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

by Alessa Ellefson

  “If all you want is a name, you need only ask,” Gale says, with a cheekiness I hadn’t expected from him.

  “His name’s Gale,” Lance says, stepping in.

  “Sir Gale,” Keva shouts from beside me, a little too excitedly.

  Sir Boris’s moustache quivers. “The one who disappeared six years ago?”

  “Were you held captive by the Fey?” Father Tristan asks.

  “Not exactly,” Gale says brightly, as if getting stuck down in Hell was some kind of pleasure trip. “In any case, priest, I think we can all agree on the fact that what’s done is done.” He helps Bri back to her feet, gently pushing Jack out of the way. “This young squire has made a mistake. A grave one, to be sure. But it also means that she knows more about Myrdwinn’s inner workings than anyone.”

  The look Bri gives Gale as he keeps her close to him is one of mixed shock and adoration—as if, at the bottom of the deepest pit, she’s suddenly seen the light and accepted her fate all at once. I feel a pang of envy at that. How easy it is for her to choose the right path now that someone else has smoothed out all the kinks and wrinkles for her. Whereas I can never fully wash away the taint that runs in my blood.

  Lips trembling, Bri nods, then swallows hard. “I know what Myrdw—Dother’s done to the wards,” she says. She takes a deep breath, then juts out her chin. “If you’ll allow me, I wish to stay here to reverse what’s been done, as atonement for my actions.”

  Gale nods at her, then turns to Father Tristan. “You heard her, priest. What say you now?”

  “She can’t stay here, she’ll be killed on the spot!” Hadrian exclaims.

  “We’re all dead anyway if we don’t reverse the wards,” Bri says.

  A shiver runs down my spine, raising the hairs at the back of my neck. I turn away from the scene, eyes trying to pierce the stained glass windows to see what’s happening beyond them.

  “She’s here,” I whisper, hugging myself tightly.

  Lugh’s suddenly at my side. “There’s not another second to lose,” he says loudly. “Our sanctuary’s compromised.”

  Bright light floods the church from the eastern side, painting the nave and opposite gallery a gory red.

  “Dragon!” Daniel shouts, his sword back out in his shaking hands.

  “Everyone out, now!” Arthur shouts.

  My footsteps falter at the sight of Gale and Lance, standing side by side in one of the side chapels, watching as Father Tristan taps his staff against the reddening wall. I pick up Puck, the hobgoblin having come back to me for shelter, but I still can’t make myself move.

  “How long before the wards fall, priest?” Gale asks.

  “A few minutes, at best,” Lugh says, answering for him.

  “I’ll try to give you a few more,” Father Tristan declares.

  “I’ll remain at your side,” Lance adds.

  A choking panic grips me. “Can’t you come with us?” I ask, barely making a sound over the roaring fires outside.

  “Don’t be silly,” Father Tristan says. “Someone’s got to keep these demons off of you.”

  “I’ll stay and help as well,” Lady Ysolt says.

  A strange look passes between her and Father Tristan, heavy with meaning. I blink back tears. Nobody should have to say goodbye to their friends like this.

  “Come on, Morgan, we can’t stay here any longer,” Arthur says, trying to steer me towards the secret exit.

  “We can’t leave them here,” I say. “Tell Lance, he’ll listen to you. You’re the KORT President!”

  Arthur’s face is closed, unreadable. “Enough, you know what’s keeping him here,” he says.

  He means Jennifer. I know too well how deep Lance’s feelings run for the girl, despite her evil personality. Nothing and no one’s ever going to change his mind about her, not even his duty.

  Except perhaps…

  “Hold on to him,” I say hurriedly, handing Puck over to Arthur before rushing back to Lance.

  The beautiful knight looks at me quizzically as I stop before him.

  “I know this isn’t the place,” I start, “and certainly not the time, but even though I know why you want to stay here, you may not know that Jennifer and my brother…” I pause awkwardly, finding it awful hard to meet Lance’s steady gaze. I clear my throat. “That they’re…”

  “Together?” Lance finishes for me with a rueful smile that pulls at my heart. How can someone so good have fallen so hard for such a self-centered bitch? “It doesn’t matter,” he continues. “I know what you think, and considering how she’s treated you, you have every right to feel that way. But I also know that deep down, there’s some good in her, and I can’t let that good disappear.”

  “You’ve seen her then?” I say, shoulders slumping. There goes my one chance to get him to save himself.

  Lance nods. “While I was being detained.”

  With a defeated sigh, I take his cold hand in mine. “I wish you luck, then,” I say, with a wobbly smile. I glance at the few who have decided to make a last stand so the rest of us can escape—Father Tristan, Lady Ysolt, Lance, Bri, Jack... “And I hope, for all our sakes, that when we finally come back to reclaim the school, you’ll still be here.”

  A third detonation shakes the whole building, and this time, the church’s doors splinter open. A whoop of victory erupts from outside as a lithe figure steps gingerly over the wreckage. The church’s wards flare bright before dissipating again, and the boy steps through unharmed.

  “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 bra
nch.

  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 that 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.