Authors: Alessa Ellefson
I repress a shiver as Urim opens the door for me, like a proper host, and I wonder if the fall of the inner school’s wards is also the work of the mysterious traitor in our midst.
We pass by ranks of Dark Sidhe crowded inside Lake High’s hallways, then make our way up one of the staircases to the second floor. I try not to look around too much, as the signs of fight are everywhere—stones scarred by weapons and EM attacks, trails of blood and soot, and bodies. More bodies than there were before, and not all of them Fey, or even that of full-fledged knights.
I bite the inside of my cheek really hard, tasting blood. I can’t let myself show any weakness. If I do, my game will be over; Mordred will sense any vulnerability like a wolf in its prey.
To my surprise, Urim and Thummim lead me straight to the KORT room, its gaping entryway beckoning us in. Kneeling along the walls, hands attached behind their backs, are the surviving knights. My heart squeezes at their sight, noting how few of them are still around.
Lance lifts his head up at our arrival. His deep blue eyes light up with surprise in his beaten-to-a-pulp of a face, then look behind me, and I know he’s wondering whether Arthur’s been caught too or not.
Next to him, Sir Boris leans dangerously forward, his bald pate red with blood, his long mustache drooping to the floor.
I look away quickly before my insides can get too mushy with emotion. I need to play my part to perfection, convince Mordred I’m on his side. And for that, I need to convince myself first that I don’t care for these men. These people have lied to me, put me in jail, shamed me for being part Fey. Yeah. That’s right. None of these people here cared for me when I was down, let’s see how much they like it when the tables are turned.
“Morgan,” Mordred says, turning around at our approach. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“I came as soon as I could,” I say.
“Alone?” Mordred asks.
I feel Thummim shrug beside me. “Nah, there’s that banshee skulking behind.”
“My pet,” I say, digging my fingernails inside the palms of my hands to stop them from shaking.
Mordred laughs. “I didn’t know you were into recycling,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “But then, it appears, so am I.”
He strides over to the side and pulls aside one of the drapes covering the hallway leading to the scrying mirror. Standing behind it, as if in shame, is Jennifer. She looks small and frail compared to Mordred, her pale, semi-translucent skin glowing next to the blue tattooed tint of his. Bu at my sight, she straightens up, her chin held high.
“You were right,” Mordred says. “She is more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.”
Jennifer lashes out, but Mordred deflects her sudden attack and her sharp nails rake thin air.
“Of course, she does tend to bite,” Mordred adds, wrapping his arm around Jennifer’s waist and squeezing briefly before releasing her, “but it wouldn’t be as much fun if she were already tame.”
I frown. I may not like Jennifer, but Mordred’s way of talking about her like a mere object makes me feel like I’ve just showered in grease.
“Didn’t your mama teach you to treat girls better?” I ask in my most nonchalant manner. “At least when it comes to wooing? ‘Cause you seem awfully deficient in that department.”
I start picking at my nails to avoid Mordred’s glare, chiding myself for antagonizing him when I should be playing buddy-buddies.
“My mother, sadly, has been out of the picture all my life,” Mordred says, sounding as blasé as I am, though I can definitely tell he’s forcing it. “But that’s not a here nor a there, we’ve got work to do.”
“So I keep hearing,” I say, finally tucking my blackened hands behind me, looking about the room with a bored air. I try my best to ignore the lines of prisoners, their baleful looks aimed straight at me. “You’ve done rather well, so far.”
My cheery tone makes Mordred squint in wariness. “So far, so good,” he says carefully.
“How did you manage to get in here so easily?” I ask.
I hear Lance hiss behind me in surprise. Yes, that’s right, I silently tell him, look upon me with hatred, it’ll only make my show look more realistic.
Strutting about the room, Mordred waves his hand dismissively. “They were having a hard time controlling their elementals,” he says, patting Lance’s head in passing. “It just shows you that I was right: Without our powers, these supposed knights are toothless.”
He kicks Lance in the guts and the knight buckles over without a sound. I clench my hands harder to avoid crying out in his stead.
“Funny,” I say, wrinkling my nose in mock-thought, “I thought that once Fey were bound they were forced to answer to their call.”
Mordred twists around to assess me. Can he tell I’m stalling for time, looking for clues as to how he’s going to open these stupid gates of his? I swallow with difficulty.
“Though they may be cut off from their source of power,” he finally says, “no one can subjugate their minds. Any Fey, even a simple elemental, can choose not to use its powers, even when called upon. Although it does mean they self-destruct. But hey, it’s for a good cause, don’t you think?”
He stares at me, as if daring me to contradict him. I shrug, and he pushes past me to continue his pacing around the circular table. He stops by the arched windows and stares outside.
“It’s time,” Mordred says with a tight smile.
The prisoners shift restlessly at his words, exchanging confused looks. They must not know what he’s planning on doing, I realize, my mouth running dry.
A quick look outside shows me the waters of Lake Winnebago have gone blood red and a thrill of fear courses down my body. Carman’s almost here.
I need to move now, and fast.
“Off,” I tell my two guards, pushing them to the side.
To my surprise, they obey without protest, and I make a mental note to try this authoritarian tone more often should I survive. Slowly, I make my way over to Mordred, wondering how much time I have left before the witch lands here.
Blanchefleur mentioned a key. In all my times here, I’ve never seen any such key, and neither has Arthur or he wouldn’t have looked so stumped when I told him about Mordred’s plan. Which can only mean that the Dark Sidhe must already have it.
I let my gaze wander down Mordred’s tone body, from his tattooed back to his tight leather pants, neither of which look very promising in that department.
I close my eyes for a moment as a sudden realization stokes my fear: If he doesn’t have the key, then it must be with Carman.
“You’re about to witness the greatest event in the history of the world,” Mordred says, and I open my eyes again.
A bolt of lightning streaks the sky, followed by another, and another, each falling closer and closer to the school, singing the earth in their passage.
She’s getting closer.
“Where are all the others?” I ask.
“On their way over,” Mordred says. He looks over his shoulder at me then, a questioning eyebrow arched high. “Or did you mean the rest of your people?”
“They’re not my people,” I say, betraying no emotion though that was exactly what I was thinking. “But let me ask you this: Are you sure you want to open those gates of yours? It seems like you’ve done a good enough job cleaning the trash out. Why risk losing your position by letting this world swarm with demons?”
“You traitor!” a sharp voice says, before one of the Sidhe smacks the person down.
I look over sideways and find Irene kneeling among the prisoners, her small body practically hidden behind those of Hector and Agravain. Blood trails down her chin from a cut in her lip.
“I should’ve killed you when your father brought you over as a babe!” she says, spitting at me.
A small smile creeps up my face and I go kneel before her. As I extend my hand towards her, she flinches away and a small part of me revels in the power I finally hold over this woman who not once in her life has shown me any mercy.
I brush Irene’s dark hair out of her face, noting with some surprise the countless grey strands that now streak it.
“You probably should have,” I tell her. “For then I would never have found out the truth about my father’s death, or how you Pendragons betrayed him. Tell me, was it fun to plot out my father’s death together? Did you enjoy it? Because I can tell you one thing, I’m going to enjoy every second of your end.”
There’s a strangled sound and we all turn around. At first I only see Jennifer, still as a statue. But the long curtains behind her have opened to reveal Arthur, his arm wrapped around Hadrian’s shoulders for support.
His eyes bore into mine from across the room, filled with shock and betrayal, and I feel my insides wither. But I know Mordred is looking at me too, observing my every reaction, so I force myself to smile.
“It looks like Dub must be done with you,” I say, practically shouting over the short distance to prevent my voice from shaking but only making it more shrill. “But you’re too late.”
Arthur frowns, looking confused and lost, as if he’s never seen me before. Go back, I tell him mentally. I’ve failed—I haven’t found this stupid key, and Carman’s seconds away. If she finds you here, you’re dead
and
she gets Excalibur.
“Where did that one come from?” Urim asks.
“Who cares?” Thummim adds. “He’s here, he gets the same treatment as the others. No preference for status, we’re very democratic here.”
The two of them prowl towards Arthur, attentive to his every gesture.
Suddenly, Mordred lets out another low laugh and the two Dark Sidhe freeze.
“There’s no need to tiptoe around him,” Mordred says, leaving my side to go stand in front of Arthur. He leans towards him
and I see the muscles of Mordred’s back ripple under his tattoos as he reaches for Arthur’s torn shirt. “It looks like Dub’s left him a little present.”
His words have the effect of a cold shower, confirming my worries. Something must’ve gone wrong when I tried to heal Arthur, or he wouldn’t be so weak still.
I narrow my eyes at him as he faces Mordred in a silent standoff, then I shake the fearful thought away. Now’s the time for me to act while they’re distracted, instead of moping about. My eyes sweep around the crowded room then the empty school grounds outside, desperation mounting. But how can I stop them if I don’t even know how?
Out of the corner of my eyes, I see a shadow throw itself at me, and I duck with a surprised cry as the shape jumps through the window and lands on the table where it crows like a rooster three times.
Irene snickers behind me. “You like to act all tough but when an old lunatic shows up you run for cover?”
I look up to find Myrdwinn crouching above me, saliva dribbling down his large lip into his beard.
“Ooooh,” he cries delightedly, “a pretty present! A pretty present for me!”
He dives forward, grabs my wrist and pulls me to him until his breath tickles my nose, heady with the scent of apples.
“Go away, old man,” I whisper to him through clenched teeth, “or they’re gonna turn you into mincemeat!”
I try to pry his fingers off me, but Myrdwinn is surprisingly strong, probably from all the wall climbing he’s obviously been doing.
“Mine, mine,
mine
!” Myrdwinn intones, hopping along on top of the table, forcing me to follow him.
Mordred watches with amusement as we pass by him, but his chuckle turns into a warning growl as we both realize where the old school director is taking me.
“Stop!” I say, struggling more fervently against his hold as he yanks me closer to the Siege Perilous.
“Let her be!” Mordred orders, shoving Jennifer aside in his hurry to reach us.
But Myrdwinn gives us another wide grin before jumping onto the back of the cursed chair. I drop to my knees before the seat, eyes wide, my free hand pushing against its armrest as hard as I can.
“Don’t,” I plead, my heart beating loudly in my ears as Owen’s terrified face swims back before my eyes.
The old man lets out a whooping laugh, fanning himself with the end of his beard, then screeches as a heavy hand lands on his shoulder, tipping him backwards, bringing the heavy chair down with him.
The Siege Perilous’s carved base hits me in the chin, making me bite my tongue, and blood flows freely into my mouth for a quick second before my body heals over.
Dazed, I look up as Badass pulls Myrdwinn away from me, shaking his head. “Out,” he says gruffly, the quills at the top of his head sticking up like spikes.
There’s a loud shriek somewhere in the school and we all suck in our breath—even the Dark Sidhe. The air suddenly seems to thicken and the light coming from the torches hung along the wall dims.
“Too late, too late!” Myrdwinn chants, scratching at his face before scrambling up Badass’s head and using him to propel himself back out the windows and into the open air.
I gulp, my heart threatening to jump out of my chest.
Carman’s here.
Once again, I wasn’t able to do a single thing to stop her. I slowly push myself back onto my feet, instinctively moving away from the front door.
And in answer to my nightmares, long, black, gooey tendrils snake their way into the room, slithering along the walls over the prisoners, palpating them like long tentacles. A young squire passes out, and the tendrils creep over the unconscious body like a blanket. A second later, they move away from him like the ebbing tide, and I repress a gag at the sight of the boy’s remains—his skin sunk in over his skeleton as if his flesh and organs have been sucked right out.
I want to bolt out of the room, jump out of the windows like Myrdwinn did, but find myself unable to move, incapable of sound, as if frozen in time.
Finally, like a wave of slick oil, Carman appears in the doorway.
“Hello, my pretties,” she says, her low voice making every hair on my arms stand up.
As she strides in, the tentacles retract into her, and solidify into a long, dark dress of crow feathers. Her face beams at my sight, pinning me to my spot with fear. I don’t even dare to blink, terrified to have her come near me again, the pain of her last touch still scorched in my mind. But Carman’s dark gaze travels toward the scrying hallway and settles upon Arthur.