CHAPTER 45
wo days later.
With my bow and quiver of arrows strapped over my back, I stareT at the horizon, the salty wind whipping at my face, eyes squinting with effort. Morning is breaking over the Strait of Dover. In the dawn light, the famous white cliffs are a rosy-gold streak across a periwinkle horizon.
Our little ship is racing toward England’s shoreline. I keep searching for the smoke and debris that would signal death, or Fey ships clustered around the Port of Dover, but there are no signs of battle yet, just the honeyed sunlight dancing over the sea.
A calm, tranquil morning, which is ironic considering what’s about to happen.
“How’s your stomach?” Tana asks, joining me at the ship’s rail.
I grip the rail hard. “I’ve been worse.” It’s been a long two days. Before we got on the boat, we managed to gather a few other members of the task forces that had been sent to assassinate the veil mages. Freya, Serana, Nivene, and Tana got on board with us. There aren’t nearly enough of us, but it’s better than nothing.
The cold breeze whips at my hair, and dread settles in my stomach.
“Can you see anything new?” I ask. “Any future glimpses into what’s going to happen to Dover?”
She shakes her head. “It’s always hard to see through battle fog. The future is now as unknowable to me as it is to you.”
“Do you hate that?”
“Not as much as you’d think.”
I take a long breath and try to calm my roiling stomach.
“We’re almost there,” Tana says softly.
I see houses in the distance, the breakwater jutting out into the sea. I squint, searching for smoke, for wreckage. “Are we too late?”
“I don’t think so,” she whispers, handing me a pair of binoculars. “We might be just in time.”
I peer through the glass. Things look still, and the cranes aren’t moving.
No vessels coming or going, and I don’t see any sign of Fey ships.
British troops are deployed around the port, carrying rifles.
Maybe MI-13 were able to get through to them, even if we weren’t. I let out a long, slow breath.
The sun is rising higher, bathing the coast in gold as we race to the port, a network of piers and docks that jut out into the sea, dwarfed by the towering, dawn-kissed cliffs. Seagulls swoop overhead, shrieking into the autumn wind. As the ship starts to slow, we maneuver into berth, the engine purring.
An old stone castle looms over the cliffs, bathed in a golden hue. The Union Jack and the Port of Dover flags fly from its turrets, snapping in the wind.
Nausea is making my stomach churn and my mouth water, and I’m desperate to get off the boat onto steady land. The moment it docks, I rush onto the pier and lean over, bracing my hands on my knees.
Here I am, the great Avalon Steel agent, trying not to hurl on the pavement because I can’t handle a few waves.
When my nausea subsides, I straighten and see an army officer with a fully gray beard striding up to Raphael. The officer is flanked by four armed men. “Who the hell are you?” he barks. “The port is closed.”
“I’m Agent Launcelot, Secret Service,” Raphael says, and flips an ID card at the man. “I need to talk to the person in charge.”
“You can talk to me,” the man answers impatiently. “I’m Captain Atkinson. I’m in charge here. Secret Service, you said? Which section?”
“Atkinson, the veil is down,” Raphael says, ignoring his question. “And the Fey are about to invade England. We need to—”
“I’ve been told all this, but it’s no longer a concern,” the man snaps.
“We’ve been getting ready for the past two days, but the threat is controlled now. Yesterday, there was a battle between British forces and the Fey in the south of France. A platoon of tanks with iron ammunition wiped half of them out in an hour. They’re not going to make it here.”
My stomach drops. “No, that assault is a feint,” I interrupt. “The real force is coming this way. They’re going to land here. Soon.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “I’ve been told they will not make it out of
France.”
“Did you evacuate the city?” I ask.
“I’m not going to panic people for no reason. Like I said, they’re not going to make it here. It’s being handled in France.”
“Then where is everyone?” Raphael asks.
“Safe. Perfectly safe. We had an alert of a dragon flying a few miles southeast, so we told everyone to get in the shelters, just in case. And we have anti-dragon guns ready if the monster swoops near.”
“Anti-dragon guns?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “Look, love, don’t worry about it. The military has been preparing for this. These anti-dragon guns shoot a volley of iron-cased ammunition with deadly precision. We can handle a dragon, even two if they show up. Which I don’t think they will.”
“These dragons are immune to iron.” I grit my teeth. “And there’ll be more than two. You need to evacuate the city.”
“Absolutely not! That’s what the shelters are for. An evacuation would be utter chaos. Utter chaos,” he repeats for emphasis. “And for what reason? The
threat is in France.”
“Captain!” one of his men calls.
Atkinson’s face has gone red. “Look, I’ve dealt with some of you ‘intelligence people’ before, and if you ask me, it’s a misnomer. Intelligence for you lot.” He wags his finger at our small group. “Always thinking you know best, don’t you, spooks? You hate that the army is in charge here, that we’ve got things under control. We’re wiping the Fey clean off the map in southern France, and even if a few stragglers get here—”
“Captain!”
“—we can handle them. This is Dover. We’ve been thirty miles from the border with Fey for the past fifteen years. You think we’ve been sitting on our arses? We’ve been preparing for this. There’s so much iron in this city, we can take down every Fey soldier on earth, and there’ll still be enough for
—”
“CAPTAIN!”
Atkinson whirls around. “What?”
“We just got word from command. There are dragons and ships
incoming.”
The captain’s fingers curl into fists. “How many?”
“They’re not sure, exactly, but it’s a very large force.”
I point to the horizon. “Why don’t you count them yourself, Captain?”
They appear in the distance amid the clouds, at least a dozen red, green, and black dots. Dragons. And below them, a glinting mass of clipper ships with billowing sails that are roseate in the morning light. Mist whispers along their keels, and dragons swoop above them, washed in gold.
My breath catches.
“Fuck.” Atkinson stares at the enormous Fey force, then mutters, “Let the little fairy boys come. We’ll blow them back to fairy hell.”
“Captain, listen to me,” I say, feeling my patience coming to an end.
“This Fey army can’t be stopped with iron. They outnumber you at least ten to one, and they’ll be here in less than an hour. You have to evacuate Dover, or they will massacre everyone here. Remember what happened in Brittany?”
“Love, I don’t think you know as much as I do about Fey and iron. Our castle is well stocked with cannons. And I’m not evacuating anything unless the Chief of the General Staff or the Prime Minister orders me to.”
“Then get them on the phone,” Raphael snarls.
Atkinson glares at Raphael. The men stare at each other for a few seconds, but then Atkinson looks away. “Get off the streets, agents,” he says gruffly. “It’s going to get messy here, and you lot are not cut out for what’s about to happen. I’m going to the castle, and you can fuck off.”
He walks away, barking orders at his men.
“What an arsehole,” Serana says from behind me.
I turn around to face the others. “We’ll have to get as many people out as we can.”
A line forms between Raphael’s brows. “Tana, do you think you can figure out where the shelters are that he mentioned?”
“Definitely,” she says.
He nods. “Good. Take Serana and find them. Nivene and Freya, we’ll need to figure out the fastest route to get all the civilians out. There will be chaos, and we’ve got to make sure that the way is clear and open.”
“On it,” she says.
“What about Nia?” Serana asks.
I clear my throat. “Raphael and I will buy you time.” I raise Tana’s binoculars. “Mind if I borrow these?”
“Take them,” she says.
The dragons are looming closer, and I can make out the foremost ships and the glint of weapons on their decks. Immediately, my quiver of arrows feels wildly inadequate. “I know we’re spies and not soldiers, but this really would be a great time to have some gun training,” I say.
Raphael slides me a worried look. “Today, we are soldiers, it seems.
We’re heading to battle, whether we’re prepared or not. I want you to stay close to me the whole time, do you understand? I can’t have anything happen to you.”
Fear flickers in his eyes, and I remember a time when I thought the man didn’t feel emotions at all.
