“This is outrageous,” Merlin hissed.
Terra turned to face him. “It is rather medieval, but Mercer didn’t pick the theme, now, did we?” She smiled with fragility, sadness. It humanized her in astounding and horrible ways. “Give us this physical reminder of your loyalty before the rest of the galaxies, and we will make sure that not a single person dies in the aftermath of your rebellion. One life for so, so many. We will give you the night to accept our offer.”
She disappeared without another word. For all this new Administrator’s differences, she had the same sense of drama.
The long silence in her wake meant a lot of things. That some people would accept this offer. That many more were considering how to accept this offer.
Ari’s voice shook out of her. “If you believe Mercer, that they will agree to regulations and help the needy in this time without profit… if you believe that Gwen handing over her child as payment for my wrath upon the former Administrator is just, leave now.”
Ari didn’t mean to be so clipped, so harsh—but she was about to lose her Ketchan mind, and she did not know what else to do. A dozen people stood. No, it was more than that. Far more than half. It was so many, in fact, that Ari dismissed the rest of them without even taking count. In a very small corner of her consciousness, she understood. They were thinking of this one child—barely the size of a thumb—that could give the entire universe a chance.
In the aftermath of the exodus, Ari stood before her knights, Merlin, and Gwen in the amphitheater.
Gwen’s face was ashy, her eyes vacant. Ari helped her into a seat.
“This is vile,” Jordan whispered.
“I’m going to be sick,” Val added.
Ari searched Merlin’s face. She couldn’t bring herself to turn to Gwen, although she was still gripping Ari’s elbow. “Merlin, what do we do?”
He shook his head—and kept shaking it. “You cannot give that child to your enemy, Ari. It’s the recipe for another Mordred. We cannot allow this.”
“Of course we can’t, but we only have until morning to come up with a plan,” Ari said faintly. “Or we will have a few starving galaxies to answer to…” Ari shook with the ultimatum Mercer had served up in the middle of her first round-table summit. The heir to Lionel and Ketch, the family Gwen had always wanted, the last piece of Kay—and the baby that Ari had already not-so-secretly started to love—in exchange for “peace.”
They all stared at one another, as if that could change anything.
“No plan in the universe is going to fix this one,” Val whispered. Ari violently hated how right he was. There was nothing they could do to keep this child safe when Mercer still held so much sway over every habitable planet.
The speaker in the center of the stone table fizzled and popped. Lam ducked while Jordan drew her sword. There was a sputter of digital noise, and suddenly the group was staring at an object of some sort. Old bone-colored pottery, lined with a gold rim.
“What the hell is that?” Val shouted. “More presents from Mercer?”
Merlin moved to the edge of the round table, leaning in as he inspected.
“It’s coming from Arthur,” Ari said, placing her hand over her chest, breath tight. “And it’s hurting him to show us this. I think he’s in some kind of prison.”
“It looks like a grail,” Jordan said. “The Holy Grail? The one that appeared to Arthur and his knights, igniting their quest for it?” Ari—and several of her friends—shot Jordan a look. “Am I truly the only person here who found out we’re reliving an ancient medieval myth and looked up the story?”
“Ouch,” Lam said.
Merlin waved his hand at Jordan. “But the Grail was wood. This is… Arthur’s chalice.”
As if its name had broken its spell, the image vanished. Ari slumped into the chair beside Gwen, still trying hard to breathe. “What just happened, Merlin? What was that?”
Merlin slumped into the chair beside her, staring into space. “I almost didn’t recognize it. I have so few memories of that time. Of that place.”
“I remember,” Morgana said, voice deep and yet riled. “Arthur’s chalice was a gift from the enchantresses of Avalon during his eighteenth birthday season. It compelled those who drank from it to see the truth, the truth that is hardest to face. Arthur used it to compel obnoxious, young, would-be kings into becoming his knights. It went missing in Arthur’s lifetime. Lost.”
“Arthur spent years looking for it,” Merlin said in a whisper, looking up at Morgana. “The loss of that chalice felt like the beginning of his end. He did not have it when Mordred came of age… when he began to rage against his father…” Merlin’s eyes drifted to Gwen’s stomach, and Ari stood up, crossing between them as she paced.
“A cup that makes people believe the truth? If we had that—” She flew back toward Merlin, taking his shoulders. “If we had that, we could make this Terra see the horrors of her ways. We could change the Mercer Company from the inside.”
Merlin stood, pushing her away. “And how would we get it by tomorrow, Ari? I couldn’t find it when Arthur’s kingdom was in the balance. What makes you believe we’ll just pluck it out of the air before Mercer comes back?”
“Because we aren’t going to pluck it out of the air,” Ari said, eyes and heart on fire. “We’re going to steal it from the past.”
Merlin stood at the edge of the red desert, just after sunset. He found himself breathing the dry air deeply, savoring the rampant colors of this place. Particularly the siren birds whose screams underscored this terrible—and by that he meant absolutely horrible—idea to return to Camelot.
But Merlin had not been able to reject it because of the baby. The child could not be ripped away from Ari and Gwen as payment to Mercer. It would not become another Mordred, not while he stood by and watched. He hadn’t broken away from Nin, and possibly incurred her wrath, just to let that happen. King Arthur had picked this moment so there was no way Merlin could refuse.
“You chivalrous ass,” Merlin muttered.
Morgana appeared so suddenly and so close to Merlin that he screamed.
“Why must you do that?” he said, dusting himself off as if the shock of seeing her was clingy as sand.
“You do see the poetry in this, don’t you?” Morgana said with a slick smile. “You couldn’t find Arthur’s chalice all those years ago to save his kingdom because future you stole it right from his table.”
“We don’t know that that will come to pass. Or did come to pass. We don’t know anything apart from my solid gut reaction that this is a terrible idea.”
“Easy for you to say,” she said, more than a touch of sadness in her voice, reminding Merlin of what was about to happen. “You will have to be the one to do it. Ari is too fond of me, despite our arguments. The act will harm her.”
Merlin’s face mussed up, a combination of being annoyed that Morgana was right and a little heartbroken about how casually the enchantress spoke. “How will we make sure we find the right time and place?” he asked. “Camelot was a mere blip of a moment. We could easily end up on Old Earth now, England sunk in the Atlantic, or Britain during the time of the Spice Girls, for heaven’s sake.” He couldn’t help himself; “Wannabe” started to hum through his lips.
Morgana held a wispy finger to his mouth. “If you get one of your damn pop songs stuck in my head, I’ll come back to haunt you.”
Merlin tried to smile. “That would be reason enough, old enemy.”
Morgana gazed at the same last streak of desert sunset that Merlin had just been admiring. “We have to use Nin’s magic, Merlin. That’s how we find the right time and place. You know what that means.”
The sight of Excalibur flashed in Merlin’s mind. “I do. Ari will be heartbroken.”
“Such sacrifices,” Morgana whispered. “Is all existence riddled with such sacrifice?”