I keep myself from rolling my eyes, sure that my every movement is under scrutiny for any hint of my own demonic side. If I’m to believe Father Tristan’s words, my sole existence was condemned from the moment of my conception, and nothing I do will change that. Yet I’m still forced to spend an hour every day listening to him preach about my own and other Fey’s burning at the stake.
I watch the priest lean over his stand, his dark eyes ringed with black, and catch myself wondering what he must have been like before, when he and my father were friends. If what Arthur said about my dad is true, then Father Tristan must not always have been the zealot he is now. Something drastic must have happened for him to change like this….
“That was the true light which enlighteneth every man that cometh into this world,” says Father Tristan, already in the middle of the Last Gospel, a sign that mass is almost over. “He was the world, and the world was made by Him, and the world knew Him not. He came unto His own, and His own received Him not.
“But as many as received Him, to them He gave great power to become the sons and daughters of God: To them that believe in His name, who are born not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.”
We all drop to one knee, right hand over our heart.
“And the Word was made flesh,” Father Tristan continues over our prostrated figures, “and dwelt among us, and we saw His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.”
“Deo gratias[55],” we all say in unison, making the sign of the cross, before we all rush to get out.
Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I find myself trailing behind the crowd on our way out, when an odd sight catches my attention: Lining one of the aisles are the cousins, Percy, Daniel, and Hadrian, all waiting with obvious impatience by the confessional. As I watch them draw strings to see who gets to go first, Lance and Arthur join them.
“What are they doing?” I ask.
“It’s a tradition,” Keva says, standing exactly one foot away from me so I won’t dirty her uniform. “All those who take part in battle go to confession the next day.”
“You’re not,” I point out, surprised nobody’s made me confess since I first got to Lake High. Back in Switzerland, Sister Marie-Clémence was always most adamant I be absolved of my sins on a weekly basis.
“I was more of a bystander than anything,” Keva says. “Besides, this is just a more religious version of a psych’s couch, where people can relieve themselves of their guilt.”
“Which is obviously not something that you ever have to struggle with,” I mutter with a twinge of jealousy.
“Come on,” Keva says, “we’ve been dispensed from morning classes, and I need my beauty sleep.”
But as Keva prods me towards the exit, an idea strikes me.
“Go on without me,” I say, already making my way between the benches towards the confessional.
Arthur eyes me wearily as I move down the line, looking ready to pounce on me with another scolding. But before I can reach him, Lance motions for me to cut in front of him.
“You look like you’re about to fall asleep standing,” Lance says.
“Why thank you,” I say, ignoring Arthur’s irritated look. “It’s very gentlemanly of you.”
Lance doesn’t answer my smile, and I wonder if his considerate treatment of me lately is a thank you for saving his sweetheart Jennifer. But I don’t mind, not if it means I get to annoy the brat standing right behind him.
Arthur glares at me from above Lance’s shoulder, and I raise my chin in defiance.
“You were the one who stayed behind, right?” I ask Lance.
The tall knight eyes me without saying a word.
“You know…after the battle…,” I add.
I still get no reaction from him, and I clear my throat self-consciously.
“Because you see,” I continue, wishing Lance would fix someone else with his unblinking stare, “there was this woman there, a pregnant woman, and I was wondering…is she OK?”
Lance finally shrugs. “Our trauma team took care of everyone,” he says curtly.
I wait for him to continue with his account, but it appears that’s all he’s going to tell me. My shoulders slumping in disappointment, I turn back towards the front of the line.
As my turn at confession draws nearer, I find myself growing more and more anxious, wondering if my idea of getting info on my dad this way is a daft one after all. But I see no other way I can get the priest to speak to me in private, especially on what must be for him a rather sore topic.
My stomach plummets as the velvet drapes move to the side to let Hadrian through, and I fight back the urge to push the knight back inside so I can have more time to work on my arguments.
“It’s your turn,” I hear Arthur grumble behind.
I nod and, taking a deep breath, finally step inside the wooden structure, the drapes swishing closed after me. Behind his screen, Father Tristan’s sober face looks paler than usual.
I kneel before him, my head bowed, then sign myself. “Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” I start, old habits kicking in. “My last confession was…a long while back. I’m not quite sure where to start, but I suppose the worst sin I’m guilty of these days is anger.”
I chance a quick look at the priest’s face, but he doesn’t bat an eye, and I continue.
“Anger at everyone always judging me for things I’ve never done,” I say, my voice quivering slightly, “anger at the betrayal I’ve experienced at the hands of those I once considered my family, and…”
I pause, biting on my lower lip.
“Go on, child,” Father Tristan says, though his tone tells me he wants me to shut up.
“…and because you never told me anything about my father,” I finish, looking up.
Father Tristan stiffens in his seat. “If those are all your sins, child—”
“Arthur said you were the one who found me,” I say over him. “That you were the one who witnessed my father die. Did my father say anything to you then?” I drop my voice to a whisper, “Did he say anything about…my mother?”
“If you are truly sorry for all of your sins,” Father Tristan says as if I haven’t interrupted him at all, “then do—”
“I’m not sorry for it!” I retort, furious at his lack of response. “Even God was subject to righteous anger. You guys all see me as evil, but I’m God’s creature too. All Fey are, despite what you preach at mass. And maybe if you guys hadn’t decided to ostracize us and make us all to be demons, we wouldn’t be at war right now!”
“You sound just like your father,” Father Tristan hisses, his eyes gleaming dangerously in the thin light filtering through the gap above his door. “He too was a fool who believed in impossible things, like forging a bond with those who ought to be cast down into Hell’s eternal flames. That’s what got him killed.”
His words chill me to the bone and my counter dies upon my lips.
“Only God’s anger may be considered righteous,” the priest continues, his voice shaking with disapproval. “Take care not to succumb to temptation like your father, the heretic, did. I can see that already you are identifying more with those devils than with your one source of redemption: Your humanity. And should you lose yourself going down that path, make no mistake, we will hunt you down!”
I ball my hands into fists, my fingernails digging deep gouges into my palms.
“Now get out of here, daughter of Satan,” Father Tristan adds. “I’ve got better things to do than to argue with a girl who’s got daddy issues.”
I burst out of the confessional, momentarily blinded by the sudden light.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Arthur take a few steps towards me, but I turn away from him. I know that he and Lance must have heard all that was said, and somehow that makes everything worse.
Keeping my eyes firmly to the ground, I dash out of the church and head straight for the dorms. Thankfully, Keva’s al
ready asleep by the time I get to our room, and I throw myself onto my bed to drown my sobs into my pillow, wishing I’d never been born.
Chapter 13
I awake to a strange, choking sound. I raise myself halfway up and peer over to the other bed where the noises are coming from. In the slanting sunlight, I see Keva’s bed shake as her small, wiry body’s raked by sobs. I shove my covers off and tiptoe over to her, hesitate, then put my hand on her shoulder.
“What’s the matter?” I ask. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” Keva sniffs from under her covers.
“Did you have a bad dream?” I ask.
“No, go away,” Keva says.
But I heard the hesitation in her voice and know I’ve hit the nail on the head. I sit on the edge of her bed and awkwardly pat her back.
“I had the same thing happen to me, after the whole Carman incident,” I say after Keva seems to have calmed down a bit. “I kept replaying in my head what had happened. Was that your first time seeing people die?”
“No,” Keva’s muffled voice says. “There was Rei, remember? And then the attack on the school.”
I keep my hand on the curve of her shoulder. “It’s normal to be scared,” I say at last.
Keva’s head pokes out from under her cover. “I’m not scared,” she says petulantly.
“Well I am,” I say, my voice shaking a little at finally revealing something about myself I used to only tell my guardian angel. “All the time. I just try to keep myself busy so I won’t think about it.”
“Well, yeah,” Keva says, sitting up, “you’ve got both knights and Fey trying to skin you alive. I’d be scared too if I were in your shoes.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” I say, regretting confiding in her. “That was exactly what I needed to hear.”
Keva’s face splits into a grin. “It was exactly what I needed, though: A reminder that it’s always worse for someone else out there.” She flings her cover off as if her crying fit never took place, picks up her handheld mirror, and grimaces. “I hope I can get the puffiness down before we go to lunch.”
I guess everything’s back to normal in Keva’s world if she’s worried about her looks again.
As I get up from Keva’s bed, the door squeaks open and a big ball of fur slams into my legs. I buckle over, toppling onto the floor with a loud thud.
“Puuuuuuck,” I mutter, rubbing my smarting knees.
The hobgoblin drops onto his buttocks and looks at me with shiny eyes, munching on a piece of paper thoughtfully.
“What have you got there, huh?” I ask, hoping it isn’t my homework.
I pull the remains of the sheet of paper from Puck’s pudgy fingers and groan.
“What is it?” Keva asks, pausing in the middle of applying a layer of mascara.
“Orders from Arthur,” I say, giving the paper back to Puck so he can destroy all evidence of the offending note. “Says we’re to help out at the library this afternoon.”
Puck sneezes and rolls over backward.
“My thoughts exactly,” I say, patting his head. “Who wants to spend time among musty old books when there are better things to do, like playing with my new powers!”
Keva frowns at me as Puck takes my hands in his and tries to pull me after him, his tiny bottom shaking with the effort.
“Sorry, Puck,” I say, laughing. “I can’t play with you today. Unless”—I throw Keva a slanted look—“unless someone lets me off the hook a little.”
“And get myself lynched if you disappear again?” Keva says, dabbing her lips with some gloss. “No thank you. I’ve learned not to trust you.”
“Not to trust me?” I exclaim, trying not to step on Puck as I get cleaned up and dressed.
“Don’t even start me on you and your utter contempt for rules, especially when it comes to your safety,” Keva says, looking at herself in the full-size mirror.
Seemingly satisfied with her reflection, she motions for me to follow her down to the dining hall, and I hurry along, Puck on my heels.
But when we reach the first landing, Puck suddenly grabs the bottom of my skirt and starts pulling on it to get me to go down to the basement where I know the kitchens are situated. I laugh, pulling away from him.
“If you want some milk, you’re gonna have to come with me to the dining hall,” I say. “I’m hungry too, you know.”
Vexed, Puck sniffs loudly and hobbles down the stairs without me, holding onto the side of the wall to keep from falling down.
“That creature’s so strange,” Keva says as we enter the packed cafeteria. “There’s plenty of other Fey around this place, why he has to fixate on you, I just don’t get.”
“I don’t know,” I say, grabbing a plateful of lasagna, “but if it weren’t for him, I’d be dead by now.”
“That’s even weirder,” Keva says as she heads for the salad bar. “I mean, how did he even know about the Sangraal and all?”
I shrug. “He’s Fey, and he’s been here at the school for a while,” I say as we make our way down the rows of tables.
Wanting to avoid the KORT area where Hector might try to attack us again, we decide to eat with Jack and Bri instead. We find both of them tucked between one of the pillars and a tall, stained-glass window, already finishing up their lunch.
“How was it yesterday?” Bri asks, as we sit down.
Keva grimaces. “Not pleasant, I can tell you that. Certainly didn’t think it was going to take all afternoon and all night to deal with those Fey.”
“I heard Arthur nearly died,” Bri says.
I sputter on my juice. “What?” I ask.
Bri’s big eyes come to rest upon my face. “Didn’t you know?” she says. “I heard he lost so much blood Lance had to carry him out of the church this morning after mass.”
My fork clatters to the table as I remember Arthur getting hit by a spike while trying to protect me and the pregnant woman. How could I have forgotten about it?
“Heard he could have died of sepsis if Dr. Cockleburr hadn’t looked at him on time,” Bri continues.
“Don’t be ridiculous, he didn’t present any of the symptoms,” I say, trying to remember what he looked like when I last saw him, but all I can picture is him scowling at me from behind Lance’s shoulders before my disastrous tête-à-tête with Father Tristan.
“It’s Fey poison,” Bri says. “It doesn’t work the same way as traditional poisons or human diseases do. But I guess you wouldn’t know that, would you, since you never get sick and all.”
Jack coughs loudly, and Keva’s eyes narrow.
“What is it you’re implying?” Keva asks.
“That she should stick to her own kind,” Bri says, returning to her parfait.
Jack’s eyes bulge behind his glasses. “You don’t actually mean that,” he says.
“I do,” Bri says. “Morgan shouldn’t be Arthur’s squire. In fact, she shouldn’t be anyone’s squire.”
“And who are you to say that when an experienced knight, and the KORT President at that, has found her up to the task?” Keva asks.
Bri’s piercing gaze travels over to Keva and remains fixed there. “He may be President,” she says, “but it doesn’t make him immune to errors of judgment. But that’s a human error, and forgivable. Whereas Morgan, with her inability to put herself in our shoes, could very well commit an error that could cost him his life, or worse.”
Chills spread down my spine. I see Keva open her mouth to counter Bri, but I cut her off, “She’s right. I-I didn’t think to check on Arthur after the battle…I forgot, now that I….”
My throat constricts but everyone at the table knows what I meant—now that I’m no longer human myself.
◆◆◆
I slowly file out of the cafeteria after the others, regretting ever eating that lasagna as it feels like a big anvil in the pit of my stomach. My thoughts keep revolving around Arthur and his injury, guilt threading its barbs inside my chest. How could I not have notic
ed him bleeding himself to death while on the long ride back to Lake Winnebago, or even on our flight back to school?
“Stop looking like you’ve just eaten a boxful of sour candy,” Keva says, “or you’ll get wrinkles early. If Arthur’s managed to send you a note to find him at the library, it means he’s not doing so bad. Dr. Cockleburr would never had let him off the hook otherwise. Isn’t that right, Bri?”
Bri shrugs. “I suppose so,” she says at last, her hands deep in her pockets.
At their words, I feel a weight lift off my shoulders, my body finally willing to digest its meal.
“Where are you guys headed?” Bri asks.
“Library,” Keva says.
“Forge,” Jack says at the same time.
“Can I come with?” Bri asks.
“I thought you didn’t like the forge?” Jack says, looking rather pale. “Too noisy, you said.”
“The library, silly,” Bri says. “Why would I want to go to that disgustingly hot place for?”
“Why would anyone want to go to the library?” Keva retorts. “At least at the forge you’re surrounded by sweaty, virile men who—”
“You want to skip practice?” I ask Bri, surprised.
“More like temporarily postpone it,” Bri says, evading our inquisitive looks by heading for the library first.
With a shrug, Keva follows suit, but I hang back at Jack’s crestfallen look.
“Is everything OK?” I ask him.
Jack starts, as if he didn’t notice me standing a foot away from him, then blushes slightly. “Yeah, no problem,” he says. “I’m just glad she’s socializing again.” He grins at me. “Gotta go, Mr. Vestri isn’t a very patient man.”
I watch him pelt down a side corridor before I finally set off too, though at a statelier pace—now that I’m ninety seven point eight percent sure Arthur’s OK again, I don’t feel like there’s any problem with making him wait a little.
But as I make my way inside the library stacks, a hand shoots out to grab me and flings me inside one of the private study rooms before locking the door behind me.
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