Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
GWENNA
Callahan definitely sleeps by the door, which makes me feel terrible.
I want to tell him that it doesn't make any difference, that it wouldn't affect my thinking or my opinion of him or my decision one way or the other if he chose to curl up on the love seat.
But at the same time, I guess I understand why he wouldn't.
"Good morning," I say, giving him an unusually big smile as I step out of my room into our living area.
"Morning. Good morning," Cal says, like he's a little startled. "Did you sleep well?"
He's speaking unusually fast. From across the room where she's sitting cross-legged on the couch with what seems to be a bowl full of coffee, Morgan cocks her head just slightly at me. I catch her eyes, widen mine imperceptibly, sending a kind of we-need-to-talk signal. She licks her lips and nods.
"Callahan, if you don't mind," she says airily.
"Huh?" Cal says, looking at her a little dazedly.
"Um, I slept fine, thanks," I answer. "And I kind of want to talk to Morgan. Alone."
"Oh," Cal says. "Sure."
He doesn't move.
"Cal," Morgan says pointedly. "Leave, or else I'll flash my boobs and make you break your vow."
Callahan startles, nods, and folds up his coat to dash out the door. When it clicks shut behind him, Morgan sets her coffee on the table.
"What?"
"Hang on," she interrupts herself. She snaps twice, and from some unseen speaker, music starts up, something fluty and orchestral, like off-brand Enya.
"That's better," she says, "just to cover things up."
I nod, slinking into the armchair across from her. "Is that magic?"
"What?" She frowns, then looks at her hand. "Oh, no, it's Alexa or something. I don't know." She appears at me. "What do you want to talk about?"
“Um…” I chew my lip, stretch my hands down my knees, splay all of my fingers into space. How do I even begin to describe the proposal, proposition, that the four of them made to me? “It’s kind of weird.”
"I've heard a lot of weird shit," she says. "Try me."
I can’t argue with that, I guess. So I just plunge ahead.
I explain, as best and as briefly as I can, what the meeting at Camlann House was about last night—although leaving out the part where I reveal that I have, in fact, made it to at least first base with 75% of the men in question.
That feels like more of a…need-to-know basis thing.
And I’m too awkward to go there, besides.
When I'm done, Morgan gawks at me.
"I take it back," she says. "That is definitely stranger than what I was expecting."
"I know," I say, chewing my lip and working my fingertips together. "I know, it's just..."
"It makes sense," she says, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. "I mean, not for any normal sane person, but for the four of them, I can see the logic."
I frown. "You can?"
"Sure," she says. "They're just breaking out of the consistory's control a little bit, right?
They're all supposed to kind of be on each other's case about this, right?
But if they all agree that they're not, and they all have, you know, compromising information on each other, then it's like.
.." She screws up her mouth, thinking, what's that thing where the Russians don't nuke us and we don't nuke the Russians because both sides know that if the other one does, the response will be just as bad?
She crosses the line, two pointed fingers in midair.
"Mutually assured destruction," I say. I wish she hadn't mentioned the Russians. Alexei Moroslav’s grin flits into my mind’s eye.
"That's the one," she nods. "It's that, basically. I don't exactly know why they need you specifically to be their cover, but I guess that's how courtly love or whatever works."
My stomach does a flip. "Yeah, about that," I say. "It's, um, it's not exactly courtly in that sense."
Morgan's jaw drops open a little as she realizes. "What are you..." She blinks, shakes her head. "Which one?" she cries, almost sounding delighted.
"It's... that's..." I stammer. It's a hard question to answer.
"Gwenna!" she shrieks, slamming her palms on the couch. "I need more details."
I smile, in spite of myself, roll my eyes to the ceiling, and exhale hard. "I'm going to need coffee for this."
Coffee obtained, which was a mistake because now my heart is beating twice as fast for no good reason.
I decide to let it all spill out in roughly reverse chronological order.
Morgan's eyes go wide when I mention Kai, then soften when I tell her about Kingston, then.
.. bug out of her head when I mention Callahan and Lanz, and then settle when I get all the way back to Lanz after that very first fencing meet.
"Well," she says, "that does change things a little."
"Does it?"
"I mean, look, Gwenna, I'm basically a one-girl background check on these guys.
Kingston's my brother. Kai's practically my brother.
I've known Lanz since I was like 14 and Callahan"—she glances at the door—"I mean, Cal is a cinnamon roll.
He's so pure. He's too pure." She frowns. "Are you really going to corrupt him?"
"I'm not corrupting anyone!” A flush creeps up my cheeks and I grip the sides of the chair. "That's not what this is about."
“Fine, fine.” Morgan waves a hand. “But you get what I mean. I think you could do a lot worse, a lot lot worse. They are, on the whole, good people. No red flags. I would absolutely tell you. But I also think..."
She gets up from the couch, sits next to me on the floor, cups my two hands between hers. "I think you can't just do this because they need you to, Gwenna. You should only do it if you actually want to. They've done a lot, and, well, sometimes they have to live with the consequences of mistakes."
I nod, and for one brief moment, I let myself consider it. Being with them, spending time with them, seeing them every day, touching them, kissing them. My breathing gets hard and fast.
"Yeah," I say softly, "I just…I don't know. Things like this just don't happen. Or, I guess they do, but…not to me.”
Morgan gives my hands a little pat.
"Well, if that's your only objection, then no. I refute it on all grounds. You're lovely, Gwenna. Too good for all four of us combined. And well…” She shrugs, getting to her feet. “Stranger things do happen. You've literally seen it."
She leans forward and kisses the top of my head. "You'll figure it out. I know you will."
After that, it feels tense and strange to come to Emrys' class, where I know Kingston is waiting for me, and I know, and he knows, that I have not yet given them an answer.
I still don't know. Morgan made good points, and I just, I don't want to have to think about it.
I don't want that responsibility. I just want to sit here and do my reading and spout off about my silly little theory.
And that's what I can do. That is, after all, why I'm here, at least in this class. "Professor," I say as I set my things down, "I have a theory." Across from me, Kingston looks up, sets down his pen, attentive. Emrys inclines his head. "Oh?"
Again, I give the rundown as best I can. The figure of Caritas, the force of viriditas she wields.
“It's green because it's growing. Fertile. It brings things back to life, which is a lot of what the grail was supposed to do,” I say. “Except in this case, when Hildegard writes about it, it’s—”
“A person,” Kingston says.
“A woman,” I correct. “And she wields this sort of…other force that exists outside the Holy Spirit or divine will or anything like that. It’s…
” I flip through the pages, unable to find the exact phrase I'm looking for, and paraphrase.
“The power of plants to bring forth leaves and…stuff like that. The return of spring. The natural cycles of the seasons.” I look up at Emrys.
"Weren't there some ancient Celtic beliefs around that? Like pre-Christian, about one person who would restore the land? Something like that?”
Emrys nods, delight dancing in his eyes. "Oh yes. The Wooing of Etain, Baile in Scáil…” He gets to his feet, tapping a finger to his lips. "I haven't got the text here, but I can fetch them. I think you're onto something." He gives me an avuncular smile. "I'll be just a moment."
Then he leaves us alone.
Well, great. My excitement ebbs a bit and I am suddenly very aware of the fact that Kingston and I are alone in this classroom.
I chew my bottom lip, tap my foot anxiously. Kingston's steadily reading and writing. Me, I don't really want to dive into something new until I can figure out this existing theory. It’s taking up too much space in my brain, buzzing like a neon sign.
So instead, I glance at Kingston, glance at the chalkboard, glance back. "What are you reading?" I ask.
"Grail legends," he says, careful, neutral. "Chrétien de Troyes’ Perceval."
“I see.” I fidget with my pen. "Anything interesting?"
Kingston flips through his notes, frowning
“The Grail is said to have come from the castle of the Fisher King,” he says. “A haunting, crumbling structure in the middle of a wasteland. When the Grail quest is complete, and it is returned, the Fisher King will be healed, and the wasteland returned to life.”
“I see.” I glance at his folio of texts. “And that’s…what all that is about?”
Kingston shakes his head. “Supplementary stories as well. I’ve just made it to the wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle, actually.” He’s still not looking at me, but he's speaking very clearly. “Have you read that one?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I haven't read a lot of romances. I'm still getting better at Middle French, you know.”
"It’s…interesting," Kingston remarks.
I say nothing to that. But he keeps going.
"Gawain marries Ragnelle, a woman who's hideously ugly, in order to save the king's life. But then, as their wedding night falls, she turns into a beautiful maiden. She explains to him that she's cursed, and she'll look like this at night, and ugly during the day."
“That’s…” I frown. “Isn’t that the plot of Shrek?”
Kingston stops and stares at me.
“You’re suggesting a twelfth-century French poet plagiarized the plot of an animated movie?”
I roll my eyes. “No.”
I swear, an actual smile plays at his lips. But he tamps it down and looks back at his notes.
“Right. So. Anyway. She says he can have it the other way around if he wants.
He just has to tell her. But he can't decide.
He doesn't want to decide, he realizes. So he says, my lady, the choice is yours.
And that is actually what breaks the curse.
From then on, she's beautiful all day, every day. Then Gawain solves the riddle, and the king lives.”
Kingston turns a page, and I wait for him to go on, but that’s it. Nothing more.
Which leaves us in more of that unbearable silence.
"I'm still thinking about what you said,” I blurt out. “All of you.”
“Good. You should."
That…isn’t what I expected he’d say. “And I told Morgan," I add, since it seems like we're in a full disclosure kind of place.
At that, Kingston closes his eyes briefly, like he wishes I hadn’t told her, but he recovers quickly. “I suppose that makes sense.”
He keeps writing. And writing.
"That's it?” I say, after a moment. “Don't you need to figure this out kind of soon?"
"We can wait.” He pauses. “We will wait."
"You can't wait forever, though," I say, my voice lower.
"That's not something you need to worry about."
“How could it not be?"
“Because we asked.” Kingston sets down his pen and looks at me. “We asked, Gwenna. We didn’t tell. Just because we’re duty-bound to a quest and a set of vows doesn’t mean we have the right to impose the consequences on other people.” He inhales. “Whatever you decide, it has to be your choice."
My heart squeezes. Morgan’s voice plays back in my head.
You can't just do this because they need you to, Gwenna. You should only do it if you actually want to.
“But…what if I say no?" after a moment.
"Then we find another way.” Kingston’s voice is firm. “Or we don't, and we face the consequences. That's not something that has anything to do with you."
All I can do is stare. At the classroom. At my desk. At his desk, at the Perceval text spread out before him.
"What was the riddle?" I say suddenly.
Kingston looks up. "What?"
"The riddle," I say. “That Sir Gawain had to answer to save the king's life. What was it?"
Kingston hesitates. "The question was what do women desire above all else? And the answer was…”
“…to make their own choices,” I finish for him.
Kingston nods.
“Your autonomy," he says, like he's struggling to put the words together, "isn't contingent on what you can do for us, for me. And I know I am duty-bound to a quest, but I will not do anything that violates that for you. Do you understand?"
I shut my mouth, which I realize has been hanging open. He means it. He would let me walk away from all this, even though it would cost him everything. Literally his life's work. And that almost makes me...
That almost makes me want to say yes, as paradoxical as it sounds.
"Kingston, I..."
The door flies open. Bangs against the wall.
I jump, wondering why Emrys is making such an entrance, but it’s not him.
It’s Morgan.
“Gwenna,” she breathes. Her expression is wrenched, her face pale. “I’ve been trying to find you all morning.”
Kingston gets to his feet—chivalry or alarm, I can’t tell. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Morgan ignores him and looks right at me, her gaze soft.
“Gwenna, it’s your mom. She died.”