Morgana Trilogy Complete Series

by Alessa Ellefson

  “Of course,” Percy says.

  We let Bri open the door to her brother’s room and follow her inside.

  The chamber is small, and dimly lit by a tiny candle in a corner. Sitting straight on the small bed is Owen, his gaze vacant.

  Bri leans in to kiss him on the cheek. She murmurs something in his ear, brushes his greasy hair out of his face, then busies herself rearranging his pillow and covers. When she’s satisfied he’s as comfortable as he can possibly be, Bri moves away from Owen and looks at Percy and me expectantly.

  “We’ve tried to make him eat,” she says, her lower lip trembling, “but he won’t take anything.”

  I can’t bring myself to say anything; my throat’s too constricted. To think that, just a few weeks ago, Owen was full of life and excitement. And now he’s stuck in this depressing place, wasting away while his twin tries her best to get him well again.

  I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying. I know very well why Arthur’s sent me here now, the devious little bastard. He didn’t like losing his argument, and now he’s decided to torture me. And it’s working.

  “I need to get out,” I say, bolting out of the room before I break down.

  “Not the most pleasant place on Earth,” Percy says when he catches up with me. “Never liked it much growin’ up, and it hasn’t changed since.”

  In the front hall, he proceeds to put his gear back on.

  “You…you’ve been here before?” I ask. I can’t imagine Percy ever being locked up here. He’s got too much life and energy in him.

  “Knew people who were,” he says, buckling his sword belt back on. “Shall we?”

  I look back. “What about Bri?”

  “She’s gonna stay a little longer.”

  Despite the building’s thick walls, I hear the church bells calling us for morning Mass.

  “Makes you wonder what they’re thinkin’ ’bout,” he says as we cross the lawn toward the church.

  “What do you mean?” All I can see is Owen’s vacant stare, his body as lifeless as that of a puppet.

  Percy sweeps his arm back to encompass the whole asylum behind us. “What is it that the Fey have shown ’em that they’ve ended up like this, haunted for the rest of their lives? It’s like a spell that can’t be lifted. Sometimes, I wonder if I were to get caught…maybe then I’d see what it’s like, and if there’s ever a respite in the constant hell they live in.”

  My footsteps falter, and I watch Percy’s back as he strides toward his friends, his words trotting in my head. I don’t know what’s going on with Owen or anyone else in the asylum, and I wonder if their fates are worse than being killed like Agnès was. Or my father.

  And for the first time since I’ve arrived, I wonder if that means Arthur is right and we can’t survive unless we destroy all the Fey.

  Chapter 15

  “What was that all about?” Keva asks me as I join her and Jack in the Freshmen pews.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I answer back, shifting uncomfortably on the bench.

  “Come on, you can tell me,” she says, wheedling.

  But no matter how much she prods, pleads, or threatens me, I keep my mouth shut. Owen’s plight is not mine to discuss.

  “Fine, be that way,” she retorts. “But instead, I want you to keep Puck away from our room, and especially away from my clothes, jewelry, and makeup. Besides, not seeing his ugly face first thing in the morning will be a great improvement for me.”

  “Sure,” I say, distracted.

  Across the rows, on the benches reserved for KORT, sits Arthur, a head taller than most, except for Lance and the cousins Gareth and Gauvain. He stares straight ahead, focused on Father Tristan and his preaching, the model student. Only once does he look in my direction, a quick flick of the eyes that tells me he knows he’s won our argument and the little shite doesn’t have the good grace to hide how much he relishes it.

  I take a deep breath. I shouldn’t let Arthur get to me like this, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t help but foster thoughts of punching his smug face, a very unholy thought to entertain considering we’re in church.

  “And this I say to you,” Father Tristan says, looking up from his pulpit, “be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of the devil’s disciples, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you. May the Lord be with you.”

  “And also with you,” we all say in unison.

  “Bow your heads and pray for God’s blessing,” the priest continues, raising his hands over the assembly. “May the Almighty God bless you, by the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

  “Amen,” I whisper, crossing myself before standing up.

  “Go in peace.”

  It is the signal, and everyone does their best to hurry out while appearing not too eager to leave church. I, on the other hand, have no compunction about it, and manage to get outside before the rest of the crowd. A good dose of fresh air is all I need to stop my head from exploding.

  Before I can get very far, however, I hear someone call me.

  “Arthur, how delightful to see you,” I say, not delighted at all.

  A few feet behind him are Lance, Percy, and Jennifer. The latter throws me a furious look, and I give her a cheery wave in return.

  “What is it?” I ask Arthur. “I don’t want to be late for class.”

  “You won’t be late for class, but you might miss breakfast.”

  “On your account? I don’t think so.”

  I cut across the lawn to get away as quickly as possible without looking like I’m running away from him; which proves impossible.

  “So?” Arthur asks, keeping pace with me.

  “So what?”

  “Did you see him?”

  “Of course I did.” I open the north door to the school building just wide enough for me to slip inside.

  A moment later he’s next to me again, and I wonder who he’s gotten this annoyingly stubborn side from, because there’s no way I exhibit the same genetic trait.

  “What do you think now?”

  “What do I think?” I ask, practically spitting in his face. “What do you think? This isn’t a game, Arthur! Of course I feel horrible seeing what happened to Owen and to all the others, whether they’re in there because of Fey encounters or something else. I wish I could do something about it. But that’s what you wanted, right? So what? You want me to thank you for opening my eyes, is that it?”

  I notice people staring at us, and I lower my voice. “But I’m not taking back what I said before. I still don’t think it’s fair to hunt every one of them down because it happens that some of them did…whatever it is they’ve done to us. That’s not justice, Arthur. That’s being a sociopath.”

  ​Arthur’s brows lower. “You said you wanted to help them,” he says, “but how can we help them if they remain under this spell put on their eyes by those creatures? And how can we protect the innocent from the Fey’s devious and evil clutches? You don’t know what they’re capable of. Being sent to the asylum is the least of it! What about those who are kidnapped from their families, huh? What about those who are turned into monstrous hybrids so that no one, not even their own family, wants to come near them? What about those who, for the pleasure of some egotistical Fey, have been turned into trees or rocks? Have you asked them how they feel about the whole situation?”

  Arthur takes another step toward me and jabs me with his finger. “I know it’s not a game, Morgan. Lives are at stake, those of the laypeople, and ours! But what else can we do? We don’t have their powers or abilities. Would you have us all turn ourselves over to be toyed with as they wish?” He jabs me again. “You say that some of them are innocent. And perhaps you’re right. But have you ever stopped to consider that maybe, just maybe, they are laying low only because they’re afraid that if they get caught abusing a human, we may punish them for their wrongdoing?”

  I balk at the horrible im
age Arthur’s painting. “I didn’t know,” I whisper.

  “Of course you didn’t know,” he says, “which is why I sent you to see your friend. But instead, you thought to take offense.” He moves away, eyeing me like it’s the first time he’s truly seen me. “I thought you had more sense than that, but I see they were right to put you with the freshmen.”

  And with those lovely parting words, he stalks off. And I get to feel very, very stupid. Especially when I realize a slew of people are still gawking at me, whispering behind their hands about what’s just happened.

  “Of course she wouldn’t understand,” Jennifer says with a smirk as she struts by me with her cohort of fans. “She’s never had friends to call her own, or family who cared about her, so she wouldn’t understand the pain of losing someone dear.” She throws a long sideways glance in my direction. “But it doesn’t mean that we have to cater to her emotional retardation.”

  Fists clenched, I stare at the flock of girls and boys as it cackles away around a corner.

  “Just because I’ve lived most of my life apart from people doesn’t mean I don’t feel,” I say under my breath.

  “What have you done?”

  A heavy arm lands around my shoulders, and I find myself looking up into Gauvain’s dark face. He flashes me his lightning-white smile, but his good mood doesn’t reach me.

  “Getting Arthur angry, you mean?”

  Gauvain nods energetically. “That’s exactly what I mean, chérie.[18] I’ve never seen him lose his temper like that before.”

  Which makes my already low spirits drop a few more levels. This is just great. Not only have I made a scene, but on top of that, it’s apparently a first with the head of KORT. Just what I needed, another reason to have people talk about me behind my back.

  “How did you do it?” Gareth asks, towering on my other side.

  I almost get a crick in the neck staring up at them, too confused to bother with an answer.

  “You see, we’ve been trying for ages to get him to show a bite more emotion,” Gareth says, his French accent thick. “But the most we ever got was cleaning duty.”

  “It’s ‘bit,’ not ‘bite,’” Gauvain says.

  “It’s the same thing, what does it matter?” Gauvain says before returning to me. “With you, he’s not recognizable. He acts like…”

  “A human being,” they both say at the same time.

  I shrug Gauvain’s arm off. “I don’t know what I’ve done, and I don’t know why you’d want to get Arthur angry. It’s really not very pleasant.”

  “You’re our idol,” Gauvain says to my back as I hurry to class.

  “Our hero!” Gareth shouts.

  “Our goddess!” Gauvain adds even louder.

  I shut the door to the staircase behind me and welcome the blissful silence. Everyone is in the dining hall, I know, but I’d rather skip a meal than have to deal with more unwanted drama.

  ◆◆◆

  Apart from a few stray comments and looks directed at me, the morning passes by without incident until we get to Sir Boris’s class.

  “Did you see the news board today?” Keva asks as she edges toward us while we’re waiting for the teacher to arrive. “They finally named the three who are to be knighted.”

  “Yeah, we saw,” Bri says, sounding tense. “Big deal.”

  “Her brother’s gonna try for a position at KORT,” Jack explains.

  “Owen’s out of the asylum?” Keva asks.

  “Not Owen,” I mutter, “Hadrian, her older brother.”

  “Oh.” Keva seems to consider that for a moment, then says, “I hope he makes it. Then I’ll be close to the sisters of two KORT members!”

  “Miss Pendragon?” Sir Boris calls out the moment he walks in. “A moment, please.”

  I feel myself turn bright pink at being singled out. Everyone knows trouble’s a-brewing when he focuses his attention on someone. I so wish the earth had opened up and swallowed me this morning. Not even Hell can be this tedious.

  “Yes, sir?” I say.

  He grabs a pile of papers, and I realize with dread that it’s my series of late homework, already graded. He shuffles through them, as if he needs a reminder of the poor job I’ve done.

  “You did quite well, considering you’re new to this environment.”

  I look up from my boots in surprise. “Sir?”

  “I wouldn’t quite agree with you that goblins are such weak creatures,” he says, handing me the whole stack. “You can’t take Puck as a model of study. He’s been domesticated for far too long. But otherwise, your work is thus far exemplary. Keep working like that, and you may move up through the ranks a lot quicker than you might expect.”

  I beam at him, thinking for the first time in my life how adorable and cuddly Sir Boris truly is. Refraining from hugging him, I get back to my seat.

  “What did he want?” Bri asks.

  “He’s graded my homework,” I say, staring at my papers like they’re great works of wonder. “And he didn’t fail me.”

  “Well, that’s good then,” she says, noting the red A marked on the top sheet. “Might shut Keva up for a while. I don’t think she’s ever gotten higher than a B plus.”

  We both grin at each other until Sir Boris calls us to attention and we are required to learn about the Alp-Luachra, a fairy that likes to burrow not in the ground or in trees, but inside people’s bodies to eat them from the inside out. A most appetizing prospect right before lunchtime.

  “I want everyone to write an essay on how to prevent getting infested with these Fey, and how they interact with their environment,” Sir Boris says once the bells go off.

  “A good thing he hasn’t brought one of those gross creatures with him this time,” Keva says on our way to the dining hall. “Can you imagine the ruckus this would have caused?” She shudders, holding on to her face without disturbing her impeccable makeup.

  “You mean he brings Fey creatures in here?” I ask, trying to picture Sir Boris with a troll on a leash.

  “Oh, sure he does,” Jack says. “Which is really cool, because usually we only see them once they’ve lost their form and all that remains is their ogham.”

  “But he brings them live,” Keva says.

  “Do you remember the time Kaede’s grandma came over for a visit during the first week?” Jack asks.

  Bri lights up. “Yeah, she’d brought a kijimuna with her.”

  “A kiwi-what?” I ask.

  “Kijimuna,” Bri repeats. “They’re these little fairies that live in the woods, usually found around Japan. Big heads, tiny bodies, and red hair everywhere. They were adorable!”

  “They tied Sir Boris’s mustache ends together,” Keva says, “kicked him in the crotch, and jumped on the chandelier. They were caught only when the thing crashed down on K’s grandma.”

  “Was she all right?”

  “Oh yes,” she says dismissively. “She had a bunch of protective charms on.”

  “Miss Pendragon?”

  A young servant is standing before us, tall and spindly, his long hair pulled into a low ponytail. He hands me a letter before disappearing again in the mob of students.

  “Uh-oh, someone’s been summoned,” Keva says with a smirk. “What did you do this time?”

  “Nothing,” I say, tearing the envelope open.

  “It’s from the medical wing,” Bri says, reading from under my elbow.

  Dear Miss Pendragon,

  It has been brought to my attention that you may have the necessary qualities to be of help here at the infirmary.

  Please see me at your earliest convenience after practice session.

  Dr. Daphne Cockleburr

  “Qualities?” Keva says, sounding skeptical. “You mean as a lab rat?”

  “Still a better prospect than cleaning bathrooms,” I quip.

  Keva raises her hands. “Tough call.”

  ◆◆◆

  Whack! I curl up in a ball, holding my head with both hands, tryin
g not to cry like a baby in front of the fifteen-year-old boy. Today’s class is sword training, which means I actually get to practice with the others for once—which made me very happy until I found out who I’d be partnering up with.

  Daniel crows over me, triumphant. “You have to do my math homework now, Troll Feet,” he says, pointing his wooden sword at me. “A bet’s a bet, don’t forget!”

  I scowl up at him, but he seems unaffected as he swaggers about the training area, high-fiving Ross and Brockton.

  “Up, Miss Pendragon,” Sir Ywain, our weapons master, says. “In a battle, there is no time for dillydallying. Make sure your stance is proper so that your forte’s always defending the line between you and the tip of your opponent’s sword. And fix that grip of yours.”

  “As for you, Mr. von Blumenthal,” he adds, wiping the smile off my partner’s face, “you know very well our practice is scholar’s privilege style, which means no attacks to the face.”

  Elias gets smacked farther down the field and lets out a loud yelp. The teacher runs off.

  Muttering to myself, I get back to my feet and grab my practice sword.

  “You done gloating?” I ask, angling the sword up, my right foot forward.

  “I’m ready to teach you a lesson any time of day,” Daniel answers, blowing on the strands of hair falling in his eyes.

  Quick as a snake, he surges toward me, deflects my blow, feints, then hits me behind the legs. I drop to my knees as he comes back on my other side. He cracks his sword down on my arm and points it to my exposed neck. All in less than thirty seconds.

  Panting, I hold my arm, still ringing from the blow like a tuning fork.

  “Do you surrender?” Daniel asks.

  “What do you think?” I say, using his sword to pull myself up and nearly bringing him down.

  With a smirk, he stalks off to Ross and Brockton, who are still practicing a few paces away.

  “That taught her good,” Brockton says as he parries Ross’s blow.

  “I don’t think anything can get into her thick skull,” Daniel says. “My bet is, she’s never gonna learn.”