Sword in the Stars (Once & Future #2) - Cori McCarthy Page 0,63

fire. Smoke poured out in several unexpected colors.

“Merlin, I need your help,” Arthur said as the old mage quenched the fire with a quick counterspell. “Gweneviere has been taken!”

“Gwen?” Merlin cried.

“They raided her chambers,” Arthur said. “I knew we should be sleeping together so I might defend her.” Merlin tried not to scoff. Arthur’s intentions were in the right place, but Jordan was the one who would have stopped any threat to Gwen—and they’d lost the black knight to the future.

“These villains left a message,” Arthur said, holding up the torn scrap of a note. Merlin snatched at it, but Old Merlin got there first.

“Curious that such crude thieves would know how to write,” Old Merlin said. “They must have employed someone to do this.” Merlin tried to catch a glimpse of the rag that had been written on, but Old Merlin put it right under his nose, squinting and even sniffing. “I can use this to find where she’s gone…” Arthur’s expression tilted toward hope. “But only if you promise not to go after her yourself.”

“I must,” Arthur said. “I no longer ask my knights to do the hardest work in this kingdom without putting myself in the same danger. There is no honor in such inequality.” Merlin could hear the echoes of Gwen and Ari in those words. He would have been proud of Arthur’s evolution if there had been room in his body for anything other than fear.

“This is undoubtedly a trap to draw you in, Arthur,” Old Merlin said. “If you go, your reign will end before your round table is given a chance to thrive. Don’t give these petty villains what they’re after. Send someone who wishes to save Gweneviere as much as you do.”

“Lancelot,” Merlin and his old self chorused.

They’d come up with the same answer to the equation, but they’d done different work to get there. Merlin wanted to send Ari because she would never stop until Gwen was safe. Old Merlin didn’t mind tossing Lancelot straight into the maw of danger.

“Fine,” Arthur said, with an even-dealing tone that matched the new maturity the chalice had brought. “But I have a condition of my own. This is the last time you dictate my actions.”

Old Merlin turned away from Arthur, perhaps hiding the wince of hurt that Merlin caught. “We are in agreement.”

He tossed the ransom note into a mortar and pestle, grinding it with a few black sprinkles from one of his jars. The note crumbled into a dark dust before Merlin had a chance to see it. Old Merlin ran his finger through the gritty coating on the bowl, touching it to his tongue. He closed his eyes and meditated on whatever he’d tasted before snapping them back open. Grabbing up an old map, he plopped a withered finger down on a hill in the middle of nowhere.

Arthur took the map and ran, shouting thanks over his shoulder.

“No need to thank me,” Old Merlin said darkly as Arthur disappeared down the stairs, no doubt to fetch Lancelot.

Merlin tried to force himself back to a state resembling calm, but then he saw the thorny delight on Old Merlin’s face. “This is our opportunity, carbuncle. We know where Gweneviere is, and we can rid the kingdom of all threats before she returns to Camelot.”

“We… can do what?” Merlin asked.

He got the sense that the horrors were only about to deepen as Old Merlin pulled open a drawer in one of his magical inventory cupboards.

“I’ve been conducting an augury,” he said, waving Merlin forward. He found three birds with their wings pinned to the wood, stomachs slit open. Their innards had been taken out and scattered in random-looking patterns.

Not just any birds. Baby birds.

Merlin wanted to vomit. Middle Ages magic was disgusting. He was disgusting.

Old Merlin pointed at the organs. “The signs point to a baby that will grow up to be Arthur’s great downfall.”

“Not Gwen’s baby!” Merlin shouted before he could stop himself.

Old Merlin folded his hands over his stomach as if that settled things. “If there was a sliver of a question that the queen carried another man’s child, you’ve just eclipsed it. Thank you, carbuncle.”

Merlin crouched down, head in his hands, stomach suddenly tight. He’d made it worse. He was always making things worse. He was Arthur’s downfall.

“What are you going to do?” he asked, dreading the answer more than Nin’s voice.

“Stealing children is one of my specialties,” Old Merlin said with a dry, horrible twist of humor. He’d taken Arthur—but that