“Is it still worth it to offer Lady Maeve our help?” Arthur asks.
Rip shakes his head ‘no’ as Arthur’s pixie settles on his shoulder, casting a red sheen over his pale features.
“How could it be?” Arthur asks. “Her Demesne is further away, surely Mordred’s troops couldn’t have gotten to her so quickly.”
“I would have thought he would go after Aengus next instead,” Lugh adds.
“Unless Aengus has joined the Dark Sidhe’s forces already,” Oberon says, stepping out of what appears to be a tunnel leading inside the hill, its entrance torn open. “Maybe that’s what I should’ve done. Maybe there’s still time for me and my people—”
He stops, shoulders hunching as he gazes at what’s left of his Demesne. All these pixies were his to protect, and he’s failed them. We all have.
“You know the outcome would have been the same had you chosen their side,” Lugh says. “Worse, you would then be at Carman’s mercy, and you know how little goodwill she bears you. But if you choose to join our side, you can help put an end to all this senseless killing.”
“You are the one who forced that choice upon me!” Oberon barks, spinning around to face us. “How many times have I pleaded for you to stay away? But each time you came back. And look what it got me!
“Do you know what it feels like to have the deaths of thousands of innocents upon your conscience?” Oberon lets out a grating laugh. “Of course you don’t. You have no conscience. Let me give you some advice, then, free of charge: Learn to mind your own business. From what I hear, Avalon’s falling apart at the seams already. So if you care an ounce for your people, you’d better go back there and defend them.”
A muscle twitches in Lugh’s cheek, but before he can reply, a dark snake slithers its way out of the tunnel and into the bloody grass, followed closely by a lithe Fey.
“My Lord,” Sameerah says, bowing respectfully in front of Oberon. “Please accept my sincerest apologies for failing you tonight. It is as you say: Had we not sought you out today, this terrible calamity would not have happened. At least not tonight. But you know, as well as I, that they would have eventually struck at you, whether we’d come to you or not.”
“They might not have known where to find me,” Oberon says, voice glacial. “Now get off my land, all of you!”
He turns sharply away, his cape swirling around his shoulders, but not before I see the angry tears glistening on his round cheeks.
“Lord Oberon, your losses are ours to bear,” Arthur says. “Believe us when we say we understand the weight you carry, and I do wish we could abide by your wishes, but we cannot afford to wait any longer. Our forces, like yours, are much diminished, while Carman’s are growing every day. But if we stand united, we still have a chance to stop her.”
Her forces are growing every minute, actually, I silently say, what with that draugar-making pot of hers.
The draugar!
With a jolt, I realize I need to let them know about the impending danger. But no matter how much I try to speak, I cannot utter a single sound, not even the shadow of a whisper.
The world suddenly wobbles around me, and Rip hurries to help me stay up.
“Are you alright?” he asks softly.
As the tremors slowly subside, Arthur’s all-too-familiar voice whispers back, “I just didn’t expect…I thought I heard…I’m OK, thank you. Just tired, I guess…”
Arthur lets his voice trail off, caught in his own thoughts. Rip looks up then, straight into my eyes, and a light smile touches his lips. I let out a muted gasp. Did he just see me? Does he know I’m watching them?
“If it’s any consolation, I did find out more about the Siege Perilous,” Rip says. “Before she passed away, the Lady Maeve revealed that it can be destroyed, and, thankfully, the one weapon that can do so is in our possession.”
There’s a collective intake of breath.
“Excalibur?” Lord Oberon asks, incredulous.
“All’s not lost, then,” Sameerah breathes, reaching down for the snake slowly twisting its way up her leg.
“I propose we move along with the plan then,” Lugh says.
“Plan?” Oberon asks, sounding slightly intrigued despite himself. “To destroy the Siege Perilous?”
“Correct,” Lugh says. “But before we do, we need to give others a chance to join us as well.”
“There’s no time to waste,” Arthur says. “We need to get to the other Demesnes before Mordred has a chance to find them.”
Shivers run down my spine, for that’s the trouble, isn’t it? Mordred always seems to be a step ahead of us.
Chapter 10
“I take it resisting didn’t do much good, huh?”
I cough up some more blood, letting it trickle down my chin, too exhausted to spit it out, then nod. I wince as the movement pulls at my bound wrists.
Keva lets out a heartfelt sigh. “Bloody hell.”
“Literally,” I rasp, my voice grating from too much screaming.
I sag against the whipping post to ease my shoulders, eyes automatically gliding over to the thick fumes still rising from the Pair Dadeni.
From what I’ve seen over the past few days, the cauldron’s kept fed with a constant string of human victims—thanks in no small part to Mordred and his squad—and is churning ever more draugar to strengthen Carman’s army.
The only positive thing about it is that these soulless corpses seem to freak the demons out as much as us, so we’re usually left alone down on the plain.
“Were you able to find out anything at all?” Keva asks as always, though the answer never changes.
“Not a thing.”
Though at first it seemed like the quick plan Gale and I hatched together was working, Carman put an end to it quickly enough. I should’ve known her taking me under her wing and talking partnerships was just that—an act. A ploy to get me to show her how to use the Sangraal. And when that didn’t work, she was quick to force me to do it for her.
Keva grunts in annoyance. “So which daeva[84] did she make you heal this time?”
“The one that guards the draugar,” I say.
“The necrophiliac?” Keva exclaims. “She’s the worst! Have you seen the way she keeps rubbing herself all over those poor draugar? You know, the handsome ones. And they’re too dead to push her off.”
My laugh surprises us both. “Are you going to start a movement against the harassment of handsome draugar?”
“Maybe I should,” Keva replies petulantly. “Think how great it would be if I ended up subverting Carman’s army right from under her nose.”
“I’d not voice that quite so loudly if I were ya.”
We both jump at the nasally voice. But it’s only Nibs, and I expel an annoyed breath as the clurichaun threads his way through the last of the draugar to stop in front of us.
“Yer both in surprisingly high spirits, considerin’ yer current state,” Nibs drawls, pulling out his silver flask and waving it at us. “So, what do a starved human and an infected half-Fey have to laugh about?”
“Nothing, thanks to you,” I say glumly.
“Don’t blame me for ya not runnin’ away when ya had the chance,” Nibs retorts. He takes a deep gulp of his whiskey, then sputters as something dark jumps onto his back. “Off!” he exclaims, turning a bright shade of violet.
The cat jumps back down onto the ashy ground, then pads over to rub itself against me, its fur warm and soft against my bare legs.
“Yeah, yeah, stupid pussy showin’ off,” Nibs mumbles loudly, wiping the spilled whiskey from his shirt front.
The feline lifts its dark head, leveling its one golden eye at him, the other closed shut by a long scar.
“Morgan,” Keva whispers.
“I’ve noticed,” I say, wondering whether we’re both having the same hallucination.
“Doesn’t it look a lot like—”
“The stupid geezer must always be a pain in the ass, mustn’t he?” Nibs sa
ys, eyeing the cat with unmistakable distaste.
With a sniff, the cat sits on its haunches, looking reproachful. Nibs makes to add something, but grows suddenly still, all senses alert. Then, in the span of a heartbeat, he picks up the furry creature and flings it far into the ranks of impassive draugar.
“Hey!” Keva exclaims.
But Nibs shushes her, and by now I can hear it too. A familiar clip-clopping coming from the hills behind us, getting rapidly closer.
“Fraternizing with the enemy?” a laughing voice asks that makes my skin crawl.
“Fraternizing with AC’s sister,” Nibs retorts as Urim lands next to him in all of his white splendor. “Besides, we’re old acquaintances, she and I, goin’ back much longer than AC’s known her.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Mordred says, jumping off his kelpie before it even comes to a halt.
“What are you doing here?” I growl.
“Aw, can’t a guy show some brotherly concern?” Urim asks.
“We’ve seen the results of your latest activities,” Thummim says, strolling up to the nearest draugar. “And I have to say that all those newly-restored demons frolicking with humans again is quite a sight to behold.”
“But you do seem a little worse for wear,” Urim adds.
I flinch as Mordred crouches in front of me, his eyes traveling up my bound arms, taking in the long cuts Carman’s given me, the latest one still fresh and painful.
“Ah, Morgan,” he says with a soft sigh, “when will you ever learn?”
I keep very still as he slowly reaches over my head. What kind of game is he playing now?
“Why do you keep fighting us?” Mordred asks. His fingers graze my arm, and I have to bite hard on my lip not to cry out. “Is it because of these knights? Because of that…Arthur? Even after all he’s put you through?”
“He didn’t put me through…,” I start, feeling my stomach twinge at the beginning of the lie. “It wasn’t like that! Arthur was just trying to stop me from…from…”
“From being yourself,” Mordred says through clenched teeth, surprised at my vehement defense of Arthur. “But what did you get out of all those years spent struggling to be like those petty humans? Or is it that you enjoy playing the sacrificial lamb? Does it make you feel special?”
“As special as it is to be here like this?” I retort, thick chains jangling.
“This isn’t permanent,” Mordred says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “But you’ve got to understand Carman’s reticence to trust your sudden change of heart.”
Urim nods. “You’ve built yourself quite the reputation.”
“Traitor, is what they call you at the school,” Thummim says offhandedly.
“Heard it was demon strumpet,” Nibs says, hawking up phlegm before spitting loudly in the Dark Sidhe’s general direction.
“If they only knew you don’t stab people in their backs like they say,” Mordred adds, tucking a strand of greasy hair back behind my ear. “No, you like to look into their eyes while you do so, just to savor their feelings of betrayal to the fullest. Just like I do.”
“Shut up!” I snarl, hurling myself forward.
But my shackles keep me from head-butting Mordred like he deserves, and I’m forced to blow angrily in his face instead, tears prickling my eyes.
“Don’t delude yourself,” I say at last, “you and I are nothing alike, and never will be.”
Mordred smirks. “No matter your wishes, we’ll always be linked. In fact, I’ll let you in on a little secret—the Gates would have opened for you too, if you’d chosen to sit on the Siege Perilous instead of me. It is, after all, what we were born to do.”
Keva lets out a surprised hiccup.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, blood draining from my face. “Nobody’s born to do anything.”
“There’s evidently a lot for you to learn still,” Mordred says with a small sneer. “But we’ve got time yet, and once I figure out how to keep those Gates open at all times, I’ll be able to come visit you down here more often.”
“What a lovely thought, truly,” Nibs’s sarcastic voice cuts in. “And I’d hate to burst yer bubble—”
“Not really,” Thummim chimes in, stopping beside the standing corpse of what must have once been a well-fed banker, judging from the dirty suit and spotty shoes.
“—but have ya seen the state she’s in?” Nibs continues. “At this rate, I give her a week, tops.”
“I concur,” Thummim says, poking his finger into what appears to be a bullet wound in the side of the dead banker’s head.
“The girl can’t even heal herself proper anymore,” Urim says, stifling a yawn.
“The use of the Sangraal is drainin’ her, figuratively and literally,” Nibs adds.
“How many times has she used you?” Mordred asks, his voice dropping dangerously low.
“Four,” Keva says from her whipping post.
“And she already looks like that?” Urim says, his eyes going wide.
“Could almost blend right in with these poor suckers,” Thummim adds, sniffing his finger before wiping it down his pant leg.
“Where is she?” Mordred asks.
“Right in front of—oh.” Urim stops and exchanges a worried glance with Nibs and Thummim. “That might not be such a good idea.”
“Asheel said Carman wasn’t too pleased when your sister took down Gwyllion,” Thummim says, patting the banker on the shoulder, and accidentally dislocating its arm.
“Don’t quite see why, the woman was a real pain,” Nibs says.
“But we all know Carman’s a prickly nut,” Thummim says, attempting, without success, to pop the arm back in before giving up.
“Definitely nuts, and certainly single-minded in her vengeful wrath,” Urim says. “So now may not be the best of times to sharpen your kitty claws against her.”
Keva and I glance at each other in puzzlement. Against her? As in fighting Carman? I look pointedly at Nibs, but the clurichaun shrugs indifferently.
“Unless you want to kiss the prophecy goodbye,” Thummim finishes.
“Untie her,” Mordred growls, already vaulting onto his kelpie’s back.
“As you wish,” Thummim says with a defeated sigh.
After a moment’s hesitation, Urim grabs the chains holding my arms up, and snaps the metallic links with frightful ease, catching me into his arms as I list forward.
“Are you guys freeing me?” I ask, stunned.
“Guess idiocy runs in your family’s genes,” Urim mutters as he carries me over to the kelpie.
“Wait,” I start, as I’m plunked in front of Mordred. “What are you—”
But the demon horse is already thundering away.
“Remember,” Nibs shouts after us, “if she asks, I was never here!”
Only then do I realize that my brother’s taking me back to Carman.
◆◆◆
“Please don’t do this,” I say, backing into the rampart, away from the twisty grey streets waiting ominously before us.
I can already smell the acrid stench of excrement, rotting meat and unwashed bodies that pervades the sprawling city. Yet it isn’t what lies in plain sight that scares me, but the halls that have been carved beneath, where Carman now resides. And no matter what strange reason Mordred has for taking me there, I still feel like a sow being taken to the slaughterhouse.
“Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly,” Urim chants, shifting restlessly from one foot to the next.
“Let’s go away, huh?” I continue, ignoring the Dark Sidhe. “This”—I wave a shaky hand around—“this isn’t you. Carman doesn’t care about you or your ideas, all she cares about is getting back at everyone for having been locked up.” I take a wobbly step toward him, entreating. “Life could be different for us. Father left us a lot of money, enough that we’ll want for nothing.”
I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. The only thing that matters, is that I don�
�t want to go back to her. And for that, I need to find something that would tempt Mordred more than the appeal of power the witch has been dangling in front of him. Especially if Urim’s and Thummim’s earlier comments are true about him wanting to break free.
“You could go to school with me,” I say, remembering how he once questioned me about Lake High classes, “learn new, amazing things!”
Urim and Thummim both make gagging motions off to the side, but Mordred’s eyes are intent upon me. I keep forgetting that he’s my twin, a boy who’s had to live a rough life from the very beginning, and for whom, I expect, a normal life seems so very extraordinary.
“We could hang out with other people our own age,” I add, warming up to these ideas myself, “have some fun, chillax… We’ll try all these delicious foods, go to the movies, maybe even a concert!” I stop just within reach of him, take a deep breath. “But to do that, we need to leave this place, before Carman crushes us and…”
The rest of my sentence dies on my tongue as Mordred’s face closes up again. I’ve made a mistake. I shouldn’t have said anything about Carman besting him. Why is there no undo button in real life?
“I didn’t mean it like—”
Mordred grabs the front of my dress in his fist. “Do not presume to know anything about me or my life,” he says, “or try to tell me how to live it. As for you, you only have two options: Either you join me and do as I say, or try to survive on your own for the little time you have left to live.” He leans in so close I can now distinguish tiny little patterns of flames in his woads[85]. “So, which is it? One or two?”
I find myself unable to answer. More so than his words, it’s the dead look in his eyes that makes my heart sink.
“So be it.” With a disgusted sneer, Mordred shoves me away, and I stumble into Urim’s broad chest.
“Nice try, princess, but do try not to distract AC with puny, impossible dreams,” the Dark Sidhe says, using Mordred’s old nickname as he steers me forward.
“The poor boy’s already confused enough as it is,” Thummim adds as we follow Mordred down the narrow alleyways and tortuous passages that snake their way in between the city’s endless rows of squat buildings.
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