“Didn’t show any sign of being contaminated the same way as Rei had been,” he finishes for me.
We both stare at each other as the implications sink in. The church doors swing open to let in more students, breaking our moment of understanding. Arthur heads over to the cousins, who are arguing again, while I return to my bench.
When Bri, Keva, and Jack arrive, I greet them with a smile. Despite my new sentence, I don’t feel quite so alone anymore.
Chapter 24
Bri and Jack’s questions stumble over each other in a confused jumble of words the moment they see me, but Keva raises her hand, and they both shut up.
“What we first need to know,” she says, “is where you got those clothes.”
I blush, holding Gareth’s jacket closer to me. I should’ve changed as soon as I got here. Keva narrows her eyes at me.
“So you were at the party,” she says with an evil grin. “It’s just that you weren’t anywhere quite so…public.”
“Ooooh,” Bri says.
“That’s so not how it was,” I say.
Keva forces the blazer open to get an eyeful of the Fey dress. “Look at that,” she says, loud enough to draw the attention of the squires seated before us. “Look at the finesse of the fabric, the delicacy of the design.” She draws so close to me it almost feels like she’s trying to smell my boobs.
“Back off,” I say, batting her away.
Keva sits back with a deep, heartfelt sigh, tossing her braid over her shoulder. “You can tell the Pendragons are an old family, to be able to afford such a refined dress.” She glances at me. “Whoever the fellow is, he’s lucky. I’ve never seen you put so much effort into your looks before.”
The entrance of a group of white-clad young men and women denotes the start of Mass, and I’m saved from having to explain my whereabouts. I know how they all stand on anything concerning the Fey here, and I doubt they’d approve of my little sojourn in Avalon.
Slowly, the procession makes its way down the nave, singing the Iesu Salvator Saeculi with voices so pure they could rival those of angels.
“Who are they?” I whisper in Jack’s ear, pointing toward the formation as it marches past our pew.
“Fey,” he answers in the same manner. “The history books say they’ve remained with us since Carman’s defeat, but that they’ve vowed to never fight again, and to atone for their sins through constant prayer.”
“Is that all they do?” I ask, unable to tear my eyes away from them as they fan out around the back of the altar.
Jack nods. “Yeah, they have their own room in the catacombs beneath the school, though they come out on special occasions like today, or to observe.”
“Observe what?”
He shrugs. “Who knows? But that’s what they call themselves: Watchers.”
The whole school remains transfixed throughout the liturgy, which consists mainly of the choir singing hymn after hymn to the glory of God and of the knights who have fallen to protect us.
Kneeling before the altar, dressed in white-and-red robes, are three students, their heads bent down in prayer.
“What are they doing?” I ask Keva.
“They’re about to be dubbed,” she says, her face a mixture of admiration and envy.
“Dubbed what?”
“That means knighted,” Jack whispers.
“Brothers and sisters,” Father Tristan says, “before us today are three brave students who have proven themselves worthy of joining the ranks of knighthood, who are willing to put their lives down for the service of others and the protection of this land that was bequeathed to us by the Almighty.
“In King David’s words, ‘He whose walk is blameless and who does what is righteous, who speaks truth from his heart and has no slander on his tongue, who does his neighbor no wrong and casts no slur on his fellow man, who despises a vile man but honors those who fear the Lord, who keeps his oath even when it hurts, who lends his money without usury and does not accept a bribe against the innocent. He who does these things will never be shaken.’ Are you ready to uphold these principles?”
“We are,” the three kneeling answer in unison.
“Please present their arms,” Father Tristan says.
Three knights move forward, each carrying a shield bearing the school’s heraldic blazon, and lay them on the altar.
Father Tristan raises his hands over them. “Show us Thy mercy, O Lord.”
“And grant us Thy salvation,” the crowd says.
“Lord, hear our prayer.”
“And give ear unto our cry.”
“May the Lord be with you,” Father Tristan says.
“And with your spirit,” I mumble, my eyes roving to the unusual choir.
There’s something odd about those Fey as they stand still as statues, their eyes fixed to the cupola above, oblivious to the ceremony unfolding before them.
Father Tristan finishes his blessing of the weapons and, looking regal, Arthur steps to the forefront. He stops before the three kneeling students.
On the other side of the transept, the whole of the knight corps is similarly decked out. The only one not wearing fancy armor is Jennifer, who manages to look politely bored in her deep blue gown that makes her hair look like a cascade of gold.
“Do you swear fealty to KORT and all that it upholds?” Arthur asks, his voice ringing clear.
“We here swear fealty and do homage to KORT,” the three squires intone, “to ever be good knights and true, reverent and generous…”
I scoff at the thought of Jennifer having ever been able to utter such a vow. Bri digs her sharp elbow into my side, and I grow quiet.
“To shield the weak, be obedient to KORT’s president, foremost in battle, courteous at all times, champion of the right and the good, and loyal to God Almighty. Thus we swear.”
“Acknowledging your prowess on the training field,” Arthur says, “and responding to the wishes of your sponsors, I am minded to make you knights. But know that to wear the arms of one is to hold a sacred trust, and that your obligations will follow you until your death.”
From a pocket, Arthur pulls out a small escutcheon that shines dully before him, and hands it to the first kneeling boy.
“Wear this as a token of your fealty,” he says.
With trembling fingers, the boy reaches out and takes the small token representing his new status. Arthur moves on to the next boy, then the girl after him, repeating the same speech each time.
Despite the novelty, this process is quite a drudge. I can even sympathize with Jennifer as my mouth extends in a wide yawn.
“Ouch,” I huff when Bri elbows me again.
“A little respect, please,” she says out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes trained on the altar and the four people before them.
I try not to nod off as Arthur steps back and the knights who’d brought in the swords and shields attach a pair of spurs to each of their protégés. When they’re done, Arthur grabs the first sword, unsheathes it, and holds it before the first boy.
“Bear this sword with strength and honor,” he says, “and may you never use it to hurt anyone for unjust reasons.”
He slaps the knight on each shoulder, then the top of his frontal bone with the flat of the sword. “And may these blows be the only ones you’ll ever bear. Rise, Sir Amir.”
The newly minted knight gets up and, his curly head still bowed, receives the sword and the shield from Arthur.
Without a pause, Arthur moves on to the next boy, Bruno. When the girl, now Lady Claudine, receives her arms and weapon, I let out a groan of relief.
Thankfully for my now-bruised ribs, the chorus’s angelic voices cover me and save me from another blow from Bri. The knights surround their newcomers with whistles and jeers. I watch them pass by, followed by Arthur and Jennifer. He looks tired and lost in his own thoughts, which seems to thoroughly annoy Jennifer, who keeps on whispering in his ear without arousing a reaction from him.
If
she wasn’t so disagreeable, I’d find the two of them quite stunning. But as things stand, they only make me gag.
“Let’s get going,” Bri says, “I’m starving.”
Keva dusts her uniform. “No need to wait for me. I’m meeting my parents for breakfast. See you guys later. Or not.”
Jack looks guilty. “My dad’s here too,” he says. “Sorry.”
“What was that all about?” I ask as we trail far behind our classmates. “Why are their parents here?”
Bri doesn’t look happy. “Parents are always invited to our tourneys,” she explains. “They’re about the only occasions when they’re allowed back down here.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” I say. I’ve yet to see my parents since I got attacked by the banshee, but I can’t say I’ve missed them. “What about you?” I ask. “How come you’re not meeting…”
Bri clenches her jaw so hard I can see the muscles work in her cheek. “They don’t want to come near my brother,” she says, then lets out a mirthless chuckle. “They fear being this close to him will taint them even more and destroy the little chance they think they have of making it on the Board.”
“Well then,” I say, forcing myself to be cheery, “guess we’ll both be free of any parental supervision. What’s fun to do at these things?”
Bri’s brow unfurls ever so slightly. “The food’s rather good I hear.”
“Excellent,” I say, the prospect of a meal reviving me. “Let’s get going, shall we?”
◆◆◆
Keeping an eye on my bread bowl of chicken and vegetables, and the other trained on the tournament taking place a hundred feet below, is no mean feat when you’re climbing up the steps of an arena. By the time I reach Bri, I’ve spilled sauce all over Gauvain’s jacket.
“What’s so special about this tournament?” I ask, swallowing my brunch whole. “All they’re doing is hitting each other with sticks. There’s not even any EM being done.”
“Wait until it’s KORT’s turn to go,” Bri says, excited. “They actually have a full-on battle, with horses and lances and everything!”
“With old-school armor too?” I ask, imagining Arthur turned into a disgruntled robot.
“No,” she says with a bright smile. “The armor’s the only thing that’s been changed over time. And a good thing too. A lot of people literally fried inside them when the weather was hot, and they weighed a ton.”
She swallows the last bite of her corn dog. “The best part is that the top three winners of the regular knight games will be allowed to try out for a place at KORT.”
“Really?” I ask, licking my fingers. “I thought there were only thirteen spots available, and all of them taken? Well, except for the two new vacancies.”
“It’s twelve seats, actually,” Bri says. She boos the loss of a tall knight to a boy half his size. “The thirteenth’s been vacant for as long as it’s been created.”
I think back to my one time inside the KORT room, and the ornate seat springs to mind, its dark wood carved with scenes of angelic battles. The one Arthur absolutely forbade me to sit in.
“It’s meant only for the one who truly deserves it,” Bri finishes.
I sniff the pungent smell of baked pies and caramel apples in the air. “So why doesn’t the president sit in it?” I ask.
“It’s too dangerous. If you’re not worthy and sit in the Siege Perilous…you die.”
I let out a loud laugh that makes people scowl at me.
“Seriously, though,” I say to Bri, “nobody’s sitting there because of some stupid urban legend?”
“It’s not stupid; it’s real,” Bri says.
I let out a sigh. Sure, this whole place is out of the ordinary, and Avalon truly exists, but a magical chair that kills the poor bloke who happens to touch his arse to its seat…I shake my head. That’s just too much.
“I’m going for some dessert,” I say.
I get up, raising angry murmurs from the people behind me, and head back downstairs toward the sweets shops.
Despite the number of people seated in the stadium at the moment, the grounds around it are teeming with students and more family members than I’d ever have thought to see down here.
“Our kids are lucky to go to Lake High,” I hear a woman tell an older couple. “They don’t have to deal with the crazy weather above.”
The old man nods. “Hear it’s unseasonably cold up there,” he says.
“Must be ’em,” the old woman says, sucking around her missing teeth, and all three nod gravely.
I shake my head. If they hate the weather so much, why don’t they move? Or better yet, couldn’t they use EM to change it?
“I’ll bet you two hundred my daughter beats your son,” a red-faced man says to a stout woman.
Both are dressed in plain clothes, with not a single ogham in sight, which perplexes me even more. How could laypeople be allowed down here, especially after the rest of us have pledged a vow of secrecy?
Loud laughs erupt on the way to the forge, behind the dessert stands. Some of the people who’d been waiting in line before me stray off to the side to see what’s going on, then desert the line entirely. It’s not until I’ve secured a large piece of pecan pie that I decide to check out the commotion as well.
“What’s going on?” I ask a woman whose husband is holding their son on his shoulders.
She shakes her head, as confused as I. With a shrug, I take another big chunk out of my dessert and force my way deeper into the laughing throng.
When I find the source of all the hilarity, however, my stomach contracts into a tight ball.
“They’re coming!” Owen says, his face gaunt from weeks of starving himself. “They’re going to kidnap us and feed us to the demons below!”
My whole lunch feels like it’s coming back up my throat. How did he manage to escape the asylum?
I step forward into the circle of onlookers and try to appease him. But Owen, who barely reaches my shoulders, swings at me, and I’m forced to back out.
“I’m telling you they want you!” He laughs maniacally, making a toddler cry.
The tears draw his attention, and he points at her.
“Yes, the innocent too! They’re going to bleed you to death, tear you apart, and feed your soul to Satan!” He pulls at his pale face, leaving deep gouges in his cheeks. “They’re coming for the Teind!”
Spit froths at the corners of his mouth. The crowd has quieted now, and is watching him with fear and—the hairs at the back of my neck rise—with aggressiveness. Trouble’s brewing, and the only person who has any chance of getting him back to the asylum’s safety is his sister.
I dash back to the arena and take the steps four by four.
“Bri!” I call out.
The short girl whips her head around, her light brown hair tousled and her cheeks red with excitement.
“It’s gonna be Hadrian’s turn. Hurry up!” she exclaims, pointing at a couple of knights standing to one side of the fighting area.
I shake my head. “You gotta come,” I yell over the loud cheering. “Trouble!”
Bri hesitates, and I feel guilty for bringing her the bad news. Finally, she reluctantly follows me.
We don’t get there soon enough. Bri stops dead in her tracks when she spots her twin, her face drained of all color. Most of the crowd’s left, and a few kids are now tormenting Owen. To my disgust, I see that one of them is Daniel.
“How do you like that, Feyblood?” the bully asks, kicking Owen in the ribs so hard the smaller boy’s body is lifted in the air.
“Stop it!” I yell, pushing him away.
I interpose myself between the two boys before Daniel can kill Owen. I hear Bri’s twin moan behind me, spitting up blood.
“Shame on you, abusing the weak like that,” I say, hoping the nearby crowd will be enough to keep him away from me—I’m already familiar enough with his fists. “You’ll never get to become a knight if you continue like this.”
I shouldn’t have said that. The boy’s beady eyes lower with malicious fervor, and he smiles.
“But that’s only towards other humans,” he says. He points at Owen still on the ground behind me, mumbling about soul reaping and demons. “He, on the other hand, has clearly become Satan’s puppet.”
Bri runs over to get her twin back up. He must have recognized her, because he doesn’t object to her help. I shift my stance to one of combat, lowering my knees and transferring my weight to the balls of my feet.
“That’s a paltry excuse, even for you,” I retort, keeping myself between him and Owen as he slowly circles us.
Like a pack of vultures, people come to surround us again, drawn by the prospect of more blood. Not one of them is willing to lift a finger to help us. I shake with fury at the thought of any of them ever pretending to stand by the noble code of conduct to which we’re supposed to pledge ourselves. No matter where I go, hypocrisy is always prevalent.
“What’s going on here?”
Still dressed in his full knight garb, Hadrian comes to stand before me, eyeing Daniel like one would a chicken about to be plucked.
“Are you the one who did this?” he asks. He sounds calm, but underneath it, I can sense a cold fury.
I smirk at Daniel. It’s high time for him to get his ass kicked, and I’m pleased to be a witness.
“Name?” Hadrian asks, to my greatest surprise.
“Daniel,” the boy spits.
“Year and order?”
“First, page.”
Hadrian nods. “Noted. Be ready to hear back from KORT.” And with that, he strides away, raising murmurs of disappointment in his wake.
I hurry over to Bri. “Let me help,” I say.
I make to grab Owen’s other arm. The boy’s limping terribly, and his short gasps tell me he has some internal contusions. But the moment I touch him, the boy recoils from me as if I’ve just punched him.
“Morgan!” Bri says, stumbling to the side.
“I didn’t—” I start, struck. “That wasn’t—”
Morgana Trilogy Complete Series Page 29