“I’m afraid you’ve run out of time,” the boy says, his cruel voice only too familiar.
“Agravain!” Arthur says, surprised.
“And standing on two feet,” Lance points out, pushing me towards Arthur before unsheathing his sword.
“How did he—” I start, remembering the knight with his prosthetic leg as he taunted me every chance he got. But I know how he got his leg back—he’s evidently joined forces with Mordred. Just like Jennifer did.
“Go,” Lance says, stalking forward.
Hot tears blur my vision, spilling freely down my cheeks. I let Arthur pull me towards the Virgin and child’s statue, Puck back in my arms.
“Running away again, Arthur?” Agravain shouts angrily as I start down the steps into the tunnel.
There’s the sudden ring of metal on metal, and I look back. Lance has intercepted Agravain by the baptistery, and the two knights are now circling each other, like they’ve done so many times before at practice.
I watch, transfixed, as Agravain parries a blow before thrusting his sword straight at Lance’s stomach. Lance twists sideways, bringing his blade down to counter Agravain, graceful even when facing death.
“He’ll be fine,” Arthur says, urging me to keep on moving. “He’s the best the school’s ever seen.”
There’s a soft rasping sound as the statues slides back into place, shutting us inside the dark passage. We find Lugh and Gale waiting for us at the bottom, then file after the tall Fey down the dark tunnels. Not a word crosses our lips, our minds still with those we left behind.
Then a deep rumble rises behind us, carried along by a thickening cloud of dust and smoke.
My heart breaks.
The church has fallen, taking our friends with it.
Chapter 22
The weight of defeat makes us all hunch as we plod through the pristine snow towards Lugh’s Demesne, the land of eternal summer overtaken by winter. Ahead, the campfires’ flickering lights shine like a string of beacons around the giant oak tree, and the thought of seeing the shock and disappointment on everyone’s faces when they find out what happened almost makes me wish I were still stuck in Hell.
Worse is thinking about those who haven’t made it back.
“Are you sure we aren’t on the surface world?” Keva asks, her voice breaking with fatigue.
“Might as well be, considering how thin the veil between both worlds is around here,” Blanchefleur says, greeting us from atop a pine tree’s low-hanging branch.
She jumps down from her perch, bows deeply to Lugh, then falls into step behind him. I catch her assessing him, aware of his smallest gesture, and I wonder if Az or Myrdwinn didn’t hurt Lugh more than he’s letting on.
“Did you guys see that dragon?” Gareth’s voice booms out as two burly shadows detach themselves from the surrounding trees.
“Gareth,” Gauvain says warningly, immediately catching onto our mood.
“I wish we’d had a chance to fight it this time,” Gareth continues, completely oblivious. “Everyone knows fighting a dragon is the epic tome of a knight’s quest.”
“Epitome,” Gauvain growls, waving for him to shut up. “I take it you didn’t get to destroy the seat?” he asks, more softly, as if afraid anyone else might hear.
“Not for lack of trying,” Arthur says.
The wind suddenly shifts, sending flurries of snow in our face.
“Indeed,” an angry voice says as the squall coalesces into Lord Oberon’s fuming shape. “Would someone care to explain why I keep having to sacrifice my people against a dragon not even your precious Saint George would have managed to scratch, and all for nothing?”
“The mission might not have been a success, but I would not say it was for naught,” Lugh says calmly, motioning for Blanchefleur to make sure no one’s eavesdropping on us.
“We found out the Siege Perilous cannot be touched when inactive,” Arthur hedges, reaching over his head to place his hand over Excalibur’s pommel. “Next time—”
“There won’t be a next time!” Lord Oberon snaps. “Not unless you want us all dead. Is that what you were planning all along? Another of those disgusting ploys to get rid of our kind in your unholy crusade?”
“My Lords and Ladies?”
We all start at the sudden intrusion. Rip bows low as we whirl on him, his face almost as white as the snowy ground.
I catch Lugh frowning in the direction Blanchefleur took, evidently displeased at her inability to stop Rip from dropping in on us without anyone noticing.
“Pardon me for the intrusion, but there may be an issue,” he continues, straightening up. “In particular when it comes to…space.”
Lord Oberon snorts. “Are you saying Lugh’s quarters are small?” he asks, with a meaningful glance at Lugh’s lower body before barking out a laugh.
“The last few days have unfortunately brought us more injured parties and refugees than at first anticipated,” Rip says. “I am afraid that, unless we find a way to expand, we may end up having a riot on our hands.”
“Are our people refusing to share quarters with the Fey?” Arthur asks, brow furrowed. “Isn’t Hadrian back to settle such matters?”
Rip glances at the two Fey lords. “I’m afraid this time the tensions are coming from within your esteemed ranks,” he says.
Lord Oberon’s chuckling cuts off, and Lugh’s mouth flattens into a straight line of disapproval.
“We shall go this instant,” Lugh says.
“Lead the way, my good man,” Oberon says, evidently holding Rip in high regard.
“You’re too kind,” Rip says with another low bow, before moving swiftly away, the two Fey lords flanking him.
“He’s rather dashing, isn’t he?” Keva says.
Daniel snorts. “That old bald geezer? Are you out of your mind?”
“He’s royalty,” Keva says with a sniff, “and the finest diplomat our Order’s ever had. Which is much more than you can say for yourself.”
Daniel’s face turns bright red. “Still ended up in the loony bin, didn’t he?” I hear him mutter. But to my surprise, instead of storming off, he offers Keva his arm. “Enough drooling though, better get you to the infirmary.”
“You’re injured?” I ask Keva, mentally kicking myself for not having noticed it earlier.
Keva grimaces. “No,” she says, before scowling at Daniel. “Don’t you know it’s highly impolite to draw attention to a lady’s…affliction.”
“You’re no lady,” Daniel retorts. “And what’s wrong with saying you’re on the rag?”
“Daniel!” Keva exclaims, smacking him loudly on the shoulder under the bemused looks of Arthur, Gale and the cousins.
“What, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Daniel protests, rubbing his sore shoulder. “Now come on, it’s an order.”
With a mortified look at me, Keva slogs after a smirking Daniel, the KORT knights’ presence making it impossible for her to justly ignore a knight’s direct order. Even if it is Daniel who made it.
“On that interesting note, I think we’re going to take off too,” Gauvain says, wrapping his arm around Gale’s shoulders to carter him off. “Gotta show this guy the lay of the land.”
“Yes,” Gareth says, waving his war hammer arm around, “you’ll see Lugh’s Demesne is quite the suppository of information.”
Gale bursts out laughing at that, shocking even Gareth so much that he forgets to correct his cousin, and the three of them depart, leaving me alone with Arthur. Again.
I throw Arthur a furtive glance, gauging his mood, wondering if I should brace myself for another sermon. But he’s just staring at his boots, lost in thought. A part of me wants to use the opportunity to sneak away. Yet I can’t make myself leave him.
I know he’s hurting. Lance was his best friend. The church was the last bastion against the Fey we had inside the school he lost. And that one last desperate plan he hatched backfired mightily.
Three terrible strikes tha
t make my heart ache for him.
I clear my throat self-consciously. “So,” I start.
“So,” Arthur repeats right away, which tells me he was very aware of my presence.
“Do you think there’s enough room for us at Lugh’s place, or do we have to find a room on the surface world?” I ask.
Arthur blushes so furiously his ears go pink, and I feel my own cheeks burn as I realize what I’ve just said.
“I-I meant rent a room,” I stutter. “Each. As in, one for you, and one for me.”
Saint George’s balls, I’m only making things more awkward. Why can’t the ground split open at my feet now, when I want it to?
Arthur picks at the dried blood on Puck’s matter fur, much to the hobgoblin’s annoyance. “I think it’s best if we stay away from high-security civilian places for a while,” he says.
“Geez, Arthur, it’s not like we’re going to rob a bank.”
His ears go from pink to crimson. “Or any place with cameras,” he adds.
I tilt my head at him in confusion. “Why’s that?”
Arthur’s eyes remain resolutely downcast. “Because we’re both wanted for the murder of the Schultzes.”
“What?!”
“Remember when we went hunting for Dub?” he asks, finally setting Puck down before the hobgoblin can clock him with his tiny fists.
“You’re talking about the farm where we caught up with him and he nearly killed us?” I ask, quickly putting two and two together.
Arthur nods, still avoiding my gaze.
“But we didn’t kill them!” I exclaim, outraged at the injustice of it all. As if we didn’t have a hard-enough time down here already. “Any cop can tell that whatever happened to them wasn’t…natural.” Then the second shoe drops, and I round on Arthur, livid. “I knew we shouldn’t have taken their stupid truck! But no, you had to insist it would be fine!”
“It would’ve been fine if Luther had done his job and smoothed things over with the authorities like he was supposed to,” Arthur says, sounding uncharacteristically petulant.
“Did you seriously not think your father wouldn’t jump at the smallest opportunity to get rid of me?” I snap.
He finally looks up, and I see on his face that the thought had crossed his mind. Yet he still dismissed it, and now the Feds want me in jail, too.
With a disgusted grunt, I turn on my heels and stomp away. The worst of it is that, for once, I’d been right, and he still did not listen to me.
“Where are you going?”
“Away from you.”
“Morgan? Morgan, don’t got off on your own!”
I ignore him, too mad to listen to more of his excuses. I hear his heavy footfalls, then Arthur yanks me by the arm.
“Don’t you dare walk away from me like that!” he shouts
“Or what? You’re gonna lock me up again?” I shout back.
Arthur releases me, as if burned. “That’s not…,” he starts, then blows loudly through his nose. “How long are you going to hold that against me? You know I had to lock you up for your own safety. If I had to do it all over, I’d lock you up again, and for much longer, if it’s the only thing that’ll keep you out of trouble.”
“You’re not the boss of me!” I retort, sounding just like Daniel.
“Actually, until you’re knighted, I am the boss of you,” Arthur says, crossing his arms.
“Yeah, well, you can go stuff your stupid rules where the sun don’t shine, for all the good they’ve done!”
Arthur’s jaw drops open, and I use the opportunity to storm off again.
“Fine, be that way then!” he shouts after me.
This time he doesn’t follow me, and I soon find myself deep in foreign land, the forest’s charred remains extending to the horizon in every direction. All in all, it must’ve taken me but fifteen minutes to get well and truly lost.
It’s all Arthur’s fault. If he didn’t always antagonize me, I wouldn’t have reacted that way. What’s so difficult about saying he’s sorry for once in his life?
I hear the break of soft footfalls behind me, and whirl around, heart beating wildly.
“Art—”
I stop at the sight of Puck, trying to ignore the heavy feeling of disappointment at his sight.
“What are you doing here?” I ask softly.
The hobgoblin motions excitedly at me, his tiny arms windmilling about until they get caught in a low bush that’s survived the dragon’s attack. I release a tired sigh, and kneel down to help untangle him, when excited squeaks suddenly ring out around us. I freeze, eyes darting around in confusion.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” pipes a small voice from the thicket.
A chorus of tiny laughs erupts as Puck gives a sharp nod then lets himself drop onto his rump, his left arm still stuck inside the bush.
“Wh-Who’s there?” I ask, wondering if I should get some help.
The laughter starts again, but this time I see the bramble’s lower spines shake, and a small brown mouse appears, its ears almost as big as its fluffy brown belly. With the barest of wheezes, the mouse sits on its haunches to stare more easily up at me, displaying a bright jewel at its throat.
“An ogham!” I let out in surprise.
Another burst of giggling gushes out of the bush.
The sitting mouse nods pridefully, its long whiskers quivering. “They were given to us as a reward for helping out our Lady Danu once,” he says, “and we wear them with pride.”
The mouse shifts slightly, and only then do I notice the pair of translucent wings that adorn his back.
“She is highly magma”—the mouse pauses, nose twitching—“magmamimouse, she is.”
The winged mouse nods again to give weight to its declaration, and the laughter starts anew.
“In any case,” the mouse says with a pointed look behind him, “I hear you may have questions for us?”
“I-I do?”
“Or should I call it a request instead?” The winged mouse’s large eyes sparkle expectantly.
“I’m sorry,” I say, finally releasing Puck from the thorny bush, “but I don’t even know who you are.”
“Of course, how silly of me!”
The mouse jumps up onto its rear paws, then proceeds to give me a sweeping bow that could rival Rip’s, large ears brushing against the snow.
“I am Papillon, longtime follower of the ever-brilliant, kindest-hearted, far-sighted, life-giving, gift-bestowing, mightiest of warriors, the Light Bringer herself!” the mouse proclaims in one breath. “At your service.”
Puck grins at me beatifically, as if this is the best thing that could have happened to me.
“Uh, pleased to meet you,” I mumble, still baffled.
“Now that we have been properly introduced, feel free to ask me anything you’d like to know,” the mouse says excitedly. “I promise that you will not owe me a thing for it!”
The bush’s lower branches quiver, and a second mouse rolls into view, its emerald wings fluttering until it comes to a stop before Papillon.
With a delighted hop, Puck flattens himself to the ground so he can be eye to eye with the two small Fey creatures, ruffling their fur with every snorting breath of his.
“Don’t be all hoity-toity, Pap,” the new mouse squeaks, smoothing her russet coat. “The girl has obviously no idea what you’re talking about, and the more turns you take around the pot, the likelier it is the Master of this Demesne will feel our presence.”
Papillon sniffs disdainfully. “He is not the ultimate ruler. He cannot order us around, when we serve a mightier liege.”
The russet mouse looks down her nose at Papillon. “How quickly your tune changes when he is here,” she retorts, the small ogham at her neck scintillating brightly against her fur with every syllable.
The giggling from the scrubs resumes, louder.
“You’re saying that you’re here on behalf of Danu?” I ask tentatively, and both mice nod at once. “And that you’re
willing to answer any question I may have?”
“Correct.”
“And you’ll be able to answer?”
“The thing is, miss,” the russet mouse says, “our size makes people easily disregard us.”
“Not that we ever pry,” Papillon chimes in quickly.
“But our ears are also made to catch the smallest sound, and voices—even whispered—tend to carry.”
The two of them have just admitted that they’re spies. Spies who do not want Lugh to catch them. Which makes them doubly suspicious.
But Fey cannot lie, not outright, I remind myself, and Puck seems to trust them. So their claim to have come from this elusive Danu must be true. But why would this Fey Lady want to talk to me now? Unless…
Could it be that this powerful Danu might want to help me out? I shake my head. Don’t be stupid, Morgan, I tell myself. This Danu could very well have waited until I was vulnerable, away from any protection, to bait me into a trap.
I glance back down at the two flying mice’s guileless eyes.
“OK,” I say, tapping my chin thoughtfully, “let’s start with something easy. How can we defeat Carman’s dragon?”
Papillon opens his mouth to answer, then his shoulders slump. “I’m afraid we do not know that,” he says.
“Can Lady Vivian be revived?” I ask instead.
“We do not know that either,” Papillon replies, looking more dejected.
“Then how about Carman’s next move?” I ask. “I know she wants to free Balor, but what does she need to finally free him? More bloodshed?”
Papillon’s face looks positively glum. “We do not know.”
I grimace in disappointment. “Not much use, are you?”
“Why don’t you ask us about things we actually know instead?” the russet mouse retorts. “Like why Arthur had your picture with him all these years, or who wants to kill you in your sleep, or why the One-Eyed one has gone back on his word not to kill just so he can protect you.”
One-Eyed one? Are they talking about Lugh again? I eye the two Fey suspiciously.
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