The Lady of the Lake
But as I crouch there, curled up like prey, something shifts in my
thoughts. With the heavy fog out of my mind, I can feel the pulse of magic
flowing through me, stronger than ever. The veil I’ve been using to shield
myself from Talan must have been leeching my magic, smothering my
powers all this time, but it’s gone.
My magic roars to the surface.
When Tana first told me I was the Lady of the Lake, I didn’t know what
it meant. Mordred had promised these powers would grow in Brocéliande,
surrounded by a world of magic. Magic feeds on magic, blooming from the
soil of enchantment here. But only now can I truly feel the Lady of the
Lake’s powers cascading through me, a waterfall of strength.
I’m not alone after all.
An ancient, unbreakable bond connects me to the Ladies of the Lake
who came before me, a magical current flowing through time and merging
with Nimuë’s spirit. This is her home now, and her body lies buried in the
soil of Brocéliande. Her magic lives in the ground beneath me. Her spirit
rushes through the trees and shimmers on the forest rivers.
But it’s Morgan’s power, too. Before she ruled as queen, she was the
Lady of the Lake. Now, her magic ripples through my body.
All three of us—Nimuë, Morgan, and me—are entwined, our forces
churning together.
I am no longer just Nia Melisande, hunted and alone. I am a covenant of
three. A sisterhood. A triple spiral carved into the stones, strong as the oaks,
old as the rocks. Fathomless as the lake itself.
As the magical current flows into my soul, my senses grow sharper,
Fey-like. I am the living keeper of Lake Avalon’s power.
I hear Vidal and the other attackers creeping toward me, their pounding
hearts and labored breaths. My senses drink in every detail: the thick scent
of their hair oils, the faint creak of
Slowly Falling for him
I glance at Talan cautiously. “Whose blood is on your sword?”
“Someone made the mistake of testing my patience. You’d think people
would have learned by now.”
Vague. Annoyingly so. “Another traitor?”
He cuts me a sharp look. “I won’t let anyone get in my way.”
A chill ripples up my spine as he stalks over the snow.
The air seems to grow heavier and otherworldly until the forest opens
into a clearing, a path lined with ancient statues and pale purple hedges. On
the far end of the path, the Lost Palace emerges from the wintry forest, a
haunting edifice of twists and curves. Ice and snow glaze the stones,
sparkling in the pale light. Fog billows around a frozen garden of heather
and bare yews. Moths flutter around us—not metallic, but real ones that are
bright blue. Corbinelle moths. Beautiful to look at, but they’re venomous.
Like Talan, really.
Stone arches frame a door of carved oak, peaked in the center. As we
walk closer, my gaze flicks up at the statues. I stop to stare at one of them, a
towering, crowned queen with long hair that drapes over her robes. My
gaze slides to the symbols on her wrists, and an ember of recognition sparks
in my mind. The encircled triple spirals remind me of the ones I saw in
Nimuë’s tower—and look exactly like the ones I’d seen on my wrists for a
moment in the bathtub. As I stare at them, cold magic slides over my wrists.
Talan follows my stare. “That’s Nimuë. She built this palace long ago.
She’s buried here, in fact. Did you know that before she was the Lady of the
Lake, my grandmother had that role? Before she was queen.”
I stare at the triple spirals again. Three Ladies of the Lake. “Queen
Morgan.”
Thank the ancient gods we don’t have the same grandmother in reality,
given some of the filthy thoughts I’ve had about him.
I draw a shaky
Reklam
He protects the children
“This…this is a fortress belonging to the royal family. Or a rogue
branch of them. The Blue Dragon Project. I saw it labelled on a map. Is it a
weapon? Is the Blue Dragon a weapon of some kind?”
“Is it a what?” she asks incredulously. She blinks a few times, then lets
out a snort of laughter. “Yeah, yeah, it’s a weapon. It’s horrific. The children
scream when they use it. So, who the fuck are you?”
Slowly, I start to put together why she looks familiar. The dark hair, the
bright silver of her eyes that blends to blue. The straight, black eyebrows.
“Do you know someone named Ysolde?” I ask.
She goes still, gripping my collar with her free hand. The blade eases
just a little from my throat. “Where did you get that name?”
It’s her.
I suck in a deep breath. “I know your brother. Raphael.”
Her eyes widen, jaw dropping open. “Where is he?”
Of course, I’d love to help with their family reunion, but I have a job to
do right now. “I’ll tell you what I know, once you tell me what you know.
What’s the Blue Dragon Project?”
She narrows her eyes. She’s breathing heavily, debating whether she
should kill me now or let me live. But she’s not going to sever the one
thread that would lead her back to her brother. “Okay, then. Let me show
you. We’ll take a walk down the stairs. I’m removing my knife from your
throat, but make a sudden move, and I’ll slit your throat so fast, you won’t
even have time to scream.”
I give her a nod.
Slowly, she eases the blade off my neck, keeping a vise-like grip on my
arm as I walk down the stairs. I can feel the blade prodding at my back.
I steady myself on the stone wall as I descend. When I push through the
door into the courtyard, the cold night air hits me, and I glance up at the
moons.
Ysolde’s fingers dig harder into me. She snarls, “Don’t even
What did you get into
The torchlight dances in his dark eyes as he stares down at me. “Let’s
start with your name.”
“I’m Severine.”
“No. Your real name.”
“That is my real name.”
He cocks his head, and a lock of ebony hair falls before one of his eyes.
“If I desire, I can wrap you in a dream, girl. And in that dream, you will feel
compelled to say your real name a thousand times. You will say it for days,
for weeks, until you starve half to death, until the word no longer has
meaning. So, let’s try this again. What’s your name?”
Thunder rumbles outside, rattling the diamond-shaped glass panes.
I feel it then, a touch of his velvety power, brushing at the edges of my
mind. Threatening to wrap around me, to envelop my reality. He really will
do it unless I act fast. The shield in my mind isn’t strong enough. There
wasn’t enough time to practice.
Lying works best when it is laced with truth. I can give this evil fucker a
crumb.
I narrow my eyes at him, jaw tightening.
I should be acting like a meek girl, intimidated by the crown prince. But
Raphael’s words still echo in my mind, and the state of his ravaged, tortured
body burns my thoughts like a brand.
“Fine, it’s Nia.” I spit out the words. “Vaillancourt.” My words come
out sharper than they should, while my mind is whirring, making up a story
that would work, that would convince him I’m not worth his time.
“So, Nia. What are you doing here?” His voice is so uncannily familiar,
and the sound of his deep, velvety voice as he speaks my name sends a
strange rush of heat through my blood.
My pulse is racing out of control. Some Fey can hear a heartbeat while
standing nearby. I wonder if he’s one of them.
I lift my chin. “My family and I are tenants on farmland we don’t own.
Raphael
I flip through his thoughts, searching deeper. The prisoner. Does he
know anything about a beautiful, silver-eyed demi-Fey?
The prisoner has been here for some time. Captured in the war with the
humans, but they didn’t put him with the rest of the rabble. He’s too
valuable, for some reason. Doesn’t seem particularly valuable to Cadoc.
Just another half-breed mongrel…
My heart skips a beat. Raphael.
I invade Cadoc’s every thought, sifting through ideas, memories,
everything he knows. I’m ravaging the inside of his skull, grasping the
threads, then pulling the strings to bend him to my will.
Now, Cadoc wonders if the prisoner is literally valuable.
Maybe he’s rich. In fact, he’s probably rich, or they’d leave him with the
rest, right? If Cadoc will just do this tiny thing, just unlock the door, the
prisoner might reward him handsomely. Yes. That’s what he should do.
Odelia will fall back in love with him, and his father will get his job back in
the stables. Cadoc absolutely shouldn’t question this drunk lady more
because she’s a distraction from what’s really important. She’s just a tiny
woman, a drunken musician, not worthy of his notice.
When I withdraw from his mind, he stares at me, dazed. Then, without a
word, he pulls a skeleton key from his belt and opens a door into yet
another torchlit stairwell.
I follow him down a flight of stairs, the air growing staler, like wet earth
and mushrooms.
My heart is pounding as he leads me to another wooden door. He slides
a second key into a rusty lock, turns it twice, and pushes the door open.
I can hardly breathe.
“You,” he says into the darkness. “Get up.”
I step inside, trying to see in the dark.
In the corner of a grimy stone cell sits a shirtless man. For a second, I
almost don’t recognize him. Dirt smears his body, and
The Culling Test
“Wow, demi-Fey? I’ve never seen one. What did they look like?”
“Fucking weird, pardon my language. The man had pointy ears,
obviously. Dark hair. Tattoos on his arms, eerie silver eyes like metal.
Beautiful blonde woman with him. You know, I don’t mind the women
demi-Fey quite as much. I’d give her one,” he says thoughtfully. “Pardon
the expression.”
I toss a horseshoe, and it clatters to the floor of his stall. A thought starts
to blossom in my mind. “Did they have anything with them?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
I open my eyes wide. “Well, like you said, they’re dangerous. And you
know the saying, if you see something, say something.”
He holds up a finger. “Do you know what, love? The fella was carrying
something. It was in a box, like a musical instrument or something. They
never brought it out again.” His eyes widen. “Do you think they could be
planning something? You don’t think it was a bomb, do you?” He scrubs a
hand over his mouth. “With all these people here? Should I call the police?”
I toss both horseshoes one after the other, so off the mark that one
nearly hits one of the prize dolls. “It’s probably nothing. I doubt demi-Fey
even know how to make a bomb. We don’t want the police shutting the
whole fair down over an empty box.”
What I know at this point is that Raphael and Vivian came in earlier and
left a package here, then left.
The Excalibur replica.
“We will obviously need to reschedule the shadow trial.” Wrythe sighs.
“Ms. Melisende can do it properly with the rest of the cadets.”
“No,” Raphael says.
Wrythe frowns at him. “Right. You think she should be expelled after
all?”
“She won’t do the shadow trial again. She’s shown her leadership by
sending cadets to call for backup,” Raphael says. “She followed an enemy
agent through the fair
Reklam
Reklam