Rise of the Fey (31 page)

“The plan is to keep her out of the Dark Sidhe’s clutches,” Sameerah says, “as well as those of your precious Board.”

“The Board wouldn’t dare!” Hadrian exclaims.

“The Board
has
dared,” Sameerah retorts.

Hadrian steps forward, his sword halfway out of its scabbard, and Sameerah’s snake straightens up in the air between them, ready to strike.

“One more inch and you’ll get the kiss of death,” Sameerah hisses.

“Remember yourself, Sameerah,” the blind Watcher says.

With another hiss, the Fey woman shifts back, though I can still see her snake jabbing at the air, as if angry at having its prey taken away.

“I need your word she won’t attack one of ours,” Arthur says after a moment’s consideration. “And that she’ll take over Morgan’s training.”

“What?” I yelp. It’s now my turn to glare at Arthur.

The blind Watcher closes his eyes in thought. “That goes against our vows,” he says at last, and I allow myself to let out a sigh of relief.

“So you’re sayin’ Sameerah’s not really goin’ to protect Morgan then,” Percy says, “but be more like an alarm system?” At Sameerah’s growl, he adds, “A mighty pretty one, but useless nonetheless.”

“Fine!” Sameerah snaps. “I’m not going to supervise the pinkie’s training, but I’ll make it a pleasure to protect her properly should the occasion arise. I’ve broken plenty of vows in the past, what’s one more? Besides, when the command came, there was no mention as to how I should accomplish my duties.”

“Remember what we agreed upon,” Arthur warns her. “No attacking our people.”

With a sharp smile, Sameerah lowers herself to one knee and the snake unfurls itself from around her arm to slither towards me at an incredible speed.

“She’ll be my eyes and ears,” Sameerah says. “Try not to piss her off.”

With a grimace of disgust, I force myself not to stomp on the reptile.

“Thank you for your help,” Arthur says curtly.

Numbly, I let him drag me back towards the exit and the rest of the knights fall in behind us. Before we go through the door, however, Arthur stops again and I repress a shiver as the shadows at my feet shift, the only evidence I have that a poisonous snake is now trailing my every move.

“I almost forgot,” Arthur says over his shoulder. “The Board’s on its way and it will want to have a talk with you.”

As we leave the chamber, I hear the blind Watcher’s soft voice say, “We know, Gibborim, we know.”

And then the door finally closes shut behind us.

To top off this epically awful day, I find myself unable to sleep. So when the first rays of light filter through my window, I fling my covers off and force myself to get dressed for my morning run—an exercise I don’t relish, but one I find helpful in both reducing my stress levels, and curbing that freaky energy that always wants to spill out of me and lay waste to everything.

As I leave the school building on my way to the southern fields, an familiar shadow glides down the path after me.

“Stay away, you slimy thing,” I mutter.

The snake flickers its forked tongue at me before slithering out of sight under a shrub. I stifle a grunt of exasperation, hating the fact that no matter what I do or where I go, unwelcome eyes are always on me.

“Not now, Tristan, I’m expecting someone.”

I freeze in my tracks at Lady Ysolt’s strained voice, and look about for its source.

“Your husband, I suppose?” Father Tristan asks, sounding dour.

“Don’t be silly,” she replies, and I now realize that the voices are coming from the teachers’ lounge, a few windows down.

“Who are you waiting for if it isn’t Sir Boorish then?” Father Tristan asks petulantly.

“The Board.”

“How come I wasn’t notified of their visit?” Father Tristan asks angrily. But as his question’s met with a dead silence, he adds, “Who’s deigned to come over this time?”

“Sir Pelles.”

“The High Judge himself?” Father Tristan says, sounding excited now. “Perfect!”

I slowly back away from the open window, willing the gravel not to crunch under my feet. The last thing I need right now is to get caught eavesdropping by those two while they’re in the middle of their squabble.

“Don’t even start with that story again,” I hear Lady Ysolt say with a tired sigh that tells me they’ve had this argument before.

“There’s something fishy about Myrdwinn, Ysolt,” Father Tristan insists, and I nearly stumble at the school director’s mention. “Don’t you see? He and Vivian are conniving together to bring this whole place down. I know for a fact that they’re in league with the Order of Errant Companions, who have been dying to get their hands on our money and facilities for ages. And with Carman on the rampage, they’ve found the perfect opportunity to do so! That’s why I’ve got to get Pelles to interrogate Myrdwinn for us.”

“The Errant Companions don’t care a fib about our school,” Lady Ysolt retorts, exasperated. “They don’t believe in ever staying in one place. As for Myrdwinn, the old man spends most of his time drooling over himself and eating grass with Puck. He lost his mind ages ago, and it seems to me you’re doing a fine job going down the same path.”

“I’m telling you it’s all a ploy!” Father Tristan explodes. “Mark my words, I will find out what he’s up to, whether you help me or not.”

“The Board’s here,” Lady Ysolt says resignedly. “You better get ready for your homily, Tristan, instead of spouting this nonsense, or you might end up locked away too.”

I dive behind a collection of leafy bushes as Lady Ysolt jumps through the lounge’s open window, then watch her stride away towards the landing docks where a large black and gold ship is slowly descending from the skies.

She reaches the vessel’s mooring as two pairs of well-dressed men and women march across the lowered drawbridge, followed by a retinue of knights armed up to the hilt. I tense up as I recognize the grizzled man in the lead: Sir Pelles, the High Judge who presided over my trial. I keep my eyes fixed upon his silver head as a dark thought insinuates itself into my mind—what if he’s here to change his verdict about me?

Something soft brushes against my clenched fists, and as the Board members slowly make their way down to the school, I find myself glad for the first time to have Sameerah’s snake at my side.

The Prime bells suddenly ring out in the warm morning air, calling all to mass, and the door behind me bursts open. I jump in surprise as Percy and the cousins bound outside, followed by their sleepy-eyed squires.

“Top o’ the mornin’ to ya!” Percy says, catching me still crouched in the middle of the flower bed.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” Gauvain says, nodding towards the newly-anchored boat.

Percy whistles. “More like the circus is in town.”

“Or the Exhibition Team,” Gareth says knowingly as I make my way toward them.

“I think you mean
Inquisition
, doofus,” Gauvain says.

“Either way,” Percy says, “Artie ain’t gonna be too pleased by their early arrival.”

“Perhaps I should go warn him,” I say.

But Percy throws his arm around my shoulders, forcing me to stoop down. “Ya ain’t gonna do no such thing,” he says, marching me towards the church, “’cause ya can’t afford showin’ up late for the gospel will
²⁸
. Not with your DNA.”

He motions to Gauvain who sends his squire, a stout boy with large ears, to go find Arthur in my stead, then pulls the door open for me.

“There, there,” Percy says, dousing my head with holy water from the church’s fount as I try to pull away, “that’s a good girl. Now here’s my tip o’ the day for ya: bow lots, keep quiet, look pretty, an’ ya should go through this visit unscathed.”

And with a final pat, he leaves me at my bench to go sit in the KORT section with the cousins.

The rest of the school slowly trickles in over the next five minutes, chatting wildly, a clear sign they all know about the latest arrival. A moment later, Keva slides in beside me, out of breath and covered in mud.

“I blame you for this,” she says, seething.

“What?” I exclaim. “I didn’t do anything. What happened?”

“Hadrian had me give a message to Sir Valdis the moment I woke up,” she says, grimacing in distaste at the mention of the head mason. “Found him at Fort Megrez, of course, hauling rocks with the workers, and since he apparently can’t be bothered by a squire, I had to haul my ass across the construction site. And who do you think happened to follow me there? Your BFF Puck, anxious to find you. So anxious, in fact, that he tripped me.” She huffs, patting her skirt in annoyance. “If the Board notices my
appearance, I’m gonna throttle you, Hadrian, and that hobgoblin of yours.”

“I thought your love letter plan had worked out,” I say. “So why does Hadrian keep sending you all the way out there all the time?”

“It backfired on me,” Keva says mournfully. “Now he’s making me work harder than before so he can have more alone time with Pelletier. It’s really disheartening.”

The crowd suddenly grows quiet, and I know, without looking around, that the Board members have walked in.

As the group’s heavy footsteps draw ominously close, I catch myself glancing at the newcomers. Sir Pelles is still in the lead, his head held high. Behind him comes a tall, spindly woman with a snub nose and jewels flashing across her flat chest, a rotund man next to her whose head keeps bobbing about like that of a pigeon. Finally, flanked by Irene and a disgruntled Arthur, is a pale woman, her non-existent chin giving her a severe bucktoothed look.

I let myself breathe again as the judge passes my bench without stopping and heads straight for the teachers’ area in the transept, when two shadows fall upon me.

“Oh, my dear Sir Eric, will you look at that?” the tall, flat-chested woman says in a cringeworthy voice. “I believe we’ve found the half-breed.”

The pigeon-like man darts his head left and right, as if pecking seeds out of thin air. “I told you it’d be easy to spot,” he says, watching me with globulous eyes.

My hands snap into fists at the insult, my blood pumping faster in my veins, when something sharp and heavy stabs my toes, and I repress a yell as Keva digs her heel into my foot.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Parcenet,” Keva says, standing up only to bow low to them.

I see the woman sneer at her unkempt appearance, but as Keva’s heel threatens to crush my metatarsals, I follow her example.

“Your Honors,” I mutter through gritted teeth.

Obviously disappointed at my lack of reaction, Lady Parcenet sniffs then turns away, the oghams around her collar throwing pinpoints of light around her like a disco ball.

With a warning glance in my direction, Arthur squeezes himself onto the KORT pew just as Father Tristan bows before the altar.

“I wish they’d just take the Sangraal and leave,” Keva says, upset at having missed her opportunity to shine before the Board members.

“Why do they even want to take it away?” I ask Keva. “If Arthur doesn’t like the idea, it means it must be dangerous. So why risk moving it?”

“Frankly, I don’t agree with your Arthur here,” Keva whispers back. “First off, we’ve already been attacked, then there’s the fact that there’s a spy in our midst, and Camaaloth’s got tons more fully-trained knights than we do. On top of that, it’s also got amazing vaults filled with all the weapons we’ve collected through the centuries. No Fey’s ever managed to get its hands on any of them, not when they’re locked inside a massive iron box with walls several feet thick.”

“Are you sure they didn’t lose Excalibur in their stack, if they’ve got so many weapons already?” I ask grumpily, still bristling at the accusations of theft thrown at my father regarding the sword.

“Believe you me, if they did, everyone would know about it, and it wouldn’t be locked away. Not when it can bring us victory against the Fey.” Keva pauses. “Well, as long as they have someone who can wield it,” she adds thoughtfully. “Some weapons are
so powerful, that they become too dangerous for us to use, and the last person we know of who could use Excalibur was your father.”

“You mean not just anyone can use the sword?” I ask. That’s the first time I’ve heard of such a thing.

Keva shakes her head. “Obviously we won’t know until we get it back, but chances are it’ll end up in the vaults like the other ones.”

“The other ones?” I ask as the choir hits the first notes of the
Gloria
. “There are other Excaliburs?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Keva says. “There’s only one Excalibur, the one your father took away. But it’s not the only highly powerful weapon out there. From what I’ve heard, we’ve got quite a collection of them down in our vaults, like the Sword of Air, and Ascalon—”

“They’ve got Saint George’s spear?” I exclaim, and I see Lady Parcenet’s head swivel around on her spindly neck toward me.

Keva elbows me in the ribs and we both drop our heads, pretending to be avidly listening to Father Tristan’s sermon.

“Let us remember the fate the Lord reserved for the King of Tyre, the devil himself,” Sir Tristan says, and I clench my teeth together in apprehension—it’s never a good sign when the name of Satan’s mentioned in my presence.