Curse of the Fey: A Modern Arthurian Legend (Morgana Trilogy Book 3)

by Alessa Ellefson

  I grind my teeth together. This is what Carman wants to turn the world into—an abhorrent place where torturing one another for pleasure is commonplace, where nothing is held sacred anymore, and the best one can hope for is true death.

  Another blood-curdling cry cuts through the mob’s loud jeers.

  I can’t let Carman do this. Even if it’s the last thing I do, I’m taking her down.

  Now.

  I twist around in Carman’s hold and lash out with all the energy I have left. Fire blooms from my fingertips, the dark blue flames quickly burning through Carman’s collar. Her grasp on me momentarily loosens, and my fingers finally close around her neck. I squeeze, as hard as I can, crushing her trachea.

  I’m dimly aware of someone’s shout of alarm far below as we plummet to the ground.

  But before we can crash into the crowd, two dark tentacles punch through both my shoulders. I let out a strangled gasp as my numb fingers are torn away from her, arms falling useless to my sides. And just like that, my one chance to get her is gone.

  Carman’s hand grazes her long neck, the imprint of my fingers prominent above some strange Celtic symbol that seems to have been branded into her clavicle.

  “This is going to cost you,” she says.

  And, looking into her flinty eyes, I know that my own death isn’t going to come soon enough.

  Chapter 11

  I stopped believing in fairy tales and knights in shining armor long before I ever set foot in Lake High, but I never thought I’d wish for one to actually save me.

  After what seems like a lifetime, my feet come to a stop before a set of gigantic black doors, two torches ensconced at their sides the only source of light in the dark tunnel. A flurry of shouts comes from the other side, and I take in a deep, shuddering breath, the freezing air burning down my lungs.

  Without a word, Carman flicks her hand and the doors swing silently inward to reveal a wide, cavernous chamber filled to bursting with demons.

  The throne room.

  A loud wail rends the air before we even step inside, reverberating against the walls, driving the crowd into a frenzy of growls and hisses.

  As above, so below. Cruelty knows no bounds. I will myself to remain impassive despite the spectacle, wondering what poor soul’s been picked to entertain this hysterical mass.

  No one has noticed our arrival, all gazes riveted to the raised dais on the opposite side of the room where a man can be seen strutting back and forth. Then his hand shoots up and the terrible screaming starts again. The beautiful demon smiles, reveling in the crowd’s cheers, and my heart lurches as I recognize Gadreel. The very one whose full strength Carman is going to make me restore, as if Gad isn’t bad enough already.

  I repress a shiver as the temperature drops even further, and have a brief moment to register Carman’s irate look before she sweeps inside the throne room. The nearest demons don’t even get a chance to move out of her way before she pushes past them, turning their flesh to ice. Then someone shoves me in after her, and slams the doors shut behind me.

  All my senses screaming for me to run away, I make myself follow in Carman’s wake, bare feet sliding over the icy floor. It’s pointless to try to run away. I know, I’ve tried twice already. And Carman’s pissed off enough as it is, without me adding oil to the fire. Not if I want to survive this session.

  “Aren’t we being assiduous today?” Carman croons.

  Gad whirls around, face pale, as an uneasy silence settles over the rest of the crowd. All eyes are upon Carman as she slowly ascends the dais, feathered dress fluttering around her. But as I reach the platform behind her, my eyes fall on the poor creature squirming at the throne’s foot.

  “Banshee!” I exclaim, momentarily forgetting about everything else.

  The grey cloak shifts at the sound of my voice, and I scramble to her side. The banshee tries to lift her head in greeting, wincing at some unseen injury.

  “Shhh, it’s OK,” I tell her. “Don’t move.”

  I let out a string of curses, power crackling over my fists. I don’t care what Carman will do to me, but I won’t let her use me to help Gad. No. I’m going to make him pay instead. But before I can strike the demon down, a cold wind sweeps across me, freezing my hand midway.

  My lips thin out in a low growl as I struggle against Carman’s control, but all I can do is watch as the witch slowly lowers herself onto the throne. The intricate chair is an exact replica of the Siege Perilous, except that the angels and demons on this one are still as stone.

  “I thought you somewhat more duplicitous in your aim to usurp my throne,” Carman continues, long white fingers caressing the carvings on her throne’s armrest. “Yet here you are, doling out your own justice on one of my subjects.”

  Gadreel blanches visibly. “This one here isn’t one of your subjects, she’s a—”

  “Every single soul in Hell belongs to me!” Carman says, scathingly. “Yes, even yours. And you’ve only got your own failures to blame for it.”

  The mood in the room shifts again, getting restless. They want to see more blood spilled today, want to taste it in the air. Especially if it comes from someone as fearsome as Gad. And Gadreel senses it too, for he drops to a knee before Carman.

  “My queen,” he forces out. “I pray for thy…mercy.”

  “Such lovely words when uttered by you.” Carman pricks her finger on the sharp point of a carved demon’s wing, and a drop of blood beads out of the puncture wound. “I can certainly sense your eagerness, this time around. Though your little display right before belies it.”

  She closes her hand into a fist and a red wave spills out from between her fingers, streaking towards Gad. The beautiful demon’s shoulders bunch up as the ruby tide shifts and twists on itself before him, quickly taking human form. I feel myself grow pale at the scarlet shape—an exact replica of Carman’s outline, down to the last feather of her dress.

  “A blood shadow,” a nasally voice says next to me. Nibs is back from the plains, and is eyeing the scene dispassionately.

  “W-What’s it f-for?” I ask through chattering teeth.

  “Watch.”

  Carman’s blood shadow grasps Gad by the neck and forces his head up.

  “Does it please you so much to parade up here?” Carman asks.

  Gadreel doesn’t respond. The blood shadow squeezes a little harder around his neck, and I don’t miss the look of pain that crosses his face.

  “It was…an offering,” he says at last.

  Carman gives a disdainful look at the banshee still lying at her feet. “You cannot offer me what I already own. Besides, what do I care about such a useless bag of bones?”

  She flicks her finger and a tentacle of black shoots out from her dress to punch into the banshee, sending her rolling towards the edge of the dais.

  “Don’t you dare touch her!” I shout, straining against the glacial force keeping me in check. “The banshee’s mine!”

  Carman cuts me a dark glance. “Yours?”

  Her blood shadow tosses Gad aside, and the next thing I know it’s standing in front of me, its half-translucent form shifting and flickering like candleflame. A gaping hole appears in what should be the shade’s head, and, with a sickening feeling, I realize it’s smiling at me.

  “That would make it two pets for you, sweets,” Carman says, and I detect the threat in her hooded gaze. “Seems you’re getting a little greedy.”

  “She is mine,” I repeat stubbornly.

  Carman considers me for a very long moment while her blood shadow undulates before me.

  “If you wish to keep this other pet of yours,” she finally says, her voice unctuous, “then you have to give something else in return. Make it a fair exchange, don’t you agree?”

  My stomach clenches at the sight of the banshee thrashing on the floor, the rope of darkness tightening around her midsection.

  “I agree!” I snarl.

  “Then let it be so.”

  “Mi
ssssssstresss, nooooo.”

  Carman snaps her fingers and the black tendrils around the banshee dissolve into thin air.

  “The deal is sealed, then,” Carman says with a beatific smile that looks eerily like that of her blood shadow.

  I suddenly regain the use of my limbs, steam rising off my warming limbs.

  “Nibs, step forward.”

  At her words, Gad finally looks at me, eyes gleaming in anticipation, his neck still bearing the blood shadow’s mark. The mountain of a demon, Az, pulls away from the shadows to pick me up in his strong arms, making sure I can’t run away.

  “Brace thyself,” he says in my ear. “This should beest the last thee are taxed thus.”

  I keep my eyes firmly on the banshee while Az carries me across the dais to lower me down at Carman’s feet.

  “A life for a life,” Carman says, cheeks dimpling as I stand shivering before her.

  Someone sniggers in the crowd. “Negotiating with her captive?”

  The pack of demons crammed in the chamber murmur in assent.

  “In Balor’s time,” another pipes up, “this never would’ve—”

  The rest of his sentence is abruptly cut off, and I finally let myself look away from the banshee to look at what’s happening. The blood shadow’s moved to one of the demons halfway across the throne room. Its hand is wrapped around the creature’s thick neck, just as it did with Gad, but this time I can clearly see the blood seeping out of the demon’s every pore, to be absorbed by Carman’s shadow. Then, in the span of a long breath, the blood shadow returns to its former station, leaving behind a dry husk, and an uneasy crowd.

  “Remember that your word is binding,” Carman says, drawing my attention back to her, as if she hasn’t been interrupted.

  At a signal from her, Nibs shuffles over with that damned bag of his. The velvet pouch bulges over the Sangraal, yet the clurichaun still finds a way to hold it gingerly, as far away from his precious self as he can. I clench my fists together. Gadreel is now on both knees, his face lifted reverently up to me. It makes me sick that such a monster will be rewarded.

  “I won’t do it,” I say past the lump in my throat. “I won’t let you restore him or any other of these demons to full power anymore.”

  Carman lets out a huff of laughter. “Who said anything about restoring anyone?”

  Both Gad and I look at her in shock.

  “But my queen,” Gadreel starts, imploring.

  “Who gave you leave to speak?” Carman snaps, eyes sparkling with ire. “You should be glad I’m letting you live at all, or do you need a reminder of your standing?”

  For a moment, it looks like Gad’s going to complain, but then he lowers his head again. “No, my queen. I apologize for the interruption.”

  “But then what…,” I start.

  The blood shadow is suddenly in front of me, its hands cold and slimy on my shoulders, forcing me down to my knees in front of Nibs. I steal another glance at the banshee, then, shaking, I reach inside the bag. My fingers instinctively grip the stone bowl inside, and the Sangraal grows warm in response as I pull it out of its pouch, runes blazing along its rim.

  The silence in the room grows deeper, everyone watching with bated breath as the blood shade punctures my arm, letting my blood drip freely onto the Sangraal. With growing dread, I stare as the bowl slowly fills up with a golden liquid, the very same that healed my wounds and restored my powers. Sweat pours down my forehead and my sides as the bout of nausea that always accompanies this moment hits me.

  At last, Carman uncoils herself from her throne and I feel her long fingers tilt my chin back so she can look into my eyes.

  “I will now collect the lift I am due,” she says, grasping the Sangraal over my shaky hand.

  Pain rips through my skull, my vision exploding into a million white lights, before the acid burn continues down into my body, tearing a scream from my parched lips. I’m dimly aware of the Sangraal burning through my palm, heat searing my hand to the dull beating of a heart. I can hear myself begging Carman to put an end to me, to make this agony stop. But she never relents.

  It feels like I’m being split open, my innards ripped to shreds. I can’t see. Can’t breathe.

  Then a roar suddenly erupts in the cavernous chamber, making the floor tremble, and Carman finally releases me.

  I sink to the ground in a useless heap, unable to even lift a finger. The roaring starts again, louder than before. BOOM! The ceiling splinters as something massive pounds against it. The crowd lets out terrified shrieks. BOOM! The whole cavern is shaking now, toppling fleeing demons to the floor.

  BOOM!

  The ceiling explodes outward, and I feel someone move above me to protect me from the rocks pelting down on us. Searing heat washes across the cavern, light blooming against my eyelids as a column of fire erupts in the middle of the ruined throne room.

  “Missstresss,” the banshee howls over the din.

  I crack my eyes open, and feel my blood run cold at the sight of the gigantic creature scrambling its way up through the hole in the ceiling, large leathery wings already spreading out for flight.

  Chapter 12

  Luther is glaring at me, his whole body vibrating with barely contained violence.

  “Don’t be a fool,” he says. “Your little crusade is bound to get our best knights killed before you even make it inside the school proper. I will not allow it. And if this is the best you can come up with, I suggest you stay put and let the adults take care of matters.”

  “Let the adults run things?” Arthur’s voice cuts in, and the bitterness in it catches me off guard. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing all along? Sending Caamaloth warning after warning, trusting you to do the right thing to protect us all. But did you listen? No.

  “Two years since Carman’s been freed, and still you cower away behind your walls, doing nothing but sending empty promises while those whom we’re honor-bound to protect keep perishing. And for what? More money? Isn’t that also why you treated Morgan like a leper, and kept running programs to exterminate the Fey? Have you learned nothing?”

  “Oh, I know what this is about now,” Luther says with a sneer that reminds me of Hector. “But if you think I’m going to ruin myself just so you can impress a filthy Fey, and one who tried to kill you, you’re out of your mind.”

  “You forget I am no longer a child,” Arthur says. “And the Council has trusted me enough to give me free reign in matters such as these.”

  “That carte blanche can be just as easily taken away if they suspect you of unsound mind,” Luther replies coldly.

  “We no longer have time for internal discord, Pendragon,” Lugh says, stepping out of the garden’s shadows with Sameerah at his side, their footsteps silent on the fresh snow. “Algol’s rising, a sure sign Carman is growing ever more powerful.”

  “And we’re entertaining severe doubts as to whether we’ll be able to resist at all once it reaches its zenith,” Sameerah adds, matching Luther’s tone.

  The Fey warrior looks fierce as always, her black mamba draped around her neck like a heavy necklace. The four of them are standing in the very same garden where Arthur first showed me how to use oghams. Crazy how back in those days I was despairing of ever being able to do any kind of elemental manipulation. How much simpler things back then seem to me now.

  Luther spears the two Fey with a scowl. “I will not take threats from the likes of you, either. Perhaps if your kind had stepped in earlier, we wouldn’t be where we are today.”

  “Our kind?” Sameerah repeats, and her snake opens its blue-black mouth as if to strike. “You mean the kind that keeps having to save your asses because you’re too much of a craven to fight yourself?”

  “Prudence isn’t cowardice,” Luther retorts. “Unlike you base creatures, we do not wish to uselessly waste human lives. That is not how wars are won. When the time comes—”

  “That time is now, Luther,” Arthur says, his voice oddly gentle. “That�
�s what I came here to tell you. The Board’s officially removed you from the position of General, now that there is more proof that you…”

  Arthur’s voice trails off, and Sameerah sniggers.

  “I think ‘proof that you offed the previous leader’ is the subphrase you’re looking for,” she supplies.

  Luther’s lips thin out. “Don’t be preposterous,” he says, “nobody ‘offed’ anyone.”

  I peer at the ex-Watcher in confusion, the pale scar above her left eye almost glowing against the rich umber of her skin. She’s not in any pain that I can see—in fact, she seems to be having fun—which means she’s not lying.

  My gaze slides back to Luther’s hard features. Surely he can’t really have killed Jennifer’s dad? I try to recall the one and only time I ever met Sir Leo de Lyonesse. It was at the year-end ball, right before Inspector Bossart and I were attacked by the two kid draugar. Sir Leo had certainly not looked sick back then, quite the contrary.

  Sameerah’s black snake uncoils itself from around her shoulders, its flickering tongue tasting the air curiously as Arthur’s pixie lands on its coffin-shaped head.

  “The point is,” Arthur continues, “that I didn’t come here seeking your approval, but to keep you informed that I’ve already sent out messages to our retired forces, as well as to the—”

  “Didn’t I just tell you I wouldn’t finance your little venture, boy?” Luther snaps.

  “I don’t think you heard me right the first time, father,” Arthur says calmly. “Considering mother’s predicament and your involvement in Sir Leo’s death, the jury has allowed for the transfer of the estate’s management.”

  Luther blanches. “You?”

  “Sir Pelles appointed me himself,” Arthur says. “At least until your trial is over. Until then, you are to remain under house arrest.”