Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Arthur’s Stone was beautiful. It lay on the ground, nestled against an outcropping of rock, perpendicular to the river.
The rectangular slab was just over ten feet long, with edges curved and worn by time.
The damp earth around the river was lush, coated in lichen and greenery.
The stone was covered with patches of moss and slick with a green sludge.
Edith stroked her fingers over the cold, damp surface of the stone.
The moss was spongy and thick with morning dew.
The Latin and Ogham inscription was barely visible in the early morning light.
So many scholars presumed to know what it meant, but only Edith’s ancestors carried the true translation, passed down from generation to generation, starting with those who had laid the stone in the first place.
That secret knowledge made Edith proud to be of the Camborne line.
She didn’t care about her family’s money, or the properties, or the business.
Like her grandmother before her, Edith only cared that once, long ago, there had been something noble, something special in her bloodline.
The stone’s true purpose was twofold, which was hinted at by the dual languages of the inscription.
First, it was a memorial of King Arthur’s fall.
In this very spot, he had received a mortal wound from his nephew, Mordred.
As Arthur lay dying, he gave his final instructions to the knight Sir Bedivere.
He ordered him to throw Excalibur into the lake so that it would return to Avalon.
After that, Arthur himself made his last journey to Avalon, where he remained to this day.
The second purpose of the stone was to mark the beginning of a trail that only the worthy could follow.
If an honorable soul possessed the key, then they could find the first clue that would lead them on a quest to find Arthur’s resting place in Avalon.
Edith could only hope she was honorable enough.
The treasures that lay with him, Excalibur included, were far too important to be lost forever, so the knights who had hidden the entrance to Avalon knew they must also leave behind a way for the artifacts to be found.
Edith felt Thomasin come up behind her to study the stone over her shoulder. The wild mess of Thomasin’s hair brushed up against Edith’s cheek.
“Isn’t there supposed to be an X?” Thomasin asked.
“What?” Edith glanced up at her, spitting out a strand of Thomasin’s hair that had gotten stuck in her mouth while she spoke.
“ ‘X marks the spot,’ right? That’s how you know there’s treasure.”
Technically, there was no treasure here, but Edith planned on putting off that revelation for as long as humanly possible. “That’s only in storybooks,” she scoffed.
Thomasin gave her a pointed look and said, “I’m sorry, we’re currently on a quest to unearth a mythical king’s magical sword and all his mighty treasure, but you draw the line at ‘X marks the spot’?”
Edith considered that for a moment. “Yes. An X makes no logical sense. If every treasure came with a giant X, then everybody would be finding treasures right and left. Besides, if the goal of hiding treasure is to keep it from being found, then why would you announce its presence with a universally recognized symbol?”
“I didn’t realize that logic was an intrinsic value of the treasure-hunting process. I thought all you needed was a strong imagination.”
Edith reared back, turning to face Thomasin head on.
“King Arthur is not imaginary. I can show you dozens of historical texts and scholarly accounts that prove Camelot, Merlin, and the knights of the Round Table were all very real. Just because the rest of the world has decided they’re mere legends, solely because nobody has any faith in magic or wonder or goodness, does not mean they’re made up. ”
Thomasin raised her hands placatingly and rocked back on her heels as Edith finished with a dramatic huff. “Touchy subject,” Thomasin commented.
“It is my life’s work.” Edith crossed her arms over her chest.
Thomasin raised a skeptical brow. “Aren’t you a little young to already be declaring a life’s work?”
Edith disagreed wholeheartedly. If anything, she felt as though she was already hopelessly behind.
If she didn’t accomplish her life’s work soon, she would never catch up to her siblings, to where she should be, to where everyone else her age already seemed to be: settled, content, and with every item on their life’s to-do list well in hand.
“I’m not that young,” she simply said.
This made Thomasin laugh. “C’mon, you’re what? Twenty-two?”
“Twenty-seven,” Edith grumbled.
Thomasin shrugged lazily as if the five years’ difference didn’t mean anything at all, when in Edith’s mind it meant five years wasted, because she should’ve started this quest at least that much earlier.
“Wait.” Thomasin caught Edith by the arm as she turned back to the stone. “Shouldn’t you be married?”
Edith’s cheeks flushed so intensely she thought she might faint.
Mortification was an anvil in her stomach.
Yes, she should be married by now, but she wasn’t going to stand there and tell Thomasin all about how no one had ever shown the slightest interest in her.
How Edith had never so much as held hands with someone with romantic intent, or how her father’s attempts to marry her off had gotten increasingly desperate before he had just given up entirely, resigned to the fact that Edith would have to live in his house and rely on his money and good graces forever.
How she had wanted to be courted so badly, and yet no one ever wanted her.
“No,” she gritted out between her teeth, yanking her arm out of Thomasin’s grip. Beginning the quest was supposed to be one of the happiest days of her life. She would not let Thomasin ruin it by reminding her of the complete social failure that was her normal life.
Edith kept her back turned, resolutely staring at the inscription but not really reading it. She heard Thomasin say softly, “Their loss, mate. That hoity-toity countryside crowd doesn’t know what they’re missing.”
Edith still didn’t turn around to face her.
It was no longer out of shame, but to hide the tears that had begun to pool in her eyes.
No one besides her grandmother had ever said such a kind thing to her before.
She swallowed thickly and blinked away the tears as best she could.
“Thank you,” she murmured. Thomasin clapped her gently on the back in response.
Worthing and Jay’s arrival gave Edith the distraction she needed to wipe her eyes without Thomasin seeing. She didn’t want the gruff highwaywoman to know she could be so easily affected by a kind word. Especially when it was likely only said out of pity.
“Horses are all taken care of,” Worthing said.
The men had stayed at camp to tend to them while Edith and Thomasin scouted ahead to the site.
Or at least that’s what Thomasin told them.
Edith had woken up before the sun, jittery with excitement, and at the very first hint of dawn, she’d taken off toward the stone, unable to wait even a second longer for the rest of the group to rouse.
She had left a note next to Thomasin’s sleeping form, letting her know where she’d gone, and figured they would meet her at Arthur’s Stone when they were ready.
But five minutes into her walk, Thomasin snuck up behind her, and the startle of it had probably taken a good chunk off of Edith’s life.
According to Thomasin, the noise of Edith’s trouncing through the woods was enough to wake a bear from hibernation, let alone a mercenary with insomnia.
At that point, Edith had asked Thomasin if she wanted to talk about what was troubling her so much as to cause insomnia, to which Thomasin had responded, “There are two kinds of mercenaries. Those who don’t sleep heavily, and those who are dead.”
Jay did not seem to fall under either category, though, because as he lumbered over to where they stood, he still seemed half asleep.
“Where’s the treasure?” he asked, looking down at the stone over Edith’s shoulder. Worthing stepped in front of her, cutting off her view of the stone.
“I do hope you’re right about this, boss,” Worthing said. “We really do need the funds to pay off the chief inspector after—well, you know,” he finished with a condescending look at Thomasin, whose eyes flicked skyward in irritation.
Before Thomasin could respond, Edith shouldered her way past Worthing. “You’ll get your treasure, just like I promised.” She pulled the key from where it hung on a leather cord around her neck, trying not to think about what Worthing might do once she came out with a clue instead of treasure.
“You two stand guard out here,” Thomasin commanded.
They took their posts while Thomasin and Edith crouched before the stone. “I don’t see a lock,” Thomasin murmured in Edith’s ear.
“Trust me.” Edith ran her fingers along the underside of the stone, tracing a ring around the edge. At the left end of one of the long sides, right before it met the corner, Edith’s fingers dipped up into a slender gap. She felt along the ridges of the small, carved-out space and smiled.
With a firm push, the key slotted right into the gap.
She twisted, and with a rough clunk, the stone loosened from the ground.
In the sliver of space that had opened, Edith could see that the stone had not been lying against the earth.
It had been attached to a stone frame that had been dug into the ground.
“Help me lift this,” she said to Thomasin.
The two of them slid their fingers into the gap and heaved the stone up, letting it fall back against the rocky ledge. What was revealed beneath Arthur’s Stone had Edith’s heart beating with furious joy.