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

by Alessa Ellefson

  Oberon’s face remains impassive, waiting expectantly.

  “And I will carve out a portion of my Demesne for you to resettle your colonies,” Lugh finishes.

  “Deal,” Oberon says with a predatory smile. “Remember what happens to those who break their oaths, Lugh,” he says, spinning around with great flourish. “Call me when the mission starts.”

  ◆◆◆

  “I don’t mean to bust your balls—” Gareth starts.

  “—bubble,” Gauvain interjects.

  “—but those Dark Sidhe have got wards, you know,” Gareth continues, “and we haven’t been able to break through them.”

  We’re all seated on a grassy knoll, away from all the preparations that Lugh and Hadrian are supervising. And I’m glad of it, if it means I don’t have to deal with the suspicious stares and whispered accusations that have followed me everywhere I go these last couple of days. It is the welcome I’d expected to receive as a traitor, but a part of me had still hoped things would be different…better.

  Well, at least I’m clean for once, I tell myself to quell the unease growing inside me. And I’ve got a new uniform to boot.

  “And the catacombs are too well protected,” Lady Ysolt adds.

  I’ve learned she’s the only faculty member who’s both made it out of Lake High and can still fight. Like everyone else, the war has changed her. She’s gotten leaner, meaner, and her gaunt cheeks only highlight her fevered eyes.

  “I’m actually surprised at how quickly those wards got those up,” Gauvain says, bouncing his knee up and down nervously.

  “The wards that protected our school for so long were only decoys for the ones that are up now,” Gale says. “All it took was for their creator to activate them.”

  “How do you know all that?” Lady Ysolt asks, fingers drumming the pommel of her sword.

  A small smile plays at the edges of Gale’s mouth. “There’s something about being locked up in Hell that somehow sets tongues wagging,” he says.

  “I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” Blanchefleur says, stopping her pacing long enough to stare at Gale with evident distrust. “How many draugar did you say there were?”

  “Close to seven thousand,” Gale says, “although our latest intervention may have brought that number down a little. We should thank Asheel, too, as a matter of fact.”

  “Who’s Asheel?” Arthur and Lady Ysolt ask in unison.

  “A horrible demon in charge of the draugar,” Keva says with a shiver. “She became quite powerful after Carman used Morgan to restore her powers.”

  All eyes turn to me, and I try not to flinch away from them.

  “It wasn’t Morgan’s fault,” Keva quickly adds, but the harm’s done.

  They already think I tried to kill Arthur, now they can add this whole restoration of demons’ powers to my growing list of sins. If only that were the whole extent of it.

  “Carman tortured Morgan to use the Sangraal,” Keva insists, “and she—”

  “The Sangraal?” Lady Ysolt asks, her voice cracking like a whip. “Where is it?”

  Keva shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “Still with Carman, I suppose.”

  “Not exactly,” I say, keeping my gaze averted from their accusing stares. “I, uh, think it was absorbed by the dragon when she created it.”

  I hear Lady Ysolt’s sharp intake of breath. “No.”

  “That would explain its powers,” Blanchefleur says, resuming her pacing. “As well as its imperviousness to our attacks.”

  “And you said Carman’s now intent upon freeing Balor,” Arthur says, trying to shift the conversation away from me.

  I nod miserably, rubbing at my temples where I can feel the beginnings of another headache.

  Sameerah’s old snake, currently coiled around Blanchefleur’s arm, lifts its coffin-shaped head with a hiss. “That’s why the Fomori have been sacrificing themselves so obediently,” the Fey warrior says, “because she’s promised to get their master back. Does Lugh know of this?”

  “He is aware,” Arthur says. “But if I got this right, he already defeated Balor once.”

  “A feat once performed might not necessarily be repeated,” Blanchefleur states, sending another wave of unease through our little group. “Balor is no fool, he’ll know what to expect. He’ll make sure to destroy everything beforehand, no exceptions. Lugh wouldn’t be able to resist him this time, nor, I fear, the great Danu herself.”

  “Which brings us back to our plan,” Arthur says. “To close the Gates of Hell once and for all, before such a catastrophe can happen.”

  “Very well,” Lady Ysolt says, sounding resigned. “I shall inform the Board, and let them know that I will accompany you as well.”

  The statement seems to shock the knights. From what Keva and I have gathered so far, things at Caamaloth are pretty dire, and Arthur’s financial support notwithstanding, the Order doesn’t seem too keen to be helping out around here.

  “Morgan?”

  Startled, I look up to find that everyone’s gone but for Arthur. Arthur, who’s been a constant presence at my side since I got back from Hell, even though I can barely look at him from shame. Arthur, who’s made sure I’m always taken care of, even though he’s evidently got more pressing matter to attend to.

  Arthur, whose hand I never want to let go again.

  Heat creeps from my cheeks all the way up to my hairline at that last thought, and I look quickly away. “Sorry,” I mumble, pushing to my feet. “Got distracted.”

  Arthur gently grabs my wrist in his gloved hand, preventing me from running away like my hammering heart is telling me to.

  “Morgan, what is it?” he asks.

  “N-nothing,” I stammer, feeling myself blush ever more furiously.

  My eyes remain determinedly upon the shiny buttons of his jacket, but the rest of my body betrays me at the small lie, and Arthur immediately picks up on it. To my surprise, he doesn’t insist, and lets my wrist slide free of his fingers. There was a time when he’d have ordered me to speak, forced the truth out of me. And somehow that loosens my throat.

  “Why?” I ask, both terrified and eager to hear his answer. He’s taller than me now, so I have to tilt my head up to look at him. “You’re the one I stabbed, so why aren’t you eager to have me hanged like everyone else around here?”

  Arthur’s hazel eyes bore into mine. “Because I trust you.”

  I bite back a shocked gasp, eyes going wide. Arthur can read my disbelief, for he attempts a calming smile that only makes me more nervous.

  “I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I have doubted you,” he starts. “I mean, what happened back there…” He rubs at his side, the side where I stabbed him, and I feel the blood drain from my face. “But I know you, Morgan,” his words eerily echoing my brother’s. “Better than anyone else around here. Perhaps better than you know yourself, sometimes. And I know that no matter how much you posture and mouth off, you always seek to help those in need.”

  He flashes me his crooked grin and I feel my chest constrict in response.

  “Even if you’re not very good at it,” Arthur continues. He turns my hand over to trace the faint ridges of the scar Dean gave me the night he freed Carman. “I’ve dreamed of you so many times while you were gone,” he says softly, as if to himself.

  I start. Surely he couldn’t have had the same types of visions I’ve been having, could he?

  His fingers wrap gently over my own. “It was hard to watch you suffer while being unable to help,” he says, his voice sounding oddly strangled. “It’s why I now understand…what you did.”

  “That’s why you trust me?”

  Arthur lets out a long, shaky breath, bringing my fingers up to his heart. “For ever more.”

  Tears pool in my eyes, spilling over onto my cheeks, warm against my cool skin. “I’m still sorry,” I hiccup. “I’m so sorry I hurt you. Sh-She would’ve killed you if I h-hadn’t made her think I’d k-killed you first. But all the sam
e, I hate myself for what I did to you.”

  Arthur’s arms wrap tightly around my shoulders, drawing my head against him, letting my tears soak his shirt.

  I never dreamed this would happen, never dared to believe he’d forgive me this easily. I don’t deserve it.

  “Please don’t cry,” Arthur says in my hair. “Dr. Cocklebur told me that you have a perfect understanding of anatomy. A girl with that kind of knowledge wouldn’t have been so off the mark if she’d truly aimed for my heart. However clumsy she may be.”

  I snort out a laugh against him, still unable to stop myself from crying, when a light cough makes us both jump apart guiltily.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt,” Gale says as I wipe my runny nose on my sleeve, “but Puck’s arrived.”

  “Right,” Arthur says, looking momentarily dazed. “Right,” he repeats. “I’ll, uh, gather the troops, then.”

  Arthur hurries away, leaving me alone for the first time since my return. I can feel Gale’s green eyes upon me, unnerving.

  “How far are you willing to go?” he asks.

  “What?” I squeak out, my face burning up with highly inappropriate images.

  “To close up the Gates of Hell,” Gale says, and I can’t have imagined the wry amusement that flashed on his face. “How far are you willing to go?”

  “Oh,” I breathe, trying to gather my thoughts. “All the way, I guess,” I answer. “Isn’t it the case for all of us here?”

  “It’s your choice that matters most, though,” he says. With an enigmatic smile, Gale holds his hand out to show me a poppy cradled in his callused palm, the flower already missing one of its four delicate petals. “For you, when you need a little luck.”

  Chapter 18

  “Remember that this isn’t a suicide mission,” Arthur says, pacing in front of our group. The rest of the troops are already spread out across the fields behind us, hiding in ditches and behind trees, waiting for the signal. It didn’t take us long to march here, our camp far closer to the school than I’d have expected.

  “Not a hundred percent, anyway,” Keva whispers to me.

  “The key is to draw the Sidhe out of the school,” Arthur continues, “which shouldn’t be too hard considering their nature, and how long they’ve been cooped up in Lake High.”

  The cousins nod their understanding. “Who could resist a good hunt?” Gauvain says.

  No one laughs at his attempt at humor. The cousins are to lead the assault on the school with Oberon, while the rest of us make our way into Lake High.

  My gaze flits across everyone’s face, as if to memorize each and every detail—Keva biting her nails, Daniel brooding silently beside her; the banshee’s hooded cloak turned to the sun, as if to soak in its warmth; Kaede staring at her fists; Hadrian tapping his pocket watch nervously; and Arthur, jaw clenching in worry. Only Lady Ysolt and Gale remain impassive as we wait for Blanchefleur and Lugh to return.

  I wish I could say something to ease the tension, provide some kind of comfort, but as always, the proper words fail me.

  Instead, I finish the last of the cookies Keva obligingly provided me, turning my gaze to the east. Although I cannot see it, I know that one of the school’s warding stones stands not too far. And, beyond it, the landing docks, and, within the school itself, Mordred.

  My hand tightens around the large ogham in my pocket, the one and only present he’s ever given me. Even if I don’t ever intend on using it, I simply couldn’t find it in me to leave it behind with my old clothes. It is proof that, despite it all, there’s some good in him. That Carman hasn’t managed to pervert him entirely. But if I end up facing him now, will I be able to take him down if I have to?

  “Earth to Morgan!”

  I start at Keva’s sharp whisper and find that everyone’s setting off. I let the banshee help me to my feet, then hurry after the others. We follow Lugh in total silence, down and around a patch of burned-down trees, the remains of their charred trunks sticking out from the ashy ground like the leftover stakes of a pyre, then stop at the bottom of a large hill.

  The ruins of another fort crown its top, its demise the same as that of the scorched copse of trees. But what catches my attention is Lugh’s cat mewling at some uncommonly thick roots writhing at the knoll’s base, like a giant squid’s tentacles.

  “Watch where you are standing,” Lugh says, and I have to hold onto the banshee to keep from falling as the ground starts to buck and cave, until a gaping hole the size of a man is staring at us in the hill’s sided.

  “Our involuntary host seems to have put up more of a fight than I’d expected,” Gale says, greeting Puck as the hobgoblin emerges from the newly-made tunnel with a bottle of milk.

  “It does not bode well,” Lugh concedes, “but we will have to make do.”

  “Is this linked to the courtyard?” Lady Ysolt asks, sniffing in suspicion.

  “Correct,” Gale says. “Now follow me before its owner realizes exactly what’s happening.”

  I don’t miss the questioning glance Arthur throws Gale, but Lance’s brother just motions us after him. I shake off the feeling of déjà-vu as Blanchefleur summons a couple of floating orbs to light our way and we file in one after the other, remembering quite clearly the time I’d followed Puck down another secret passage to discover the Sangraal.

  “You sure this ain’t a trap?” Daniel asks, struggling to untangle his sword from a knot of vines protruding from the wall.

  “You should know by now there is never any certainty in this world,” Gale says. “Less so when dealing with the Fey.”

  “This is a Fey tunnel?” Daniel gasps, sounding like he wished he’d stayed behind.

  “Wow, Daniel, how did you not repeat a year?” Keva asks.

  “This is how all Fey Demesnes used to be, when once we lived amongst humans,” Lugh says wistfully. “The entry guarded by a tree, the way to the inner sanctum only accessible if it deemed you worthy. Now, only the strongest Lords have the ability to keep such an abode, leaving the weakest of our kind at the mercy of all our enemies.”

  “What…bloody…tree are we…talking about?” Daniel huffs, nearly taking Keva’s head off when he finally manages to pull his weapon free.

  “The Apple Tree, stupid, haven’t you been paying attention?” Keva says, kicking him in the shin before scurrying further down. “So, is the school, like, Lady Vivian’s Demesne then?”

  “Not quite,” Gale says, straightening up as the tunnel grows larger. “She took over control of it for us. For now, at least. The true master of the place is yet unknown, though I have a hunch.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say. “How can a school that trains knights also be presided by a Fey, and one that none of you actually knows?”

  Blanchefleur shrugs noncommittally. “There may be a thousand reasons why. But the likeliest is that there’s a covenant at play, which means Lady Vivian cannot tell us a thing about it.”

  “But you’ve been here before,” I say to Lugh’s back, still confused, “and you’ve even been here. So how come you don’t know any of this?”

  “Because he wasn’t there when the school was built,” Blanchefleur says curtly.

  “But the Watchers—” I keep on insisting.

  “—came later,” Blanchefleur snaps, as our tunnel forks ahead.

  We look down to Puck, who’s sucking ravenously on his milk bottle, and the hobgoblin points left, to the narrower of the two passages.

  “I read that the school was founded by the first Myrdwinn, and that he was half-Fey himself,” Hadrian says after a short while. “It’s how he was able to teach knights how to use oghams. And Lady Vivian didn’t arrive until perhaps a century later.”

  “All that is true,” Lugh says, ducking under a low-hanging root. “I am at fault for ignoring the happenings at this school for so long. I should have known that, although we wished to live retired from the world and its affairs, the world was far from done with us.”

  I muffle a curse
as I bang my head against the suddenly low ceiling, and the banshee hisses reprovingly at the offending root. By now, the tunnel’s grown so narrow we’re forced to file one after the other, bent in half.

  “What if things don’t go according to plan?” Keva whispers, voicing our fears.

  “The cousins’ diversion should be enough to drive most of the demons out, and Oberon’s got the dragon if it shows up at all,” Arthur says. “But if any of us gets into any serious trouble, there’s only one thing we can do.”

  “Take cover inside the church,” Hadrian says, repeating our prior instructions.

  Assuming it’s still standing, I mentally add. Daniel said the Sidhe couldn’t access it like the rest of the school, but he escaped ages ago. And I doubt Carman would let Father Tristan defy her for so long without taking matters into her own hands. But that’s an eventuality none of us dared mention.

  “Almost there,” Gale whispers.

  I find myself holding my breath as we emerge into a concentric room just wide enough to hold us all. It seems to be some kind of extension from the tunnel, its walls and ceiling made entirely of tangled tree roots and smooth heartwood.

  “I take it we’re inside the tree?” Keva asks in wonder.

  “Should we cut our way out?” Arthur asks.

  “It won’t be necessary,” Lugh says.

  As if in response, his cat starts rubbing itself against the wooden wall, purring loudly. With a solemn nod, Puck tosses his empty bottle of milk to the floor, sets his small hands upon the spot marked by the cat, and pushes.

  A diffuse light blooms under his pudgy fingers, before shooting up in a straight line towards the curved ceiling, splintering at regular intervals in smaller, angled lines like the bones of a fish.

  “Better get your weapons ready,” Gale says, his spear already poking out of his arm while he presses his other hand against the now door-sized glyph.

  The wood parts outward at his touch, like the petals of a flower, and we creep into the fine rain that has started to fall over Lake High’s inner courtyard.