“The original families?” I ask, looking away from the unicorn weaved in the tapestry closest to us.
“Back in the Middle Ages,” Jack says, tossing the notebook back to Owen, “the original knights who were first taught to use elementals were extremely powerful. Less blood dilution over the generations generally results in a greater ability to control the Fey.”
“Unless you’re you-know-who,” Bri says, dropping her voice lower as Madame Jiang, the librarian, passes by with a cart of books.
“Who’s you-know-who?” I ask.
“She means Jennifer,” Jack says, who turns out to be uncommonly patient with all of my questions—maybe from having been friends with Owen for so long. “She never had the qualifications for being a knight, but because of her family background…they kind of let it slide.”
“I still think that if I were to use a salamander,” Owen says, “things would be different.”
Bri flicks him on the head. “Don’t be such a nincompoop. Salamanders are the most dangerous. You’re going to burn your hair off.”
“Says who?” Owen retorts, rubbing his forehead.
Madame Jiang stalks over, a frown creasing her otherwise smooth forehead. “This is a library,” she whispers harshly. “Which means no speaking or you’ll be sent out.”
“It’s time for our last EM class anyway,” Owen says, hopping up onto his feet.
We pack up and hurry outside, laughing. As we round a corner, we cross the path of two older boys coming in the opposite direction. The moment they see us, they turn sideways until they’re walking down the hallway like a pair of giant crabs, but not before I notice their blackened faces and their very obvious lack of eyebrows.
“Busted!” Owen yells after them.
The pair flinches, then hurries away, presumably to the infirmary to get treated. A large, beefy arm comes down around my shoulders, its weight forcing me to stoop over like an old granny.
“That was our work. Very pretty, don’t you think?” Gareth asks.
“Playing with live fire,” Gauvain says, shaking his head so his dreadlocks swing around it. “And so close to the face too!”
“Morgan, my chère,[8] how are you doing?” Gareth asks, flexing his biceps so I’m nearly choking.
“On your way to practice, hmmm?” Gauvain asks.
“Yeah,” I reply, trying to move from under Gareth’s crushing arm. “Last lesson of the week.”
Gareth nods understandingly. “Today’s a special day for us too.”
“We’re going to play a trick on that one,” Gauvain says, his French accent thick from excitement. He points at a boy a few yards ahead of us.
“Percy?” Keva asks, suddenly next to us.
“Why?” I ask.
“He got us in a pigeon of trouble,” Gareth says.
“It’s ‘smidgen,’ you oaf,” Gauvain says.
“No thanks, I’m not hungry,” Gareth says, finally lifting his arm off my shoulders. “But you watch, Morgan. Tonight, he’s going to get spanked.”
“And not by us,” Gauvain adds with a dazzling smile.
“Make sure to stop over!” Gareth says as the two cousins dash away, the floor shaking under their steps.
“We will!” Keva shouts back, waving energetically. “See you later, suckers,” she adds to us, leaving after them.
Bri jumps from foot to foot. “That means we better check out the arena tonight!”
“No way,” Owen says. “I’ve a feeling I’m going to have a breakthrough today. I’m not wasting a single second of training until I get it this time.”
“Whatevers,” Bri says with an indifferent shrug. “I still say watching Percy in a fight’s way more entertaining. What do you say, Jack-Jack? Morgan?”
“Sure,” I say. “I’ve got nothing better to do anyway.”
◆◆◆
A loud cheer erupts from the stadium next to us, and everyone looks up, gaping.
“It’s the fight!” Bri yells.
She pulls off her ring, tosses it back into the basket, and drags Jack limping after her.
“Owen, you coming?” she calls out as more students run by to get to the arena.
Owen waves her away. “Not now. I told you I’m gonna have my breakthrough today.”
“Suit yourself. Morgan?”
“I’ll be right there,” I say, lingering behind.
The training field is now empty, except for Owen and myself, Lady Ysolt having been forced to take Elias to the infirmary after Daniel pretended to lose control over his nymph and shot the boy down instead.
“You sure you don’t want to come?” I ask.
I may be behind when it comes to all this Fey stuff, but I’m still older than they are, and I don’t like the idea of leaving Owen behind alone.
“Just go,” Owen says, fixated on his ring. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been doing the same thing for the last week.”
And with very little progress, my guardian angel adds. But no surprise there.
The crowd lets out a roar of surprise, and I turn toward the sound. From where I stand, I can see people gathering at the entrance to the stadium, cheering on the fighters.
“Be careful,” I say over my shoulder as I trot over to see what the fuss is all about.
◆◆◆
“What’s happening?” I ask the first person I reach, a bucktoothed girl with severe strabismus.
She ignores me, and so I push forward through the mass of bodies, getting my feet trampled in the process.
“Oh, that one’s a fine young man,” I hear a girl say, giggling.
“True, true,” replies another, a woman with a slightly greenish tint to her. “But he’s still a far cry from Lance. That one’s made to charm the ladies.”
The first girl laughs. “I won’t disagree with you there. I’d give my ogham to spend a night with him!”
The other grins. “If only you still had it.”
With a shock, I realize that they’re both Fey, finally noticing the wide berth the students are giving them.
The first Fey girl catches me staring. “What do you want?” she snarls.
I jerk away and do my best to disappear in the crowd, my mind reeling—how could there be so many Fey here when the whole point of this school is to get rid of them?
The sound of metal hitting against metal gets suddenly louder, distracting me from my own thoughts. I elbow my way through the throng, feeling the crowd’s excitement peak around me.
“Fifty on Arthur!” someone yells.
I duck beneath an angry fist.
“Seventy on Arthur!” says someone else.
A couple of heads down, I see Gauvain, writing frantically in a small notebook. “Won’t anybody go for Percy?” he calls out.
“Seventy on Percy!” says Gareth next to him, and they both flash their dazzling smiles.
My heart beats faster as I make my way to the center of the crowd. I freeze. Arthur’s standing over Percy, a long sword aimed at the shorter boy’s head. Both are wearing the same type of leather-and-metal gear that the teachers wear, but I have no doubt that, should Percy get hit with that sword, he’s going to be in trouble.
“Aren’t they breathtaking?” someone whispers next to me.
I cast a sidelong glance and find Keva, her hand over her chest and her mouth slightly open as if on the verge of swooning.
In a shining blur, Arthur’s sword swings down, and Percy intercepts it with his. The twang that results is so loud it makes my ears ring. The cry of outrage I’d been meaning to yell dies on my lips. Mesmerized, I watch their deadly practice.
Without warning, Arthur attacks. Percy parries the thrust, then pushes forward, feints, and makes another cutting motion. This time, it’s Arthur’s turn to defend his position, and, slowly, Percy forces him back toward the crowd.
Before Percy can strike again, however, Arthur’s mischievous grin flashes on his sweaty face, and he opens his left fist toward the ground. A green flash sizzles from his gau
ntlet to the ground, propelling Arthur into the air. I watch him spin, then land gracefully on the ground behind Percy.
“Surrender,” he says, his sword aimed at the open part of Percy’s neck.
I hold my breath as I wait for Percy’s next move. For a second, it looks like he’s going to give up. People boo as he extends his hand out and deliberately drops his sword. But the moment the weapon hits the ground, Percy rolls backward into Arthur, kicks up, and disarms him.
Before I can blink, Percy’s sitting on Arthur’s chest, perspiration running down his grimy face. “Do you surrender?” he asks, his breath short.
I snort, enjoying the bewildered look on Arthur’s face. Then, with a smile, I make my way back out to the groans of people counting their losses.
As I reach the end of the crowd, a terrible cry rends the air. Every single hair on my body stands up, and I know at once its source: Owen.
I run, dodging confused onlookers. My skin prickles as I emerge from the slowly dispersing crowd in time to see a large blaze of fire reach up to the sky.
“Owen!” I yell.
The flames slowly dissipate to make room for a large red bull the size of a cottage. I gasp, slip on the ground, and nearly lose my balance. I can see the boy, lying between the gargantuan bull’s front paws, seconds away from being trampled to death.
Before I know what I’m doing, I find myself sprinting toward the bull, yelling and waving my hands frantically like my arse is on fire.
Without breaking my run, I swoop down and grab the biggest rock I can find, then hurl the stone as hard as I can at the creature. “Over here, you measly piece of steak!” I yell, trying to draw it away from Owen, toward the empty fields.
The missile ricochets off the bull’s hide with all the effect of a gnat. But the bull swings its massive head toward me, steam puffing out of its cavernous nostrils like a forge. The insult must’ve gotten to it after all.
My stomach lurches, but I can’t stop now. Owen hasn’t moved an inch, which means either he’s fainted with fright or—and I don’t like this idea at all—he’s badly injured.
“Come over here!” I yell to the monster, pointing at my feet. I can’t believe I’m talking to it like it’s nothing more than a puppy.
To my surprise, the bull hesitates, then takes a step in my direction, then another. The ground shakes under its weight. I hear people scream in the background, the noise muffled by the beating of my heart.
“Good boy,” I say as the bull moves farther from Owen. One of the knots tying my insides uncurls. “Keep it steady.”
Another step and it will be trampling me. The heat emanating from its body hits me like I’ve walked into a sauna. Sweat drips into my eyes and soaks my uniform. The bull stops in its tracks and bellows, and my mouth runs dry—what am I doing?
The blaring sound of a distant horn cuts through my concentration, and I break my gaze away from the creature. The horn sounds again, its piercing cry overwhelming every other sense. The bull answers with a deep bugle of his own, then rushes at me.
My legs turn to mush, and I sink to the ground. The creature lowers its head, but all I can do is watch as a glinting black horn draws nearer and nearer to me.
A sword swings before me, diverting the horn down and spearing my skirt to the ground.
“Move!” Arthur yells.
We roll away just as one of the bull’s hooves hits the ground where I was lying. I blink the dirt away as Arthur pushes himself up. I see something shimmery fly over the bull, then fall onto its wide back with a sizzling sound. Screaming in pain, it rears up on its hind legs in a desperate attempt to get the metallic net off him, but Percy and another boy use that moment to cut him up.
Flames spout from the unexposed parts of the bull’s body, but it’s too late. I can see it clearly: Percy, Arthur, and the hot guy from before are distracting the Fey while a team of four teachers, Gareth, and Gauvain attack it from behind. Another net is thrown, and the bull stumbles, its rear legs unable to support it anymore. It gives a pitiable cry, smoke billowing out of its mouth, before it collapses onto the ground.
A chill sets over me, but I can’t look away. Slowly but methodically, the nine of them hack at the creature, reducing it in size until I can’t see it anymore. Finally, Gauvain hands my brother a metal box. With precise movements, Arthur bends down, picks up what seems to be a stone, sets it inside the box, then snaps the lid shut.
Chapter 7
“Somebody help me, please!”
The plea comes as a high-pitch shriek. I barely register Bri, kneeling next to her unconscious brother, his head in her lap. I lick my parched lips. Somehow, I’d forgotten about him. I make to stand up, but can’t feel my legs, and I collapse like an old rag doll.
“Owen,” Bri cries, holding his bloodied hand to her tearstained face. “Owen, open your eyes!”
Lady Ysolt’s suddenly next to her. Her face strains as she lifts Owen in her arms and carries him away.
“Tell Daphne to get the surgical room ready,” she tells Percy, who sprints away.
As they hurry by, I call out Bri’s name, but her paper-white face doesn’t register any of her surroundings. A hand grabs me by the elbow and helps me up.
“How about you?” Arthur asks, his hazel eyes scanning my face.
“Owen—” I start to say.
“Do you need to go to the infirmary too?”
I shake myself free. “I’m fine. But what about my friend? Is he going to be all right?”
Arthur looks away, his brow furrowed. I notice that he’s still holding the metallic box in which he’s placed that stone; the stone that used to be a magical bull.
“I don’t know,” he says. “We’ll have to wait until Dr. Cockleburr’s done with him.” He takes another quick look at me, seemingly satisfied. “You should still get a checkup.”
I think instead about Bri waiting for news of her brother. No one should ever have to face that sort of ordeal alone, and I’m not going to let her. I take a shaky step after her and nearly pitch forward.
Keva appears at my side, a dreamy look on her face. “Amazing those three, aren’t they?” she says, keeping me steady. “And right when Arthur and Percy had just had a grueling match to boot! But it’s to be expected from the Triumvirate.[9] There’s nothing they can’t do.”
“Can you just shut up?” I say. “There’s more important things going on right now.”
I take another step and wince as my ankle twists. I must have injured it when Arthur dragged me out from under the bull’s hooves. Biting on my lower lip, I proceed through the now-quiet field as fast as my injury will allow.
“You, page!” says a sharp voice behind me.
A few paces back, her golden hair streaming in the breeze, is Jennifer. Her pale blue eyes are staring at me, emotionless but for a cold anger I don’t understand.
I point at myself. “Me?”
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“To the infirmary.”
The remainder of the crowd stops its exodus to train hundreds of questioning looks on me.
“You should be cleaning the mess you’ve created,” Jennifer says.
I lower my fists to my sides before I can punch her. She may be beautiful, but she’s really starting to get on my nerves.
“I can’t,” I say, proud of myself for my unusual diplomacy. “My friend needs me.”
Jennifer stalks up to me. “And I,” she says, “need you to clean this area up, page.”
“My name. Is. Morgan.”
Before I can go berserk, Keva nudges me. “You’ve got to listen to her,” she whispers, fear and awe in her voice. “She’s higher ranked than we are.”
“Why?” I ask. “Because we’re only freshmen? For your information, I’m probably old—”
Keva shakes her head, then taps the cross on my jacket’s front pocket. “No, we are pages. She’s a knight. Pages have to follow orders from everyone above.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded.
“What is this nonsense?”
But Keva’s moved away from me before Jennifer can unleash her anger on her as well.
“I will have you clean the entire practice field, on your own,” Jennifer says, her full lips curling up scornfully. “And nobody’s to help you. Got it?”
With a toss of the head, she strides away, drawing the remaining crowd along with her.
“You better get to it,” Keva says. “You’ve got to take all the equipment down to the armory, and there’s a lot of it.”
I stare at the empty stadium, taking in the discarded weapons strewn about the dirt floor.
“But, isn’t it dangerous?” I ask, darting glances about. The sun’s low on the horizon now, and every shadow seems longer and deeper than before. What if there’s another Fey monster lurking somewhere around here?
“Don’t be stupid,” Keva says with a smirk. “That Fey escaped because its iron restraints shattered, not because it appeared out of nowhere. Besides, they can’t just come to Lake High without permission. Really, I can’t believe I have to be your roommate.” She shakes her head and starts to go after the others.
“But I’m going to miss the boat back home!” I tell her.
She stops. “You think they’re going to let us go home after what just happened? This is a state of emergency. Nobody leaves until it’s all been cleared up.” She pauses to consider something, then adds, “And you better not make Jennifer go after me, or you’ll really regret it.”
◆◆◆
I grab the last of the equipment and place it inside the now-thousand-ton basket. My back’s aching, and my ankle’s so sore I can’t feel my foot anymore. The worst part is going up and down the stadium’s seats for any additional gear I might have missed.
With a mighty huff, I sit down, leaving the basket aside. Of course, with a prat for a president, it’s only normal the rest of the student body wouldn’t learn to put their own things away.
The wind nips at me, mocking my plight, and I shake my fist in the air. “It’s all your fault!”
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