Page 98 of American King (New Camelot Trilogy 3)
Embry.
Morgan.
Kay.
Belvedere.
Vivienne Moore and Luc and Galahad and Gawayne and Nimue and—
“Stop,” I say, turning away abruptly and gripping the railing. And I don’t know whether I’m speaking to him or to my own thoughts. “Just…a minute. I need a minute.”
From the edge of my vision, I see Merlin give me a gracious nod. “Of course.”
I stare at my fingers clenched tight around the weathered wood and rusting nails of the railing. I take a breath and try to push away whatever just happened.
It’s the power of suggestion, I tell myself. He’s started talking about past lives and now you’re imagining the same thing. That’s a natural response, right?
One image keeps rising to the surface though, and I find that I don’t want to push it away. Embry, Greer and me alone under a massive tree, both of my lovers stretched out in the grass looking rumpled and well used, and me with my back to the trunk, looking at a flat-topped hill in the distance. The air smells like apples and sex, and next to my feet, there are two thin circlets of gold and two swords, a careless pile of metal shucked off in our hurry to love each other. Embry is dozing with his arms wrapped around Greer, and Greer is reaching for my hand. Her dress is still pushed up to her thighs and Embry is still shirtless.
“Come take us again,” she murmurs. “Before we have to go back.”
And I fill my lungs with the smell of summer and love, and I crawl back over to them.
That’s it, that’s all of the memory—or the echo or the dream—and it has me completely transfixed. I’m still staring down at my hands, thinking of that tree, of that flat-topped hill and the long limbs of my wife and lover when Merlin speaks again.
“Arthur.”
And when I look up at him, it’s out of instinct, like I’m responding to my name.
“You see it, now,” he says.
“No—I—this is not real, Merlin.” I shake my head, trying to clear away all the false memories. “It can’t be real, it’s literally not possible for it to be real.”
“Arthur—”
I flinch. “Don’t call me that.”
“You’re upset.”
“I’m not upset,” I say in a voice that betrays exactly how upset I am. I clear my throat and start again. “This is insane. I can’t believe we’re standing here talking about nonexistent past lives when we should be talking about the campaign or the country or anything other than…”
I can’t actually bring myself to say the words. They feel childish and silly in my mouth.
“Than the fact that you are the person people call King Arthur?”
I push back from the railing to leave. This is ridiculous. I heard what he had to say, it was nonsense, and now I’m leaving. There’s too much to do to entertain this…this fantasy.
“There’s one more part, and then you can leave,” Merlin says, reading my body language correctly. “One last thing.”
No. No more things, I want to shout, but I don’t, I only nod at him and tug at my scarf. I’m hot all of a sudden, hot and anxious. “What is it?”
“Embry is going to die.”
My hands drop from my scarf, and everything is in slow motion, even the water trilling underneath us. I can’t even get the words to make sense together in my head.
Embry.
Die.
