Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

N o matter how many times I hear the roar of a dragon, it always fills me with bone-deep terror.

A dragon cry rips across the night sky. The sound rumbles down to my spine, and fear coils around my ribs, robbing me of breath. I shut my eyes, then exhale slowly and press my body to the cold concrete rooftop. On this mission deep in enemy territory, it's hard to avoid the sound of dragon calls. Their ear-shattering bellows are the relentless requiem for the Second Fey War.

I glance at the dark sky over Bristol, my breath misting. A few snowflakes dance in the air, but it's a moonless night, and I can't see the dragon.

Through the magical conch in my ear, Serana sighs. "That was a loud one."

"They're all loud," I mutter.

She's somewhere on the streets below me, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the warm glow of the gas lamps. Fey soldiers are roaming around occupied Bristol, and we're doing our best to avoid them. Even fully glamoured, we would draw suspicious stares, skulking in the shadows as we are.

Somewhere nearby, our soothsayer, Tana, is drinking in a pub. She has the best assignment of the night. She's probably sitting by a fireplace, eating savory steak and ale pie.

The cold air nips at my fingers and cheeks. "Tana?" I whisper. "Anything in the tea leaves? It's freezing out here."

A second goes by before I hear a breezy murmur through the conch: "You can't rush tea. It takes time to drink it. If I rush it, I'll get a rushed reading," she says. "One second."

I fiddle with the conch in my ear, irritated by the ragged edges scraping my skin.

Inwardly, I curse the Fey—for ruining human technology, for invading France and England. For capturing Raphael and doing gods-know-what to him.

My Raphael, who once waited for days in the woods for a family that he never saw again. Raphael, who'd told me he was desperate for me the way a starving man craves fruit…

The thought of his sorrowful silver eyes makes my throat tighten. I miss him with a gnawing emptiness that makes it hard to think straight. I replay the final moment before the Fey captured him, mentally reviewing every detail. My thoughts spiral into obsession. I can't stop trying to figure out what I did wrong, how I could have stopped it. The tiny moments and decisions that could have led to a better outcome.

What would the brutal Fey do to a high-ranking knight of Avalon Tower? I don't want to think about it, and yet, the thought rings in my skull in an endless loop.

We have to get him back. If they manage to break him with torture, Avalon Tower's agents will start disappearing one by one, like pawns captured in a gruesome game of chess.

"Nia? Hello? Are you listening?"

Serana's sharp hiss in my ear jerks me from my dark thoughts, and I clench my teeth and try to focus on the street again. "I'm sorry. What?"

"I said that I see him now in the tea leaves," Tana says. "The commander is wearing a black cloak. His silver hair is streaked with black. And as the cards foretold, he's coming your way soon."

"How long?" Serana asks.

"In three days."

" What ?" Serana sputters.

"No, sorry. I got a bit of pie crust in the tea leaves. It's in about fifteen minutes."

My muscles tighten and my pulse races as I glimpse armored Fey rounding the corner. "Serana, there are two guards a block away. Armed with spears. Watch out as they get closer."

"What is a block?" she whispers. "That's an American thing."

I scramble to come up with an estimate. "Looks like maybe three hundred feet?"

"What's that in meters?" she presses.

These were things we never covered in Avalon Tower, as I was the only American. "I don't know. A hundred meters?"

I watch the armored Fey as they march closer beneath the golden light of the gas lamps. Despite their gleaming armor, they move with ease, their metallic eyes alert, searching for interlopers like me. Once, seeing Fey soldiers prowling England's streets was unthinkable. Now they're everywhere—marching between London's glassy skyscrapers, soaring on the backs of dragons above the coast.

When they invaded the south, they'd quickly pushed the British army to the north. They now wage a bloody war in Scotland against the humans. Camelot is one of the few places in England still free from the Fey—but that's only because it's hidden with magic from the rest of the world.

Tonight, we're here to find a way to attack them in their own territory, to surprise them in the heart of the Fey kingdom—in Brocéliande itself.

And while I'm at it, I plan to rescue Raphael, too. I need him back so badly, I can taste it, like blood on my tongue. The problem is that Auberon has sealed most of the portals in and out of the Fey realm, and the ones that still exist shift location. Even when found, they require a special key to unlock them—a key possessed only by the highest-ranking Fey. And that's exactly how we ended up here tonight, waiting in the shadows for a captain with a key.

There's no sign of him yet, but two armored Fey guards are marching closer to Serana's hiding spot. My fingers tighten, breath shallowing with tension, but as they pass, they don't seem to notice anything out of place. I exhale in relief and push myself onto my elbows, teeth chattering from the winter chill that slips under my wool coat to bite at my skin. We still have a few minutes before our real target arrives.

Serana sighs. "You know where I'd like to be? Under a blanket, drinking a hot toddy."

"Or jasmine tea," Tana suggests.

"No. A hot toddy with plenty of whisky," Serana says firmly.

"It's like you're reading my mind," I whisper.

"In a warm room, overlooking Lake Avalon," she continues.

"I don't want to go back to Avalon Tower so soon," Tana says darkly. "Wrythe, Tarquin, and all the Pendragon arseholes are out of control. And this human-only Iron Legion club they just started is so gross."

I grimace, knowing what she means. Wrythe is power hungry and hates all demi-fey, me in particular. Tarquin, his nephew, is just as bad.

"I can't stand their ‘pure human lineage' shite," Serana mutters. "Did I tell you that Tarquin described me as tainted and corrupted? I asked by what, and he said monstrous blood. The chinless twat. His family is inbred, and I'm the monstrous one because of too much genetic diversity?"

"Shh." Someone appears at the edge of the street, and I squint, trying to see him better in the murky light.

Not our target. This man has red hair, and he lacks the brash arrogance of a military commander.

"Are you sure he's supposed to show up now?" I whisper.

"The future is always shifting," Tana says. "But I'm as sure as I can be."

Time is running out for Raphael. This absolutely has to work. Because if this fails, I'll be forced to get help from someone dangerous, violent, and deeply unhinged: my father, Mordred, who once broke into Camelot to go on a murder spree, then spent the next fifteen hundred years plotting more vengeance in isolation. He's a revenge-obsessed Fey Heathcliff, a Poe story come to life, and I don't trust him. Paintings all over Avalon Tower depict him sawing off women's heads. Call me crazy, but I think working with him might be off the table.

I try not to dwell on the fact that his blood runs through my veins.

My heartbeat picks up as the captain finally staggers into view two blocks away, his silver hair gleaming under the lamp light. He totters along the sidewalk.

"Serana, I see him," I whisper. "He's turned onto this street. Two blocks away. Uh, two hundred meters, I guess? Get ready."

He stumbles forward, and I hold my breath. He's big, but I've seen Serana take down men twice her size.

The operation will be fast, and?—

A shout rings out behind him. He lurches and turns, then lets out a laugh. A large group of Fey soldiers turns the corner behind him, calling his name. Their voices carry on the wind.

My heart skips a beat. "Wait."

"What's going on? What are those voices?" Serana can't look out without revealing her position.

I quickly scan the group. "He's not alone. There are five Fey with him. All military. All armed."

"How drunk are they? I can probably take them."

Frustration sparks through me. For a moment, I consider telling her to risk it, but I quickly quash the thought. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to her. "Not drunk enough. They'll cut you down fast. There are too many of them."

One block away now. The Fey clap the captain on his back, and one of them slings an arm around his shoulder.

"We won't get another chance," Serana says. "You said it yourself, Nia. We have to do it tonight. I'm going for it."

" No ," Tana and I say at once.

"We need that key!" Serana insists.

And she's right. We need it more than anything. Without a surprise attack on the Fey realm, they will destroy the British army and the allied forces. And no one believes they'll stop with that. Auberon will take over the rest of Europe. Maybe the entire world.

My heart twists. If we don't fix this, Raphael will die in their dungeons.

"Don't move," I say. "I have an idea."

I crawl to the edge of the roof. A rusty drainpipe lines the wall and runs three stories down to the pavement.

I pull off my wool coat, then hoist myself over the edge of the roof, gripping the top of the pipe. It groans under my weight as I start to shimmy down, and something snaps. Dread blooms in my chest. A fall from this height would crush my skull. Frantically, I slide down faster, palms scraping along the rusty metal. With another crack and a lurch, the pipe disconnects from the wall. Fear slams into me. Creaking, the entire thing pulls away from the stone, and I plummet, arms flailing. I grab at a window's ledge, sudden pain shooting through my fingers as I cling to it, but I manage to hang on, my heart thundering. I scramble and find a foothold on the top of a lower window.

I'm still about fifteen feet above the street, but there's no way to climb down. No time, either. Bracing myself, I make a jump for it and land hard on my feet, the shock sending waves of pain through my body. Ignoring the impact of the fall, I limp into the light of the gas lamps.

I'm glamoured to look like a full-blooded Fey, with dark steel eyes and sharply pointed ears. I wear the white dress of one of their healers.

I walk toward the soldiers, glancing shyly at them and looking away whenever one of them catches my eye. One leers at me and whispers something to his friend, and they erupt in laughter.

I walk past them, making sure I'm in the path of the captain. A few feet away from him, I pretend to trip and stumble to my knees, crying out. The captain rushes over to me without a thought, reaching out. I take his hand, thanking him in Fey.

And then I summon my powers.

Two magical forces live inside me. One of them, Sentinel powers, lets me break through magical energies. The other lets me read minds. But when they entwine—strands of crimson and violet coiling together—they create something else: the power of mind control.

As our fingers touch, I slip into his mind, and his thoughts wash over me. The captain's name is Adoran, and he's drunk, celebrating good news he got from home. His wife gave birth to a healthy daughter. As soon as the Fey beat the human army, he will go back to Brocéliande to see her. They live in a cozy home in the capital city of Corbinelle. I feel his unbridled joy at the idea. Him, Adoran, a father! Does she have his gold eyes?

I force myself to block those thoughts as I push further into his mind. Sometimes, mind control is difficult. But in this case, it's ridiculously simple. Adoran drank copious amounts of mead tonight, and his bladder is about to burst. I tug at that thought, whispering of streams and waterfalls and trickling water. His need to pee increases tenfold at my suggestions. He'll never make it back to his room in time. What he needs is a dark alley.

I pull away from his mind and stand, curtsying, and thank him again. After I break into someone's mind, I'm always haunted by their thoughts—the ghosts of someone else's memories flitting around inside my brain. For a moment, I fantasize, anticipating the day I'll get to see my golden-eyed daughter before I recall that I don't have a daughter. I sweep his thoughts from my brain and hurry away from the group.

Already, the captain is telling his compatriots that he'll join them later. The poor man is bursting for a piss. Glancing back, I see him turning back toward the closest alley, the one where Serana waits for him.

I walk away, and as soon as the sounds of the group fade around the next corner, I double back, hurrying toward the alley. Adoran is stumbling to the wall, already fumbling with his belt as a figure unfolds from the darkness. Quick as a whip, Serana's arm twists around his neck, squeezing. Adoran kicks and buckles, then crumbles into her arms, unconscious.

"Nicely done."

She lays him on the ground, smiling at me as she goes through his pockets. "There's some money here. And a letter."

"It's from his wife." I can still feel the elated joy he felt as he read it over and over.

"That's nice." She purses her lips. "No key."

"It's circular," Tana whispers through the conch. "Maybe one of the coins in his purse?"

I pick up his limp arm to examine a silver bracelet on his wrist. "No. I'm betting this is it."

Serana tries to turn it, looking for a clasp. But it doesn't look like it will budge. "It's stuck on his wrist. I'm betting they welded it onto him to make sure it's not stolen. Ah, well."

She unsheathes her long knife.

"Wait!" I grab her arm. "What are you doing?"

She frowns at me. "Cutting his hand off."

"You can't do that! My daughter was just born. My wife is waiting for me back in Corbinelle!"

Serana stares at me. "Are you for real? Get a grip, Nia. You're not him. He's your enemy. He's here to kill us all ."

His memories still whirl in my thoughts. I give her a beseeching look.

She raises her hands in despair. "Fine! I'll try to take it off without cutting his hand, okay? But I might have to break one of his fingers. Does that offend your sensibilities, or would that be okay?"

The memory of Raphael's beautiful face pushed Adoran's thoughts from my mind, clearing away the cobwebs.

"Do it now." I quickly step away, the thread between Adoran and me still too fresh for me to watch.

I hear Serana grunt, and after a few seconds, she joins me.

She rolls her eyes when I look at her. "He'll be okay, but he'll need a healer for that thumb. Happy, Nia?"

"Delighted."

She opens her palm, holding the bracelet, and blood streaks her fingers. "This is it. We have it."

"Check it for writing," Tana says. "The location and time for the portal should be inscribed on the key."

Serana points to some runes etched inside the bracelet. "There. Um. It says…uh…this is definitely Neh , and that letter is Moh …"

I sigh and hold out my hand, and she drops it in my palm.

"It says Glynn Nathan ," I say, reading the Fey runes. "That's Saint Nectan's Glen in northern Cornwall. And here are the dates…"

I read and reread them, my heart plunging. No, that can't be right.

"Fuck." Disappointment crushes my chest, and I start to wheeze, then cough. I pull out my inhaler, taking two puffs, and wait for my lungs to open again.

"What's wrong?" Serana asks.

My eyes sting, and I close them for a moment. "The portal closed three days ago."

"Fuck!" Serana shouts. "The key is worthless."

She's right. The portal is long gone. Our hope of finding our way to Brocéliande lies crushed, and I know what that means. I'll have to do the unthinkable, an act of pure and utter desperation—madness, perhaps.

Another secret I'll need to swallow, even from my closest friends.

I need to talk to my father.