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
New Task
On the other side of the hall, the portrait of Merlin clicks, and the entire
thing creaks open. A man steps through it, looking like a warrior who
traveled through time. He has a long gray beard, and his face is lined with
age. Unlike the rest of the people in the room, he’s dressed in actual chain
mail armor with a silvery breastplate. And emblazoned on the breastplate is
the Merlin Court coat of arms I’ve seen around this tower—one with an
owl, stars, and the cycle of the moon. His armor groans as he crosses the
large hall.
For a moment, I wonder if the rumors are true, if Merlin never died, and
maybe he’s returned to us through his own portrait. But this man looks
nothing like Merlin, and he wears a silver torc.
“Who is that?” I whisper to Serana.
“Sir Kay,” she whispers. “He is the leader of MI-13.”
He crosses to an empty chair set at the round table and takes a seat.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice.” His deep,
commanding voice resonates around the room. “What we’re discussing
today is of the utmost secrecy. There will be no sharing of any of this with
anyone at the academy. Or, obviously, outside it.”
I exchange looks with Tana and Serana. What are the three of us even
doing here?
“As you all know, MI-13’s efforts are held back by the veil,” he
continues. “We make do with our Sentinels opening the way to small task
forces, but it has limited our options.”
Nivene raises her eyebrow at me and nods.
“The veil is maintained by the Fey’s magicians,” adds Sir Kay. “Up
until two months ago, there were ten. However, one of them was sent to
assassinate one of our Sentinels and was killed.” He glances for the briefest
second in my direction. “And another veil mage was sent to take out our
entire cadet force, and was also, luckily, stopped and killed.” He
Her çiçeğin bir mevsimi, her kitabın bir zamanı vardır. Haziranın tadını yeni hikâyelerle çıkarın.
Pendragons
“And I’m Tarquin,” the guy to my right interjects. He has a long, bony
nose and nostrils that seem to stay flared. “Tarquin Pendragon?”
He looks at me expectantly. He has smooth auburn hair, combed neatly
sideways, and thin lips pressed into a tight smile.
“Very nice to meet you,” I offer.
He clears his throat. “You know of Arthur Pendragon, I presume. King
Arthur of the Round Table?” He points at the towering portraits. “That’s
him and Queen Guinevere. I’m the spit of him, they say. The absolute spit
of him.”
He looks nothing like the chisel-jawed, tan man in the portrait.
Tarquin’s skin is the color of milk. “Quite.”
He grins uncertainly. “Yes. Arthur founded this place and built most of
Camelot. His blood runs in my veins.”
“I see. You’re a descendant of Arthur?” I can see he wants recognition
for this. “Very impressive.”
His grin fades. “Yes. Well, I’m descended from his sister, Morgause.”
His expression brightens. “But some say the Pendragons in those days had
incestuous relationships, so really I could be…” He clears his throat.
“Anyway, since you’re new here, I can show you around. As a Pendragon, I
feel it’s my duty to look after lost young women who are new to our
academy. Of course, I can show you around the rest of Camelot, too.
Outside the Tower. I’ve lived in the city my whole life.”
There’s something false about his smile that sets my teeth on edge, but I
murmur, “Thank you.”
So he’s one of those Pendragons that Viviane referenced, someone who
might cut me down just weeks into training.
But he doesn’t seem to hate me so far.
My stomach rumbles, and I turn to a platter of food. It looks like
something from a fairytale—fresh bread pudding, jams, fruit, cakes
decorated with dandelions, entire baked salmon and potatoes, all resting on
a bed of wildflowers.
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
FİNALLY
he Piedmont air is hot, heavy, sticky. Like the deepest hole of summer, even though it’s only spring. I’ve never started sweating so quickly. Even the breeze is warm, offering no respite as it rolls across the flat, hot concrete. The landing field is awash with floodlights, so bright it almost crowds out the stars. In the distance, more jets line up. Some are forest green, same as the ones I saw in Caesar’s Square. Airjets like the Blackrun, as well as bigger cargo craft. Montfort, I realize as the dots connect in my brain. The white triangle on their wings is their mark. I saw it before, back at Tuck on crates of equipment and on the twins’ uniforms. Peppered in with the Montfort crafts are deep blue jets, as well as yellow-and-white ones, their wings painted in stripes. The first are Lakelander, the second from Piedmont itself. Everything around us is well-organized and, judging by hangars and outbuildings, well funded.
Clearly, we’re on a military base, and not the kind the Scarlet Guard is used to.
Both Cal and Cameron look just as surprised as I do.
“I just spent six months a prisoner, and you’re telling me I know more about our operations than the both of you?” I scoff at them.
Cal looks sheepish. He’s a general; he’s Silver; he was born a prince. Being confused and helpless deeply unsettles him.
Cameron just bristles. “Took you just a few hours to regain your self-righteousness. Must be a new record.”
She’s right, and it stings. I hurry to catch her, Cal at my side. “I just—sorry. I thought this would be easier.”
A hand at the small of my back bleeds warmth, soothing my muscles. “What do you know that we don’t?” Cal asks, his voice achingly gentle. Part of me wants to shake him out of it. I’m not a doll—not Maven’s doll, no one’s—and I’m in control again.
Let's go Free them
She’s holding the pistol wrong. Even I know that. It’s too big for her, made of shimmering black metal, with a barrel nearly a foot long. Better suited to a trained soldier rather than a shivering, slight teenage girl. A soldier, I realize with cold clarity. A Silver. It’s the same kind of gun a Sentinel shot me with, so long ago in the cells deep beneath the Hall of the Sun. The bullet felt like a blow from a hammer and went straight through my spine. I would’ve died if not for Julian and a blood healer under his control. In spite of my ability, I raise my hands, palms open in surrender. I’m the lightning girl, but I’m not bulletproof. But she takes this as a threat instead of submission, and tenses, her finger itching too close to the trigger.
“Don’t move,” she hisses, daring to take another step toward me. Her skin, the dark, rich color of blackwood bark, offers her perfect camouflage in the forest. And yet, I see the red bloom beneath, and the tiny scarlet veins webbing the whites of each eye. I gasp to myself. She’s Red. “Don’t bleeding think about it.”
“I won’t,” I tell her, tipping my head. “But I can’t speak for him.”
Her brows furrow in confusion. She doesn’t have time to be afraid. Shade appears behind her, solidifying out of thin air, and wraps her up in an expert military hold. The gun falls from her grasp, and I snatch it before it can hit the rocky ground. She fights, snarling, but with Shade’s arms firmly locked behind her head, she can’t do much more than sink to her knees. He follows, keeping her firmly in hand, his mouth set in a grim line. A scrawny girl is no match for him.
The gun feels foreign in my hand. It’s not my chosen form of weapon—I’ve never even shot one before. I almost laugh at that. To come so far without even firing a gun.
“Get
Sayfa 291
