“What?” I ask, petulant.
Arthur keeps his mouth shut tight. Neither the beauty of the place nor the entrancing music seem to mollify him. He looks more like a panther, ready to spring the moment the cage door’s open.
“Why did you run away again?” he finally asks, barely containing his anger.
“First of all, there is no again,” I say. “Second of all, tell me which prisoner wouldn’t want to be free?”
Arthur scowls. “You’re not a prisoner.”
“But having to tell everyone of my whereabouts is being free?” I retort.
“There’s a good reason for that,” he says. “You always get in trouble. Look where you’ve ended up now, right in the lion’s den.”
“The only one doing the biting here is you,” I say, dipping into a low curtsy.
I hurry away, but Arthur keeps close to me. I stop at the buffet tables and grab a goblet of apple cider.
“Don’t drink that!” he says. “It’s what they want. It’s how they’re going to keep you here!”
Making sure he’s watching, I slowly drink the savory liquid, enjoying every single gulp, and his look of horror even more.
“You little fool,” he says, darting glances left and right. “As if coming here hadn’t been hard enough.”
I put the goblet back down, considering taking another cupful. The cider here is heady, and I can already feel its effects in the delicious warmth and fogginess pervading my body.
“You know,” I say, pouring myself some more cider, “that is a good point. How did you get here? Especially with all your”—I point at his protective gear—“servant thingies.”
Arthur puts my cup back on the table before I can take another swig.
“I told you not to drink that,” he says.
I lick my lips, eyes focused on my drink. “You haven’t answered me.”
“I felt your ring,” he says, checking our surroundings. “We need to get out of here, before the night’s over.”
I push Arthur’s hand away and quaff the warm drink down, my free hand on his chest to prevent him from stealing it away from me again. When I’m done, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Funny, I hadn’t noticed before how vivid all the colors are, nor how everyone seems so soft and pleasant. Even Arthur.
I keep my hand on his chest, more to keep steady than to push him away. “You sh-should stop staring at me like that,” I say. My mouth feels cottony, and I have a hard time forming words properly. “I’m not g-going anywhere with you till you tell me how you got h-here.”
I’m not quite sure what Arthur’s playing at, swaying back and forth before me like that, looking angry. He really should stop being so stuck-up.
“I had to let the sylph go,” Arthur says.
I notice then the simple silver band on his pinkie, the one I’d had to leave behind to come here. But the ogham is gone. I feel a slight pang of sadness; that had been my Fey, the first one who’d responded to my call.
“It was that or let you be here alone without protection,” he adds.
“Thief,” I say, punching him in the shoulder before stumbling away.
Arthur catches up with me before I walk into a wide, spiky animal.
“I’m fine,” I say, veering around the massive hedgehog-like creature. “Why does everyone feel like I need protection? You, and then Lugh, and then Dean, and then you. Is it cause you think I’m gonna set the world on fire or something? I’m really not that bad, even if you think I’ve murdered all those people. I mean, I’ve even cleaned the toilets for two weeks without complaining. You should all take care of yourselves instead. You’re the ones who are dropping like flies, not me.”
Arthur slaps his hand over my mouth, then drives me back into a tree.
“Don’t talk about that here,” he says, hovering over me, his body tense.
My heart’s going a gazillion beats a minute. I’m pinned against the tree like Christ to his cross, with no room to struggle.
“So maybe that one Fey was nice to you,” he says, trying to reason with me. “But do you know them all here? What if one of them…” His nostrils flare with anger as he takes in the bandage around my neck. “Hell, Morgan, what if one of them had been the killer?”
I stop squirming.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he says. “Of course I never believed you were behind those deaths. You’re not talented enough. You saw the banshee, didn’t you? You nearly died because of her! And now you come here, of all places? How could I not worry about you?”
He closes his eyes as if this long diatribe has wiped him out. I notice for the first time how pale he’s gotten since our last training session together, ages ago, dark circles rimming his eyes.
“There, there,” I say, patting him awkwardly. Nothing tonight, not even he, can make me feel bad anymore. “It’s going to be OK.”
The music stops abruptly, and people start screaming. Through the rapidly thinning crowd, I see the tables laden with food topple to the ground with a big crash, crystal plates and cups breaking into a scintillating rain. All that yummy food, wasted!
I want to rush over, but Arthur holds me back. Emerging from the forest’s shadows is a large group of Fey, but these aren’t the happy-go-lucky ones who have been partying in the clearing. These have a more feral look about them, like they’re waiting for the smallest excuse to draw blood.
I involuntarily shrink away, my happy feeling gone. Their ranks part to let a large black horse through. The colt rears back, dripping wet, then lands amid the feast’s wreckage.
The prince of the Tuatha Dé is suddenly there, a lone figure before so many hostile Fey. Yet his stance is easy and confident.
“That’s quite an entrance there, Mordred,” Lugh says.
A youth jumps off from the horse’s back and hands the reins over to a woman whose curves would put Jennifer to shame. His jet-black hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, giving us ample view of his stern face and bare torso, which are both a strange shade of blue. He can’t be older than either me or Arthur, yet he strides up to Lugh with all the confidence of a monarch.
“Who is that?” I ask Arthur. Apart from a troll, and perhaps an ogre, among the new faces, I’ve already exhausted my slim knowledge of Fey creatures.
“Don’t know,” Arthur whispers. “Just stay away from them, and try not to get noticed.”
The youth continues to move along, past Lugh, inspecting the crowd, searching every creature’s face like he’s looking deep into their souls. And maybe he is, I realize with a shiver as he draws nearer.
“I don’t recall you being invited to my get-together,” Lugh said, putting himself between Mordred and us. “But of course, you’re more than welcome to partake in the festivities, though you have made quite a mess of the victuals.”
Mordred raises his hand. “Spare me,” he says. “I don’t have much more patience for you. I’ve come to collect my answer.”
Hands deep in his pockets, Lugh shrugs. “I cannot speak for my people. Everyone’s his own, and can do as he or she wishes.” He flashes the intruder a bright smile. “Free will is, after all, the one gift the Lord Almighty was kind enough to bestow on us. You wouldn’t want to take that away, would you?”
The blue-skinned guy gives him a cruel smile. “We got it because we fought for it.”
A lumpy man the size of a dog approaches them. He bows to Mordred, the skin of his face flapping before him like it’s been partially melted off his skull.
“A word, sire?” he asks in a raspy voice.
Mordred leans down to hear what the half-melted creature has to tell him. He stiffens, then straightens up.
“Seems like you have some interesting guests tonight,” he says.
My throat dries up as his eyes first scour Arthur, then lower to me. Like a predator locked on to its prey, he makes his way over to us. As he comes closer, I see that the blue tint of his skin is the result of thousands upon thousands of thin lines tattooed on hi
s body in tight coils and swirls that accentuate his sharp features.
He stops a few feet away from us. For a second, his golden eyes flecked with violet fix on me, and his eyebrows rise a fraction. Arthur comes to stand before me, drawing the man’s scowl to him. Being the older sibling, I should technically be the one to protect him, but I’m forced to admit that I’m scared shitless.
“What is that one doing here?” the blue-skinned Fey growls.
I see his knuckles whiten as he clenches his fists, sending tiny sparks of blue-and-green lightning over his skin.
“Just a guest,” Lugh says, striding over while maintaining a safe distance from Mordred. “Must’ve gotten lost. Tonight’s his lucky night, though, as I’m in a very good mood and do not object to his presence.”
A strained silence stretches between them while the three guys glare at each other, and I hope for the Fey’s sake, and mine, that Lugh and Mordred don’t make any sudden movements. Though he’s taken off most of his weapons, I know Arthur still has a couple of hidden knives on him, and he’s wound up as tight as a coil waiting to spring.
Maybe Mordred senses this, or maybe he decides he has better things to do, because he marches back to the edge of the trees, where his followers await.
“Time is running out, Prince,” Mordred says, getting back up on his horse. “You better come up with an answer. Next time, I won’t be so lenient.”
He turns the colt around, and, as silent as the Angel of Death, he and his cohort are gone.
◆◆◆
“Let’s get a move on,” Arthur urges me.
“But I—”
“Now.”
We move through the dispersing throng, back toward the large oak tree at the center of the glade. Nobody seems to care about us anymore. But when we reach the tree, an unhappy surprise awaits us.
“The mushrooms have been trampled over,” I say.
Arthur muffles a curse and looks about. But everyone else is too busy running away to help, and I don’t see Lugh anymore either.
“Curse it,” he says, “we need to find another fairy circle.”
What was it that Lugh had told me? Something about circles being circles. And though some of the fungi are no more than unrecognizable lumps in the mud, the circle is still somewhat intact.
“Wait,” I say before Arthur leaves. “Let’s try it.”
Arthur’s about to protest, but I pull him inside the ring with me. Holding on to him tightly, I close my eyes and think back to the woods as they were before I came to Avalon.
It seems to take an inordinate amount of time for me to conjure the right image; I’d been so distracted by my own thoughts that I hadn’t paid much attention to my surroundings at the time, just enough to realize that the place was dark, and cold, and not a little creepy.
I hear Arthur’s slight intake of breath and open my eyes. Gone are the tiny lanterns glowing warmly in the air, and the scattering Fey. We’re back in the woods by our school.
“I did it!” I shout, bursting with pride.
“Let’s get out of here,” Arthur says, dashing down the small hill. “It’s nearly time for Lauds.”
I glimpse the sky through the overarching branches and notice it’s gone from deep black to a warm violet shaded with pinks and oranges. I can’t believe it’s near dawn. It feels like I’ve been gone for barely a few hours!
“Why aren’t you coming?” Arthur asks, coming back for me.
I hesitate, still staying within my fairy circle. If I made it here, I’m sure I can make it back.
“Can you please stop making me worry?” he shouts. “Can you, for once in your life, think about someone other than you?”
“I didn’t—”
Arthur cuts me off. “How do you think it felt to learn you were missing, not just from the infirmary, but the whole school, again? I kept on thinking I’d find your body lying somewhere, like we found Rei, or that you’d have disappeared like Kaede.”
He stops suddenly and takes a deep, shuddering breath.
I’m too stunned to speak at first. I’d never have thought anyone cared about me that much, least of all him. I’m so used to being left to my own devices. This is completely uncharted territory for me.
“I’m sorry,” I say at last. “I’ll try to be, uh, better about it in the future.”
Cheeks still flushed, Arthur nods. “You should also stop skipping classes,” he adds.
“Don’t push it.”
Arthur flashes me a smile, then holds his hand out to me, just like he had when he invited me to dance. This time, I don’t hesitate and take it. He closes his warm fingers around mine, and we race away.
The run back home is quiet, not that I can spare a single breath as I concentrate hard on keeping up with Arthur. I don’t know where he gets all his energy from, but the bloke is bloody tireless!
When we reach the northern standing stone, Arthur finally slows down. Some of the night’s great bonfires are still smoking in the distance as their embers burn down to ashes.
“Good,” Arthur says, looking grim, “we haven’t lost any time.”
“Why?” I wheeze. “We’ve only been gone a night.”
“Time over there can run differently,” Arthur says. “Or so the tales say, and I’m inclined to believe them.”
The desire to tease him rises in me despite my fatigue. “But what if we got here a year and a day later? Then these would be the fires from a year from when we left.”
Arthur drops my hand, his lips thinning out in a scowl. “This is no laughing matter,” he says. “You should pray this is not the case. A great deal can change in a year. Countries and civilizations have disappeared in less time than that, and, in case you haven’t noticed, things were not peaceful when you decided to run away again.”
“Some people just can’t take a joke,” I mutter, walking behind Arthur toward the church. We’re too early, and the courtyard’s empty, forcing us into an uncomfortable silence as we wait for the others to arrive.
I wonder if the whole school knows already of my punishment, then remember Jennifer’s gloating face and know that’s the case. I look back longingly at the line of trees along the horizon, where Avalon and Lugh await. Thinking about him reminds me of the kiss we shared, and I can’t stop a blush from heating my face.
“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Arthur asks in disgust. “You said you wouldn’t go back there!”
“All I said was that I’d try to warn you before I leave next time,” I reply, not liking his tone. “And why wouldn’t I want to go back? They may not all like me over there, but I can’t say it’s much better here.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you, you’re not a prisoner!”
I let out a very unladylike snort. “Puh-lease. Tell that to someone dumber than me.”
“Look, this is all temporary,” he says. “Maybe if you weren’t foolish enough to wander beyond the school’s protection all the time, this wouldn’t have been necessary. As it is, we obviously can’t trust you to not put your life and those of others in jeopardy, so until we’ve caught the one behind all these killings, you’ll have to deal with it. You should be happy you didn’t even get in trouble for doing EM.”
“In public, you mean,” I say. “Since you’re the one who gave me that ring.”
“True,” Arthur agrees, to my greatest surprise. “No one was supposed to teach you how it works, least of all me.”
“Why ever not?” I ask, too stunned to be mad anymore. “Isn’t it the point for everyone here to learn how to use oghams, to become proper knights and protect Earth and all that?”
“Yes, but…” Arthur balks, at a loss for words. Guess not even he can come up with a good excuse, which is reason enough for me to grow deeply suspicious.
“Just why, exactly, would I be the only one not allowed to learn how to do EM?” I ask, seeing him grow more and more unsettled. “And why would I not have been sent here at fourteen, like
everyone else? Or why not let me finish at a regular school instead?”
He’s prevented from answering me by the appearance of the first early risers, who are none other than Gareth and Gauvain.
“Where were you yesterday, little mademoiselle?”[25] Gareth asks, giving me a lung-crushing hug.
“Don’t tell me you were grounding her all night long,” Gauvain tells Arthur.
“If you mean to say ‘scolding,’” Arthur says, “then you’re right. Somebody’s got to do it, however annoying.”
“Don’t let him bully you,” Gareth tells me.
“And if he does,” Gauvain adds, “you let us know, and we’ll pummel him.” He stops at the church entrance to look me up and down appreciatively, until I turn crimson.
“It’s no wonder he keeps you away from the rest of us,” Gareth adds, his grin so wide his eyes are but half-moon slits.
“Enough, guys,” Arthur growls, and the cousins burst out laughing.
“No, no, no need to get naked,” Gauvain says, stopping Arthur from taking his jacket off.
“We’ll be chevalier-russe,”[26] Gareth says, setting his own coat, which falls below my knees, around my shoulders.
“It’s ‘chivalrous,’ you airhead,” Gauvain says before adding to Arthur, “You’ll need yours for the ceremony.”
Before Gareth can start another fight, Lucan arrives, sitting uncomfortably in a wheelchair pushed by his squire. The cousins’ faces fall at his sight, and I remember the night we faced the banshee. A good thing it was a knife she used and not poison, or Lucan and I would both be dead.
Knife. Poison. A thought strikes me, and I grab Arthur’s arm before he can go to the section reserved for KORT members.
“Wait,” I say.
“What is it now?” Arthur asks.
I ignore his sulky tone. “Those murders, I don’t think it’s the banshee.”
Arthur straightens up, more alert. “Why not?” he asks cautiously.
“I just remembered,” I say, “but when I was up on the island, it used some kind of flint knife to kill. There was no Fey magic involved, with poisoning or black veins or whatnot. And my lacerations—”
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