Arthur narrows his eyes at me but remains disconcertingly mute.
“You also mentioned something about squires,” I say, wriggling a finger in my ear to dislodge the sludge in it, “but I’m afraid I misheard.”
Arthur’s face cracks into a tiny smile. “I think you heard me quite well,” he says lazily. “You’re my squire, which means you’re at my beck and call twenty-four seven.”
“I don’t think so,” I say, spattering mud onto his impeccable uniform as I cross my arms.
I look longingly at the forest’s looming tree line, wondering whether I can outrun him. But Arthur steps in front of me, forcing me to look at him.
“It’s either that or you go back to jail,” Arthur says, his smile only getting bigger, and I resist the urge to smack the smarmy look off his face.
He wrinkles his nose at me. “And my first order is for you to take a shower,” he says. “You reek.”
Chapter 5
I let the blazing hot water from the showers purge me of all the filth I’ve accumulated, smooth out every single knot of tension from my back. The only thing that won’t go away is my migraine, which surged like some rampant, fire-breathing dragon in my brain right after Arthur talked to me. I wonder if this isn’t my subconscious telling me to avoid his poisonous presence…
My stall’s curtains are suddenly pulled back, and a blast of cool air engulfs itself inside, raising goose bumps down my arms and legs.
“Can’t you see it’s busy?” I bark.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Princess Morgan come back from the dead,” says a very familiar voice.
I wipe the soapsuds out of my eyes to find a fourteen-year old Indian girl eyeing me critically.
“You need to wait your turn, Keva,” I say, snapping the curtains back in place.
I proceed to lather my washcloth with another layer of soap, when Keva opens the curtains again.
“Trust me,” she says. “I would much rather not assist to this deplorable spectacle, but you’ve been summoned.”
“Summoned?” I ask, my stomach twisting on itself with worry.
Has KORT and the Board decided to send me back to jail after all? Are they going to execute me for helping Nibs escape?
Keva throws a towel at my face and I wrap it around myself as quickly as I can despite my trembling fingers.
“To be technical,” she says, “we’ve both been summoned. Part of our newly acquired duties, you see. Woooh!”
“What?” I ask, looking down to make sure I’ve covered everything.
“What did you do to your eyes?” Keva asks, leaning into me so she can stare straight up into my face. “Did you get new contacts? They’re super golden!”
I look down, annoyed. “It’s a side effect,” I grunt, pushing her off away.
“You mean ‘cause you’re Fey and all?” Keva asks, staying close as I head to the lockers.
I dress up quickly, avoiding all the mirrors, unwilling to see my demon side shining through my irises.
“How come you never told me?” Keva asks, leaning against the lockers.
“Because I didn’t know,” I say bitingly. “Someone had conveniently hidden it from me. And when I say someone, I mean everybody!”
“Bitter much?” Keva asks, retouching her makeup. “I know I’d die to have Fey blood if it gave me those eyes.” She pauses, blinking at me. “Well not literally, of course, but gold would look so good with my complexion.”
I slam my locker door closed and am about to put on my jacket when Keva grabs it from me and hands me another one instead.
“New uniform,” she says.
“It looks the same to me,” I retort, trying to snatch my old one back.
Keva dumps the new jacket on my head. “No, dummy. The insignia’s different.” She lets out a loud sigh. “I know it’s only been a few weeks, but I’d forgotten how dense you are.”
Frowning, I hold the jacket before me and look at its breast pocket: A shield has been added behind the pages’ cross. My blackened fingers trace the embroidered crest and I grow thoughtful.
“I thought it took a year to become a squire,” I say.
“There are always exceptions,” Keva says, admiring her always perfect manicure. “In your case, it’s so Arthur can keep an eye on you at all times. You know, should you decide to go feral or something. As for the rest of us”—she shrugs—“war has a tendency to change things, and quickly. Most of our class has been taken on as squires, except for Elias and Nadia. Oh, and Jack. But that’s only because he’s been recruited to work at the Forge, surprisingly enough.”
I shiver as I put on the jacket. Not once in my wildest imaginings had I envisioned myself in the middle of a war; least of all one that involved fallen angels.
◆◆◆
My feet feel heavier and heavier as we head down to the KORT room, a place I’ve come to absolutely abhor. At least the hallways are deserted at this time of night, so I don’t have to deal with everyone’s gawking.
“You’re so lucky,” Keva says with a hearty sigh as we reach the heavy door.
I choke back a laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“Please, Arthur personally selected you to be his squire,” she continues as if speaking to a four-year-old. “Do you even realize what an honor that is? Of course not. Now let me tell you something: Not once in his four years has he bothered to pick anyone, then all of a sudden he goes and picks you, of all people. And I know that he told the Board it was to keep an eye on you, but he could’ve just handed you over to another powerful knight. So you know what I think it means?” She snaps her head around to look at me, dark eyes sparkling, and lowers her voice to a dramatic whisper. “He’s in love with you!”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t you have anything better to do than to start false rumors?”
Keva looks at me, lips pursed in dissent.
“First of all,” I explain, counting on my fingers, “the pompous idiot is already engaged, and to the most beautiful girl in school. And though she is absolutely despicable, she’s a perfect match for him. Second, didn’t it cross your mind that the two-faced, lying bastard is eager to torture me freely? And three, as you said, he’s doing it to keep me from running away again, and probably also hopes to get his dirty paws on Excalibur if he hangs around me long enough.”
Keva’s shoulders slump in disappointment. “Oh yeah, I hadn’t thought about all that. Sad, my version was so much more entertaining.”
She finally knocks on the door then pulls it open. To my surprise, waiting inside are Irene and her perennial cohort of attendants. I clench my teeth into a tight smile, despite knowing she must have heard every word I just said about her son.
I mentally kick myself. I shouldn’t care what this woman thinks of me anymore. And if she believes I’m still the meek Morgan she knew before, then I’m going to show her she’s wrong.
“Irene,” I say with mock enthusiasm, enjoying how she has to crane her head up to look up at me. “To what do I owe the joy of your lovely presence this time?”
Irene’s severely-lined eyes remain fixed upon me, unblinking. “You may think you’ve won,” she says, “but once I take this up to Camaaloth, you’ll sing a different tune. Especially once people find out you abetted a dangerous prisoner in his escape.”
“I have no idea what camel-sloth you’re talking about,” I say, causing Keva to cough loudly next to me. “And Nibs escaped on his own, while I’m stuck here having to deal with your PMS.”
This time, Keva seems to have succumbed to a frightful case of croup[39] and has to excuse herself for a moment.
“And we all know the jail door can’t be opened from the inside,” a calm, collected voice says behind me. Lance walks in, his chiseled features placid as always. “The question then is who?” he says, going to stand behind his chair at the round table. “It could be a servant, as a number of them have disappeared since the wards fell down. Or, much more likely, someone from the outside slipped past ou
r sentinels now that the wards are down.”
“I told you to have the remaining servants bound to the school itself,” Irene retorts, “before they all flee to join that stupid rebellion of theirs. They know too much about the school and our Order to be considered safe otherwise.”
Lance nods. “The President is taking it into consideration,” he says in his inflectionless tone, “but right now he’s got more pressing matters to attend.”
“Is his conference over then?” Irene asks. “I’ve got a number of—”
“Matters that don’t concern the Board,” Lance adds, cutting her off.
Irene’s scowl deepens. She opens her mouth then closes it again without speaking a word—a rare occurrence, and one I’m gratified to behold. Then, with a contemptuous sniff, she sweeps out of the KORT room with her disgruntled entourage.
“Always a pleasure,” I say, unable to hide my grin as the heavy doors slam shut behind the last of her retinue.
“Welcome back, my jolie[40],” Gareth says, emerging from behind the heavy velvet drapes that cover the passage to the scrying mirror. “We have missed you.”
My smile slides off my face as the other members of the student council pour out behind him, each and every one of them a witness to my little scene. And apart from the cousins and Percy, none of them looks pleased to see me.
Unnerved, I avoid their baleful looks by staring instead at the darkness that lies outside the arched windows. Here and there are little pinpricks of light, the distant fires of the guards posted around the school, and I catch myself wishing I’d made it out with Nibs.
“I’m sure you’re aware who Morgan is,” I hear Arthur say, “but formalities…. In any case, I hereby present you with my new squire, Morgan de Cornouailles.”
I let out a small gasp of surprise at the mention of that mystical name. My father’s…. Mine now.
“This is a travesty,” a guy says, standing up. He waves at me like I’m a big, fat turd that needs to be scrubbed off. “We can’t have a half-Fey occupy such an important position as that of the President’s squire where she can exert her evil influence!”
“You’ve made your case quite clear once already, Hector,” Arthur says, rubbing his eyes reddened by fatigue. “Going over the same arguments again is a waste of time, and we’re already short on it.”
“But she’s used EM!” a girl with short black hair says. “What if she uses it against us?”
“Well that’s just not sayin’ much, is it?” Percy says in his slow, southern drawl, his voice holding an unusual edge. “One of the prereqs for bein’ a squire is to be able to use EM.”
“It’s not the same!” the knight says.
“It isn’t?” Arthur asks, steepling his fingers before him.
“Of course not,” Hector says. “We need to have oghams to be able to control the elements. Whereas she… Well, we all know she doesn’t need them.”
“’Cause she’s got her own,” one of the squires lining the back wall sniggers.
“Which is mighty useful, I’d say,” Percy says, balancing precariously on the back two legs of his chair.
Next to him, Gauvain nods. “She wouldn’t have to worry about any malfunctions,” he says. “Which could be crucial in any battle. Especially since some of our own have proved somewhat unreliable of late.”
“That’s right,” Gareth says, trying to cross his arms over his bulging pectorals and giving up at the sound of tearing fabric. “She protected Lance and Arthur both against cette sorcière de[41] Carman.”
“Looks like the changeling’s already affected their brains,” the girl knight says in a clear undertone to Hector.
“And now they’re bringing a traitor into the fold,” Hector says in the same manner.
Arthur slams his fists on the table, making everyone jump. “I will not have slanderous comments said in my presence about anyone at this school!” he barks. “Is that clear?”
The knights’ faces turn scarlet and they look at me with unabashed hatred.
“Now that’s settled,” Arthur continues, his composure regained, “I want to make sure everyone’s on the same page. There is to be no hazing of the new recruits, or anyone else for that matter. We need to devote all our time to preparing for another attack”—there’s a collective intake of breath from the squires at his words—“because we all know it’s coming. We just don’t know where or when yet. Squires, we’re counting on you to help us with our responsibilities as KORT members. That includes watching over the pages, especially since so many of them are still too young to fully understand everything that’s going on.
“Finally, and I can’t stress this enough”—he gives me a pointed look—“the moment you spot trouble, go fetch one of us. Immediately. There is no place here for people who want to play the lonely hero. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!” the row of squires intones, standing straight and proud, Keva among them.
“Very well,” Arthur says with a satisfied nod. “Meeting dismissed.”
As people brush past me on their way out, I tense up—not because of all the glares and whispered curses I’m getting, but because I’m to be stuck with Arthur again. Alone. And I’m not sure I can stop myself from throttling him.
A soft breeze drifts in through the windows, lifting the brightly colored heraldic flags that hang high from the grey walls. Finally, the two of us are the only ones left in the trapezoidal room.
“I suppose you have some questions for me,” Arthur says, letting himself slump in his seat, his face pale from lack of sleep.
I would be tempted to take pity on him if all I’d had to go through wasn’t still fresh in my mind. But it is, and he being one of the greatest culprits, I take pleasure at the sight.
“No,” I say.
Startled, he looks up at me. “You don’t?”
“Listening to you would be like listening to the serpent in Paradise,” I reply, “poison to my ears and bound to lead to my fall.”
Arthur’s face turns a shade paler and his lips thin out. He looks like he’s about to argue, but then he sinks further down into his seat and closes his eyes. “Very well,” he says in a defeated manner. “Get out.”
Chapter 6
I escape from Arthur only to find Keva waiting for me outside the KORT room. She raises her eyebrows questioningly, but I shake my head—the last thing I want to do is talk. Facing both Irene and Arthur has left me drained, both physically and mentally.
As we climb up the dark staircase, I’ve only got one thought in mind: sleep in a soft, warm bed. But as I make to go up to the last floor, Keva holds me back.
“This way,” she says. “We’re squires now, so our quarters have shifted.”
“Right,” I automatically say, shuffling after her down the deserted fourth floor, past empty classrooms, then all the way down to the last room in the dormitory section.
“I’ll miss having the place to myself,” Keva says, heaving a sigh as I beeline for the unclaimed bed.
I collapse onto the soft mattress, grab one end of the cover, and wrap myself in it like a giant caterpillar, then let the sounds of Keva puttering about our dorm room lull me to sleep.
But the moment she turns off the lights, I fling my eyes open in panic at the sudden darkness. I’m halfway out my bed before I remind myself that I’m no longer stuck in the school’s dungeons, that I can now sleep peacefully and know that in a few hours’ time I’ll be waking up with the sun’s rays caressing my face.
Yet no matter how many times I tell myself that everything’s fine, my heart keeps pounding at a thousand beats per minute, and the same nightmare that has been plaguing me for the last week comes back to assail me: Carman coming to kill me, Dean dying before my eyes, Irene throwing me in jail….
I toss over onto my other side with a loud sigh.
“Are you sleeping?” Keva whispers from her bed across the room.
“Yes,” I reply, slowing my breathing down in a vain attempt to calm mysel
f down.
“Did you really use EM like they said?” Keva continues, louder.
“Yes,” I sigh, struggling to get my arms free from my cover.
“Without using any oghams?” she asks again, sounding more excited. “Other than your own, I mean.”
I open my eyes again and stare sightlessly at the ceiling, remembering my attempted escape. “I suppose,” I say at last, forced to contemplate what I’ve been avoiding since then, something that I’m forced to admit scares me more than having to face Carman again: That I’m no longer human.
Yet I can’t really consider myself Fey either. I’m just someone stuck between two worlds, rejected by both except for those few who see a way to use me.
Like Arthur and his stupid, never-ending war. How does he expect me to join it now, when he knows I’d be going against my own people? Against, perhaps—I swallow with difficulty at the thought—against my very own mother?
“So what kind of powers do you have then?” Keva asks in the same excited tone she uses when talking about shopping.
“I don’t know,” I say, “and at this moment I don’t care.”
“You should, you know,” Keva says. “I heard Kyle say, who heard it from Saba, who heard it from Sophie, who’s Jennifer’s squire as you know, that it proves you’re the one who committed all those black-vein murders.”
My hand clenches around my pillow in a burst of anger. “I didn’t do it,” I say. “I didn’t even know I could make fire until a few hours ago.”
“I know,” Keva says, sounding more certain of this fact than I am.
“You do?” I ask, too shocked to realize I’m still holding my pillow over my head, ready to throw it at her.
“Yeah,” Keva says. “I mean, your dad was killed the same way, and unless you were some super-evil baby from hell the minute you were born, there’s no way you did it.”
“Where did you hear about that?” I ask.
Keva shifts in her bed and I have the distinct impression she just shrugged. “Arthur mentioned it the other day, among other things,” she says.
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