Page 40 of For the Love of the Quest

At the far end of the room was The Round Table.

Thomasin helped Edith to her feet, and then Edith all but sprinted to it. She stumbled to a stop before it, hand reached out, but not yet touching it. Like she was afraid to break it.

It was a beautiful, ancient thing. Dark oak wood carved into a perfect circle. It was unadorned, except for the golden painting of a lion at the center. The simplicity of the table made a fool of the replica hanging in the great hall above. That was a costume, a cheap imitation. Thomasin wasn’t sure what it was, but standing here before King Arthur’s Round Table, she could feel the history radiating off it.

The only thing more beautiful than this lost piece of history was Edith’s face as she took it all in. Her hands ghosted over thesurface of the table, shaking ever so slightly. Tears welled in her eyes, and spots of red bloomed along her cheekbones.

Thomasin smiled at her, but kept quiet, not wanting to ruin the moment for her. Soon, Edith looked up at her and gave a breathy laugh of disbelief. This was worth all the spiders. The smile that lit up every inch of Edith’s face.

“I think it’s time for you to solve another puzzle.” Thomasin nodded her head toward the center of the table.

Below the golden outline of the lion sat a clay chalice. The inside was stained a deep red.

Edith picked it up. There was a raised platform beneath where it had been sitting. It was like a coaster, but made of the same exact wood as the table. Edith experimentally pushed on the circle. It depressed beneath her fingers, sinking down below the table.

Edith examined the chalice next, tracing her finger along the red-stained rim. She brought the cup to her nose and took a big whiff. When she lowered the chalice, she had that smug, self-satisfied look that Thomasin had come to know well.

“Give me your dagger.”

“Why?” Thomasin asked as she hesitantly unsheathed a blade and held it out to Edith, handle-first.

“It’s a scale,” Edith said, nodding toward the coaster. “Too much weight, too little weight, nothing happens. But this chalice used to be filled with blood. So, fill it up with blood again, and you have the perfect weight, which will trigger the scale.”

“Why blood?”

“Blood is a symbol of both sacrifice and loyalty. A knight couldn’t join the Round Table without both.”

Edith sliced the dagger across her palm. Thomasin lunged forward with a cry, but Edith sidestepped away from her, curling her hand into a fist and holding it above the chalice.

Blood spilled from her hand in a steady drip. Edith grimaced.

“You could have cut my hand,” Thomasin said.

Edith gave her an affronted look. “I would never hurt you.”

“I’m used to being cut up, and you’re still healing,” she objected, wishing Edith knew that Thomasin would rather take a thousand cuts than watch Edith take just one.

“My quest, my sacrifice.”

The words stung for some reason. Thomasin knew she had made it quite clear to Edith that she didn’t believe in the quest, but she didn’t like the distance those words created between them. She didn’t like the idea that Edith was keeping her on the outside. And also, maybe Thomasinwantedto be a part of the quest, not just a secondary figure. But she simply raised her hands in surrender and watched as Edith filled the chalice with her blood.

Once it was full, Edith moved to wipe her hand on the wall. Thomasin stopped her. “The last thing we need isanotherinfection,” she said as she tore off yet another strip of her shirt. Edith frowned as Thomasin tied the cloth tightly around her hand but thanked her in a quiet voice.

Thomasin stood at her side as she placed the chalice back on the table. As predicted, the scale sank beneath the weight until it was exactly level with the table.

The grinding sound of gears and wooden machinery filled the room, and then the center of the table came detached from the rest of the wood. It spun like a coin flipping through the air, then settled back into place.

But the golden lion was gone. Instead, there was a painting of two dragons locked in combat. One was ghostly white, the other bloodred.

Edith laughed. “That’s the next clue! I know where we have to go.” She spun toward Thomasin and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her excitedly.

Another clue, Thomasin thought, but it was not a rueful revelation. One clue could be a fluke, some random archeological site that Edith had stumbled upon. But two … how could Edith have found this if the quest wasn’t real? Why would this table, with a secret contraption built into it, be waiting here for them?

Thomasin decided in that moment that the questwasreal. She wanted to believe in it because Edith did, and she wanted more than anything for Edith to be right. Thomasin was done resisting the fantasy of Edith. She surrendered to the insane belief that King Arthur was real, and that only they could find his treasure. Only it wasn’t insane anymore. It was real.

She decided something else too.

Thomasin took Edith’s face between her hands. “Our quest,” she told her.