Rise of the Fey (37 page)

I silently crack the door open and find myself face to face with Agravain, the knight’s blue eyes intense despite his relaxed posture. Standing before him is Arthur, looking ready to pounce on him and punch his teeth out.

“This isn’t an unprecedented event,” Arthur retorts. “When our order was founded, we neither had Excalibur, nor the Sangraal, nor did anybody know how to use oghams for that matter. Yet that did not prevent us from winning battles.”

“Back then, knights were great warriors,” Agravain says, “not kids playing sword games.”

“What are you saying, Agravain?”

“I’m saying that it’s long past time you gave up your hold on KORT and the rest of the school,” Agravain says. “We need to run this place with an iron fist, to return our knights to their previous standards instead of churning out a bunch of sissies. That’s why we keep being decimated in every battle.”

Now
I
really want to punch his teeth out. Hasn’t he noticed how hard Arthur works to keep us all safe?

“Are you saying I should let the Board take over?” Arthur asks.

“They certainly have more experience than you do in matters of war,” Agravain answers.

Arthur barks out a laugh. “You fool,” he says. “If you leave Lake High to the Board, the balance we’ve maintained over the years will be completely wiped out. They don’t care about our original mission to keep the peace and protect the innocent.”

“The innocent don’t include any Fey, Arthur,” Agravain retorts. “I don’t see what’s so wrong about bringing all of Avalon down, even if it means no more Lake High.”

“Do you honestly believe the Board doesn’t want anything Fey to exist anymore?” Arthur asks. “All they care about is preserving their own power, using all means necessary, even if it’s Fey. So don’t delude yourself, Agravain. They just want to keep doing what they’ve always done, and they don’t mind using kids, as you call us, to do their dirty deeds while they stay inside the comfort of their own rooms.

“But I won’t let them use us as cannon fodder. I will make them give us troops to defend Lake High, no matter the cost, and I will find a way to make a truce with the Fey!”

I can almost hear Agravain grinding his teeth. “Not everyone at Camaaloth wants to keep the status quo, Arthur,” he spits at last. “Trust me. You better kiss your little world goodbye, because it will soon be gone, and so will your crazy fiancée and that pet demon of yours.”

Agravain turns sharply on his heels then marches away.

“Pack our bags,” Arthur says curtly as Agravain disappears around the corner, “we’re going to Camaaloth.”

I nod, hiding my face from him, for despite what’s been happening, I can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement—I’m finally going to find out the whole truth about my father!

The plane starts its slow descent over Lake Geneva’s western point, having just passed the snow-covered French Alps. Somewhere on the other side of the lake is my old school, and I catch myself wondering what Sister Marie-Clémence would think if she knew I was back.

“Will you stop kicking my seat?” Arthur asks, turning around to glare at Percy.

“Why couldn’t Blanchefleur come along?” Percy asks with a pout.

“Because,” Arthur says, drawing in air loudly through his nose, “she doesn’t
like
planes.”

Percy leans forward and sticks his head in between Arthur’s and my seat. “But she’s supposed to be Morgan’s bodyguard,” he whispers. “Her not bein’ here means she’s shirkin’ her responsibilities, if ya ask me.”

“Nobody asked you,” Arthur says. “Now sit back and stop bugging me.”

I lean against the cold window, watching the grey clouds thick with snow stream past us. If that one had a longer tail, it would look like a dragon. I flick my index finger down like a painter would on her canvas. To my surprise, I see the cloud follow my movement a split second later.

I straighten up in my seat, looking back. Yep, the cloud definitely looks like a dragon now. I stare at my finger. Did I really just do that? I point at another cloud and, biting on my lower lip in concentration, I retrace its outline, making it a little rounder on one end, then adding two pretty little ears.

I giggle. “Look, it’s a rabbit!” I tell Arthur, drawing his attention to my piece of art.

“That’s nice,” Arthur says distractedly before looking back behind him. “Percy! What did I say about my seat?”

“She’ll be waitin’ at the airport though, right?” I hear Percy ask as I go back to my cloud-sculpting.

Being part Fey does have its perks, it seems, especially when one’s bored. By the time the plane doubles back over the lake to head for the airport, the whole sky looks like a fluffy zoo, and I smile at my masterpiece proudly.

“Look mommy, the hippo’s going to go boom,” I hear a kid say a few seats up from me.

“That’s right,” I whisper happily to myself, “the hippo’s about to go—what?”

I jerk closer to the window to scan the clouds and grow still with worry as the hippo’s butt balloons to engulf the dragon’s head. Strong winds whip around the rabbit and the hedgehog next to it, merging them together in some deformed monster, bolts of lightning illuminating its growing belly from the inside.

My cute sculptures have turned into the terrifying picture of an evil scientific experiment gone wrong.

The plane takes a sudden dive and someone at the back screams.

A woman’s voice crackles overhead. “This is your captain. We’ve hit some unforeseen turbulence. Please remain securely seated until we land. Flight staff, prepare for landing, this is going to be a bumpy ride.”

“You don’t think it’s them, do you?” Percy asks, sticking his head in between our seats again.

Arthur throws me a quick look. “No,” he says, his brow deeply furrowed as I clutch at my armrests, horrified at what I’ve done.

Arthur grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly. “It’ll be alright,” he says calmly, “just let it be and breathe.”

“Maybe I can stop it,” I say.

“Don’t,” Arthur says. “You’ll only make things worse. Even fully-trained knights with years of experience have to be very careful when dealing with the weather. It’s one of the hardest things to control, and oftentimes all they can do is try to minimize the damage.”

My stomach seems to jump into my mouth as the plane takes another sharp dive.

“So there’s people who do this on a regular basis?” I ask through clenched teeth.

I’m probably crushing Arthur’s metacarpals by now, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“I know we’re in a plane an’ all,” Percy says, his face popping next to ours again, “but ain’t feelin’ too good without my toad stabber
³²
.”

“You have your oghams on you,” Arthur retorts.

“Yeah, but what about the rest of our traps?” Percy asks. “In case ya haven’t noticed, our oghams aren’t exactly cooperatin’ these days.”

“I had noticed,” Arthur says, his patience fraying quickly now, “which is why I offered you to stay behind.”

“I wasn’t gonna stay behind when my future rib
³³
’s headin’ over to H.Q.,” Percy retorts.

“I doubt Blanchefleur’s coming so you can flirt with her,” Arthur says.

“You don’t think this is a welcome present from my sweetheart then?” Percy asks, motioning towards the window.

By way of answer, Arthur pushes Percy’s face back. Sweat pools at my temples now as we lurch forward. Lightning flashes, illuminating the whole cabin in stark white, immediately followed by the thunder’s deafening
boom
.

Then the plane hits the ground, bouncing a few times before coming to a rolling stop.

There’s a second of silence as the passengers take in the fact that we’re still alive, then everyone bursts out clapping and I feel Arthur’s hand relax around mine.

“See?” he says, looking rather pale. “Everything’s fine.”

“I think I need a barf bag,” I say, promising myself never to play with the weather again.

To Percy’s greatest happiness, a disgruntled and highly jumpy Blanchefleur is waiting for us outside of baggage claim. I look about us nervously—the last time I was at this airport was with Dean, having just been accused of murder, and I expect to see the inspector waiting for me at every corner, just as he promised.

“G’day, sweetheart,” Percy tells the Fey warrior.

“We better get going,” Blanchefleur says, glaring at a businessman ogling her. “This storm’s not right.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says while I feel myself blush to the roots of my hair, “Morgan had a little fun earlier.”

Percy and Blanchefleur eye me—he in mock betrayal, and she appraisingly.

“Ya coul’ve gotten us killed,” Percy says, drawing a number of curious looks from other travelers.

“It seems your control has gotten better,” Blanchefleur says instead, and I stare at her in surprise. “Lugh will be pleased to hear it.”

“Will he be coming?” Arthur asks as we head outside towards a waiting limousine.

Blanchefleur nods, her lips pinched in disapproval. “When the time is right, you know how to contact him.”

Percy beats the driver to the punch and opens the door for us. “Milady,” he says, bowing towards Blanchefleur.

But she barely spares him a glance, and turns to me. “You still ought to be careful,” she says. “The more activity you cause, the more traceable you become.”

Above the airport, the sky still looks pissed, attempting to skewer things left and right with its thunderbolts, and I hunch my shoulders, contrite.

“I will meet you at your headquarters,” Blanchefleur says.

And, ignoring a disappointed Percy, she strides off towards the footbridge that spans the wide, car-filled road, and leads to a patch of snow-covered trees.

The ride is spent in utter silence, or it would be if it weren’t for Percy talking our ears off about how miserable Blanchefleur must be for not being with him. Finally, as we head north, leaving Geneva behind, I look about us curiously.

“I thought Camaaloth was in the city,” I say.

Percy laughs. “Really? That’s sweet.”

“It would have been too dangerous,” Arthur says, “for lay people and for us.”

“Plus we don’t wanna blow our cover,” Percy adds. His face splits into a wide smile as our car finally slows down before a heavily-gated building. “She’s here!”

Percy opens the door and jumps out without giving the car a chance to stop, rolls onto the snow, then comes bounding up to stand before Blanchefleur. I would find the scene comical if it weren’t for Percy’s look of utter admiration.

“He really likes her, doesn’t he?” I ask.

Arthur shrugs. “It’s Percy. He’s never been known to follow the norm.”

A twinge of worry pinches my heart. “That’s not going to make things easy for him, is it?”

“It’s his life, he does what he wants with it,” Arthur replies.

“And you don’t mind that she’s one of those you’re trying to enslave?” I ask.

“It’s high time for us to put our childish prejudices away,” Arthur says, staring gloomily at Camaaloth.

From the outside, our Order’s headquarters look like any regular, peaceful country club—if by regular and peaceful you include gated access, guards at every door, and people dressed in strange clothes walking in and out of the place with dangerous don’t-bother-me-or-I’ll-sock-you airs.

Inside the massive entrance hall, any pretend air of cute Swiss vacation spot has been tossed away to make room for an intense-looking security check zone decked out with all the latest high-tech gadgets. Except, I soon realize, that these high-tech gadgets are actually Fey-powered.

“What are they doing?” I ask as we join the end of a long line.

“Making sure you’re not bringing in any unregistered weapons,” Arthur says.

“Good thing you guys didn’t bring your swords, huh?” I say, nudging Percy in the ribs.

But for once Percy doesn’t crack a smile. “It’s our oghams they check,” he says.

He casts a worried look at Blanchefleur then steps protectively close to her, despite being nearly half her size.

“Don’t worry about me, human,” Blanchefleur says. She flexes her fingers, as if itching for a fight. “I can very well take care of myself.”

We move quickly to the front of the line and I watch curiously as the woman before us places her luggage on the conveyor belt. The large trunks and suitcases are whisked from view under a wide, rectangular metal box covered in oghams that light up in changing patterns.