Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

I sit on the bed in our room, sipping chamomile tea. In the dark night outside, rain drums against our windowpanes. Warm lamps light up our space. Serana stands beside me, tossing throwing knives against the wall with a steady thunk , thunk , thunk .

"Do you know what?" she says. "This is way more fun than practicing my glamouring magic."

In the adjacent bed, Tana is muttering to herself. Tarot cards are spread on the bedsheets, and five empty cups of tea are piled on her nightstand. There are flowers in her dark braids, and she wears a bright yellow dress. She looks a million times better than I do, or so I imagine. I feel faded and worn.

When I was a teenager, I had a Joy Division shirt that I wore all the time and washed every week. By the end, it was tattered and almost translucent, more like a memory of a shirt than an actual shirt. That's how I feel right now. A threadbare version of myself, hardly recognizable.

The sense of warmth I had at coming home to Avalon Tower has already turned to ice. Here, in the tower's gothic halls, a cold cloud of suspicion hangs over every conversation, frosting the atmosphere. My trio was gone less than a week, but that was all it took for mistrust to fester. In that week, tensions between the "Iron Legion" and demi-Fey have escalated, becoming unbearable. Wherever I walk, humans whisper and stare at me. Some give me dirty looks. Most of them have probably already signed the Iron Legion pledge to inform on us.

With most of the elite knights fighting in Scotland, there are few demi-Fey left here to band together. We're outnumbered.

I try to imagine how Raphael would handle it, but I can't exactly picture it.

Over lunch today, my mom told me a story about attacking an accountant with a high heel after he insulted her at a party. As I listened to her ramble, my mind raced about Mordred. As insane as it seemed, I was leaning toward allying with him.

"Damn it!" Tana shouts.

If calm, dreamy Tana shouts, it means something terrible is probably going to happen. My pulse kicks up a notch. "What is it?"

She sighs. "The streams of time are entangled. They crisscross every which way, stars misaligned, omens misread." Her hands are shaking.

Serana stops tossing her throwing knives and turns to face her. "Sorry, what?"

Tana looks up from her reading. "The future is fucked. Never mind. Go back to what you were doing. It's fucked, but I need to find out more."

Serana tosses another knife. Thunk .

"Serana, can we have some quiet? I have a headache," I mumble.

"Because you haven't slept normally in months," Serana says. "And you haven't eaten normally. Do you know what you need to do? You need to channel your aggression like I do."

She holds a knife out to me by the hilt.

Reluctantly, I grab it from her. She points to a spot on the floor by my bed. "Stand here." Too tired to argue, I obey. "Now, imagine that target is the face of someone you really hate," she instructs. "Can you see it?"

"Tarquin," I say immediately.

"Good. Go for it."

I can almost see his thin face before me, the long nose and flared nostrils. The thin lips. Gritting my teeth, I toss the knives, one after another in rapid succession. They hit two feet below the target, clattering off the stone.

"Good on the aggression," Serana says, nodding, "except you're supposed to aim ."

"I did. I imagined his face." I point at the notches in the stone where the knives hit, right at crotch height. "And I hit the target."

Serana stares at me, her mouth open. "Right. Okay. Not sure if I'm impressed or concerned."

"All right, hang on," Tana says from her bed. "Am I losing my mind? The cards don't make any sense. I've checked the stars, but the sky is too cloudy for a proper reading."

"What about the crystal ball?" Serana asks.

"Absolutely not. It's tacky . You know what I need? Goat entrails. One can really see the future clearly in proper entrails."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Tana, I swear, if you start spreading goat entrails on your bed, I'm transferring rooms."

A knock sounds at the door, and I'm relieved by the interruption. Goat entrails?

"Yeah?" I call out.

"It's me." A deep voice pierces the door.

Darius . I hurry to the door and yank it open.

He smiles from the doorway, holding a dinner tray with a silver dome. He saunters in, sets the tray on a desk, and gives me a hug. "I missed you ladies."

"I thought you were in Scotland!" I say, stepping back.

Serana walks over and grabs him in an aggressive bear hug.

"Serana, you're crushing me," he squawks, disentangling himself. Going to the bed, he leans over and kisses Tana on the cheek. "I was in Scotland. They sent me here to report to command and get some supplies. But I have to return in two days."

"How is it there?" Serana asks.

He frowns. "Bad. We're being pushed back. I don't know how much longer we can hang on. There's been talk about retreating to Ireland. They're even worried Auberon could breach Camelot's magical defenses and destroy Avalon Tower. The prophecy of Queen Morgan could happen in our lifetimes."

A sharp silence fills the room, and a chill ripples over my skin. "I'm sure that's not the case."

"Why?" says Darius.

It's very hard to keep this secret from them.

I clear my throat, eying the tray. "Just hopeful. Did you bring dinner?"

"Oh. I didn't want to eat in the dining hall," he says. "It's full of the fucking Iron Legion."

"It's really hostile, isn't it?" says Tana.

He pulls the dome off the tray. "Well, I brought extra."

Underneath, there's a basket of fresh bread rolls with steam pouring off them and a plate full of sliced blue cheese.

"Is that Stilton?" Serana asks, already reaching for it.

"Stop!" Tana leaps from her bed. "Stilton is almost as good as goat entrails."

"You're wasted here," I say. "You should be in marketing. ‘Stilton: almost as good as goat entrails.'"

Tana grabs the plate, staring at it. "I don't eat it, but I can see the future in cheese. Especially if it's ripe like this."

"I'm just going to have a little nibble." Serana grabs a piece and pops it in her mouth.

"Serana!" Tana yanks the cheese plate away. "You just ate the fate of the Italian military."

Serana's eyes widen guiltily. "Sorry."

Darius hands Serana a roll. "Have some bread."

Tana stares at the cheese as she carries it to her bed. "It's the same as the cards. The war cannot be won here. It must be won in Brocéliande. But when I try to find the way there, it just shows the same figure, and I can't make any sense of it."

Dread chases down my spine. I think I already know who the figure is, a man who has lived alone for centuries, twisted with fantasies of revenge.

"What figure is that?" Darius asks.

"In the cards, he appears as the Emperor." Her gaze flicks to me. "That showed up in your reading, too, remember?"

"Must be Auberon," Serana says.

Tana shakes her head. "No, I always see Auberon as the reversed King of Swords. Tyranny."

I swallow hard. "Weird."

Her dark eyes shift to me. "Any idea who the Emperor might be?"

My skin grows cold. Do I tell them?

"Maybe Sir Kay?" Darius suggests.

"Wrythe?" Serana asks. "He certainly thinks of himself as an emperor."

My pulse is racing, electrified. I can't keep this information to myself forever. Even if I wanted to, Tana will piece it together, one reading at a time.

Slowly, I say, "I know who he is."

They turn to stare at me.

Sweat chills my skin. "When you gave me the reading, you told me he represents one of my parents."

Tana's eyes widen. "Oh, right. Your father, I thought. Do you know who he is?"

My blood roars, and I try to keep my tone light. "It turns out my father lives on the lost island of Avalon."

"Hang on, your what lives on the lost what of the what ?" Darius stares at me.

"That island sank," says Serana. "Like Shalott. The war between Merlin and Mordred drowned all the islands in the lake."

My fingers dig into my palms. "No, Avalon is still there. I found it two months ago. After Raphael was captured, I felt something calling to me from the mist. I thought it was a Lady of the Lake thing. I ended up in a boat, sailing through the fog. It was hidden by a veil, but I could get through that with my Sentinel powers, and I found the lost island of Avalon. It didn't sink. It's just hidden by a veil. And my father lives there. He's been there for fifteen hundred years." My throat goes dry. "He said he could help me save Raphael."

They stare at me, mouths agape.

"You never said anything," Serana said. "Why did you never?—"

"It's Mordred," I blurt.

Serana's jaw drops. "Mordred. As in…Mordred Kingslayer? The man who slaughtered hundreds of people in this very tower?"

My stomach twists. "That's the one."

"That's impossible," Darius says.

Tana stares at me, unmoving. "No, that makes perfect sense. It explains everything I see. He is the way to Brocéliande. He can get you there."

Serana looks horrified. "Hang on. Are you telling us that you're Auberon's sister?"

I shake my head. "We're not related. In fact, Mordred hates Auberon. Mordred is Queen Morgan's son. Auberon is Merlin's son. They were on opposite sides of the war for Camelot. The Court of Merlin versus the Court of Morgan. Merlin's court won out, and he trapped Mordred on the island and hid it behind a veil. Nimue then trapped Merlin, and their son, Auberon, claimed the throne for himself, using his magic to convince the world it was always his."

Serana frowns. "So, Mordred could be an ally?"

My nose wrinkles. "Not really. He still wants to destroy Avalon Tower. In return, he said he would help me free Raphael. And I know it sounds completely fucking insane, because he wants to kill us all, but I want to take him up on his offer." Maybe I'd risk destroying this place for Raphael.

A thorny silence settles over the room. Serana distractedly picks up another piece of cheese and takes a bite from it.

At last, Darius inhales sharply. "So, he can never leave the island?"

"Once a century, he can get free for one day. Which means my mom knew him less than a day…never mind. That's not important."

Serana steps closer to me. "Maybe you can accept his offer. If he can't get out again for another, what, seventy-three years, then how much harm can he do? Maybe you could just play along with his bargain."

"Play along," I repeat.

"You're a bloody spy, an Avalon Steel spy," says Darius. "Mordred is an asset. Tell him you will help him destroy Avalon Tower and then don't. Manipulate him. Use him. Get him to open the way to Brocéliande so you can save your gorgeous boyfriend, and then, when he wants you to fulfill your part of the bargain, you just fuck off. Or kill your dad. Whatever."

My chest unclenches. "You're not worried about the prophecy?"

Tana sighs heavily. "What I see right now is that Mordred is the only way forward into Brocéliande. He's not lying about being able to help you. We'll have to worry about the prophecy later. Burn that bridge when we come to it. One thing at a time, yes?"

Serana nods. "It sounds unhinged in a way, but we are absolutely running out of options. We're running out of time here to save Raphael. And with the way Wrythe is acting, I'm sure he doesn't want Raphael back. In fact, I bet he actively stands in the way of Raphael's return. I think if things keep going the way they are, he'll be imprisoning all of us demi-Fey as corrupted traitors."

My breath quickens. Suddenly, I'm filled with energy. I'm going to get Raphael back, and for the first time in a while, I feel electrified with optimism. "I'll go there tonight. See what Mordred has to say."

"Yeah, I didn't want to mention it before, but there's a small problem," Darius says. "There's an Iron Legion cadet downstairs in the Astolat Atrium. He has one of those coat-of-arms badges they wear to make themselves important. This one looks like he's on guard to see if anyone specifically from this room is going anywhere. He's keeping watch on the demi-Fey."

"They've been following me around ever since I got here," I say.

"Same here," Serana says.

I turn, staring out at the rainy night. "Looks like I'll be sneaking out the back way, then."

The window swings open. It's not designed for climbing in and out, so I can barely squeeze my ass through the opening.

Inside the room, Darius watches me scoot out, his forehead creased with worry. The cloak I'm wearing is bunching up, and I've packed too much into the pockets—dagger at my side, my inhaler. A sleeker ensemble would make this easier.

I barely manage to get my hips through the gap, twisting and shimmying. Gripping the window frame, I dangle above the abyss, hail pounding against my legs. I flash Darius one last smile, then scale down the wall, slotting my toes into tiny gaps in the stones. I glance at the sheer drop below me. The earth looks impossibly far away, but there's a stone gargoyle a few feet below our room. I make him my goal.

I lower myself and grab onto the statue. Lightning flashes, illuminating the gargoyle's horned, leering face. The statue is slippery, and I nearly lose my footing, but soon enough, I'm hugging the gargoyle tightly, arms and legs wrapped around him. I haven't been this close to another creature since Raphael was here.

"What are you smiling about?" I mutter at the statue.

Beneath the statue, another ledge juts out above a window, its surface covered with slippery hailstones. Slowly, carefully, I claw my way down the sheer wall, scrabbling from ledge to ledge. Darius and Serana watch my descent from above. The hail softens to rain that chills my scalp and my fingers and soaks into my wool cloak.

I climb lower and lower, avoiding the windows, clinging to the next ledge, the next gargoyle.

By the time I'm two floors below our room, I'm beyond the Astolat Atrium, safe from the lookout.

I try to open a window, prying at it with my fingernails, but it's locked. I peer into the room through the glass. It looks like an empty office.

I glance down, my head spinning at the height. Still too far to go. If I keep going this way, I'm sure to fall. Shivering in the cold, I wrap my sodden cloak around one of my hands and wait. Lightning flashes in the sky, and my pulse races as I count. One…two…

Thunder booms, and I smash the glass with my covered knuckles. Reaching through the shattered window, I unlatch it and squeeze inside. Glass crunches as I land on the solid stone floor. Safe . I exhale in relief.

The office door opens into an empty hall, and I creep toward the closest stairwell.

I race down the steps, my feet slamming against the uneven stones of Lothian Tower.

Once, centuries ago, my father ran up these stairs, hungry for blood and hellbent on murder.

Even if Mordred is trapped on an island, the danger he exudes is unmistakable.

If I let him get in my head—if I let him manipulate me— it's all over.