Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy) (30 page)

“What are you waiting for?” Bri asks.

Her excitement finally overcomes my initial timidity, and I open the letter. Disappointment sinks its fist in my guts, though I’m too proud to show it. The crisp, tight handwriting is but a brief set of instructions given by none other than Arthur. So much for feminine intuition.

“Well, what does he say? Does he want to go out with you?”

“Of course not,” I say, forcing myself to put the note safely away before I destroy it. “It’s just a reminder from my brother.”

Apparently my disappointment does not translate properly to Bri, for her eyes shine with greater excitement than ever. “Arthur? What does he want?”

I sigh. “Just reminding me to be a good girl and not get in trouble.”

I grab my tray of food and go find Keva, sitting in a reclusive corner of the wide room—most certainly in an attempt not to get noticed by any more of Jennifer’s fans. Bri sits down next to me.

“That’s it?” she asks.

I smile at her and shrug. “What can I say? I’m the least reliable person in the family. I shouldn’t taint his reputation.”

Keva nearly chokes on her salad. “You can say that again!”

The moment I’ve returned my wooden stave to the armory, I remove myself from the rest of the class, eager to remain unnoticed. The last thing I need right now is to let either Jennifer or one of her groupies catch me during my little escapade, especially when it’s tied to her fiancé.

Looking left and right for any sign of life, I make my way south, as per the instructions, past the dining hall, and down a set of stairs toward the sounds of clanging pots and pans, oven furnaces being fired up, and cooks yelling at each other.

I pause, glancing back down at Arthur’s now-smudged directions. Am I really supposed to be down here, or did I miss a turn?

“What are you doing here, girl?” a plump woman asks me, her apron sprinkled with chicken feathers.

“I was, um, looking for—” Dang it, I really ought to practice my lying skills.

There’s a loud crash by the kitchen door, and the woman forgets all about me to yell at some poor scullion who’s dropped a large pot of beef stew on the floor.

I sigh in relief and hurry in the opposite direction until I’m sure I’m safe. My pace slows as I realize I’m in a completely deserted part of the basement, dust lying thick in the corners.

I crack open the first door I find. Torches set in sconces throw up enough light to show me rows upon rows of large wine and beer barrels lined up like a military regiment.

“Arthur?” I call out, stepping inside the cellar.

The door squeaks shut behind me as I venture farther into the chamber, until I’m sure either Arthur’s not here or he’s trying to scare me—in which case I’ll have his hide tanned.

I trip and catch myself on a wine cask. Looking down, I notice a strange protuberance rising off the floor. As I bend closer, I find that roots have grown in between the flagstones, molding themselves to the floor.

“Stupid thing,” I mutter, slapping the one that nearly had me losing my teeth on the flagstones.

The root rears up like a snake at my touch before pulling away as if stung. I let out a strangled cry, fall back, and knock my head on a barrel before I scramble to my feet and hurry back out the way I came.

I hear light footsteps run ahead of me. Then someone grabs my hand, pulls me inside another room and shuts the door.

“Let go of me,” I say, pulling my hand out of the tight grasp.

There’s a
pop
, and a small flame appears close to my face, singing my eyebrows, before it flies over to an old, musty torch.

“Oops, sorry about that.”

“That was intentional,” I say through clenched teeth.

Arthur’s lips quirk at one side. “Nobody’ll notice,” he says. “Now let’s get going.”

“Get going where?” I ask, looking about us for more crazy roots.

The room is rectangular and filled mostly with disused furniture, broken jars, and baskets full of holes. A place where people are most likely not going to bother us.

“What spooked you?” Arthur asks, clearing some of the debris out.

“Have you been in the cellar?” I ask. “It’s like there’s an alien living in there!”

Arthur coughs back a laugh. “There are no aliens.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” I mutter.

“You’ve got your ring, I see,” Arthur says, dusting his hands on the seat of his pants. “Excellent. Remember what I told you last time?”

My ears tingle with exhilaration. “You mean we’re going to practice now?”

“Why else did you think I wanted to meet you down here?” he asks, pulling on the collar of his shirt, then rolling up his sleeves. “It’s certainly not for your pleasant company.”

I’m too happy to care about that last jab. Instead, I thrust my hand forward and concentrate on projecting the Fey outward before I realize I’m missing something.

“What’s the matter?” Arthur asks, standing as far away from me as possible.

“I don’t know the Fey’s name,” I say, “its rune.”

“Perth,” Arthur says, and I feel an answering prickling in my little finger.

I ogle at the jewel like it’s just grown some teeth and bit me. “I think it felt you,” I say, awed. “But I thought these things were only supposed to respond to the wearer?”

Arthur nods. “That was the first Fey I captured,” he says. “And over the years, a link must have formed between us. It happens sometimes.”

Wide-eyed, I scrutinize the tiny silvery circle. “How long have you had this?”

“Since I was five,” Arthur says, motioning for me to get back to work.

EM practice, as it turns out, ends up in total failure once again. No matter how many times I try to project my thoughts into the ring and try to nudge the Fey inside it, it’s pointless. The only thing I manage to do is give myself and Arthur a headache.

“Stop,” he says, with a wide yawn. “That’s enough for today.”

“But I—”

A single look from Arthur tells me to drop it. I scratch at my shoulder, sorely disappointed. I had felt the Fey answer to Arthur’s call, and he had been five feet away from me! Maybe it’s not the oghams that are defective after all, I realize. Maybe it’s just me.

“Does it always take this long for people to get it?” I ask, afraid to look at Arthur and read the truth in his eyes.

“Not usually,” he answers. I can always count on him to tell me the truth, especially if it hurts. “But there have been cases before, where it’s taken people a few months to finally show any ability for EM at all. Your…”

“Go on,” I say when he doesn’t finish his sentence. “You were going to say that there are cases when people were never able to do it, huh?”

Arthur lets a small smile slip. “Actually, I was going to say that it took this one guy over a year to be able to control his first Fey, and he ended up as KORT president. Turned out to be the best knight we’d seen in ages. Maybe you’re just like him.”

“Really?” I ask, daring to hope once again. Vengeance shall still be mine! Unless…I squint at him in distrust. “Are you pulling my leg?”

“Not at all,” Arthur says, uncharacteristically nice to me. “You just need to work harder.”

I stop just inches from him. “Who are you? What have you done to my brother?”

Arthur flicks my forehead with his finger. “Don’t be a goose. I just mean you have to stop being so lazy. Now come on. It’s late, and I’m beat.” He extinguishes the torch. “Same time tomorrow!” he says, leaving me in near-total darkness and my forehead stinging.

Bri was right after all. Over the rest of the week, the snide remarks and attempts on my life or honor subside. But it wouldn’t have mattered, as I’m living in a constant semi-euphoria. Arthur’s kept to his word and is still teaching me in the dusty storage room by the kitchens, despite the late hour and my lack of progress.

Right now, though, I want to smack his smug face with his stupid ring.

“How can you be so calm?” I ask him. I’m so frustrated with myself, I don’t know how he can spend another second with me. Unless it’s for the pleasure of seeing me fail.

“Would getting angry or annoyed get me any better results?” he retorts.

I snort. He’s got a point. But it doesn’t explain why he’s still bothering wasting his time with me. He picks up a broken chair and smashes it on the ground.

“What are you doing?” I ask, scandalized. “We’re already practicing against the rules. Why are you turning into a vandal as well?”

Arthur pulls off one of the chair’s legs and slaps the wooden bar in his hand. “I’ve decided to try another approach.”

“Which is?” I ask, taking an involuntary step backward.

An evil glint appears in his eyes. “I will attack you, and you’ll have to fend off my blows.”

“That’s hardly fair,” I say, taking another step back. “I’ve only got my bare hands.”

“Who told you to use your bare hands?”

“You don’t mean—”

“I do.” Arthur readies his makeshift cudgel.

I raise my hands before me. “Wait, wait, wait. You do realize that I still can’t do anything with this ring of yours, right?”

“Which is why I thought making you feel something more strongly could help you establish that link faster.”

More like make me pee my pants. But maybe Arthur’s right, and frankly, at this point, I’m desperate enough to try anything for a chance to get my ring to work.

“OK, I’m ready.”

The words have barely left my mouth when he lunges forward, bringing the wooden staff down. I move out of the way a split second before it thwacks down onto an old school desk, splinters of wood flying about.

“You’re not joking around, are you?” I ask, my mouth dry.

“If it’s real, you’ll act accordingly,” Arthur says.

He twists toward me with a cross hit. This time I don’t move fast enough, and the wooden leg catches me on the shoulder. I gasp and nearly collapse under the blow. Saint George’s balls, this guy doesn’t want to train me, he wants to kill me, slowly and painfully!

“Stop running away, and come at me with all you’ve got,” he says, his voice low and steady.

I was wrong. Arthur’s not being nice to me; he’s a psychopath!

Without giving me time to recover, he comes at me again. I back away from him, but get caught between two tables. I topple over a couple of old rotting baskets, then throw myself away from the incoming strike. I hit the stone floor hard and roll away from Arthur’s next blow, only to find myself stuck in a corner of the room, unable to escape my demented brother.

I see the wooden leg swing toward me. I close my eyes and hold my hands before me.
Please!

I feel an answering tug in my ring finger. There’s a whooshing sound, then the clattering of wood on stone. I open my eyes to find Arthur grinning down at me.

“What happened?” I ask.

“You did it,” he says, offering to help me up.

“Haaaa!” I exclaim, pointing at him in victory. I grab his hand and flinch; my whole body’s contused, my shoulder hurts like I’ve been quartered, and my head’s so foggy I wonder if I might faint. But all of that’s eclipsed by those three little words.

“What did I do?” I ask, blinking to try to clear my vision.

Arthur lets go of me with a hearty sigh. “You should really learn to stop closing your eyes. It’s not going to help you in a fight.”

The world slowly comes back into focus, an odd tingling sensation coursing from my hand and up my arm.

“Close your eyes,” Arthur says.

“You just told me I had to keep them open.”

“Just do it. It’ll be easier for you to visualize.”

Because I’m still stunned, I do as I’m told. Wrong move. I vacillate like a cabin boy on his first sea trip. I feel Arthur’s strong hands grab me by the shoulders as I teeter, and he helps me settle back down.

“You OK?” he asks, his voice barely making it above the buzz in my ears.

I nod. “I-I think so.”

“Maybe we’ve been training too hard,” Arthur says, his voice soothing. “But, while you’re at it, think back on what you were feeling when you let out the elemental.”

“Hurt,” I say, unconsciously shifting my shoulder. My mouth is cottony, making it hard to form the words. “Scared.” I recall the moment I was on the ground, trapped, knowing that Arthur’s next blow wouldn’t miss. “I just wanted to make you disappear.”