Avalon Rising Read Free Page B

have what I need, Sir Lancelot. I’ll stay in the tower.” Neither Lancelot nor my father knows it’s for the aeroship I’m building.
    I don’t miss the knight’s jaw clenching at my disobedient words, but he doesn’t dispute me. He saw what world lies beneath Camelot’s surface when he assisted in cleaning up Merlin’s catacombs. And with few knights left to send to Galahad’s infantry or search for the subjects gone too long, the problem I am to him is a low priority.
    Sir Kay approaches with deep-set eyes of brutal charcoal, nearly ten years on Lancelot and a strong face in need of a good cleaning.
    “Lancelot.” Kay dismounts and hands off his horse to a waiting guard.
    Lancelot’s eyes crinkle with happiness long forgotten at the sight of the dead king’s brother. “Kay,” he says with a brotherly embrace. The name coming off his tongue might as well be Arthur’s. “You’ve had a long journey.”
    Kay’s eyes fall to the snow-covered ground as more falls from the sky through a quiet wind.
    “A journey months too long, if I’m not mistaken,” Lancelot adds.
    “No,” Kay says. “Years. Pour me a drink, Lancelot. I have much to tell you.”

THREE
    Sir Kay’s booming laughter gets in the way of his reminiscent storytelling that evening.
    “We’d just arrived in Corbenic when Lancelot decided the ale from the night prior deserved to make a reappearance!” Kay shouts as his cheeks redden from drink. An array of dried meats and whatever bread we’ve managed to scourge up from the banquet halls lies in front of our company, composed of Kay, Lancelot, Gawain, my father, and me. But only Kay eats.
    “A brew of ox piss always does,” Lancelot mutters, wiping away bittersweet tears at the memory.
    “You should have seen the look on Arthur’s face—utter horror! He couldn’t believe his finest ale was coming back up with the braised pork!” A loud laugh shakes the table and Kay’s stomach until he must clench it.
    Lancelot hides his smile by drinking from his pint. “Piss, Kay. It was piss.”
    Story after story about Arthur, carefully collected and lying in front of us in such detail that one might think the king was still alive. Lancelot was the one to confirm Arthur’s death upon Kay’s arrival, and at the news, the older knight’s eyes grew heavy, and his lips quivered. But then he smiled at the wealth of tales that would ensure Arthur of Camelot would live on.
    Finally, Kay lifts his pint. “To Arthur.”
    “To Arthur,” the lot of us reply.
    “To Arthur.” Lancelot drinks quickly and regards the main hall of Camelot, losing himself in its decrepit architecture. Suits of armor stand guard in a castle whose twisted copper candelabras have darkened, and where the silence of cold smokestacks is too loud. The mechanical arts and their influence over the way we lived were destroyed in Morgan’s war, leaving us in an archaic world.
    Kay eyes Lancelot carefully, the aura of mourning now passed. “I stopped at Corbenic several nights ago. I remembered Pelles as a man of life and joy, but when we met again this time, he was a ghost of himself.”
    Lancelot traces the rings in the wooden table. My father clears his throat. “Le Fay’s attack on Camelot left our kingdoms’ alliance fractured. Pelles mourns his fallen men with the rest of Corbenic.”
    I stare at my own untouched pint and clench my skirt in my fists until I’m certain my nails will weave the threads into my skin. The scrimmage Morgan stirred up between our kingdoms was the setting of my first kill; the war that followed and the scores who died showed me how crucial it was for Camelot to find the Grail, that which Merlin said could end death and balance the scales between magic and the mechanical arts. An alchemist’s dream.
    Kay leans back in his chair, clutching his heavy leather belt across his stomach and glancing at the desolate rafters. “Shame. It was always a fine kingdom to visit. Its festivals were wonderfully