Morgana Trilogy Complete Series

by Alessa Ellefson

  Jennifer’s father harrumphs. “Well, that’s all very good,” he says, “but how can we even discuss this possibility of an alliance with the Fey when we all very well know how our ties have degenerated since. They won’t have anything to do with us anymore.”

  Arthur nods. “That is why I’ve taken it upon myself to invite them to Camaaloth, Sir.”

  The Board members shift restlessly in their seats, angry whispers rising from their ranks.

  “We heard you brought a devil right amongst us already,” Sister Marie-Clémence hisses, the torchlight catching the edges of her nun’s coif so it looks like it’s on fire. “And it has no place here.”

  I can tell from his back that Arthur’s shocked. He takes a deep breath. “Don’t tell me you’ve locked her up,” he says.

  “It is our right to defend ourselves,” Sister Marie-Clémence says, and I can imagine that horrible snide smile of hers stretching her wrinkled face.

  I feel a surge of disgust at the self-righteous woman and spring up from my bench before either Percy or Keva can stop me. “How dare you?” I yell across the room. “Blanchefleur didn’t do anything against anyone here!”

  “She’s Fey, that is all that matters,” Sister Marie-Clémence says.

  I let out a bitter laugh. “Does that mean you’re going to put me back in chains too?” I ask. I hold out my hands before me, ready to be shackled again. “Because if she’s locked up, I don’t see what gives me a right to be free.”

  “Morgan!” Arthur snaps, casting me a warning glance.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Sister Marie-Clémence says.

  “That is a very bad idea,” Arthur retorts, his anger peeking through. “Morgan’s been an integral force in our battles against the Dark Sidhe. Not only that, but she’s the only one we know who can heal people from Fey poison. As for the Lady Blanchefleur, she has fought on several occasions at our side as well, risking her life, and this is how you treat her?”

  “Very well,” Jennifer’s father finally says, cutting through any further argument. “The Fey woman will be conditionally released. We’ll discuss the possibility of meeting with the others at another time.”

  “Sir Lugh’s ready to come at a moment’s notice,” Arthur says, pushing his advantage.

  Sir Leo’s face puckers up until his eyes completely disappear under his heavy eyelids. “That’s not quite…I’m not sure that we’re ready to host such dangerous creatures in our midst. One is enough.”

  “It will be fine if we make them swear a blood oath,” Arthur says.

  Sir Leo’s brain doesn’t seem able to come up with more excuses and, throwing an accusatory look at his daughter, he nods in defeat. “As you wish,” he finally relents.

  “Arthur can barely keep things straight at Lake High,” Luther says derisively. “I would think it wise for him to concentrate on keeping the school together before we even consider following his advice in anything else.”

  “I don’t see why,” Sir Leo says coldly. “Arthur’s proven himself very capable over the years, and perhaps him struggling a little now is a sign he does need more of our help. Sir Luther, I trust you’ll look more closely into the matter and put together a budget for bringing some of our men back from retirement to send them to Lake High. And now, I believe that we are done for the day.”

  Sir Leo pushes himself up with evident difficulty, bringing to view his shapeless body, and the doors to the auditorium open.

  With a curt nod towards the Council, Arthur gets off his podium and marches straight at me, grabbing me by the elbow. I barely have the chance to see Jennifer’s venomous gaze before he drags me away from the group.

  “What were you thinking?” Arthur asks.

  “Nothing,” I say, trying to get my arm out of his death grip.

  “Evidently!” Arthur retorts with an exasperated sigh. “How many times have I—”

  “Squire Morgan,” a sharp voice cuts in, “I see that you haven’t lost your uncouth manners.” Sister Marie-Clémence advances upon me, a beaming Jennifer at her heels, and I repress a groan. “I know this may be too much to ask of someone such as you,” the nun continues, “but do try to keep your place—at the back, where no one will see you.”

  Years of practice incite me to bow dutifully before her, but I force myself to stand tall and grin instead.

  “I hear you wanted access to your father’s file,” Sister Marie-Clémence says, a dangerous glow in her eyes.

  I grow still, suddenly finding it very difficult to keep my smile in place.

  “But I’m afraid your little trip here will be fruitless,” Sister Marie-Clémence continues, “for that file, among a number of others, has been lost in a fire. A rogue salamander light, you know….”

  “That’s impossible,” I breathe, unclenching my jaw.

  “You’d think so,” she says, “yet accidents do happen.”

  Her spotted hand pats my shoulder in mock concern and I turn to Arthur accusingly. He said he’d seen the file, promised to let me take a look at it!

  But Arthur’s too busy keeping Jennifer’s hands off him to notice me, and as the others depart, I stay behind in the antechamber, alone and defeated.

  Sticking my hands deep in my pockets to hide their trembling, my fingers encounter the piece of paper Sir Neil gave me earlier. I pull it out and make to throw it away, but something stays my hand. Finally, slowly, I unfold the sheet and stare at its message in puzzlement:

  Hall of Mirrors

  Dec. 24th, 22:00

  Chapter 25

  “What the hell is the Hall of Mirrors?” I ask, as Arthur, after hunting me down, drags me out into the compound’s gardens where an antsy Percy is waiting for us.

  “Where did you hear that name?” Arthur asks.

  I watch him carefully, but he doesn’t seem to display anything more than a twinge of curiosity at my question. Guess this isn’t a trap set up by Sir Neil after all.

  I shrug as Arthur glances my way. “Just heard it, is all,” I say. I hold my breath, expecting my stomach to clench at the intense pain that inevitably comes when I lie, but I guess my words must have been close enough to the truth, for nothing happens, and I release my breath.

  “You better not be planning on snooping around,” Arthur says, his eyes suddenly veiled with concern, “because the last thing I need to deal with right now is you getting into trouble again.”

  “Enough sweet talk, let’s get goin’!” Percy says, heading straight down the frozen grounds towards a small, dark building at the back of the large complex that is Camaaloth.

  “Halt!” a guard says, her nose tipped in red from standing too long in the cold.

  I stare at the building in confusion, for it looks barely more than a large black cube, its walls bearing no trace of a door or window. Rising on the other side of it, behind the headquarters’ gates, is a coniferous forest, its dark greens peeking from under a thick blanket of snow. Not at all what I would expect a prison for dangerous Fey to look like.

  “We’re here for the release of prisoner 789011,” Arthur says, holding up a piece of paper for the woman to read.

  I wince. “Are there really that many prisoners?” I ask Percy under my breath.

  “No,” he answers curtly. “At least they ain’t all here at the present. Some ‘ave been let go, others…in any case, considerin’ Fey lifespans, the Board decided to keep a record of every prisoner ever detained, so the list just keeps gettin’ longer an’ longer.”

  “Hand on the pledge stone,” the guard says reluctantly.

  “’Bout time,” Percy says, slapping his hand down on a large grey stone entrenched in the wall.

  “Caosga,” the guard intones.

  The stone under Percy’s fingers grows darker, a black vapor rising from it. I let out a harsh gasp of surprise as rays of white suddenly pierce the black fog, and a whole section of the wall silently slides open. Without looking at either of us, Percy rushes inside and the section of the wall slides back
into place, sealing the building shut.

  “Stay here,” Arthur says, going through the same ritual.

  “Out of the question,” I say as he disappears inside. “I care about Blanchefleur too.” And I place my hand on the stone.

  “Caosga.”

  A cloud of darkness explodes from the stone, swallowing up my arm all the way up to my shoulder. I hear the guard inhale sharply as beams of light suddenly part the rampant shadows in a blazing column that reaches the overhanging grey clouds. I feel a sharp stinging on the palm of my hand, then both light and shadows seem to get sucked back into the stone and the door slides open a third time.

  I grin sheepishly at the guard as she stares at me, open-mouthed. But before I can try to explain myself, Arthur yanks me by the collar inside the prison and the wall closes back behind us.

  “Come on,” he says. “If we don’t hurry, Percy’s going to get us kicked out.”

  As we spring down the spiral staircase, we hear someone shout and Arthur swears under his breath, accelerating the pace. He finally stops on the seventh landing and I jump over the last remaining steps, catching myself on the handrail as my momentum carries me forward.

  I can hear Percy’s southern twang ringing down the single long hallway that stretches away from the staircase, and Arthur dives into the corridor towards it.

  “Percy, don’t!” Arthur shouts, slipping in between Percy and the guard he’s about to throttle, forcing them apart.

  “I ain’t waitin’ for that saphead[71] to get his shit together,” Percy clamors. “They weren’t s’posed to put her in the calaboose[72] to begin with!”

  “Here are the documents for prisoner 789011’s release,” Arthur repeats, pulling out his paper once again.

  The guard takes extra long to look it over, and I can practically see steam rise off Percy’s head as he fumes behind Arthur.

  Finally, with a dark look leveled at Percy, the guard slowly inserts seven different keys into seven different locks that line both sides of the door then, after the last click, pushes it open.

  The sight of the narrow, lightless space makes my skin crawl and I have to force myself not to gag. Grabbing one of the torches from the wall, Percy strides into the dark cell, calling out Blanchefleur’s name.

  “Hell fire!” Percy mutters as Blanchefleur finally comes into view, wrists and ankles bound to the wall in thick, iron shackles. “I’m gonna clean those cowards’ plow[73] like the world’s never seen!”

  Arthur grabs the ring of keys from the guard’s listless hands and throws it to Percy, who catches it midair and briskly unfastens Blanchefleur. The Fey warrior collapses into his arms and a terrible thought enters my mind.

  “Sh-she’s not dead, is she?” I ask around the knot in my throat.

  “Still breathin’ if that means anything with a Fey,” Percy says, picking Blanchefleur up easily.

  “Let’s get out of here then,” Arthur says, handing the keys back to the guard who watches us go with a flat, distrustful stare.

  I follow the boys back up the stairs, and it’s not until the fresh afternoon air hits my face that I feel like I can breathe again.

  “I don’t ever want to go back down there,” I say, wiping the sweat from my forehead.

  “If you behave, you won’t have to,” Arthur says, forcing me to quicken my pace to keep up with him.

  “You…you mean….” I glower at him at a sudden realization. “You did it on purpose to make me go down there with you, didn’t you? You knew I’d go if you told me to stay behind.”

  “I thought it would have more of an impact than anything I might say,” Arthur says, sounding disgustingly pleased with himself. “I take it you’re no longer going to tempt people with throwing you back in jail anymore?”

  I kick at the snow, wishing it were Arthur’s head instead, or perhaps that of Luther. Or really, anyone else who lives in this disgusting place where torturing blameless Fey is common routine.

  ◆◆◆

  Arthur abandons me at our suite’s doorway to go take care of more dubious business of his, and I let myself in, anxious to see how Blanchefleur is doing.

  “What’s her status?” I ask, entering Arthur’s bedroom without knocking.

  Percy looks up from the bed, his eyes haunted.

  “Still weak,” he says. He looks back down at Blanchefleur, brushing her hair out of her face. “They must have injected her with liquid iron to subdue her.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say, my mouth dry. “I thought it was OK for her to be here. Arthur had official papers and everything.”

  “I don’t think they realized what kinda Fey we were bringin’,” Percy says. “An’ you saw when we got ‘ere how they react to even the smallest ones, so imagine a full-blooded warrior.” His eyes glisten and he forces air out through his nose. “Ya know what the hardest part is? Knowin’ she didn’t fight back so’s not to mess up our mission.”

  I watch Blanchefleur for a moment, pale against the royal blue of the bed cover, her soft brown curls limp around the pillow. I shift my gaze to my stained hands.

  The initial fear I always feel at having to use my abilities slowly morphs into determination.

  “Let me take a look at her,” I say, going around the other side of the bed.

  Percy’s eyes light up with a sudden fervor. “Can you heal her?”

  I avoid looking at him, hating how hopeful he sounds. What if it doesn’t work this time? I’ve never tried to heal a Fey before. I gulp. What if I end up killing her instead? I shake my head, dispelling the thought, and sit on the bed.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, I rest my hand upon Blanchefleur’s long fingers and repress a shiver at the deathly cold that emanates from them. Her skin seems to have taken on a gray tint, reminding me of Agnès when I pulled her bloated body out of Lake Geneva.

  Heart beating wildly, I close my eyes to picture the Fey woman as I’ve always known hew: Hale and strong, with a sharp tongue that can rival Keva’s.

  Deep in the pit of my stomach, I feel my energy respond, bubbling to life before surging through my body to meet my demand. Within seconds, I feel my hands grow warmer as the energy transfers from myself into Blanchefleur’s inert body. But as I keep the flow going, the headache that’s been plaguing me for the last couple of weeks jumps back to the forefront, as if my power’s trying to drill its way out of my temples. I groan as the pain spikes and let go of Blanchefleur’s hand.

  “I think it worked,” Percy whispers beside me, awed.

  I take a shuddering breath as Blanchefleur’s pearlescent gleam slowly returns to her face.

  “You’re a godsend,” Percy lets out, squeezing my hand. “Havin’ you with us, I have no doubt we’ll win the battle.”

  I grimace a smile, battling a sudden bout of nausea. Now’s not the time to pass out, I tell myself. I’ve got to press my advantage while Percy’s focused on something else.

  “This place is so not what I expected,” I say, my voice sounding strange to my ears as I struggle to stay conscious. “I didn’t even think there was a prison here, though I suppose I should’ve expected it.” I wait to see Percy’s reaction, but he keeps watching Blanchefleur, as if afraid that if he looks away she’s going to grow ill again.

  My hands clench around the bed cover as my vision grows fuzzy, and I swallow audibly.

  “Even,” I say, breathing harshly, “even heard there was a Hall of Mirrors here. What the hell is that?”

  “Our communications center,” Percy answers immediately.

  “Is it big?” I ask. “Like…like the prison?”

  “Pretty big,” Percy says.

  “Is it also…”—I blink, furiously trying to keep my thoughts straight—“kept separate? In its own enclosure?”

  Percy shakes his head. “Where’d ya get that funny idea from? The Hall of Mirrors is just opposite the auditorium.”

  Despite my blurred vision, I can tell my questions have finally raised Percy’s suspicion. Doesn�
�t matter. I’ve got my answer.

  I feel myself sway, my vision tunneling.

  “How many times have I said you shouldn’t use your own energy when practicing with your abilities?” a warm, chocolaty voice rumbles behind me.

  Steadying myself on the bedpost, I swing my head around. I blink as a tall figure detaches itself from the doorway.

  “Lugh,” I whisper.

  His blurry frown turns into a look of worry, as my eyelids finally refuse to open again, and I let myself slip into unconsciousness.

  ◆◆◆

  “St. George’s balls!” a voice exclaims. “Why can’t you do something?”

  I wonder dimly whether I’m talking out loud to myself or just having another dream.

  “It is best if she recovers on her own,” another voice says.

  I frown to myself, trying to place it.

  “She needs to learn to assimilate energy from her surroundings without relying on anyone,” the voice continues, deep and smooth like hot chocolate. “The more I help her, the more dependent she’ll become, and the more her learning process will be pushed back, which is dangerous.”

  Lugh. Arguing with Arthur. Again.

  I want to tell them to stop bickering, but all that comes out is, “Ssssrrrrooobbffaah…”

  “Morgan!” Keva shouts straight into my ear.

  I cringe then feel someone pry my eyes open. The sudden rush of light blinds me, before my pupils adjust and I see a pair of almond-shaped dark eyes staring at me.

  “She’s awake, Sir Arthur,” Keva says.

  I groan, sitting up in the bed, noting it’s the one where Blanchefleur was lying. I look up quickly and let out a breath of relief as I find the tall Fey standing in a corner of the room, as impassive as a statue despite Percy’s attempts to draw her out of her silence.

  I lick my lips. “How long was I out for?” I ask.

  “About a minute and a half,” Hadrian says, checking his watch.

  “So what’s all the fuss about?” I ask.