To Queen Morgana
Last year, on my birthday, I was sitting at a café in the South of France
by myself, eating blackberry cake I hadn’t ordered and fielding
frantic phone calls from my mother.
A year ago today, I was running for my life from the Fey trying to
murder me. I got kidnapped by my ex-boyfriend, Raphael, and taken across
the English Channel to Avalon Tower. I spent the journey terrified,
bewildered, and totally unprepared for what came next. With no idea I’d
survive training at Avalon Tower, let alone that I’d become the Lady of the
Lake.
A year ago today, I discovered I had hidden magic, that I was half Fey.
And this year?
This year, I’m not alone. This year, I have friends who would bleed for
me, and I’d do the same for them. A family carved out of chaos. A mom
I’ve left behind in Camelot to finally learn how to look after herself.
Today, my birthday takes place on a mossy island of rambling ruins and
ancient Fey magic.
As I polish the crystal glasses, my gaze roams over the castle’s carvings
—the triple spirals above each arched doorway that hum with magic
whenever I pass beneath them. Already, musicians are setting up in the
banquet hall, a drummer, a lyre player with shimmering silver hair, and a
lutist.
Aisling bustles in over the sun-dappled floor of cowslips, violets, and
rue. She sets out a crystal tray of buttered chanterelles with apple slices.
“So, Brados said to me, like he was serious, ‘We control the kingdom now.’
A republic. Can you imagine such a thing? He ran a bloody tavern, pulling
pints of goat piss for mead, now he’s overseeing a bloody kingdom with
some backward farmers? Not that I’m judging the country types, but in my
experience, they don’t know their arses from their elbows. Of course, most
of the Fey who stayed in Brocéliande seem to be happy. My
To save him...
“Fine. Now, will you tell me how to save Raphael?”
He stretches out a long arm and plucks an apple from a tree. “Of course.
To save him, we must learn exactly where they’re keeping him.”
“So, you don’t know where he is?”
“In my dreams, I see mere glimpses. He is in Auberon’s fortress, but it’s
a vast place, with countless dungeons, cells, and torture chambers. I need to
think.” He takes a bite of the apple, closes his eyes, and leans his head back
against the column.
I grit my teeth in frustration as I turn back to look at the banquet table.
He’s actually still got ancient wine in the decanters. Dust and snow cover
the plates and the faded gold tablecloth. There are food trays with silver
domes on them. I hate to think of what’s underneath them.
I have no idea what Mordred is doing right now. Eyes closed, he seems
deep in thought. He begins to hum, an eerie, haunting tune that raises the
hair on my nape and pulls my attention from the banquet table. The song is
uncanny, strangely familiar, and his body glows with silver. And for some
reason, I feel as if the tune is beckoning me closer.
After a while, movement catches my eye from above, and I glance up to
see a cloud of silver moths fluttering down from the ruined ceiling. As
Mordred hums, they twirl and dance in the air, their wings ignited by the
slate-silver moonlight. Mordred holds out his hand, and a moth lands on his
palm.
He opens his eyes and clamps his hand into a fist, crushing it. The rest
of the moths scatter, flitting away from him. He opens his hand again, and
my breath hitches. On his palm is a jeweled silver moth, its wings decorated
with tiny, sparkling stones.
“Take it,” he says.
I take it from his palm, a lifeless moth made of metal.
“This moth will be my ears and my eyes. Carry it into Auberon’s
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DAUGHTER?!!!
The cool air bites at my skin as I work the oars.
Nimuë sacrificed her lover for her cause.
But Raphael? He did the exact opposite. He put Camelot at risk to save
me. I feel my chest cracking. The sooner I can get him out, the less likely it
is they’ll break him.
And then I hear it, the hum of a veil. It’s so foggy out here, it’s hard to
see, but it’s there—the opalescent sheen. It’s a veil, but this one feels
different. It emits a low, resonant hum that’s almost musical. It’s a different
sort of magic, beautiful and ancient. Primal magic, perhaps.
Is this where Avalon has been all this time? My breath quickens, and I
summon the red bloom of my Sentinel magic. The moment the hum goes
quiet, I start to row again, faster now, moving through the veil. What if this
is where they’re keeping Raphael? On Avalon itself?
My oars carve into the water, and the mist thins. I keep going.
I look over my shoulder at what I’m approaching and feel the world tilt
on its axis.
It’s there—a rocky, moss-covered island. Avalon. A vast, rambling
castle of stone perches on a craggy hilltop. Pale stone towers jut into the
night sky, almost glowing. At lake level, apple trees and oak trees spread
out over the island.
I can hardly breathe.
The boat touches the shoreline, and I leap onto the leafy shore, taking a
moment to catch my breath. An old stone path winds up the hill toward the
castle, and I charge up it, wheezing as I race up the uneven stairs. The air is
heavy with the scent of apples, and red and orange leaves carpet the stone
stairs.
But disappointment carves through me as I near the castle at the top.
The place looks abandoned, not a single light or torch in view. The towers
are crumbling, the gardens wildly overgrown. Bridges that go nowhere
sprout from mossy walls. Of course
What Happened?
He takes a seat in a high-back leather chair and folds his arms. “Why
don’t you report in detail how you helped the fugitives reach us?” He still
sounds like he doesn’t believe me. After all, what could garbage like me
possibly know?
I sigh, growing flustered. “I was having birthday cake at a restaurant. I
ordered lavender, but they brought blackberry—”
“I mean report the relevant details.”
“Fine.”
He lifts a finger. “Hang on, you were celebrating your birthday by
yourself?”
I glare at him. That’s right, I’m a giant loser on top of everything else.
“I’m on vacation by myself, yes. Not that it’s any of your business—”
“From what I remember, you spend a lot of time on holidays,” he
murmurs.
“Do you want me to report or not?” I say sharply.
I suppose I don’t need to tell him that my days of having luxury
vacations are over, that I spent five years eating store-brand cereal to save
up the fare. And tempting as it is, I will not tell him that he ruined five years
of careful planning by kidnapping me. “If you must know, Raphael, I saw
the demi-Fey through a restaurant window. By the time I realized who they
were, someone was watching us, and I was guilty by association. There
were Fey soldiers marching around. The fugitives looked terrified, and I
hate when people are scared.” My mind flickers with a memory of Mother
screaming that bugs were crawling on her skin. I clear my throat. “So I
pretended to be a tour guide and that they were my group. And I led them to
the docks.”
“And that was it? You just jumped in and brought them to me?”
“It wasn’t that easy,” I snap. “A member of the group panicked and ran.
Vena was separated from us, and the Fey soldiers slit her throat. That’s why
I didn’t want you to leave the others behind. They’re executing people in
my mother tells me i am a bird. when she says i am a bird, she means the whole world is my cage. in my dreams, i can fly, and there is no such thing as a cage, meaning there is no such thing as time. i have been here before. i mean i recognize that moon. i know, there are many moons, and my gratitude eclipses them all. so, i say thank you. thank you when i mean hello.
What does that mean
I have to get her.
“Wait!” I push against Wick, and this time, my voice comes out loud
enough for him to hear. His head jerks down to look at me as I struggle to
get out of his arms. He releases me, and we both stagger, my ankle nearly
twisting as I land.
“What are you doing?” he shouts as he reaches for me again.
I wrench away from him. “I can’t leave without her!”
“Auren—” His eyes suddenly go over my shoulder, and then he shoves
me out of the way.
I stumble, just as the sword that had been aiming for me swings down
and slices into him instead. I gasp as it cuts deep into his bicep, and Wick
shouts out in pain.
His sleeve slashes open, and blood bursts from the wound.
But I stare in shock because the blood…it’s not red.
It’s gold.
S
hock stiffens my body. All my thoughts cinch.
My eyes widen, heartbeat going more erratic as I stare and stare.
Gaze caught on the gold blood that gushes from Wick’s gash.
Estelia’s voice buzzes in my head. Every Turley ever born had some part
of them that was gold.
Wick’s face swarms in my memory, of how he looked at me when we
first met in the field.
You really are her…
The startling truth runs rampant, stampeding through my ears with a
deafening charge. Shock, disbelief, and outrage scatter, pulling me every
which way. I feel like someone has knocked the wind out of me, barging
into me again and again as I try to breathe.
Our eyes meet for a split second, his gold blood saturated between us,
