" 'Would you die with me?' she asked, with a sly, mocking smile. 'Would you in fact die with me?' she pressed. 'Don't you understand what is happening to me? That he's killing me, that master vampire who has you in thrall, that he won't share your love with me, not a drop of it? I see his power in your eyes. I see your misery, your distress, the love for him you can't hide. Turn around, I'll make you look at me with those eyes that want him, I'll make you listen' "
A Dragon ride
“We’re winning, but I have to leave Brocéliande again for a few days.”
He studies me for a long moment. “Before I go, do you want to join me for
a ride?”
My heart sinks at the phrase we’re winning. “Okay. I’ll get Clover. I
think she’s in the stable now, right?”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Yes, but I didn’t mean a ride on a horse.”
I press my hand to my chest. “Oh. Is this really how the legendary
seducer proposes sex?”
His slow, sly smile sends heat prickling down my spine. “I do love that
that’s where your mind went, but I meant on Tarasque. Do you want to ride
with me on a dragon?”
“On the dragon?” Is he out of his mind? “But only dragon riders are
allowed to ride. Also, I’d fall off.”
“I’m the best dragon rider who’s ever lived, and I will keep you on. I
know how you like to cling to me, anyway. You won’t slip.”
My heart pounds with the allure of doing something dangerous,
something that I absolutely should not be doing. And yet…when will I ever
get the chance to ride a dragon again? Probably never. “Let’s do it.”
His eyebrow rises in what I’ve learned is admiration. “Good. Meet me
on the other side of the Lost Palace. I can only get her out that way.”
My pulse races as I step outside into the biting air and wind my way
down the path around the old palace. Icicles drip from gargoyles and stone
carvings of human heads with tusks and owls with their wings spread out.
Snowy yew branches arch over me.
As I walk, I hear the creak and groan of doors opening. I follow the path
around the palace and see Tarasque lumbering through the doors and into
the garden. Talan is in front of her, completely at ease with his beast. He
radiates quiet confidence and power that makes my breath catch. “Let’s go,
Tarasque.”
The enormous dragon slithers forward, and I can feel the
He Faked being mad to help her
“Getting to know you, I learned we don’t all use magic the same way. You
channel the creative force through your emotions, not by blocking them. I
remembered reading something Merlin had written about magic, and it
didn’t make sense to me. Merlin said he used his emotions, his heartbreak
and love and anger, and that made his magic stronger. On our first mission,
I saw you disable the entire veil, fueling your power with fear. And your
anger at me gave you that explosive magic we saw on your final trial. It’s
what let you access a primal power for the first time in over a thousand
years, Nia. You’re like the grapes at Douloureuse Garde.”
“I’m like the grapes?”
The corner of his lips curl. “Remember? The vintners would stress them
to make them grow. They’d starve them of nutrients or water, and the
grapes would grow stronger and enhance the flavor. For you, stress can
make your magic thrive.”
I shoot him a sly look. “So, the fact that I thought you were an asshole
—that’s what turned me into the next Merlin?”
A wry smile. “I didn’t say ‘next Merlin.’”
“Have I mentioned the Avalon Steel, though?”
“I wonder if Nimuë trapped Merlin in the oak because he wouldn’t stop
banging on about his Avalon Steel,” he muses. “But yes. The fact you
thought I was, as you say, an asshole, helped you pass the Sentinel test. I
must admit, I didn’t anticipate just how angry it would make you.”
“You were very convincing.”
Across the street, the lights flick off in Caradoc’s library.
In the dark, all I can see is the glow of Raphael’s silver eyes.
“Might as well get some sleep while he does,” he says. “You take the
bed.”
The Prophecy
Raphael pulls a torch off one of the stone walls and leads me to a
large painting. I frown at the image—another one of Mordred
Kingslayer, wearing his spiked crown over dark curls and a long
black cape. In this image, he’s beheading a blonde woman who kneels at his
feet. It’s about ten feet tall and gilt framed.
“Is it true that he had diametric magic, and that’s why he murdered
everyone?” I ask.
He sighs. “Maybe, but I don’t think that’s why the massacre happened.
It’s the prophecy. The one about the House of Morgan.”
A chill skitters up my spine. “Auberon is descended from Queen
Morgan. And the Dream Stalker, too.”
“And that’s why they need to die. They were born with the same
violence running through their veins. The moment they get the chance,
they’ll break in here and slaughter everyone.”
He reaches for a book on the shelf to the left of the portrait. As he pulls
it out, the portrait pops open like a door, creaking. He turns back to me with
an arched eyebrow. “You’re not going to tell your friends about this
passageway, are you?”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
Holding the torch, he leads me into a dark corridor. Light and shadow
dance over the stone walls, and the narrow hall stretches on.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask.
“To the Tower of Nimuë.”
I breathe in sharply. Tana had mentioned her name. The Lady of the
Lake, like me, apparently. Tana had seen me in her tower. “Where is it?”
“It stands in the lake, with a bridge leading out to it. Nimuë was a
powerful water Fey, back in the days of primal magic. As Lady of the Lake,
she was an envoy between the Fey and humans. From her tower, Nimuë
gave Arthur his sword, forged from Avalon Steel. And she gave Merlin and
Arthur their torcs, too, from the same sacred metal.”
“So, her tower was a meeting point at one time?”
Hypotermia
“Nia, it’s now or never,” Freya says.
I turn to glance at the incoming riders. They’re so frighteningly close,
just a few yards away. The leader’s eyes bore straight into me, a malicious
golden gaze. With a snarl, he raises an enormous axe above his head,
screaming a battle cry.
My fear nearly paralyzes me, but I use it instead to drown out my other
thoughts. I hurl it at the veil, unfocused, directionless.
The entire veil flickers, its buzz dying. Raphael grips my arm and pulls
me across.
I stumble, racing for a few steps through narrow fields crisscrossed by
stone walls. An oak forest spreads across the landscape. Coppery light
kisses the tree leaves.
My body feels frozen, shivering. Icy air stings my skin, and my teeth
chatter. It looks like spring, but it feels like the dead of January.
The hum rises in my ears, and I can see the riders through the haze of
the veil. They rear their horses to a halt on the other side, and one of them
raises his bow.
Fuck. We might be through the magical barrier, but it won’t stop arrows.
Something whizzes past me, but it’s coming from behind. Freya’s arrow
finds a soldier’s throat on the other side.
“Keep going!” Raphael shouts.
He and Freya are off again.
I follow after them, but my muscles feel frozen. I’m shivering violently,
my body bitten by the cold. The glacial air pierces my body down to my
marrow.
“Nia, let’s go!” Raphael shouts.
My muscles are ice. An arrow from beyond the veil zooms by, inches
from my face. “Go!” I shout through clattering teeth.
Raphael rushes back and scoops me up, pressing me against his firm
chest. Enfolding me in his arms, he starts to run. Up ahead, Freya is