Rise of the Fey (41 page)

Arthur abandons me at our suite’s doorway to go take care of more dubious business of his, and I let myself in, anxious to see how Blanchefleur is doing.

“What’s her status?” I ask, entering Arthur’s bedroom without knocking.

Percy looks up from the bed, his eyes haunted.

“Still weak,” he says. He looks back down at Blanchefleur, brushing her hair out of her face. “They must have injected her with liquid iron to subdue her.”

“I don’t understand,” I say, my mouth dry. “I thought it was OK for her to be here. Arthur had official papers and everything.”

“I don’t think they realized what kinda Fey we were bringin’,” Percy says. “An’ you saw when we got ‘ere how they react to even the smallest ones, so imagine a full-blooded warrior.” His eyes glisten and he forces air out through his nose. “Ya know what the hardest part is? Knowin’ she didn’t fight back so’s not to mess up our mission.”

I watch Blanchefleur for a moment, pale against the royal blue of the bed cover, her soft brown curls limp around the pillow. I shift my gaze to my stained hands.

The initial fear I always feel at having to use my abilities slowly morphs into determination.

“Let me take a look at her,” I say, going around the other side of the bed.

Percy’s eyes light up with a sudden fervor. “Can you heal her?”

I avoid looking at him, hating how hopeful he sounds. What if it doesn’t work this time? I’ve never tried to heal a Fey before. I gulp. What if I end up killing her instead? I shake my head, dispelling the thought, and sit on the bed.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I rest my hand upon Blanchefleur’s long fingers and repress a shiver at the deathly cold that emanates from them. Her skin seems to have taken on a gray tint, reminding me of Agnès when I pulled her bloated body out of Lake Geneva.

Heart beating wildly, I close my eyes to picture the Fey woman as I’ve always known hew: Hale and strong, with a sharp tongue that can rival Keva’s.

Deep in the pit of my stomach, I feel my energy respond, bubbling to life before surging through my body to meet my demand. Within seconds, I feel my hands grow warmer as the energy transfers from myself into Blanchefleur’s inert body. But as I keep the flow going, the headache that’s been plaguing me for the last couple of weeks jumps back to the forefront, as if my power’s trying to drill its way out of my temples. I groan as the pain spikes and let go of Blanchefleur’s hand.

“I think it worked,” Percy whispers beside me, awed.

I take a shuddering breath as Blanchefleur’s pearlescent gleam slowly returns to her face.

“You’re a godsend,” Percy lets out, squeezing my hand. “Havin’ you with us, I have no doubt we’ll win the battle.”

I grimace a smile, battling a sudden bout of nausea. Now’s not the time to pass out, I tell myself. I’ve got to press my advantage while Percy’s focused on something else.

“This place is so not what I expected,” I say, my voice sounding strange to my ears as I struggle to stay conscious. “I didn’t even think there was a prison here, though I suppose I should’ve expected it.” I wait to see Percy’s reaction, but he keeps watching Blanchefleur, as if afraid that if he looks away she’s going to grow ill again.

My hands clench around the bed cover as my vision grows fuzzy, and I swallow audibly.

“Even,” I say, breathing harshly, “even heard there was a Hall of Mirrors here. What the hell is that?”

“Our communications center,” Percy answers immediately.

“Is it big?” I ask. “Like…like the prison?”

“Pretty big,” Percy says.

“Is it also…”—I blink, furiously trying to keep my thoughts straight—“kept separate? In its own enclosure?”

Percy shakes his head. “Where’d ya get that funny idea from? The Hall of Mirrors is just opposite the auditorium.”

Despite my blurred vision, I can tell my questions have finally raised Percy’s suspicion. Doesn’t matter. I’ve got my answer.

I feel myself sway, my vision tunneling.

“How many times have I said you shouldn’t use your own energy when practicing with your abilities?” a warm, chocolaty voice rumbles behind me.

Steadying myself on the bedpost, I swing my head around. I blink as a tall figure detaches itself from the doorway.

“Lugh,” I whisper.

His blurry frown turns into a look of worry, as my eyelids finally refuse to open again, and I let myself slip into unconsciousness.

“St. George’s balls!” a voice exclaims. “Why can’t you do something?”

I wonder dimly whether I’m talking out loud to myself or just having another dream.

“It is best if she recovers on her own,” another voice says.

I frown to myself, trying to place it.

“She needs to learn to assimilate energy from her surroundings without relying on anyone,” the voice continues, deep and smooth like hot chocolate. “The more I help her, the more dependent she’ll become, and the more her learning process will be pushed back, which is dangerous.”

Lugh. Arguing with Arthur. Again.

I want to tell them to stop bickering, but all that comes out is, “Ssssrrrrooobbffaah…”

“Morgan!” Keva shouts straight into my ear.

I cringe then feel someone pry my eyes open. The sudden rush of light blinds me, before my pupils adjust and I see a pair of almond-shaped dark eyes staring at me.

“She’s awake, Sir Arthur,” Keva says.

I groan, sitting up in the bed, noting it’s the one where Blanchefleur was lying. I look up quickly and let out a breath of relief as I find the tall Fey standing in a corner of the room, as impassive as a statue despite Percy’s attempts to draw her out of her silence.

I lick my lips. “How long was I out for?” I ask.

“About a minute and a half,” Hadrian says, checking his watch.

“So what’s all the fuss about?” I ask.

“You blacked out again,” Arthur says accusingly, “that’s what.”

“Using your own energy to fuel your powers could get you killed,” Lugh adds. He comes over to me and puts his index finger under my chin to force me to look at him. “And that would be a huge loss.”

“I-I’ll try to do better,” I squeak.

Lugh leans down, his cheek warm against mine. “Just a word, and I’ll take you with me to Avalon,” he whispers in my ear.

My heartbeat picks up at the thought of leaving this place with him now, but I tear my eyes away from his, and shake my head. “Can’t,” I whisper back. “I’ve still gotta find out about my dad.”

“Step. Away. From. My. Squire,” Arthur says through clenched teeth.

“The Lady Morgan can do as she pleases,” Lugh tells Arthur. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe one must pledge allegiance before they can be considered anyone’s proper squire.”

My ears perk up at the information, and I look at Arthur’s scowling face. “You never mentioned that part to me,” I say.

“It was the best way to protect you,” Arthur says, still glaring at Lugh. “The rest wasn’t important.”

“To you, maybe,” I say. “What else have you kept from me? What about my father’s file? Sister Marie-Clémence told me it was destroyed, so did you lie about that too?”

Without taking his eyes off Lugh, Arthur crosses the room in two long steps, opens a drawer from his desk, and pulls out a manila envelope.

“Here,” he says tensely, throwing it in my lap. “As promised.”

I stare at the large, sealed envelope, uncomprehending. Surely this can’t be my father’s file, Sister Marie-Clémence said it was destroyed….

“We should probably have a talk before our meeting with the Board tomorrow,” Arthur tells Lugh while I’m lost in my contemplation.

“Whatever for?” Lugh asks with a touch of derision.

Arthur frowns. “Shouldn’t we discuss the terms of our alliance at least? I thought that’s what you were here for.”

“I came to fetch Morgan, nothing more,” Lugh says.

I look up, my fingers closing feverishly around the envelope and its precious contents, fearful Arthur might suddenly take it away from me for unknowingly messing up his plans.

“So you refuse to help us fight against Carman?” Arthur asks.

“I am Iyrin,” Lugh says with a dead voice. “A Watcher. I observe, I don’t interfere.”

“Funny, that’s not the impression I’ve been getting lately,” Arthur retorts, looking significantly at me.

“I will not take sides,” Lugh says.

“Choosing to do nothing is still an action,” Arthur retorts. “What will you do if Carman uses the Sangraal to help your kind destroy our world? I thought you became Watchers out of repentance for joining the war that tore the Heavens apart? And now you’re going to tell me that you’re going to let the same thing happen again?”

“What he says isn’t wrong,” someone hisses.

I jump at the unexpected voice and turn to find Sameerah standing in the opposite corner from Blanchefleur, her snake wrapped around her shoulders.

“A vow is a vow,” Lugh growls.

“But vows can be broken when the cause is just,” Sameerah says, pushing herself away from the wall to glide over to our side, her face intent, eager almost. “Like when you chose to protect Morgan.”

“Fighting is never the answer,” Lugh says, looking away, as if afraid of her.

“The Lord has ordered many wars before,” Sameerah continues with a low, bewitching hiss. “Are those unjust as well?”

“We swore,” Lugh says, but I can hear the first notes of doubt in his voice.

Neither Arthur nor I dare to move or breathe, and even Percy’s stopped hitting on Blanchefleur. Only Keva’s eager face betrays how closely we’re all following the conversation.

“We can always ask to be released from our vows,” Blanchefleur cuts in.

Lugh throws her a panicked look.

“We will abide by the result,” Sameerah says, though her smile tells me she knows she’s won.

“Very well,” Lugh says after a long pause. He slowly takes off a small pouch hanging from his belt then looks up at the other two Fey. “But if it is
no
, I do not want to hear any more complaining. From any of you.”

The three of them nod and Lugh shakes the pouch, its contents rattling inside, before he upturns it over the bedspread.

Small, ivory pieces fall into a pattern and I look up in time to see Lugh’s eyes flash in anger, before he picks them up and tosses them again. The second time the pieces fall, I notice the elongated shapes of the strange stones, and realize that they must be the bones of a small animal.

Lugh sweeps the bones back up before tossing them down a third time. And again, the bones fall into the same pattern.

He makes to pick the bones back up, but Arthur stops him. “I’ve heard that to tempt fate more than three times is ill luck,” he says.

“Humans are such gullible, superstitious, inferior beings,” I hear Lugh mutter, but he doesn’t cast his bones again.

“What did they say?” Percy asks.

“That we have received permission to fight,” Sameerah says, cracking her fingers in anticipation.

I watch eagerly as Arthur and Lugh depart, the others in tow, leaving me behind with both Percy and Blanchefleur. Manila envelope firmly under my arm, I tiptoe towards my bedroom while the two lovebirds keep at their game of push and pull on the sofa.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

I freeze, my hand on the doorknob. So. Frigging. Close!

“This is no time for you to rest,” Blanchefleur says, pushing Percy away from her. “I’ve got to get you trained so you won’t accidentally—”

“Turn yourself into a corpse,” Percy finishes for her. “Trust me, as much as I’d like to spend some quality time with the lady ‘ere, she’s right. Wouldn’t want ya faintin’ right into Carman’s arms, would ya?”

“One night isn’t going to kill me,” I say, my back flat against my bedroom door. Can’t they understand that something I’ve waited a lifetime for is finally within my grasp?

Blanchefleur cocks an eyebrow at me.

“Don’t put off till tomorrow what ya can do today,” Percy says. “’Specially in our case, ‘cause tomorrow ya
could
be dead.”

“Gee, Percy,” I say glumly, “way to bring the Christmas spirit down.”

Percy nods. “It could happen here too, ya never know. Now git. It ain’t polite to make the lady wait.”

Clutching my father’s file to my chest, I reluctantly go sit on the floor, choosing a spot halfway between the crackling fireplace and Blanchefleur.