thick and understandable. “And did I use magic to make the monks decide not to help us? Or cause the knights to squabble? Oh, did I also use magic to make the laundry pot overturn and all the shirts being washed to fall into the mud?”
He sighed. “No, Pothwen and his idiot dog did that…. Ailis, you haven’t answered my question.”
After a while, since she showed no signs of responding and simply sat and combed out her hair, Gerard got up, threw an oiled cloth over his head tokeep away the worst of the rain, and went outside. He came back a little while later carrying the evening meal; two bowls of surprisingly good stew from the communal cook-pot, only slightly diluted by rain.
“Better than making either one of us do the cooking,” he said as he handed her a bowl, referring to their various burned or undercooked meals while on the road together in the past. Gerard was a terrible cook, Newt was even worse, and Ailis was only slightly better than the two of them.
“It’s warm. That’s what counts.” She put down her comb and found spoons.
“I don’t understand why you have to do that,” he said finally.
“Do what?” Ailis was at a loss, having forgotten where their conversation had ended.
“Use magic,” Gerard clarified.
She put down her spoon and stared at him. “Why do you use a sword?”
“That’s different,” he protested.
“You’re right. It is. A sword is just a tool. Magic is what I am. Who I am. If you have trouble with that, then you have trouble with me.” Her eyes glistened, but in the candlelight he couldn’t tell if it was from anger or tears.
“Ailis. Stop that. Please.”
He didn’t often say “please.” In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time he had said it.
“I just can’t understand why you don’t see how dangerous it might be,” he said, looking down into his stew.
“Dangerous for who? For me?” She really did have to laugh at that. “Ger, I’m not doing anything big. Nothing important. Just little spells to keep myself ready.”
He looked up at that. “Ready for what?”
“Anything that might need magic,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Ger, do you stop practicing your swordplay just because the king has made treaties with the countries around us?”
“Don’t be—no.” He saw the trap closing around him, but couldn’t back out of it.
“So?”
“It’s not the same,” he said again, more weakly this time. “Magic is different. It’s dangerous…. Unpredictable.”
“All the more reason for me to learn how to control it. The same way you learn how to use your sword. Or do you want me to be entirely defenseless? Is that it? Even Merlin—”
“Even Merlin what?” Gerard pounced on her words like a cat on a rat.
“Nothing.”
“Ailis, did Merlin tell you not to do magic?”
“No,” she said defiantly. “In fact, he said I should keep practicing. Discreetly.”
“And you call this discreet?” With a wave of his hand, he indicated the storm outside.
“You’re just upset because we’re not going to be moving out in the morning the way Sir Matthias wanted, which means that another group might find the Grail first.” She shook her head. Her hair was completely dry by now, and the long, dark red strands streamed down her back in a rumpled cascade. “I told you when the king first started this—the Grail’s not a thing to be won. It has to be earned. And if you ask me, there’s not a man on this entire Quest who’s earned it.”
“So you did cause this storm.” He declared, triumphant. They were back in familiar territory now. Ailis and Gerard had been squabbling like this, on different topics, since they were children.
Ailis looked as though she wanted very badly to throw her bowl of stew at him. Familiar also meant that they knew exactly where to hit to accomplish themost damage. “Why are you so tangled up in the thought of me using magic? I could understand it from Newt, but you—you know that magic