Page 102 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

They were at an inn, small and unfamiliar. She wonderedhow far they were from the little port town, and then decided, exhausted, that it wasn’t any of her business.

Gwen and Adah took her to a blazingly hot room, and then Gwen left, and Adah helped her out of her clothes, washed her with a cloth dipped in steaming water, re-dressed her in something warm and soft.

“Why’d you go?” she said. “Idiot.”

Bridget shook her head; it was too hard to explain.

Neil, who was clearly very upset because he barely said a word, brought broth. Bridget sipped at it briefly before turning it away, her stomach too sore and tender, and then both of her friends left her to get some sleep.

She did slip into uneasy unconsciousness for a while, and then she woke up, panicking, feeling like her body was still on horseback, and realized that she had thrashed so hard she’d thrown the bedclothes onto the floor.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Gwen opened it, bathed and no longer armored.

“Can I come in?”

Bridget wanted to turn away and face the wall, and never speak to anyone again—but she just as urgently didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts, so she nodded, and Gwen picked up the blankets, draped them carefully over her, and came to sit at the end of the bed.

“The fisherman said you followed him to find the Grail,” she said gently. “He felt very bad about it. He said if we got you back, he’d bring it to you, so that’s something. Those men didn’t believe it was real, but he certainly does. Here. Congratulations, you have completed the quest for the Holy Grail.”

Gwen placed something wrapped in oilcloth on the bed; Bridget stared into the dying fire and couldn’t bring herself tosay anything. Gwen was probably still furious with her, even if she was being kind to her right now. Everything had fallen apart.

“That’s Excaliburandthe Grail,” Gwen continued, strained, trying to sound light. “I think that easily makes you our most decorated knight.”

“You didn’t want me to be a knight,” Bridget said, through lips that felt dry as sand.

“I want you to be happy,” Gwen said at once. “Whether you’re a knight or not. I wanted you to know that, yes, I love you as a knight, I love that part of you, and I know it’s not just a job or a sport to you, it’s in your bones—but there’s so much of you that you’d still get to keep if you chose a different path. It’s not… knight, or nothing.”

“That’s how it feels,” Bridget said. She realized that she was crying. It had been a very long time since she’d cried. It felt like letting go.

“I know,” Gwen said. “But you don’t get to run from me again, Bridget, or say things to hurt me when I’m only trying to help.” Her calm veneer cracked, along with her voice. “You’re not the only person having a terrible time. But it’s got to be us fighting this together. Not youturningon me whenever things get rough.”

Bridget’s chest hurt, and it wasn’t just from being punched in the ribs. “I’d never turn on you.”

“No. But you’d turn away from me.” Gwen was watching her closely, her expression drawn, but then she let out a sigh. “God, maybe Neil was right. Maybe weshouldhave killed them all. Will you… can you come here?”

Bridget shifted slightly, and Gwen was able to put her arms around her, and then Bridget let herself fall; fall into Gwen’s lap, into despair, a knight unmade, weeping like she’d lost someone, her throat so hoarse she barely made a sound.

Forty-Three

So it came to be that the traitors of the land conspired to take Sir Bridget and make flight, and made mockery of her because they were cowards, and proclaimed they would smite her in front of the people of the land, and she could have easily taken all of them actually, if they hadn’t been so sneaky about it and had met her in a fair fight, the bastards, but of course their type never would Goddammit

—FROM AN EARLY DRAFT OFTHE QUESTS OF KING GABRIEL AND HIS ROUND TABLEBY SIR FLORIAN ARDEN

Gabriel had never been more glad in his life that he and Arthur were back on touching terms. His heart had still been racing when he’d lain down to go to bed; Arthur, who had actually listened to Sidney for once and stayed mostly out of the fighting, had stayed with him without either of them having to say a word about it. They’d lain quietly on their sides, watching the fire until they fell asleep.

In the morning, Gabriel went downstairs expecting to find the mood subdued—and instead walked into a scene that made no earthly sense.

Florian was standing at one end of the table, the blooddrained from his face, horrified. Sir Hurst was standing at the other, a wad of parchment in his hand. As Gabriel entered, he threw it down onto the table, and turned to Gabriel practically spitting fire.

“Your Majesty, I’m sorry to say that Sir Florian has been conspiring against you.”

“You— What?” Gabriel said, blinking back at him, utterly confused.

Adah, Leonard, and Bowen had obviously been sitting around the table when this accusation originally detonated, because their breakfasts lay abandoned, and they were all on their feet.

“It is yet to be determined whether he had something to do with what happened yesterday,” said Sir Hurst, “but when we searched his room—”

“You did what?” Gabriel said sharply. “Why would you do a thing like that?”