CHAPTER 20
hree months later.T
THERE’S ALWAYS a moment when I aim an arrow where everything but the target fades away. Here, in the combat hall, I forget the wooden beams inset into whitewashed walls and the charming crookedness of the hardwood floors. I forget the soaring timber-frame ceiling, the towering windows that cast bright sunlight onto a room full of cadets. I can no longer hear the swords clash as they practice, or the twanging of their bows. I block out the towering portrait of Merlin that hangs over the hall, watching over all of us.
I clear my mind of the graffiti people keep leaving on my door: the words public bus painted in bright reds and blues.
My thoughts go quiet, and the constant hum of worries dims, the fear that Mom has lit another sofa on fire or met another terrible man. I’m not thinking of Raphael or the way his muscular body felt wrapped around me all those months ago.
There’s nothing but the bloodred circle in the center of the target like an apple of Avalon.
When I release the arrow, everything comes roaring back, all the sounds of the training hall, the chattering of thoughts in my skull.
It turns out I’m not a bad shot. I might even be quite good.
I raise the bow again and shoot one arrow after the next. Viviane paces around us, criticizing mistakes she sees. When she walks past me, she stops,
watching.
My focus narrows again, and I forget she’s there. The noise dims to a low hush. Sunlight streams onto the target.
I loose an arrow, and it thwacks into the red circle, the shaft quivering.
Viviane lets out a grunt—probably the closest she can come to complimenting me. Ever since we returned from that ambush in France three months ago, her attitude toward me has slightly shifted. She’ll still point out every mistake I make, but she has at least stopped treating me as a mistake.
And I suppose by now I’ve proven my loyalty.
Baby steps, I guess.
I glance sideways at Serana, who’s training against a man with long brown hair named Loic. He wields an enormous sword, swinging it with both hands. Serana’s dagger looks tiny in comparison, but she’s holding her own.
She darts in closer, her flame-red hair flying as she moves. Loic tries to strike, but he’s got the angle wrong. She grips his wrist, twisting his entire arm behind his back. He drops his sword, and Serana turns to wink at me.
She can’t wait to get out in the field. I’ve been on three more missions in the past few months, and each time, she grills me afterwards, desperate for a chance of her own. She wants to know every single detail.
Not that I have much to say. Unlike the first mission, I usually just hang around the veil, waiting for the real agents to return. Since then, there’s been no more leaping onto trains or lying half-naked in bed with Raphael.
I reach behind my back to draw another arrow from the quiver. The sounds of the hall dim to a quiet hum as I set the arrow to the bow string.
With a practiced motion, I pull the string back, eying the target.
As I release the arrow, someone slams into my back, jarring my elbow. A voice screams in my mind, Trying to act like a real agent, you grotesque whore? Nia Melisende—everyone gets a cheap ride.
The arrow flies off target, lodging into the wall not far from Darius. He jumps sideways in alarm, holding up his hands, and stares at me with a
shocked expression.
I grimace. “Sorry.”
Someone tuts behind me, and I know who it is before I turn. Tarquin smirks at me, and Horatio, his cheeks red, is biting his lip like he’s trying not to smile.
“Don’t you have some serfs to harass or something?” I say. “I’m trying to work here.”
There’s still an echo in my mind from his thoughts, calling me a grotesque whore. My telepathy, like my other powers, is erratic, but it seems to happen only when I touch someone. Or, in Tarquin’s case, when he touches me, since I would never do that on purpose.
“It was an accident, you lunatic,” Tarquin says. “Anyway, if you can’t shoot straight when someone gives you a little nudge, you won’t be much good in the field, will you? Perhaps you would have been better suited to trying to sleep your way to the top back in America instead of here.” His voice keeps growing louder, echoing off the hall.
The hall falls silent, and everyone turns to stare at us. I bite down on my tongue so I don’t say anything that will get me kicked out.
“Or rather,” he goes on at full volume, “Wasn’t that your mother’s plan?
Passed along from one man to another until her allure faded, and she descended into destitution and coke-addled inebriety. I looked her up. So sad, really.” He turns to the hall, grinning broadly. “Cocaine is expensive for someone like her, isn’t it? Someone without a real job? I wonder how she funds her habit, living in her sad little rotten apartment. Have you seen the state of her teeth these days, though? Honestly, is it any wonder her daughter is desperately trying to shag her way up the ladder halfway across the world?
Do you know what they called Nia back in LA? Slapper Melisende.”
“That’s not even American slang,” I mutter. Nor was it alliterative.
Horatio guffaws. “I heard her nickname was Nia Shag.”
“Lady Melisende the cock-hungry minx,” Tarquin bellows.
The eyes of the other cadets burn into me.
Blood rushes to my face, and I’m about to lunge for him when a hand clamps around my bicep. Serana’s grip is iron. “Calm yourself, Nia,” she says. “Don’t take his bait.”
“You don’t really want to come after a Pendragon, do you?” Tarquin asks in a mocking tone. “Wouldn’t be very clever of you, considering we founded this place.”
“Aw, poor Tarquin, so frustrated,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual.
“I’ve been on four missions at this point. And you…how many missions have you been on? Zero?” I wrinkle my nose in pretended sympathy. “It’s zero, isn’t it? The amount that you’ve contributed to the academy so far, just to be clear. Zero.”
He snorts in disdain, but his fists clench as my barb hits home. “You’re just the transportation. You don’t really belong here.”
“Tarquin,” Serana says quietly, “if I see you get near Nia again, I’ll sneak into your room in the middle of the night and cut off your bollocks with a rusty knife.”
He narrows his eyes at her. “Are you threatening me?”
“Threatening?” Serana draws back in mock surprise. “I’m just telling you what Tana saw in her cards. Isn’t that right, Tana?”
Tana wanders over, her expression serene. “That’s right.” Her voice sounds dreamy. “Both balls, in the middle of the night. There’s a lot of blood.” She closes her eyes, inhaling with a faint smile. “I can see it even now. And the screaming…”
Tarquin’s face grows pale. Everyone knows about the accuracy of Tana’s predictions, and when her voice floats like that, it sounds downright eerie.
“Bloody witch,” he snarls. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, Horatio. We should have never let the mongrels in. It’s like we willingly let the barbarians into Rome, you know?” He turns and stalks out the hall.
The training session is nearly over now, and a small crowd is staring at us. My mouth is dry. What sort of person would investigate someone’s mother in another country just to insult them? Absolute asshole.
Serana is still gripping my bicep tightly.
“You can let go now,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Right.” She releases my arm.
Tana sighs. “It would have ended badly if Serana hadn’t stopped you.”
Shaking with anger, I turn to collect my arrows. I breathe slowly, deeply.
I have no doubt that Tarquin will tell everyone about Mom. And as I’ve just received a rambling letter from her, I’m trying not to think of her at all. I’m already eaten up with guilt at the thought of abandoning her, and from her unhinged scrawl, it’s clear she isn’t doing well. She’s furious with me for leaving her. In fact, she doesn’t sound much kinder than Tarquin at this point.
I slide the bow and arrows back into the rack. When I turn, the hall has mostly emptied. Serana and Tana are waiting for me by the large, arched doorway.
My mind is roiling as I cross back to them.
“If I don’t eat soon,” says Serana, “I’m going to end up charging after Tarquin and rage-killing him myself.”
We have twenty minutes until the next lesson. Serana is always famished between classes, so I’ve started making cheese and chutney sandwiches to keep her from getting cranky. “I’ve got you covered,” I say.
I’m lost in a haze of worries as the three of us trudge down the stairs through the shadowy halls, but once we get outside, the bright midsummer sun warms my skin and calms my mood. Buttery summer light ignites the leaves of apple trees, and little baby apples hang from their branches.
The three of us cross the grass, which is dappled with forget-me-nots and primroses. I subtly scan our surroundings, trying to take in everything and everyone around me. It’s a habit we’re all supposed to develop. Something draws my attention, a strange tug, and I notice a tall woman with cherry red hair frowning at me. She turns and strides away, and I wonder who she is.
Not one of the instructors or the regular staff, but she looked interested in me for some reason.
Tana sits beneath an apple tree, and we join her. I reach into my leather bag and pull out three sandwiches wrapped in wax paper.
Serana accepts my offering with a flutter of her eyelashes. “Thank you, darling. You are good at looking after me.”
I smile at her. “Okay. Let’s practice. How many people are behind you, and what are they wearing?”
She purses her lips as she concentrates. This is an exercise we’ve been working on for a while. Spies should always be aware of everything around them and take in every little detail, even when they look relaxed. A spy who doesn’t notice they’re being followed is a dead spy. Or caught—and everyone knows that being captured by the Fey is worse than death.
“Six people,” she says. “Gisela and Oren by the statue. She’s wearing a blue gossamer dress, and he’s wearing those leather trousers that look far too tight, the same ones he wears every day. There are four demi-Fey women on the bench on the other side of the pond, all in dresses, two green, one purple, and one gold.”
“Good, but it’s not purple. It’s more of a periwinkle gray,” I say.
She glances over her shoulder. “Aw, right. But I was right about the rest.”
“Those really are tight trousers.”
“Who’s behind you, and what are they doing?” Serana asks me in return.
I shut my eyes, trying to picture what I’d seen. “Gael, Penelope, and Horace are standing by the old gravestones, the ones with the winged skulls.
Gael is holding a mauve book and lecturing them about poetry.” I open my eyes.
Serana raises an eyebrow. “You can’t possibly hear what he’s saying.”
“But he’s talking, and he’s wearing that pretentious expression of his, and
Penelope is looking at him all doe-eyed,” I say. “That only happens when
he’s reading verse.”
Tana laughs.
“All right,” Serana says. “Now, which of them is carrying a weapon?”
I bite my lower lip, picturing it again. “Penelope is. Slight bulge in her
boot. She has a shiv hidden there.”
“Well done.”
We both look at Tana.
She sighs. “Oh, please, don’t.”
“You need to master this for the Culling.” I say this as gently as possible.
I’ve come to learn that underneath Tana’s serene exterior, she’s a worrier.
“You’ve got this. I know you can do it, Tana.”
But the truth is, I’m not sure I believe what I’m saying. The Culling is only six weeks away. They’ll test our endurance, our fighting abilities, our spycraft. And they’ll test my magical abilities. A cadet who doesn’t do well on the tests is removed from the academy. Occasionally, they leave grievously injured—or not at all.
The Culling is brutal. Avalon Tower can’t risk sending out mediocre agents. If a spy gets caught during a mission, the consequences could be disastrous for all of MI-13. A captured spy could spill every secret we have.
Serana can barely pronounce Fey words. I can still barely control my powers. Meanwhile, Tana is having a serious problem with being aware of her surroundings. Even if she can easily see what’s around her, she gets confused by when it’s happening.
“Um…” She hesitates. “There’s a…man behind me? He’s wearing a blue tunic? He’s smoking a pipe.”
I look over her shoulder. A man is lying in the grass in a velvet waistcoat, reading a book. “Can you tell me more?”
“Well…he looks like the man from the painting in the dining hall. The famous bard, with the long beard…oh”—she deflates—“he is that poet.”
“Taliesin?” Serana asks. “He’s been dead for over a thousand years.”
“Well, he was right behind me fifteen hundred years ago.” Tana sighs.
“This is hopeless.”
“You’ll get there.” My chest clenches with guilt at the lie. I’m not sure Tana will get there.
“What about your telepathy?” Serana asks. “Have you been able to get rid of it?”
“It’s going great!” I say brightly. “No worries at all.”
Tana cocks her head. “She’s doing the thing.”
“Definitely doing the thing,” Serana agrees.
I bristle defensively. “What thing?”
“Your voice gets higher and cracks a bit when you lie,” Serana says.
“When you’re telling people whatever they want to hear.”
Tana wrinkles her nose. “Which you do a lot.”
My chest tightens. “So, not only am I vexed with diametric magic, but I’m also a terrible liar. Not the best qualities for a spy, are they?”
Serana grimaces. “You’re still hearing thoughts, then?”
“Only when they’re really loud, and I have to be touching someone.”
“When are thoughts loud?” Serana arches an eyebrow.
“High-intensity emotions.”
“Is it really that bad?” she asks. “Having two powers seems useful for an agent.”
“Don’t you remember what Wrythe said about them in class?” I ask.
Tana looks up at the sky and imitates Wrythe’s pompous voice. “In the Fey realm, those with diametric magic are treated with contempt, as they usually are driven mad. They become dangerous and deranged, ravening idiots who will attempt to feast on humans and Fey alike. Cannibals.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Exactly. And Mordred Kingslayer had diametric magic. He traveled across the lake from Avalon, broke into the castle, and slaughtered Arthur and everyone in Lothian Tower as they slept. I don’t know if he ate people. He probably did.”
Serana’s eyes open wide. “In the very tower where we sleep? I had no idea it happened in Lothian.”
Tana doesn’t look surprised at all. She’s probably seen all this in her visions.
“Yeah,” I say. “I read about it in the cadets’ library. After Mordred and the war with Morgan, they kicked all the Fey out of Avalon Tower for over fifteen centuries. At least, until they really needed us, but clearly, the Pendragons still aren’t thrilled about it. And they’re certainly not going to take any chances with another mad mongrel. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not popular with them at all. If they learn the truth about me, they’ll call me the next Mordred.”
Serana frowns. “But Raphael doesn’t think it’s a problem?”
“Only because he’s desperate for a Sentinel.” I bite my lip. “And maybe
I’ve led him to believe I’ve suppressed my telepathy a bit more than I actually have.”
“Bloody hell,” says Serana. “Please don’t devour me in my sleep.”
Tana takes a deep breath and holds out her hand. “What am I thinking right now?”
I stare at her. “I’m not supposed to be using that power, Tana. I just
explained that.”
“Please,” she whispers.
Surprised at the desperation in her voice, I take her palm.
As I hold her hand, I can feel her thoughts blooming in my mind. But Tana doesn’t think in words, like most people. She thinks in images and feelings and emotions and— “Darkness.” My voice is hoarse, and a cold chill settles in my bones.
“Death. It’s coming…something is coming, and it’s going to destroy everything in its path. There’s a single drop of clear blue water, and it’s being swallowed—” I yank my hand away, desperate to turn off the horror. “Gods.”
I somehow feel angry, though I’m not sure at what. “What was that? Is this what you feel all the time?”
I’ve never seen her with such a grim expression before. “Yes, for the past few days. The future is getting darker. Something terrible is coming for us all. And I think we’re going to die.”
A cold shudder traces up my spine. Overhead, the sky seems to cloud over.
“There was a little drop of water,” I say. “Magical, somehow. Something that might hold off the death. Then a glassy clearness, like the surface of a lake. Moonlight glinting off it. But the shadows are trying to smother it, devour it.”
Tana’s stare is unwavering. “Oh, that’s you. The glassy lake.”
I blink at here. “I’m the what, now?”
“To stop the encroaching death, we need you.”
“Because of my Sentinel powers?”
“We don’t need a Sentinel. We need you. The Lady of the Lake. Do you know there hasn’t been one in thousands of years? Not since Nimuë. And things didn’t turn out well, did they, after what she did to Merlin.” Tana smiles brightly. “But I think it’s you. I keep seeing you in Nimuë’s Tower.”
She grips my arm. “You must pass the Culling. You need to stay in Camelot.
And you absolutely cannot get kicked out or culled, or we are all fucked.”
I’ve never heard her swear before, and she does it with a sharp vitriol that surprises me.
“What happens if she does get kicked out?” Serana asks.
Tana shrugs, and her dark gaze flicks up to the clouds. “The future isn’t easy to understand. All I managed to glean from my visions and the cards is that Nia has to stay at Avalon Tower and join MI-13.” Her gaze sharpens and lands on me again. “So you cannot fight with Tarquin. He’s consciously trying to get you expelled. He’s baiting you. If you lose your temper with him, his family will have you tossed out of Camelot. And then, I’m fairly certain we’ll all die. Horrible, lonely deaths full of despair and regret.”
I swallow. “Oh. Well, no pressure, then.”
“And you cannot let anyone know about your diametric magic,” Tana says emphatically. “Or the world ends. At least for us, but possibly for everyone.”
“We can tell everyone about your vision,” Serana said. “They’ll listen to you. We’ll go to Sir Launcelot or Viviane and—”
“No!” Tana snaps. “You can’t tell anyone. If you tell them, they’ll try to keep Nia in a bubble, hidden from the Fey king. They won’t let the Lady of the Lake out of Camelot, and we need her out there. We need her to go on missions. Learning. Fighting for us. We need Nia.”
My pulse starts to race. “Hang on. What do you mean, keep me hidden from the Fey king? He has no idea who I am.”
“Oh, he’ll know.” Tana glances at the gathering clouds again. “The Fey have psychics of their own. They will see what I see, eventually. The Lady of the Lake. And when they do, they’ll try to destroy you. But Nia, you cannot tell anyone what I just said. Not even Raphael.”
