CHAPTER 38
y cheeks are flushed with anger, and molten rage flows through my blood.M Amon is telling me something, perhaps explaining the terms of the trial, but I can’t hear him over the ringing in my ears.
And in any case, I don’t need instructions.
Wrythe interrupts Amon, bellowing an introduction. Something about how he’s the Seneschal, and it’s his job to protect us from getting our hopes up. That this test separates the chaff from the wheat, and clearly, I’m the chaff.
But all I’m really listening to is the screaming hiss of my own fury. I don’t think I like you very much, and I never have.
“The trial of the veil is about to begin,” Wrythe calls out. “Within the veil, we have placed a replica of Merlin’s wand. Ms. Melisende will have to —”
I move toward the veil before he even finishes and summon my magic, letting the red bloom, a furious cloud. Red, the color of wrath. As I move closer, I immediately see what Nivene was talking about. The shimmering energy strands that make up the veil are enmeshed so densely that I can’t see any points of weakness in the magic. Nothing thin or fragile. No place to channel my magic. This veil is a wall of death.
Raphael’s words are still echoing in my skull. This is all a game to you.
From what I can tell now, trash is a perfectly accurate description.
My heart hammers, a war drum.
Burning with rage, I pull at my magic, and it fuels the hot crimson inside me. I don’t bother searching for a weak spot. I hurl my magic at the veil, my teeth grinding together. To my right, the veil mage stumbles, then falls flat on his back. The buzz of the veil sputters and dies, and silence fills the hall. I hear only my own pounding pulse.
When the mist is completely silent and no longer buzzing over my skin, I stride inside.
Pearly white fog wraps around me. My foot kicks something, and I hear it spinning across the floor. I reach down for the wand and grip its gnarled wood.
I march out of the veil and toss it at Wrythe’s feet. It clatters noisily.
“There you go,” I say. “Your wand, sir.”
The veil mist slowly dissipates, and the mage seems to be unconscious.
A buzz of whispers fills the combat hall.
I hear little snatches of what they’re saying. “Did you see—”
“Didn’t even slow her down—”
“That veil mage just dropped—”
Wrythe stands, arms folded, glaring. His blond mustache twitches.
“I’m so, so disappointed to have to say this.” His voice booms across the hall. “But as Seneschal of this institution, I must protect you all. It is my job to shield you all from cheaters and liars. Clearly, Ms. Melisende has found a way to cheat. No one can simply step into a powerful veil like that without preparation. A veil this powerful takes time to dismantle. We all know that.
Of course, this is the risk we take when letting anyone in, regardless of background.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” I raise my own voice. “But maybe your veil mage sucks. Everyone connected to you is here by virtue of nepotism.”
His fingers twitch. “Do you really think I’d let a cadet get away with speaking to the Seneschal like that? And after what you just said to another knight?” he roars, looking for agreement around him. “We have protocols and procedures here. We have deference for those in superior positions. And at Avalon Tower, we do not cheat. So why don’t you tell me who you had helping you? Is it the other Sentinel? Nivene?”
Fury still burns through me from Raphael’s words. “I’m not a cadet anymore,” I say. “I just passed, and I’m an Agent of Camelot. This is not just a game to me, and despite what some of the knights might think, I belong here.”
He lunges forward. “As Seneschal, I’m saying you did not.”
He grabs my arm in fury. As I’m already thrumming with power, my telepathy engages at the sudden touch, connecting me to Wrythe’s mind.
Tendrils of violet spiral out from me, slipping into his thoughts. I get my first glimpse into Wrythe’s psyche.
What shocks me is how empty it is. Like a void.
Even when I read Tarquin’s mind, I could feel his belief and fear. He believed he was better than me, and under that, he was afraid he couldn’t prove it. He believed in his family and the importance of being a Pendragon, and needed to prove himself to them. And even though he’s a twat, he believed in taking down Auberon, that it’s important, and that without it, humanity will fall.
But Wrythe has none of that. He has no beliefs beyond his own desperation to climb up the rungs of power in MI-13. He wants to lead Avalon Tower simply because he craves power. He doesn’t care for the lives of the agents or the humans he’s supposed to protect. To my shock, he doesn’t even care about Tarquin or the rest of the Pendragons. The only reason he treats them differently is because of how they reflect on him, being his kin. He values their loyalty to him because it secures his position.
But there is only one real person in Wrythe’s mind: Wrythe.
In his twisted mind, I’m an obstacle on his way up. He has to prove I don’t belong here simply because that was his opinion when I first arrived, and he needs people to believe he’s infallible. That he’s the only one who can lead. That only through unrelenting loyalty to him will Avalon Tower prevail because he is the only one with answers.
I never wanted the demi-Fey here.
Is that why Raphael had made a public spectacle of telling me I don’t belong here? So he can prove himself to Wrythe?
Get on board with referring to Nia as a useless waste of space if you want to keep your position… I’m already burning with rage, and Wrythe’s narcissistic thoughts are like pouring oil on a flame.
Molten fury erupts inside me, and my red and violet magic fuse together, my telepathy and Sentinel powers intertwining to create that hybrid, chaotic force. I slam it into Wrythe’s mind and pour myself into his skull. Such a simple mind, focused on one pathetic motivation. A simple mind to prod and push. And I do, demolishing the weak walls he has within, taking his
thoughts for my own.
I will bind my enemies in the oak trees to feed the hungry earth. I will spill your blood into the lake.
Wrythe stumbles back and blinks, dazed. Then he opens his mouth.
“Nia Melisende is incredible!” he shouts for everyone to hear. “She has surpassed my estimations in all the trials, proving she is a worthy Agent of Camelot, and she has without question passed this trial. Furthermore, I want to add that I am a twat, caring for no one but myself. Having me as a Seneschal is an insult to the great history of this academy and…and…”
The connection between us snaps, and his mind vanishes from my own.
Silence settles in the hall, and I feel as if the whole academy is holding its breath.
I’m shivering, the result of an explosion of my magic. I hug myself, clenching my teeth to avoid them from chattering.
Wrythe points at me with one trembling finger. “She was in my mind!” he bellows. “She forced me to say that. This is an attack on the Seneschal! A psychic attack. And an attack on a knight of the Round Table is an attack on Avalon Tower itself. This is the very reason we did not allow demi-Fey here.”
Amon looks utterly confused. “Wrythe, what are you talking about? How would her Sentinel powers allow her to control you?”
Wrythe eyes widen as he realizes the implication. “You’ve got diametric powers!” he snarls. “You have two types of magic, just like the monster Mordred Kingslayer. Of course. I knew something was corrupted about her.
And this is why she doesn’t belong. Don’t you see how dangerous this is?”
Amon stares at me, frowning. “Surely that cannot be. If Nia had diametric magic, it would be unstable and weak. It would destroy her. But we’ve seen her in the trials. And like you just said, she surpassed our estimations in the trials, including this one. That’s simply not how diametric powers work.”
“She did not pass the trial!” Wrythe shouts. “She made me say that she did. I felt her in my thoughts. I felt her malignant presence, as rotten and corrupted as Mordred himself.”
Another silence follows his condemnation. And then, excited murmurs throughout the hall.
Amon’s silver torc gleams under the light of the chandeliers. “Are you saying…are you saying she’s capable…of mind control? Of compulsion?”
Even I am caught unaware. Mind control? No, of course not. I just…
Wrythe’s mind was so simple. So one-sided. Even a child could manipulate
it.
Right?
Wrythe himself had taught us about the five primal powers: weather manipulation, amoromancy, polymorphism, compulsion, and conjuration.
The five primal powers. The powers that don’t exist anymore in Brocéliande or beyond it. Obviously, I can’t do that if it no longer exists.
Wrythe blinks. “As I said, she is an enemy of Avalon Tower. She should be imprisoned at once. This is treason.”
Raphael stalks closer. I avoid looking at him, feeling the rage seething within me at his presence. He looks just as furious as he did before. He turns to the crowd, his icy eyes surveying them. “Everybody out!” His voice carries over the hall. “This is a matter for the knights of the Round Table. No one else.”
His voice has a quiet command that immediately has them leaping up and shuffling for the doors. I turn to join them when Raphael says, “Not you, Nia.
You stay.”
I fold my arms, trying not to glare at him because that would be petulant.
There are bigger things at stake right now.
I catch the worried eyes of my friends as they leave, and someone helps the dazed veil mage up off the floor. Finally, the door shuts. The only people in the room are Viviane, Raphael, Wrythe, Amon, and me. Just a few knights of the Round Table and me.
“You knew about this,” Wrythe hisses at Raphael.
“About what?” Raphael quirks an eyebrow.
So now he has my back? Dickhead.
Wrythe’s eyes narrow at Raphael. “Is there something going on between you two? Something that would get you kicked out of Avalon Tower?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say sharply.
“As you may have heard me say,” Raphael adds in a glacial tone, “I don’t like her very much, and I find her personality irritating. But like it or not, her magical powers will be an asset to MI-13.”
I stare at him, anger still coursing through my veins.
“The girl has diametric powers,” says Wrythe. “Did you know? Did you
cover that up?”
“Yes, I knew,” Raphael says quietly.
My heart sinks. Why is he telling them?
“And you didn’t think to share it with us?” says Wrythe. “With the Seneschal?”
He loves referring to himself in the third person.
“I shared it with the people who needed to know,” Raphael says. “You didn’t need to know.”
“I technically outrank you. You’ve brought a mongrel into Avalon Tower, one with diametric magic. Do I need to remind you about Mordred?
You let her participate in critical missions, risking the other agents—”
“I’ll remind you that I was at each of those missions, Wrythe,” Raphael says. “If anyone’s life was at risk, it was mine.”
“And mine,” adds Viviane.
Raphael cuts her a sharp look. “And Nia’s powers and skills saved us.
Several times.”
“Whatever Raphael should or should not have told us,” Viviane says, “I am clear on one thing. She passed the last trial. She’s now an agent. These are our rules. Our protocols and procedures.” On the last two words, I’m pretty sure she’s mimicking Wrythe’s plummy accent.
Wrythe shakes his head in disgust. “She clearly cheated her way through.
A random person from off the streets?”
“I didn’t cheat,” I say.
“Quiet, girl. I don’t even know why you’re here,” Wrythe snaps at me.
“Fine. We can use her as a Sentinel like you first suggested when she came here, Raphael. She can open the way for abler crews. She’s the transportation. If you all insist, I don’t even mind giving her a brass torc. But I’ll be damned if she—”
“I’m sorry, a brass torc?” Viviane says. “Didn’t we agree she passed the shadow trial with the highest score?”
“She passed the written trial with the highest score as well,” Amon says.
Raphael nods. “And during the combat trial, she beat Tarquin Pendragon, and if I’m not mistaken, he got a full score for that trial, so obviously she does as well.”
“And this trial…” Viviane raises her eyebrow. “Well…I don’t know what you’d call what she demonstrated here.”
“I can’t believe this.” Wrythe seethes. “Do you really want to give this wretch something above a brass?”
“A gold torc matches her results,” Viviane says.
I can only stare at them with my mouth ajar. A gold torc? Like
Raphael’s? My heart flutters.
“No,” Amon says.
We all look at him.
“Finally, someone with some sense,” Wrythe blurts.
Amon nods gravely. “I am Avalon’s historian. And I know all of our laws and ceremonies. There’s only one precedent for this. Only one Fey from Avalon Tower’s history had one of the primal powers.” Amon looks up at the wall. My eyes follow his to the painting that hangs above the combat hall.
Merlin.
“The founders were clear,” Amon says. “There are individuals that carry a different torc. Those are the founders of Avalon Tower. King Arthur. Sir Galahad. And Camelot’s primal sorcerers, like Merlin.”
“Not like Merlin,” Wrythe sputters. “Just Merlin. He was Camelot’s only primal sorcerer.”
“Merlin passed the Tower’s trials, which were then conducted by the Lady of the Lake,” Amon says. “He would have received a gold torc, but because he could manipulate the weather—and that is a primal power—she gave him a torc of Avalon Steel, forged by dragon fire.”
“You want to give her Avalon Steel? Are you mad?” Wrythe splutters.
Amon shrugs and looks at the ground. “I don’t want to. I have to. We have protocols.”
“Protocols and procedures, Wrythe,” Viviane says, again in his accent.
“Because you think she has mind control powers?” Wrythe’s voice becomes unhinged. “Compulsion?”
“You just told us that she did.” Amon frowns. “That she made you say what you did.”
“Or did you really mean what you said when you called yourself a twat?”
Viviane asks.
“What is the point of being Seneschal when I have two demi-Fey working against me?” Wrythe snarls, and cuts a sharp look to Amon. “And a bearded idiot from the common classes. This place is going to hell, do you know that?
It’s all falling apart.”
He pivots and storms off, slamming the doors behind him.
“Now, then,” Amon beams. “Nia Melisende, welcome to Avalon Tower.
We will grant you the torc the moment we can get our hands on Avalon Steel.
There’s not much of it left because it has to be forged on a stone in the lake using dragon fire, but rules are rules.”
Viviane turns to cross out of the hall. She throws open the door. The entire academy is out there, waiting. She stares at them for a moment, then lifts her chin and shouts, “Avalon Steel.”
And at her words, all hell breaks loose.
