark of flirtation that made Merlin desperate to know what the fire would feel like. “Before I was Gwen’s chief adviser, I used to do this for newcomers to Lionel. People go there to change their lives, and that usually means changing their looks.”
“Why did you leave Pluto?” Merlin asked, surprised that the question still mattered. Surprised that anything still mattered, with Ari dead.
“I wanted to make a difference in this ridiculous universe.” Val paused to brush hair from the tops of Merlin’s shoulders. Merlin stiffened at the soft work of Val’s fingers. “Other than Ketch behind its barrier, Lionel is the only official Mercer holdout. There are underground movements on other planets, resistance efforts. Lam wanted me to stay on Pluto and help there. My parents knew I was angling to be a diplomat, and they basically said ‘anywhere but Lionel.’ But that planet was calling my name.” The smile dropped out of Val’s voice. “We’re heading back to Lionel now, and Mercer isn’t going to play nice, but even if I lose the place I loved so much, I’ll have to go on living.” He slowed his work, the slice of the scissors falling quiet. “Just like you have to.”
This was all wrong. Val was supposed to hate him. “I let Ari die. I lost her, back on Urite. I failed her, just like Morgana said I would.”
Val laughed. He laughed at one of Merlin’s dearest worries. “Oh, that self-punishing bit. I used to do that, too. How’s it working out for you?”
Val shook his head as he snipped. And snipped some more. Merlin started to worry about what he’d look like when this was all over. He spun Merlin to face him, and they were standing close enough that Val’s face was beautifully clear, the rest of the room melting into softness behind him. “Do you want some eyeliner?”
“Do I… what?” Merlin tried to answer. Val’s face was right there, with its smooth planes and tempting smile lines. But Ari was dead, and it wasn’t the right time. There was no right time for Merlin. It was a concept that didn’t exist, like a negative square number.
“Not really an eyeliner boy,” Val said, misreading Merlin’s silence. “But you have to let me shave this.” He ran a hand down Merlin’s jaw, and Merlin’s lips parted, before he realized what Val meant to do.
“No,” Merlin said. “Absolutely not.”
“It’s so scruffy!” Val said, rubbing the line of prickly hair.
“These are the last remnants of what used to be a glorious beard,” Merlin argued. “People spoke of it for centuries! It was even a curse! Merlin’s beard!”
But what he really meant was that it was the last thread holding him together. The last sign that Merlin might be able to fix things before it was too late.
Or too early, in his case.
“Fine,” Val said, in a way that made Merlin imagine that Val would try to convince him again later. “But here… just let me…” He smoothed Merlin’s eyebrows and tucked his hair behind his ears. Merlin ducked his head forward just a bit.
And then they were perfectly close. So close that it would be easier to kiss than not kiss.
Merlin hummed a little. It was the only way to stop himself from doing… everything else. He shook his hands, and magic rained from his fingers in faint lines of color, wrapping them together in indigo and rose and buttercup and grass-green, all of the beauty that would have gone into a kiss flowing into the air, filling it.
“How did you know I needed something pretty?” Val asked.
“I thought you were making me pretty,” Merlin said.
Val smirked briefly, then tilted his neck back to watch. Wonder and relief and happiness overtook his face, and Merlin had done that. He’d made something good happen, for once. Val smiled, and Merlin had to stop his fingers from slipping over the soft skin of Val’s neck.