Chapter 42 #2
A scornful laugh burst from Vera. “This is my life—my body. This is not your choice!”
“You’re right,” Merlin interjected. “And it is a courageous one that you are making.”
Lancelot gritted his teeth and breathed heavily through his nose. “Fine,” he said as he turned to face the mage. “And here’s my choice.” He drew his sword. “You want to do this? Fine. But not while there’s breath in my body.”
Oh fuck.
“Lancelot, don’t—” Vera grabbed his arm, but he shook her off, eyes fixed on Merlin.
“That is unwise,” Merlin said coolly.
Lancelot laughed far louder than was appropriate. “Unwise? You saved your queen’s life so that you could bend it for your own designs. And I’m unwise to stand in your way? And what would happen if Arthur comes back and finds his wife dead on the floor? Then what?”
“I don’t know.” Merlin’s calm slipped as he said it, a glimmer of loathing flashing in his eyes. “I was not there, nor was I responsible the last time he found his wife dead on the floor.”
What did that mean? Lancelot’s eyes darkened. He raised his sword and reached back to lay a protective hand on Vera.
Merlin’s mastery over himself collapsed. “I would end you without even taking a breath.”
Lancelot’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “Ah. There it is,” he said. “You’ve been holding that in for a long time.”
“Stop it!” Vera cried.
Merlin blinked, his gaze flitting to her as if he only just remembered she was an important part of this conversation.
“I—I was wrong to say that,” he said. “I would never … Guinevere, he loves you. I can see that. I’m glad for it, but Lancelot does not understand what I do.”
Vera stepped forward, gently pushing Lancelot’s sword arm down. This time, he yielded and let her pass him without a word, only a plea in his eyes.
“He doesn’t understand that I gave you all the life I possibly could,” Merlin said.
“There was a reason you were the last one I brought back. I wanted it to be one of the others so that you could go on and never bear this burden.” He tilted his head thoughtfully to the side.
“I’ll forsake humility and tell you how proud I am that I chose Martin and Allison to be your parents.
They were perfect. And you. You, child, were special.
The way you persisted in finding beauty and light even in the limitations of your life … I gave you all I could.”
He had. He really had. Vera’d had more than she ever deserved. How many children had ever been so loved, had seen so many glorious sunrises with full bellies and safe arms to run to, had gotten to fill the shoes of a queen and live in a legend even for a short while?
“Guinna, please,” Lancelot moaned from behind her.
“I know you’ve had hard days,” Merlin continued as Vera took another step toward him. “And I didn’t leave you to suffer then, either. When I let Vincent remember you—”
“What?” Vera stopped.
“Yes,” he said with a benevolent smile. “An intentional lapse in the magic that kept you unnoticeable for—”
“You controlled who could remember me?”
The smile faltered. Vera saw Merlin begin to realize that what he had thought was shocked gratitude was nothing of the sort.
Her world was spinning, but his words had turned a key, and pieces began clicking into place.
In her former life, when she was Guinevere, she’d clearly suffered from depression.
And with the two who came after, intent on their own destruction …
“You were afraid I’d end my life before I was ready to come back here, weren’t you?” Vera asked. Merlin inhaled sharply but did not speak. “So you gave me Vincent when I was at my most miserable.”
Had any of her life been her own?
It’s your choice. Merlin had first said it that evening in the pub in Glastonbury, right on the heels of telling her existence would crumble if she didn’t abide by his wishes.
That was how it had been every time. Every “choice” came after Merlin offered no other feasible option.
“You have never given me a choice. You painted me into corners. You controlled my entire life.” She only realized the breadth of her statement’s truth as she said it out loud.
“You exist because of my actions,” Merlin said, all softness gone. “The things that you carry within you are the entire reason you matter—”
“I am more than a vessel,” Vera said with such force that it silenced him. She’d voiced Merlin’s exact sentiment countless times, but the conviction of it as falsehood now reverberated in her bones.
And it wasn’t because Lancelot or Arthur said so, nor Matilda, or Gawain, or even her parents.
Vera had breath in her body, a heart slamming against the inside of her chest, and a mind that, yes, might contain secrets, but that was hers, and she would not forfeit it.
She’d spent her life wanting to matter to the people around her, to fill their empty spaces, expecting that would make her whole.
But it wasn’t about being whole. She was broken and messy and utterly, wondrously human, and the weight of that mattered. She mattered.
“I will do the procedure,” she said, breath heaving like she’d just finished running a marathon. Still, Vera’s voice was steady as she held Merlin’s stunned gaze. “But only after we go to the mages. And Gawain will perform it, not you.”
“Do not be ridiculous,” he said, stepping toward her. He foolishly believed the argument wasn’t over. “Gawain can’t see all of that. And he only thinks the procedure would destroy you because he’s probably not capable of safely performing it—”
“He already has.” She relished the way the revelation made Merlin gasp and stumble a step backward. “Gawain has been in my mind. He knows all about me.”
Fear flashed across his face. “That wasn’t yours to tell,” he said.
“Right. Because it’s only my choice when it benefits you?
” She knew he wouldn’t answer, but she let the silence hang between them before she continued.
“Go out and get the rest of our party. We’ll leave for the Magesary as soon as they’re back.
You can tell Arthur what happened here, or you can wait and let me. I’ll leave that up to you.”
Merlin looked at her like she was mad. “I’m not leaving you here—”
“I am your queen,” Vera said, “and I command you to go.”
Merlin took a long, rattling inhale. He touched his fingers to his forehead, his eyes wrought with disbelief. “You will doom us all.”
He left without so much as a glance back.
Vera watched the closed door for a long moment before she looked at Lancelot. “Have I made a terrible mistake?”
“No,” he said adamantly. He swept her tightly to his chest and held her, kissing the top of her head. “I’m so proud of you.” She felt his body trembling.
Vera pulled back, really seeing him, taking in the depth of his panic, and hearing Merlin’s words echo in her mind.
I was not responsible the last time he found his wife dead.
At that moment, she understood, and her heart ached.
“When Merlin brought Guinevere back, and she went mad, you were the one who killed her, weren’t you? ”
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply before he quietly said, “Yes. A version of you died at my hands. I won’t let you die again.”
She took his hand and kissed his knuckles. “We’re all going to die someday.”
Lancelot opened his eyes and fixed her with a stern look. “You are not allowed to die.”
Vera laughed, and he smiled, too. “I promise not to die if you promise not to,” she said.
“Deal. No dying allowed.”