“You’ve made my decisions for years,” Arthur said. “And that stops right now. Tomorrow morning, I’m leaving to get my court wizard back. Lance will accompany me—I’ll send my apologies to Sir Kay for borrowing his squire.” He let that one sit a moment. “And when we return, I expect you to give her a royal welcome.”

CHAPTER 42

Arthur left for Brocelande at dawn. He wore Excalibur, sheathed in a plain scabbard. Lance rode at his side, dressed in a handsome velvet jerkin, his family crest glinting from his gold ring and a new sword at his waist, bearing Sir Kay’s emblem in its hilt.

When he’d told Lance to prepare for the journey, his friend had given him a long look and said, “It’s about time. What changed your mind?”

“It was something Guinevere said. That the future will look exactly like the past if we don’t start making changes.”

“Well.” Lance offered him a crooked grin. “I, for one, am a big fan of these changes.”

And then he’d shown up at the royal stables the next morning dressed in a fashionable new jacket, and had overseen the saddling of Arthur’s horse as well as his own.

All was nearly as it should be. Which was a strange notion, because a year earlier, he never would have believed he’d consider Guinevere or Gawain to be his friends, or that he would welcome the day he would be crowned King of Camelot. Yet somehow, over the past few months, everything had changed, and he finally felt ready to face the future.

They reached Brocelande by late afternoon. A babbling river meandered along one edge, and an ornate manor house sat on the hill overlooking the town.

They passed beneath the gatehouse alongside a crowd of carts and wagons that had come from the countryside for market day. Houses and inns with steeply angled roofs lined the road, merchants’ storefronts displaying their brightly colored wares. Packhorses laden with goods ambled down the lane, alongside steering carts.

Emmett had assured him that any merchant would know the way to Master Merlin’s place, but the directions emptied from his head as soon as he was confronted with the small but lively town.

“Look!” Lance said, pointing to a cheerful inn, whose enclosed yard was attracting quite a crowd. He spurned his horse and rode up to investigate. A moment later, he returned with a wide grin. “The Lord Brocelande’s Men are putting on a play.”

Arthur grinned. “I guess we’re going to the theater.”

They crowded into the innyard along with the other market-goers. Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to the theater—a real theater—not a troupe commanded to perform at the king’s pleasure, and so terrified to play at the castle that they flubbed half their lines.