"The riddle," I say. “That Sir Gawain had to answer to save the king's life. What was it?"
Kingston hesitates. "The question waswhat do women desire above all else?And the answer was…”
“…to make their own choices,” I finish for him.
Kingston nods.
“Your autonomy," he says, like he's struggling to put the words together, "isn't contingent on what you can do for us, for me. And I know I am duty-bound to a quest, but I will not do anything that violates that for you. Do you understand?"
I shut my mouth, which I realize has been hanging open. He means it. He would let me walk away from all this, even though it would cost him everything. Literally his life's work. And that almost makes me...
That almost makes me want to say yes, as paradoxical as it sounds.
"Kingston, I..."
The door flies open. Bangs against the wall.
I jump, wondering why Emrys is making such an entrance, but it’s not him.
It’s Morgan.
“Gwenna,” she breathes. Her expression is wrenched, her face pale. “I’ve been trying to find you all morning.”
Kingston gets to his feet—chivalry or alarm, I can’t tell. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Morgan ignores him and looks right at me, her gaze soft.
“Gwenna, it’s your mom. She died.”
THIRTY
GWENNA
We goto the only place that makes sense.
Camlann House.
Laura Vale was 58 years old. She was found in her kitchen—her new boyfriend, Max or whoever it is, coming by for dinner—and she was lying cold on the floor.
Ischemic stroke. Sudden. Tragic. Random.
Morgan hustles me to a couch and goes to make tea, calling for reinforcements. Callahan appears first, finds me a blanket that I don’t really need. Lanz rushes in and looks sick to his stomach when he hears, and Kai…
Kai pulls me up and off my feet and holds on to me. Which is as surprising as it is…strangely comforting.
Eventually he sets me back down, and Morgan comes in with my mug and remarks that shewouldhave put together something to eat except that they have no realfoodin here, and Lanz explains that it’s Lent, of course there’s no sugar or fat in the house, and Morgan rolls her eyes and threatens to order Doordash until Callahan points out that it’s too icy for anything to reach campus and…
I stop listening. Like I’m just gradually losing the signal of the broadcast, fading into mental static.
My mom is dead. My mom is dead.
Maybe if I think it enough times, it’ll make sense.
“I’m not sad,” I say out loud. “Shouldn’t I be sad?”
I look up at them—the boys and Morgan. At Kingston, who is standing in the corner, arms folded, fist pressed to his mouth.
He hasn’t said anything since we got back.
