CHAPTER 48
flee in the little boat along the shoreline until I meet with British Navy ships. I’m picked up, and once I’m verified, I’m supplied withI transport to rendezvous with the MI-13 agents who had evacuated Dover.
There’s a war raging in the southeast of England now, and we’re heading back to Camelot to see how we can help them fight the Fey.
We’ve already slowed Auberon’s invasion and saved tens of thousands of civilian lives, but I can’t get my mind off Raphael and what he’s going through right now.
Sunset spreads a rusty mantle across the sky as the sun dips lower over the ocean. We’re at the mouth of the river to Camelot. The river gleams in the coppery light, and the old gibbet sways in the sea wind.
We glide up the river, fog coiling around us, and Camelot comes into view. Raphael should be here with us to see the oaks brushed with fiery shades of autumn, to feel the lure of home calling to us. And that’s what Camelot is now, isn’t it? Home.
When I first arrived, everything looked strange and foreign to me, like something out of a dream. No, not a dream, a fairytale that hardly seemed real, a world I was unprepared for. Now, the old Tudor-style houses and the soaring stone of Avalon Tower bathed in the ever-present mist are familiar and comforting.
Except that now, my home is missing someone very important. Jagged pain pierces me.
I have to get him back. No matter what happens, I will get Raphael back.
I cling to the railing, trying not to throw up as we sail closer to the tower.
Maybe the only thing that hasn’t changed about me in the past six months is that I still need to puke every time I sail. And every time I think of Raphael, I feel more nauseated. I lean over the railing, my stomach roiling.
Avalon Tower looms in the distance, the spires rising from the fog. In my mind, Raphael is there, waiting for us on the dock.
But that is a fantasy.
“I remember when you first came here with me.” Tana sidles up and hands me a cup of tea. “You looked so lost.”
I take it from her gratefully. As I sip it, I start to feel a little better. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Cheer up, our Lady of the Lake.” Tana lays her hand on my shoulder. “It was, all considered, a good day.”
My jaw drops open. “A good day? People died. Raphael has been taken —”
“But we’ve slowed the darkness’s progress, and we still have hope.”
“Raphael doesn’t.”
“Doesn’t he?” she asks.
Something in her tone eases the heavy weight in my chest. There’s a playful smile at the corner of her mouth.
“What do you mean?” I ask. “Did you see something? Can you just tell me, for fuck’s sake?”
“Calm down.” She hands me her deck of cards. “Shuffle them.”
I do as she says, shuffling them with trembling hands.
“Now, pick a card. Just one.”
“This feels more like a magic trick than a reading.”
“It’s a reading.”
I take one card out and flip it. The Star.
“I’ve checked over and over,” Tana says. “Always the Star. Past and future. And that, I’m certain, is Raphael. The card represents healing and the connection to the universe, someone in tune with the creative force. If he were truly doomed, that’s not what we’d see. His light would be dimmed.
Raphael has been taken, that’s true. But you can save him. You can get him back. And his light will return to us.”
Against my better judgment, I feel hope rekindling in my heart. “Are you sure?” My throat is tight.
She touches my cheek. “You are the Lady of the Lake.”
I bite my lip. “That sounds so formal.”
“How about Aqua Bitch?” Serana grins, joining us. “That’s better, right?”
“Aqua Bitch?” Tana asks, scandalized. “What nicknames do you have for me behind my back?”
“Oh, you’re the life of the party, Tana, for sure.”
She blinks. “I am?”
“No, pet. That was sarcasm. We could be in the middle of the wildest piss-up in the world, draped with gorgeous men and drinking and dancing, and your eyes would go glassy, and you’d tell us some poor sod was murdered on the very spot we’re standing a century back. Oh, and also, that we’re all going to die in a week.”
Tana arches an eyebrow. “Would you rather that I kept it secret?”
I smile. “Shockingly, Tana had good news for once. Apparently, I’m going to rescue Raphael.”
Serana nods. “Of course you are. No one is stopping my Aqua Bitch.”
By the time we reach the dock, there’s a crowd waiting for us. I recognize Amon first, by his long beard. Then other familiar faces come into focus— agents who used to be cadets with me, and a few knights I’ve come to know.
Darius is grinning and waving at us wildly.
The Pendragons are noticeably absent.
As soon as we dock, I get off the boat, thankful to be back on solid ground. My stomach is still queasy as Amon walks up to me.
“Is there any news about the war?” I ask.
He nods gravely. “Plenty, and it will be discussed later. But before we do that, there’s one thing I wish to do.”
He’s holding a small case, and he opens it. Inside is a torc, silver with a rosy sheen. I swallow.
“Nia Melisende,” he says. “I want to welcome you again to the Agents of Camelot. You are an Avalon Steel knight.”
He takes the torc from the case and slides it around my neck. All around me, people cheer, a sea of smiling faces, of friends, of comrades in arms.
I wish Raphael were here to see this, too.
But Tana says I will get him back, and I know better than to doubt her.
A CHILLY AUTUMN breeze breathes down my neck. I pull up the hood of my wool cloak and walk along the shore of the lake. I should be asleep at this time of night. Everyone else is. But Raphael isn’t here, and that means I can’t sleep at all. When was the last time I slept properly? Days ago, I suppose.
Before Auberon captured Raphael.
The rain was hammering on my window as I was trying to fall sleep, and now that always reminds me of Raphael—being wrapped up in his bed in his tower room or kissing his rain-soaked skin in Fey France.
It’s drizzling now, and the earthy scent of petrichor fills the night.
I don’t know exactly why I’m heading to the bridge by Nimuë’s Tower, but something is pulling me there, maybe because it’s where Raphael and I kissed that sultry summer night.
Or maybe I’ve lost my mind from chronic insomnia.
Fog drifts along the glassy surface of the lake, along with a few orange oak leaves, bright against the dark water.
I reach the bridge at last and climb the old stone stairs. They’re slick from the rain, and I hold on to the rail. The tower looms over the lake, wrapped in mist. I pass the place where Raphael and I jumped in and feel my heart cracking at the memory. Gods, I wish I could go back in time.
Some of the ancient carvings on Nimuë’s Tower are glowing faintly—the triple-spiral symbols. I walk through the arched doorway and feel the magic hum against my skin. On one side of the landing, a stairwell winds down to the lake. On the other side is a round room that looks like a temple. Peaked windows let in faint light. There’s no glass in them anymore—if there ever was—and a cool breeze blows through the openings. In the center of the room is a circular altar covered in a layer of dust. Carved in the top of the stone are images of three women with long hair, holding urns. I run my fingers over the carving for a moment before pulling away again. This is too old for me to be touching.
Goosebumps rise on my skin. What did they use this for in the old days?
Going to a window, I peer out at the lake. Excitement flutters through me.
A boat is waiting at the base of the tower. I’ve been out here a few times before, and there’s never been a boat. The small vessel glows in the moonlight, and I lean out the window for a closer look. It resembles a wooden canoe with a curled bow and stern, carved with intricate knotted designs. Two oars rest across it.
My heart thrums. Some people say that the Lady of the Lake is a
protector of Camelot. But that’s not what Nimuë was doing. That’s not why she trapped Merlin in the oak. She was a bridge between worlds and a guardian of both. And when the humans started taking too much control, she tried to restore the balance.
If I’m the new Lady of the Lake, what does it mean?
In the center of my chest, I feel a tug, as if an invisible string connects me to the boat.
I hurry from the chamber and bound down the stairs. The stairwell ends with an arched open door and a stone path that leads to the boat.
I climb in and grab the oars, damp from the rain. Ignoring the persistent drizzle, I begin to row, my breath clouding the night air.
I row faster. Surely this boat came to me for a reason. Desperately, I wonder if the reason is linked to Raphael. Tana said I would rescue him, and in the past two days, it became clear that none of the knights of the Round Table had any idea how to get him out of Auberon’s grasp.
The cool air bites at my skin as I work the oars.
Nimuë sacrificed her lover for her cause.
But Raphael? He did the exact opposite. He put Camelot at risk to save me. I feel my chest cracking. The sooner I can get him out, the less likely it is they’ll break him.
And then I hear it, the hum of a veil. It’s so foggy out here, it’s hard to see, but it’s there—the opalescent sheen. It’s a veil, but this one feels different. It emits a low, resonant hum that’s almost musical. It’s a different sort of magic, beautiful and ancient. Primal magic, perhaps.
Is this where Avalon has been all this time? My breath quickens, and I summon the red bloom of my Sentinel magic. The moment the hum goes quiet, I start to row again, faster now, moving through the veil. What if this is where they’re keeping Raphael? On Avalon itself?
My oars carve into the water, and the mist thins. I keep going.
I look over my shoulder at what I’m approaching and feel the world tilt on its axis.
It’s there—a rocky, moss-covered island. Avalon. A vast, rambling castle of stone perches on a craggy hilltop. Pale stone towers jut into the night sky, almost glowing. At lake level, apple trees and oak trees spread out over the
island.
I can hardly breathe.
The boat touches the shoreline, and I leap onto the leafy shore, taking a
moment to catch my breath. An old stone path winds up the hill toward the castle, and I charge up it, wheezing as I race up the uneven stairs. The air is heavy with the scent of apples, and red and orange leaves carpet the stone stairs.
But disappointment carves through me as I near the castle at the top. The place looks abandoned, not a single light or torch in view. The towers are crumbling, the gardens wildly overgrown. Bridges that go nowhere sprout from mossy walls. Of course they’re not keeping Raphael here.
Upon closer examination, I notice the gorgeous craftsmanship of the stone, the carvings of triple spiral shapes, the phases of the moon, and faces made from the shapes of leaves.
“Nia Melisende.” A deep voice stops me in my tracks.
A figure steps from the shadows of a ruined arch wearing a black cape and a pale, spiked crown. A tendril of fear coils through me. I know that crown and those dark curls. The sharp cheekbones. That crown is in paintings all over Avalon Tower. No one wanted us to forget him.
The House of Morgan… “Mordred.” My voice shakes. “You’re alive.”
“I am.”
“Did you send that boat for me?”
He takes a step closer. “I wasn’t interested in you at first. But now that I’ve heard about the trouble you’ve caused for Auberon, my curiosity is piqued.”
He’s going to kill me. That’s why he sent for me. He wants to protect his son. Rings gleam on his fingers. He has no sword, but he doesn’t need one.
Mordred Kingslayer killed Arthur, the great knight and king. He can crush me with his bare hands.
I take a step back. “I thought you died.” Raphael plans to kill everyone from Mordred’s bloodline. He has no idea that includes Mordred himself.
His eyes are the palest blue. He shrugs. “I have been here all along. Once, every hundred years, I can break free, but only for a short time. And then I find myself back in my mother’s castle. This is my curse.”
I swallow hard. “Your son can’t free you?”
“I have no son.”
My blood pounds hot, and I can’t feel the cold anymore. “Auberon. King Auberon.”
His smile twists. “Is that what people think? They think that bastard is my
son? No. Auberon belonged to Nimuë and Merlin. Merlin, that duplicitous, traitorous fuck, was the one who cursed me.”
I clear my throat. “You murdered King Arthur, and all those people in Avalon—”
“Look at what they had planned!” he roars, gesturing at the castle. “The Fey kingdom, in ruins. It was always going to be that way. Arthur and his bitch wife were always our enemies. Any idiot could see that. Anyone except Merlin. They say we enchanted the humans. But in Merlin’s case, it was the other way around.”
My voice sounds distant as I say, “The House of Morgan is fated to destroy Camelot.”
Mordred flashes me a dark smile. “Oh, I know. And you are going to help me do it, Nia.” Mordred stares at the sky, looking lost in thought. “I see things in dreams, and sometimes, I dream of you. There’s a silver-eyed man you want to rescue from Auberon.” His sharp gaze lands on me. “And I’m the only one who can help you, my daughter.”
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Read on for chapter one of another fey-spy series by Alex Rivers and C.N. Crawford: Dark Fae F.B.I.
