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 Him
“I’m not sure how much time we have,” I say. “And like you said, I’m
forged from your blood and bones, the daughter of a king. You said I will
crush my enemies. Remember?”
He nods slowly, the sun glinting in his golden eyes. “And what are you
proposing?”
“I don’t know yet. I can’t go back to Camelot. I can’t go to
Brocéliande.”
He takes a step closer, keenly interested. “And yet?”
“I won’t sit here rotting while Wrythe slaughters the Fey. We are their
protectors. You their king, and me their Lady of the Lake.”
He scrubs a hand over his mouth. “Good. Good. Morgan would not sit
idly by, either, but what if you did return to Brocéliande?”
My eyebrows rise. “I tricked the portal guards once, but next time,
they’ll be ready. Talan surely told everyone I’m a spy. They’ll be looking
for me now. They’ll murder me the second I step out of the portal.”
Mordred stares out the window at the lake, thinking deeply. He’s
wearing a dark cape trimmed with lush, black fur that frames his head like a
lion’s mane. “It might interest you to know there are no guards on the ley
portal. No one’s there to kill you.”
I tilt my head, curiosity blooming. “There aren’t? I thought Talan
would’ve made sure I couldn’t come back. Why wouldn’t he guard the
portal?”
He shrugs. “I still have a moth in Brocéliande. I can’t tell you why it’s
unguarded, only that it is.”
“Seriously?” I stare at him, and my heart flutters. “Maybe I can find
what’s left of the resistance. Brados is still there, from The Shadowed
Thicket.”
“Didn’t the resistance nearly kill you?”
“Yes, but now I’m sure that Wrythe gave them the wrong information.
He wants me dead. If I can connect to the resistance, then maybe I can take
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A Rageful Brother
My eyes snap open, my heart racing, danger sliding into my thoughts. At
first, I’m not sure what woke me, but then I hear it again, and my breath
catches. Men’s voices ring out from the forest. Did Talan bring someone
back with him?
I rise from the bed and pull on a thin silk gown over my naked body. I
cross to the window, and my heart skips a beat. I leap away from the glass,
then carefully peer around the side again, taking care not to be seen.
It’s not Talan—it’s the King’s Watch. At least twenty soldiers are
marching toward the cottage, all wearing the engraved armor of the king’s
guard. Their swords are drawn, and they look sharp and vicious.
My blood roars as I recognize the man in the center of the group. He’s
larger than the rest, his lip curled with a bone-chilling ferocity. He’s
wielding his monstrously large sword, the one he used when he captured
Raphael.
It’s Vidal, Maertisa’s brother, and based on the look on his face, I think
this mission is personal to him. He knows what I did to his twin.
Slowly, realization sinks in like snow melting into soil.
Talan told me yesterday that no one would recognize my face in town.
But what if Vidal came looking for me here, hunting for his sister’s killer?
He must have pieced together that it was me, probably right after we left
Aedan’s palace. His sister, after all, had already suspected me. She must
have whispered something to him, but Vidal bided his time. An attack in
Perillos would have been foolish.
He’d been waiting for his chance to strike the moment I left the castle.
And if he knew I was here, I imagine he’s been spending his days speaking
to anyone in villages near one of the prince’s hunting cottages and asking
them to inform him if they saw me. Yesterday, they’d stared at me as I
showed up in town. Had
Nightmares are Dreams too
Raphael’s fingers tighten on my waist. “We’re disoriented somehow.
Have we been drugged? All we need to do is get outside.”
“Well, we came from the left passage,” I say. “So we should probably
take the right.”
I start walking, but everything seems to be moving slowly, much too
slowly. I’m walking as fast as I can, but I can hardly budge. I look down
and realize that my feet are stuck in the threadbare rug, and with each step,
I’m getting pulled back. The rug has become a strange, muddy goo.
“I’m sinking in the rug!” I shout in alarm.
“Don’t shout,” Raphael says. “Hang on. Where’s Viviane?”
It’s just the two of us now, and I’m knee-deep in the rug and sinking
faster.
“We must have been drugged.” Raphael’s grip around my waist is solid,
but somehow, I’m sinking and he’s not.
“No.” My stomach swoops. “The Castle of Dreams has become the
castle of nightmares. This is the Dream Stalker’s work.”
It’s obvious now. Prince Talan must have realized his map is missing,
and now, he’s trapped us.
“No way,” Raphael says. “He doesn’t even know who we are.”
“He doesn’t need to.” I’ve visited a dozen minds, minds belonging to
the prince’s confidants, enough to learn things about him. “He can sense
people’s subconscious when they’re nearby. We’re trying to get out, and
we’re scared of being caught. That makes us different from everyone else in
this place. He’s honed in on our minds and wrapped us up in this dream.”
Raphael’s grip tightens around my waist. “And he knows where we
are?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Not yet. But if we don’t get out,
they’ll find us eventually.” I’m up to my thighs now in the liquidized rug.
“Raphael, I’m drowning in this.”
“It’s in our minds,” Raphael says slowly. “Nia, even dreams can be
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
What just happened
Gasping, I realize not everyone in the crowd is running away. Not all of them are afraid, or even confused by the outburst of violence. They move differently, with purpose, motive, a mission. Black pistols gleam, flashing as they dig into a guard’s back or stomach. Knives glint in the growing dark. The screams of fear become screams of pain. Bodies fall, slumping against the tile of the square.
I remember the riots in Summerton. Reds hunted down and tortured. A mob turning on the weakest among them. It was disorganized, chaotic, without any order. This is the opposite. What looks like wild panic is the careful work of a few dozen assassins in a crowd of hundreds. With a grin, I realize they all have something in common. As the hysteria grows, each one dons a red scarf.
The Scarlet Guard is here.
Cal, Kilorn, Farley, Cameron, Bree, Tramy, the Colonel.
They’re here.
With everything I have, I butt my head back and crack my skull against Clover’s nose. She howls, and silver blood spurts down her face. In an instant her grip on me breaks, leaving only Kitten. I drive an elbow into her gut, hoping to throw her off. She lets go of my shoulder, only to wrap her arm around my neck and squeeze.
I twist, trying to get enough room to bend my neck and bite. No chance. She increases the pressure, threatening to crush my windpipe. My vision spots, and I feel myself being pulled backward. Away from the Treasury, Maven, his Sentinels. Through the lethal crowd. I trip backward as we reach the steps. I kick weakly, trying to catch on to anything. The Security officers dodge my poor efforts. Some drop to their knees, guns raised, covering the retreat. Clover looms over me, the bottom half of her face painted with mirrored blood.
“Double back through Whitefire. We have to keep
