The Camelot Spell - Laura Anne Gilman [76]
“Could even a dozen knights have gotten Merlin out of there before Nimue was ready to let him go?” Newt asked.
Ailis didn’t have to think about that one. “Probably not…no.”
“There you go. All’s well that ends well, right? Merlin will get himself free eventually, and Arthur’s awake and healthy, and the Grail Quest will go on. And here you are, and here I am, both alive and home, and all’s well.” As he spoke, Newt brought a grooming brush down in one long motion; his other hand rested on the horse’s neck, keeping it calm.
“Don’t talk to me like you do to Loyal,” Ailis retorted. “I’m not that easily placated.”
“No?”
She made an exasperated noise, and threw a clod of straw at him. Most of it landed in Newt’s hair, which was already dirty with sweat and horsehair.
“I just thought that something might change.”
“It has.” Newt stopped his grooming and looked up at her. “Look at you.”
Her old russet skirt and borrowed tunic had been replaced by finer garments—a linen smock and wool kirtle, or loose dress, lightly embroidered at the sleeve and hem. And her ankle-high boots, visible as she swung her legs over the side of the hayloft, were not hand-me-downs, but rather made to suit her foot, from the shoemaker who made footwear for the queen’s own ladies in waiting.
“Pffft. Clothing. That’s my reward for saving everyone. But what about you? They shouldn’t just ignore you like this.”
“They haven’t,” he said, going back to grooming the horse with steady strokes.
“They haven’t? That’s wonderful! But—”
“But why am I still here?”
Ailis looked around and shrugged. “Yes. Not that this isn’t a very nice place, I suppose, but—”
“Because they couldn’t offer me anything more than what I already have,” Newt said, pausing to rub his nose with the back of one arm before going back to his job.
“Oh, don’t you worry about me,” he said, seeing her frown with concern. “When I need something, I’ll remind them of my service fast enough. And they’ll honor it. That’s how nobility is. I just don’t want anything more right now.”
“Still. Somehow it doesn’t seem fair.”
Newt laughed and Loyal turned his head to look at him curiously. “It isn’t. Life’s like that. Speaking of which, have you seen his majesty’s nephew lately?”
Ailis looked slightly deflated. “No. Well…I have, but only in passing. They’re keeping him busy.” The Quest for the Grail was still set to go out—late, but intact—and all the squires had been hoping to go, Gerard especially so.
“He’s the one who’s changed. I told you. I did, didn’t I? Knights aren’t friends with servants. Not really.”
“You’re an idiot,” a voice came from the stable door. “At least we know that won’t ever change.”
Gerard was also wearing better clothing than they had ever seen him in. His hair had been ruthlessly trimmed and slicked back, making him seem older, more commanding. But he came in and dropped himself on a bale of hay, careless of his finery.
“I’ve been trying to find time to come see you both. But they barely let me sleep, everyone’s so intent on making this Quest perfect. The things that were done before aren’t good enough—the weapons aren’t sharp enough, the tents aren’t grand enough…even the ones who weren’t behind the Quest before are enthusiastic now.”
Newt snorted at that, sounding like one of his charges. Gerard grinned in agreement and then went on to say, “If nothing else, Morgain getting her fingers into the castle walls scared them that much. They think having the Grail will be some kind of magical talisman in and of itself, to keep her out and to keep Arthur safe.”
“Isn’t it?” Newt asked.
“No,” Gerard said at the same time Ailis said, “yes.”
“Well, which is it?” Newt asked.
“The Grail is magic, of a sort. Just like Morgain’s tear or…or Merlin’s staff, although he hardly ever uses it. It’s where you store up power. Only…” Ailis slowed down, as though she were thinking her words through before uttering them.
Newt