CHAPTER 14
he evening breeze is cold and whips at my hair. My horse, Dickinson, trots through the main street of a tiny village in the south of France,T not far from the veil. Gas lamps cast warm light over stone buildings lining a cobbled road. Around us, colorful wood shutters are closed to the night.
This morning, Raphael received an urgent signal. A contact in occupied Fey France sent word about a possible invasion into South France, but the detailed intel had to be delivered in person.
In enemy territory.
The other Sentinel is off on another mission and can’t be summoned back quickly enough. And that’s how I ended up here, staring at Raphael’s crisp white shirt and broad shoulders as he rides in front of me.
Two other agents flank him. On his right is a man named Arzel, with long, flowing black hair and pale skin. Arzel wears a hunter’s cap and a bow and quiver as part of his hunting disguise.
And on his other side is a demi-Fey woman named Freya, dressed in a Fey-style hunting jacket like mine, trousers, and tall boots. The moonlight streams over her bronze skin and wavy auburn hair. Like Arzel and me, she’s also armed with a bow.
Graceful and sophisticated as she looks, she spent the boat ride next to me, vomiting over the side. We are sisters in nausea now. The past twelve hours blended into a series of rushed, nerve-racking moments. It began with a quick briefing in Raphael’s office before the mission, then seven hours on a
boat, during which Freya and I bonded between heaves. After horseback riding through the south of France for two hours, we’re nearly at the veil, and nerves are making my heart race.
Up ahead, the three agents guide their horses past a fountain in a village square. The sound of the fountain’s burbling mingles with the buzz of the nearby veil. The closer we draw to it, the more nervous I become.
When we reach the end of the village, we guide our horses out into fields.
From here, I have a full view of the veil, and my heart speeds up. Sunflowers sway gently in the night breeze, bathed in the glow of the magical mist. At night, it shimmers like moonlight with an eerie violet tinge. So beautiful, so deadly.
Raphael pulls his mount to a halt and looks back at us. Beyond him, the fog swirls, and magic buzzes over my skin, raising the hair on the back of my neck. I still have no idea if I can control the veil in person like I did before.
What if that was a one-off?
My stomach flutters as Raphael’s gaze lands on me and he guides his horse closer. The shimmer of the veil sparks off the hilt of his sword. A wayward lock of dark hair falls before his eyes. “You understand your role here, right? Open the veil and nothing else,” he says quietly. “Wait just on the other side for us to return from Allevur.”
“I know.”
“Under no circumstances should you leave your spot. You must be ready to escape back through at any moment—with us, ideally, but without us, if necessary.”
“Raphael, I know. Do you honestly think I’d want to wander around occupied Fey France by myself?”
He studies my face carefully, and my cheeks heat with the intensity of his scrutiny.
At last, he says, “The glamour is remarkable.”
Serana was the one who glamoured me—that, it turned out, was her magical power. My irises had been glamoured to shimmer with golden flecks.
The spell left my eyes dry and stinging, and they keep tearing up. Serana also lengthened my ears, disguising me as a full-blooded Fey.
Raphael’s gaze brushes down my body, inspecting my disguise for any flaws. When he nods, I assume he approves of the tight trousers and riding boots, and the tight jacket that binds my ribs. I’ve also got a knife holstered around my thigh—used by the Fey to clean the deer they kill.
“Now, let’s try it one more time,” he says, then asks in Fey, “What are you doing here?”
I take a deep breath. “I’m part of a hunting party.”
“No hesitating. That little pause means you will die. Again. Why are you here?”
“We’re hunting,” I say again, this time rushing it. The Fey have excellent night vision. To them, a hunting party is a perfect night out. “There are four of us.”
“Don’t give more information than they ask for.” His silver eyes narrow.
“What are you hunting?”
“Red deer in the Broc Forest.”
“And your name?”
A short intake of breath. “Cyrania Gallowen.”
“You hesitated again. Now you’re hanging from the gallows or being
tortured in the dungeons.”
“Is this supposed to help me relax?”
“Where are the others in your hunting party?”
My heart races, as if this is a real interrogation. “I lost track of the rest when they went off chasing a deer. My old horse couldn’t keep up.”
Raphael frowns. “Fine. But avoid speaking at all if you can. Your accent
is still flawed.”
My nostrils flare.
He looks around us, scanning the field for activity. Seemingly satisfied, he guides his horse toward the veil. I follow after him, and the barrier’s immense power thrums and crackles over my skin.
My stomach drops. All of this suddenly seems like a huge mistake. I’m supposed to disable this huge wall of magic? At this point, I’ve done it once by accident in real time. Sure, in Raphael’s office, I can pretty consistently disarm the veil-in-a-box, but this isn’t a tiny little practice barrier.
This is the veil. The god of barriers.
If I lose control over my power, I could kill myself and everyone on my team.
My heart thuds hard against my ribs. Raphael is absolutely certain this mission is necessary—that we’re retrieving vital information that might save thousands of lives. But am I really the best option here?
Up ahead, the veil whorls, iridescent. The buzzing is so loud, it’s like a banshee screaming in my ear.
A few feet from the veil, Raphael halts his horse. I urge Dickinson forward and join him. Wisps of the veil whip around us.
“I do hope you’re ready,” he says.
“Of course I am,” I lie. “We’ve practiced this.”
He nods at the barrier. “Go on.”
I slide off Dickinson. Before me, the shimmering mist swirls, deadly and beautiful, stretching as far as the eye can see in both directions. This wall was woven by a group of powerful veil mages, and I feel the skill of their magic washing over me.
My heart races as I try to summon my magic. In Raphael’s office, I’ve discovered it has a slight warmth to it, like hot honey moving through my chest. I associate it with the color red. Sometimes, I see it in my mind.
But now, nothing is happening. No heating of magic, no silencing of the hum, no burst of red in my thoughts.
Raphael said we needed to be aware of our emotions and how they interact with magic. He thinks I need to suppress my emotions, but I’m not sure that’s what works for me. I think my emotions make it happen.
I glance at the three agents staring at me. Raphael’s expression is inscrutable, but the other two look worried and impatient. Freya is basically grimacing. Of course they’re panicking. They’re putting their lives in the hands of an untrained cadet who didn’t even know Camelot existed a few months ago.
I look again at Raphael’s perfect face and remember how he ghosted me.
How he couldn’t wait to get away from me. Isn’t she trash, though? She and
her mother.
Anger slides through my blood.
I turn back to the barrier and breathe. Doing the opposite of what Raphael taught me, I focus on my feelings. Even when he saw me in France, Raphael still thought I was just a champagne-swilling shit-show like Mom. Trash.
The veil still hums, stronger than ever.
All those feelings are layers. Thoughts that I disguise as emotions. I need something pure, raw. I peel the thoughts away, searching deeper. What do I feel?
I’m scared of failing—but I’m also scared of succeeding. I want to help fight the Fey. I want to help these people so that there’s actually a point to my life.
Not good enough. The barrier keeps humming. I shut my eyes, searching
even deeper, where my emotions are at their most visceral.
There’s a certain constant heat, a pulsing need that I can’t put into words.
An anger roiling beneath the surface.
I’m always the one who picks up the pieces. I take care of things when everyone falls apart around me. I live in the shadows, trying to make things go smoothly. And who comes to help me in the night when I’m sick and can’t breathe? When I’m calling for help, and there’s no answer?
The humming goes silent.
I open my eyes. “Now.” My voice is calm and commanding. I walk over to Dickinson, take his reins, and lead him through the silent veil. Seeing me move, the other three follow.
Together, we pass through the pearly mist of the veil, and I let out a long, slow breath. I close my eyes, inwardly thanking the gods. When I open my eyes again, we’re on the other side. Fields spread out around us, and a few abandoned, roofless houses dot the moonlit landscape.
I relax my hold, and the barrier begins to crackle and buzz again behind us. Cold runs through my blood, replacing the magic’s buzz, and ice slides through my bones. I hug myself, shivering, teeth chattering. This always happens after I use my magic.
“Well, that was bloody impressive.” Arzel smiles at me. “Well done, Nia.”
Shivering, I rub my hands together, trying to warm them. The air stings my cheeks. I mount Dickinson again, hoping that some of the horse’s heat will warm my body.
“We have to move.” Freya looks up at the sky. “We need to get to Allevur in a few hours, and we have a long way to go.”
“I’ll be here,” I mutter.
Raphael shakes his head. “No, this location is too exposed.” He points to a grove of trees on a hill. “There. You can take cover between the trees.
We’re heading that way. And we’ll be gone several hours, so that will provide some cover if it rains.”
The night wind whips at my hair as we ride toward a gently rolling hill and the grove at the top. In the distance, a darkened village looms in the shadows. Probably abandoned, like so many after the war. But if I remember correctly, there are some people who still live around here.
Just as we’re reaching the base of the hill, Raphael mutters, “Bollocks.”
My heart skips a beat. A group of horsemen gallops out of the grove
toward us, wearing the blue cloaks of Fey soldiers.
My first reflex is to turn my horse and ride away as quickly as possible, but that’s exactly the wrong impulse. We are, after all, prepared for exactly this kind of scenario. We’re just a group of Fey on a hunt. In my bag are forged papers declaring that my name is Cyrania Gallowen. As the border patrol nears, I repeat the name in my mind until it becomes a strange jumble of meaningless syllables.
“Good evening,” Raphael calls out in pristine Fey. He looks perfectly relaxed, smiling. “How goes the night?”
“It’s good enough,” the Fey in the lead says gruffly, scrutinizing us. His long ears poke through black hair, and his dark eyebrows are knitted together.
Flecks of copper dance in his eyes as he scans us. His uniform is slightly different than the rest—the buttons larger, three golden patches on his shoulder instead of two. The old Nia wouldn’t have even noticed it. But after a few weeks in Avalon Tower, I already know what it means. He is a sergeant, and he’s probably been in King Auberon’s army for decades. Full- blooded Fey live hundreds of years.
“My cousin was thinking of joining the army,” Raphael says, gesturing lazily at Arzel. “I told him that you don’t accept just anyone. That the king’s army has standards. Isn’t that right?”
“I’m old enough and large enough to join,” Arzel snaps.
Raphael snorts. “He is barely fifty and has never slept with a woman.”
Two of the other patrol officers smirk. The sergeant’s face, however, is stony. “The king’s army needs every volunteer at this time of trial to exterminate those without loyalty. We must protect ourselves from our enemies within and without. May his light shine brightly.”
His voice is deep and melodious. There’s something in it that sounds ancient, something that sends a shiver of dread up my spine.
“May his light shine brightly,” Raphael repeats.
The sergeant’s gaze flicks over us, taking in our outfits and weapons.
“Hunting?”
“With nothing to show for it so far,” Raphael says ruefully. “I don’t suppose you’ve spotted red deer?”
“And why would you be hunting with a sword, pray tell?” The sergeant prods his horse closer to us, his coppery eyes locked on Raphael.
“He can’t aim to save his life,” says Arzel with a yawn. “More risk of killing us than a deer. So we allow him to slit the deer’s throat after we catch
it. He does like to feel useful, poor chap.”
“I see.” The sergeant’s eyes flick to me. He stops as close to me as possible, leaning closer. His dark hair hangs down to a square jawline, giving his face a gaunt appearance. “I’ve been searching for demi-Fey vermin. You haven’t seen any, have you?”
Can he hear the way my heart is beating? Does he see the hairs on the back of my neck rising? He inspects me as if the glamour spell is slipping.
Does he know I’m demi-Fey?
“None at all,” Raphael says. “Thankfully.”
“You are a beauty,” the sergeant mutters to me. “A Fey rose.”
My eyebrows flick up with shock. What? I nervously smile, hiding my fear.
He bites his lip, looking me over. “Do you really want to spend such a glorious night with such tedious company?”
“My sister doesn’t speak much,” Raphael says. “She’s not very bright.
I’m afraid.”
“Is that right?” The sergeant leans in closer to me, a smile spreading on his face. “That’s fine with me. I like women who don’t talk a lot. What do you say? Want to join me on a little night patrol, just the two of us?”
I keep smiling, letting just a little of my nervousness show. I try to emulate Tana’s accent as I say, “That sounds wonderful, but I promised my brother I would stick with him. My father worries for me at night.”
His eyes flash with a hungry look. For a few seconds, he doesn’t respond, and I know that he spotted my accent. Panic crackles through my veins.
He sighs at last. “Your father is right. Such a pretty little thing should always have an escort. Bad people out here. Bad sort of men, so close to the border. Demi-Fey among them.”
“That’s why we have people like you,” I say demurely. “To protect us.”
“That’s right.”
“May his light shine brightly,” I say.
He blinks and nods. “May his light shine brightly.”
He rides off, and I let out a shaky breath. We ride on, trying to look casual.
Once they’re far enough, Arzel exhales. “That was close.”
“Too close,” Raphael says. He looks at me strangely. “You did well.
Your accent sounded much better.”
I let out a long, shaky breath. “Thanks.”
We ride into the grove of trees, and their gnarled branches arch over us, welcoming. In here, the moonlight flecks the mossy earth with silver.
Raphael turns to look at me, his eyes bright in the darkness. “No matter what, stay hidden until we return. If we’re not back by sunrise, go back through the veil.”
