CHAPTER 35
y heart batters my ribs as my eyes slowly adjust to the pale moonlight streaming in through stained-glass windows.M “Did I win?” My voice echoes off the high stone ceiling. “Did I get here first?”
He steps into the aisle, his golden eyes glowing. As my eyes adjust, I can see the smile on his lips. He thinks I’m his first prey of the day, a dumb cadet jumping headfirst into the trap. I take two steps toward him.
“Do you have the sword?” I ask eagerly. “Do I need to, like, give you a password or something?”
He’s holding the Excalibur replica but not handing it to me. Instead, he raises his hand and whispers an incantation. The hum intensifies as tendrils of
veil shimmer into existence around me.
But I’ve been expecting it.
Unleashing my banked powers, I lash out at the newly formed veil, shattering it. The hum goes silent, and the veil mage stumbles, shocked. He drops the sword, and it clatters to the stone floor.
I lunge for him, gripping the horseshoe that I’d palmed a few minutes ago, and smash him in the nose, hearing the crunch of bone. He shrieks, the sound echoing off the towering vaults, and stumbles back, still screaming.
The air smells of burned flesh.
I am so glad I don’t have that reaction to iron.
Without wasting another breath, I rush for him and press the horseshoe onto his cheek. He screeches, trying to pull my hand away in panic, but I only
press harder. With the metal on his skin, he’s growing weaker.
He falls into the aisle. I leap on top of him, shoving the iron against his face. A disturbing sizzling sound rises from his skin, and I ignore the growing nausea in my gut.
We keep struggling. He never stops screaming, scratching ineffectively at my face and hands. My jaws are clenched in fury, my arm trembling with effort.
And then he goes still. His arms drop, and the screaming stops.
Is he faking it? If I release him, will he leap up and stab me? Wheezing, I keep the iron pressed against him, grinding that horseshoe into his face. Is he breathing?
The wood door slams open behind me, and powerful hands lift me off the mage. I whirl, ready to strike with the horseshoe again, and see Raphael’s beautiful face staring down at me. He grabs my horseshoe-wielding arm, stopping me from battering him with it.
“Take it easy,” he says. “I don’t think he’s getting up again, and I’d rather not get smashed with that.”
I let out a shuddering breath, suddenly dizzy. Raphael slips his arm around my waist to steady me.
Nivene rushes in at last, her scarlet hair damp with sweat. Chest heaving, she runs down the aisle and crouches by the veil mage. “Definitely dead,” she says after a moment.
I feel sick to my stomach. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I realize that I’ve taken a life for the very first time. I had to do it, of course, but it feels as if I’ve taken a step over a threshold I never imagined myself crossing.
Wrythe steps into the nave. “What is this?” His voice echoes off of the stone arches.
“You…should…have…listened to me,” Nivene pants, still catching her breath. She must have jumped out of the cab at some point and just sprinted here.
Tarquin appears in the church doorway. “She bribed someone to distract us. That’s not allowed, is it? Bloody bribery?”
Raphael turns to face him. “Piss off, Tarquin. You’re not needed here.”
“I want credit for getting here first!” Tarquin shouts.
Nivene turns around and slams the door in Tarquin’s face, a muffled yelp accompanying the loud thud.
Raphael abruptly pulls his arm from me and rakes a hand through his
hair. The moonlight casts a silver glow over his perfect features, sparking in his eyes. “Report, Melisende.”
It’s been six months since he’d first demanded my report back on the ship with the refugees. I still remember the muddled report I gave him back then.
And he still makes me feel a surge of confusing emotions, especially since he’s gone into knight mode, calling me “Melisende.”
Of course, I knew he was like this, didn’t I?
I manage to recount the events that led to this moment with all the relevant details. As I go through it, Nivene, Wrythe, and Raphael listen without saying a word.
When I’m finally done, Raphael turns to Wrythe. “Well?”
Wrythe looks at him with disdain. “Well, what?”
“Nia and Nivene warned you that the trial was a trap. Why didn’t you postpone it?”
“They gave no evidence. I can’t entertain every hysterical worry that goes through someone’s head just because they sense something. My wife senses impending doom ten times a day. She sensed that she was having a heart attack yesterday. And do you know what it was? Nerves. That’s all. Ten hours in the emergency room for her nerves. And do you know what else? It was completely outrageous for Ms. Melisende to take him on without a knight. As soon as she saw the veil mage, she should have turned back and found someone more experienced. Then, with actual proof, with data, I would have canceled the trial. We could have captured this assassin and interrogated him instead of just killing him. But she went after him alone, risking the lives of everyone involved, in the desperate hope that I would revoke her expulsion. And now, a valuable source of intel is dead.”
“You gibbering wank stain,” mutters Nivene, low enough that I can just barely hear it.
“Her expulsion?” Raphael repeats in a low, incredulous voice.
Wrythe narrows his eyes at me. “I intended to kick her out of Avalon Tower for insubordination, and I’m still fairly certain it’s the right call. But I suspect the other knights of the Round Table will be difficult about it. And given the circumstances, I’m willing to give her one final chance.”
I reach down and pluck the replica sword from the stone floor. If I had Nivene’s knack for politics, I would tell Wrythe what I really thought of him.
Instead, I give him a curt nod. “Cheers, then.”
“We will obviously need to reschedule the shadow trial.” Wrythe sighs.
“Ms. Melisende can do it properly with the rest of the cadets.”
“No,” Raphael says.
Wrythe frowns at him. “Right. You think she should be expelled after all?”
“She won’t do the shadow trial again. She’s shown her leadership by sending cadets to call for backup,” Raphael says. “She followed an enemy agent through the fair without being noticed. Then she managed to delay two Pendragon cadets and arm herself with an improvised weapon. She finally ambushed a powerful enemy agent and took him down. Not to mention that she got her hands on the Excalibur replica, which was the trial’s goal, one that’s supposed to guarantee the highest marks. She not only passed the trial, she deserves the highest score for it, according to the rules we set out.”
Wrythe lifts his chin. “I recognize that you are a knight of the Round Table, but this is obvious favoritism. What, exactly, is the source of this favoritism, I wonder?”
“I’m sure you will agree,” Raphael adds smoothly, “that when we report this to the rest of the knights at the Round Table, we can leave out the part where both Sentinels tried to warn you about the assassin, and you dismissed them as hysterical women because you were annoyed with your wife.”
Wrythe clenches his jaw in fury. Finally, he says, “If she hadn’t maliciously bribed someone to waylay Tarquin, he would have arrived here first. At the very least, he deserves the highest score as well. A tie.”
Raphael lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.”
“Tana, Darius, and Serana should be given a high score, too,” I say.
“They managed to get the backup we needed.”
Wrythe frowns at me. “I’m willing to give them a passing grade, but this isn’t a free-for-all, Ms. Melisende. We have protocols and procedures in Avalon Tower. Protocols decided at the sacred Round Table.”
“Bunch of bollocks,” Nivene says. “Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.”
“Passing scores will be fine,” Raphael intervenes, giving us both a warning glare. “I’ll see if they want to retake the trial or if they’re fine with a passing grade. And that’s it. We’re done here.”
“We are done here, Mr. Launcelot,” Wrythe says, “but we’re not done with the trials. In time, no doubt, we will see who truly belongs here and who does not.”
