“Is everyone dead?” I whisper, choking on the last word at the desolation Mordred’s army has left behind.
The muscles in Arthur’s jaw shift. “I hope not.”
As I slowly bring us closer to the ground, I force myself to keep looking, scouring the area for a sign of life but only finding dead bodies, weapons dropped from lifeless hands scattered around.
Arthur stiffens. “Over there,” he says, pointing straight below at the wharves which are burning brightly.
Using the thick smoke as cover, we land on the uneven ground and I grunt as Arthur slips from my grasp.
“Morgan!”
I jump at Keva’s sharp tone and find my roommate lying in the cover of the pier’s smoky remains, Hadrian crouching at her side. The latter stiffens at the sight of the banshee and in the fire’s light I see that he’s got his knife out.
“Don’t hurt her, she’s with us,” I say, sinking to the ground next to them, my eyes stinging from all the smoke.
“What happened?” Arthur asks.
“We just got here,” Hadrian says, relaxing a little though he doesn’t put his knife away. “But it appears they have the school hostage.”
“They got in? But how—” I start
“Everyone?” Arthur asks, cutting me off.
“Everyone still alive,” Keva retorts.
“What about the rest of our convoy?” Arthur asks.
“Still with Lugh, as far as I can tell,” Hadrian answers. “We tried to follow you and Percy, and thought you’d come here but…where is Percy, by the way?”
The silence that follows is answer enough.
A wet cough makes us jump and Hadrian swings his combat knife around. My eyes swivel back and forth in search of the noise’s source when I see a small ball of fur hobble in our direction. Like a fox finding a prey, the banshee jumps on it. There’s a muted grunt and she stands up again, holding a grunting animal at the end of one fist, her obsidian knife in the other.
“Stop!” I say, finally recognizing the creature. “Let it go, it’s only Puck.”
The banshee drops the little hobgoblin and, at the sound of my voice, Puck hops quickly over to throw himself into my arms.
“There, there,” I say, patting his shaking body and bringing up little puffs of soot. “We’re here now, you’re safe.”
“No he’s not,” Keva says. “None of us are!”
“How did he manage to follow us all the way here?” Hadrian asks. He raises himself up enough to check the school’s environs again, in case someone else might be coming.
“Who cares?” Keva says. “What we need to figure out is how to get in there past all those demons. If it isn’t too late already.”
Arthur and I look at each other knowingly, the same thought forming in our minds.
“The tunnels,” we say together.
“But I don’t know how to access them outside of the school’s enclosure,” Hadrian says.
“Morgan used one of its external exits when she left jail,” Arthur says, looking at me expectantly.
I shake my head. “I had no idea where I was going,” I say. “All I was doing was following Lugh’s cat, and”—I look down at the hobgoblin as he readies himself to pounce on his own shadow, fluffy butt wagging in the air—“Puck.”
Puck looks up at the mention of his name then hops over to me eagerly to get his belly scratched.
“That thing? Hadrian exclaims, watching the hobgoblin rolling around in the grass, snorting in delight.
“He is actually much smarter than people give him credit for,” I say.
Hadrian coughs, and I know it has nothing to do with breathing in any smoke. “Uh, sure,” he says at last. “Whatever you say. But we’re in the middle of a battle here, and you want us to trust a Fey to get us to the catacombs unseen?”
“Correct,” I say. I look over to Arthur for support, but he’s just staring at Puck with a frown on his face, and I let out a tired sigh. “Look, we don’t have time to pussyfoot around,” I say, my voice quivering as a terrifying idea forms in my head. “By the time we manage to get around the Fey, he may have already opened the gates to Hell.”
“The gates to what?” Keva squeaks. “And who’s ‘he’?”
“You heard me,” I say. “We’ve already wasted too much time as is. You guys can follow Puck through the tunnels, I’ll take the direct route.”
“Don’t be silly,” Keva says. “They’re not going to just let you walk up to that door and welcome you in. You’ll be long dead before then!”
“They won’t kill me,” I reply, “because I’m one of them, and…they need something from me.”
“Why can’t you go through the tunnels with us?” Hadrian asks. “If they really want something from you, having you surrender to them is a very bad idea.”
“If I go with you, it’ll take too long,” I retort. “Someone needs to stall Mordred until you guys make it over.”
“Again with the name dropping,” Keva mutters.
“And I’m not surrendering,” I say, ignoring her, “but joining with them. Or at least that’s what I’m going to make them think. And I’ve got a very good reason for them to believe I’ve turned coats too, so don’t worry about me, OK?” I get up briskly before my mind can come up with a dozen reasons why this plan is totally insane and prone to fail, then give everyone a shaky smile. “Guess I’ll see you guys when you get there.”
Then, without giving them the chance to stop me, I crawl up the hill towards the school, flanked by both the banshee and the pixie. The building quickly comes into sight, the giant apple tree cresting over the building like a green mushroom top.
I take a cursory look around me before getting up. The fields separating me from the school are devoid of any roaming Fey, and a small part of me hopes it means they all decided to up and leave. Then I see movement at one of the arched windows, a large shadow marching back and forth, too big to be human. Guess I’m not that lucky after all.
I take a deep, steadying breath, then force my legs to keep moving, despite knowing that I’m headed straight for a most certain and inevitable death.
“Come on, Morgan,” I chide myself as the school looms larger, foreboding. “Grow a pair, why don’t you? Saint George doesn’t condone cowardice.”
“Well, well, well,” a voice says somewhere above my head, startling me. “Look what fell into our lap.”
“I believe it’s a lost princess,” another voice hisses.
I force myself to stand my ground as Urim and Thummim drop down from a tree and slink towards me.
“We were waiting for a different mutt,” Urim says, his white skin dazzling in the morning sun.
“Probably shouldn’t have said that out loud,” Thummim says, looking slightly paranoid all of a sudden.
I snort—what the hell is this guy worried about? I’m not Carman, I don’t have any superpower of doom.
“Still, I think AC’ll be happy to see this one too,” Urim says. “Don’t you think?”
“Quite,” Thummim says.
And with a predatory smile, both Fey seize me.
The banshee growls in warning, but I shush her down. “Let these gentlemen be,” I say. “They’re not taking me anywhere I don’t want to go.”
◆◆◆
I repress a shiver as Urim opens the door for me, like a proper host, and I wonder if the fall of the inner school’s wards is also the work of the mysterious traitor in our midst.
We pass by ranks of Dark Sidhe crowded inside Lake High’s hallways, then make our way up one of the staircases to the second floor. I try not to look around too much, as the signs of fight are everywhere—stones scarred by weapons and EM attacks, trails of blood and soot, and bodies. More bodies than there were before, and not all of them Fey, or even that of full-fledged knights.
I bite the inside of my cheek really hard, tasting blood. I can’t let myself show any weakness. If I do, my game will be over; Mordred will sense any vulnerability like a
wolf in its prey.
To my surprise, Urim and Thummim lead me straight to the KORT room, its gaping entryway beckoning us in. Kneeling along the walls, hands attached behind their backs, are the surviving knights. My heart squeezes at their sight, noting how few of them are still around.
Lance lifts his head up at our arrival. His deep blue eyes light up with surprise in his beaten-to-a-pulp of a face, then look behind me, and I know he’s wondering whether Arthur’s been caught too or not.
Next to him, Sir Boris leans dangerously forward, his bald pate red with blood, his long mustache drooping to the floor.
I look away quickly before my insides can get too mushy with emotion. I need to play my part to perfection, convince Mordred I’m on his side. And for that, I need to convince myself first that I don’t care for these men. These people have lied to me, put me in jail, shamed me for being part Fey. Yeah. That’s right. None of these people here cared for me when I was down, let’s see how much they like it when the tables are turned.
“Morgan,” Mordred says, turning around at our approach. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“I came as soon as I could,” I say.
“Alone?” Mordred asks.
I feel Thummim shrug beside me. “Nah, there’s that banshee skulking behind.”
“My pet,” I say, digging my fingernails inside the palms of my hands to stop them from shaking.
Mordred laughs. “I didn’t know you were into recycling,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “But then, it appears, so am I.”
He strides over to the side and pulls aside one of the drapes covering the hallway leading to the scrying mirror. Standing behind it, as if in shame, is Jennifer. She looks small and frail compared to Mordred, her pale, semi-translucent skin glowing next to the blue tattooed tint of his. But at my sight, she straightens up, her chin held high.
“You were right,” Mordred says. “She is more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.”
Jennifer lashes out, but Mordred deflects her sudden attack and her sharp nails rake thin air.
“Of course, she does tend to bite,” Mordred adds, wrapping his arm around Jennifer’s waist and squeezing briefly before releasing her, “but it wouldn’t be as much fun if she were already tame.”
I frown. I may not like Jennifer, but Mordred’s way of talking about her like a mere object makes me feel like I’ve just showered in grease.
“Didn’t your mama teach you to treat girls better?” I ask in my most nonchalant manner. “At least when it comes to wooing? ‘Cause you seem awfully deficient in that department.”
I start picking at my nails to avoid Mordred’s glare, chiding myself for antagonizing him when I should be playing buddy-buddies.
“My mother, sadly, has been out of the picture all my life,” Mordred says, sounding as blasé as I am, though I can definitely tell he’s forcing it. “But that’s not a here nor a there, we’ve got work to do.”
“So I keep hearing,” I say, finally tucking my blackened hands behind me, looking about the room with a bored air. I try my best to ignore the lines of prisoners, their baleful looks aimed straight at me. “You’ve done rather well, so far.”
My cheery tone makes Mordred squint in wariness. “So far, so good,” he says carefully.
“How did you manage to get in here so easily?” I ask.
I hear Lance hiss behind me in surprise. Yes, that’s right, I silently tell him, look upon me with hatred, it’ll only make my show look more realistic.
Strutting about the room, Mordred waves his hand dismissively. “They were having a hard time controlling their elementals,” he says, patting Lance’s head in passing. “It just shows you that I was right: Without our powers, these supposed knights are toothless.”
He kicks Lance in the guts and the knight buckles over without a sound. I clench my hands harder to avoid crying out in his stead.
“Funny,” I say, wrinkling my nose in mock-thought, “I thought that once Fey were bound they were forced to answer to their call.”
Mordred twists around to assess me. Can he tell I’m stalling for time, looking for clues as to how he’s going to open these stupid gates of his? I swallow with difficulty.
“Though they may be cut off from their source of power,” he finally says, “no one can subjugate their minds. Any Fey, even a simple elemental, can choose not to use its powers, even when called upon. Although it does mean they self-destruct. But hey, it’s for a good cause, don’t you think?”
He stares at me, as if daring me to contradict him. I shrug, and he pushes past me to continue his pacing around the circular table. He stops by the arched windows and stares outside.
“It’s time,” Mordred says with a tight smile.
The prisoners shift restlessly at his words, exchanging confused looks. They must not know what he’s planning on doing, I realize, my mouth running dry.
A quick look outside shows me the waters of Lake Winnebago have gone blood red and a thrill of fear courses down my body. Carman’s almost here.
I need to move now, and fast.
“Off,” I tell my two guards, pushing them to the side.
To my surprise, they obey without protest, and I make a mental note to try this authoritarian tone more often should I survive. Slowly, I make my way over to Mordred, wondering how much time I have left before the witch lands here.
Blanchefleur mentioned a key. In all my times here, I’ve never seen any such key, and neither has Arthur or he wouldn’t have looked so stumped when I told him about Mordred’s plan. Which can only mean that the Dark Sidhe must already have it.
I let my gaze wander down Mordred’s tone body, from his tattooed back to his tight leather pants, neither of which look very promising in that department.
I close my eyes for a moment as a sudden realization stokes my fear: If he doesn’t have the key, then it must be with Carman.
“You’re about to witness the greatest event in the history of the world,” Mordred says, and I open my eyes again.
A bolt of lightning streaks the sky, followed by another, and another, each falling closer and closer to the school, singeing the earth in their passage.
She’s getting closer.
“Where are all the others?” I ask.
“On their way over,” Mordred says. He looks over his shoulder at me then, a questioning eyebrow arched high. “Or did you mean the rest of your people?”
“They’re not my people,” I say, betraying no emotion though that was exactly what I was thinking. “But let me ask you this: Are you sure you want to open those gates of yours? It seems like you’ve done a good enough job cleaning the trash out. Why risk losing your position by letting this world swarm with demons?”
“You traitor!” a sharp voice says, before one of the Sidhe smacks the person down.
I look over sideways and find Irene kneeling among the prisoners, her small body practically hidden behind those of Hector and Agravain. Blood trails down her chin from a cut in her lip.
“I should’ve killed you when your father brought you over as a babe!” she says, spitting at me.
A small smile creeps up my face and I go kneel before her. As I extend my hand towards her, she flinches away and a small part of me revels in the power I finally hold over this woman who not once in her life has shown me any mercy.
I brush Irene’s dark hair out of her face, noting with some surprise the countless grey strands that now streak it.
“You probably should have,” I tell her. “For then I would never have found out the truth about my father’s death, or how you Pendragons betrayed him. Tell me, was it fun to plot out my father’s death together? Did you enjoy it? Because I can tell you one thing, I’m going to enjoy every second of your end.”
There’s a strangled sound and we all turn around. At first I only see Jennifer, still as a statue. But the long curtains behind her have opened to reveal Arthur, his arm wrapped around Hadrian’s shoulders for support.
His eye
s bore into mine from across the room, filled with shock and betrayal, and I feel my insides wither. But I know Mordred is looking at me too, observing my every reaction, so I force myself to smile.
“It looks like Dub must be done with you,” I say, practically shouting over the short distance to prevent my voice from shaking but only making it more shrill. “But you’re too late.”
Arthur frowns, looking confused and lost, as if he’s never seen me before. Go back, I tell him mentally. I’ve failed—I haven’t found this stupid key, and Carman’s seconds away. If she finds you here, you’re dead and she gets Excalibur.
“Where did that one come from?” Urim asks.
“Who cares?” Thummim adds. “He’s here, he gets the same treatment as the others. No preference for status, we’re very democratic here.”
The two of them prowl towards Arthur, attentive to his every gesture.
Suddenly, Mordred lets out another low laugh and the two Dark Sidhe freeze.
“There’s no need to tiptoe around him,” Mordred says, leaving my side to go stand in front of Arthur. He leans towards him and I see the muscles of Mordred’s back ripple under his tattoos as he reaches for Arthur’s torn shirt. “It looks like Dub’s left him a little present.”
His words have the effect of a cold shower, confirming my worries. Something must’ve gone wrong when I tried to heal Arthur, or he wouldn’t be so weak still.
I narrow my eyes at him as he faces Mordred in a silent standoff, then I shake the fearful thought away. Now’s the time for me to act while they’re distracted, instead of moping about. My eyes sweep around the crowded room then the empty school grounds outside, desperation mounting. But how can I stop them if I don’t even know how?
Out of the corner of my eyes, I see a shadow throw itself at me, and I duck with a surprised cry as the shape jumps through the window and lands on the table where it crows like a rooster three times.
Irene snickers behind me. “You like to act all tough but when an old lunatic shows up you run for cover?”
Morgana Trilogy Complete Series Page 81