Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy) (42 page)

“He can’t,” Arthur says, sliding his gauntlets into the belt holding his sword. “He hates water.”

“Even with the boats?”

Arthur shrugs. “Never gets closer than twenty feet from the lake,” he says, mocking. “If he can’t get somewhere by foot or car, he takes a plane. Or the helicopter.”

My eyes open wide, Dean—
my
Dean—is scared of something? And it’s not even of bugs, or spiders, or Fey, but of water? Just the absurdity of the idea makes me want to giggle.

“Oh, Morgan,” Gauvain calls out. His cousin’s standing right next to him, talking animatedly to Lance and Jennifer, the latter of whom ignores me completely. “I wanted to ask you for something.”

“What is it?” I ask, walking over to them.

“Oh no you ain’t,” Percy intervenes, pushing Gauvain out of his way to get to me faster. “I spotted the lady first!”

“You can spot this,” Gauvain says, punching Percy in the midriff.

Thankfully for Percy, he’s already wearing his armor, and the blow doesn’t affect him. They both race over.

“I wanted to know—” Gauvain starts.

“If I could get your favor,” Percy finishes, shoving his hand over Gauvain’s mouth and poking him in the nose at the same time.

“You need a favor?” I ask, looking from one to the other. “From me? You do realize I’m the least helpful person on campus? Unless you need something from the infirmary.”

Gauvain’s brilliant-white smile flashes in his dark face. “No, a favor from a lady is a token of her…preference for a chevalier.”
²⁷

“And comin’ from you, pretty lady,” Percy adds, “it’d be like our lucky star’s shinin’ down on us the whole time.”

“So you want something from me?”

“Anything,” Gauvain says, stomping on Percy’s foot hard enough to make him lose his footing and hop a few feet away. “Like a kerchief, or a shawl.”

“Or a ribbon,” Arthur says, untying the one holding my hair back.

“Hey! Give that back,” I say.

Without paying me any attention, Arthur wraps the green-and-silver ribbon around his upper arm.

“The lady’s s’posed to give it freely,” Percy says, massaging his foot.

“It’s mine,” Arthur says. “Unless you want to challenge me for it?”

Percy grins. “Nah, we’re fine. Right?” he asks, nudging Gauvain.

“Yes, very fine,” the tall knight adds.

“That’s what I thought,” Arthur says, heading toward the back of the arena, where the racks of weapons have been brought out.

“Well, at least wish us
bonne chance
²⁸
then,” Gauvain says.

“Good luck,” I tell both boys before they leave to get their weapons as well.

My good mood flees the moment I notice Jennifer’s livid face staring right at me. Gareth and Lance are gone from her side as well, leaving us completely alone.

“So you think you can display yourself around school like some floozy, do you?” she asks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.

She pulls on Gauvain’s jacket, letting it fall to the ground.

“You don’t, do you?” she says. “What a beautiful dress, quite unlike any I’ve ever seen.” She walks behind me, trailing her fingers up the back of my right arm, along my shoulders, then back down my left arm before facing me again

“Where did you get it?”

“I got it as a present,” I say, holding myself back. This girl may not be a proper knight, but her earrings and ornate necklace are filled with oghams, which means I stand no chance against her.

Her fingers linger on my collarbone. “Such fine work, so thin and soft at the same time, yet I wonder”—she leans into me, slowly, like she’s afraid to scare a bird away—“whether it’s Fey.”

A quiver of fear runs down my back. Jennifer feels it and, in one swift move, rips my dress apart.

I yelp in surprise and dive down to grab the discarded jacket to cover myself up.

“Traitress,” she hisses. “So it was you all along, wasn’t it, convening with them? The banshee event was a cover-up too!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say.

“Get yourself and your filthy dress out of my sight,” Jennifer spits, her face scarlet, “or I’ll find a way to get rid of you, you little tramp!”

Feeling the sting of tears prick my eyes, I hurry away as a wave of cheers rises from the crowd in the arena at the appearance of KORT.

The door slams behind me, cutting out all the outside noise. Why does the school have to be so centered on hierarchy? I’d love to give Jennifer a taste of her own medicine.

Looking down at the tattered remains of my dress, I heave a mighty sigh. That’s twice now that I’ve received a present in my life, and twice it’s been taken away from me.

The fresh evening air wafts in through the thin windows, brushes against my exposed skin. I rub my arms for warmth, and my hand grazes the old scar on my left shoulder—a raised cross that seems to have marked me for martyrdom from infancy.

My footsteps falter as I reach another of the slitted windows out of which I can hear the spectators’ excited cheers. If a seat at KORT depends on skill and ability, there’s also a factor of chance. Which means Arthur could technically be dethroned. I wonder how much Jennifer would enjoy having her fiancé ousted.

I force myself to turn away from the window and head deeper into the school. If it weren’t for Jennifer, I would be out there like the others, cheering on the different knights. Like Percy, or Lance.

You’re so overly dramatic, you know
.
You could go back out now. Bet that girl isn’t even there anymore.

I glower, if you can glower at an inner voice. “Have you even seen my dress?” I mutter.

Nothing’s preventing you from getting changed.

“Look, if I wanted to be rational right now, I’d be rational. Can’t a girl be moody in peace?”

Come on
, my guardian angel continues,
don’t you want to see them fight? You could learn a thing or two…

“Just leave me be!” I nearly shout, scaring a servant boy away. “I’m not going to go back out there tonight,” I say, much lower. “And there’s no need to wheedle me into doing it. I’ve made up my mind.”

My guardian angel lets out a sigh of exasperation. Sometimes I’m amazed at my ability to keep myself company. Other times, like tonight, I wonder if it isn’t a sign my mental health is deteriorating.

A low purr resonates around my ankles, and I find a pair of golden eyes staring up at me, as bright as the torches down the hallway.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, petting the black cat’s furry head.

With a meow, the cat lets me pick it up.

“You look awfully familiar…” I pause. “You’re not…You couldn’t be…”

The few hours spent in Avalon, which now seem months away, come back to me.

“Are you Lugh’s cat?” I ask. “Are you following me?”

I laugh at the craziness of this until the cat claws me. I drop the feline to the floor and clutch at my hand; four parallel scratches are now etched into the back of it, deep enough to show blood.

“You stupid thing!” I hiss as it licks its paw disdainfully. “I don’t care where you’re from or who you belong to. Just…stay away from me!”

The cat looks decidedly unconcerned. Before I walk away, however, it tenses and sniffs the air. Then, staying low to the floor, it slinks away through a door to the inner courtyard.

“Good riddance!” I yell after it, closing the door on the cat so it can’t get back out again.

But I remember the hundreds of rare and precious plants kept by Professor Pelletier, some of which are poisonous. If the darn creature’s dumb enough, it might get killed, or, worse, it might pee on all the plants and kill them instead!

I crack the door open again and call out.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” I say, making kissing noises.

But the dark garden remains quiet, except for the soft cooing of a couple of doves in the fruit trees that border the building, and the occasional wisp of music carried by the light wind from the festivities. For a split second, my hand clenches around the door handle. The tournament must be nearly over now, and I’m stuck here, still in my torn-up dress, looking for some dim-witted animal.

With a heartfelt grumble, I let go of the door to comb through the small pathways, peering into the bushes and around plants and trees in search of the annoying cat.

“She’s always watching, always, and there’s nothing I can do about it!”

My hand freezes on a low-sweeping branch—sounds like someone’s having a lovers’ spat. I hear a soft voice reply, too low for me to make out the words.

“No, I can’t stop her!”

The barely contained anger ends with a heart-wrenching cry. I jerk back in surprise, letting go of the branch, which snaps back into my face. I clasp my hand over my stinging mouth, and right on time, for the darned cat chooses that moment to brush past me, toward the angry couple, and nearly makes me scream.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” the man says. “It’s tearing me apart from the inside, and every day she grows stronger…”

“Cat, come back here,” I whisper harshly. “Cat!”

I stop at the edge of the pool of light thrown by a round lantern hanging from the branches of the massive apple tree. Within the amber glow is a woman sitting on a stone bench, a man lying down with his head in her lap. Definitely not a fighting couple. I remain transfixed as the woman makes soothing noises, brushing the man’s light brown hair back from his troubled face. From the long tresses and her midnight blue gown, I know it must be Vivian.

I take a few steps back, afraid of getting caught like some grubby old voyeur, then hurry away as quickly as possible, giving up on my hunt. I nearly make it to the building when I catch a furry backside a couple of bushes down.

Very slowly, I tiptoe up to the creature, then pounce on it.

“Got ya!” I say as my hands grab the furry beast.

Except it’s fatter than I recall, and a lot heavier. I turn toward the light to get a better look.

“Puck!” I exclaim, so shocked I almost drop him.

The little creature burps in my face, letting me know he’s recently had a mixture of sweet milk and blue cheese.

“Lovely,” I say, wrinkling my nose as I gently set him back down on his bum.

Puck jumps back up on his tiny hooves and runs around me in close circles that prevent me from going anywhere.

I chuckle. “Stop it, Puck. I need to get out of here, and I’d rather not trip on my way.”

But the little hobgoblin won’t quit his antics until I stop moving entirely. I cross my arms and tap my foot.

“What is it?” I ask.

Puck stops his insane twirling and hops up to grab my hand. To my surprise, he leads me back toward the apple tree, but before we reach the bench on which Vivian and that man are, he veers left.

I soon find myself faced with a wall of tangled roots, the kissing hedge, but Puck doesn’t stop there and instead bounds between two wide shoots. After a moment’s hesitation, I follow him. I’ve always avoided this section of the garden before, and I catch myself growing embarrassed at the thought of getting caught here.

As I make my way through the maze of gigantic roots, I feel the ground shake underneath me and have to hold myself to stop from falling. To my utter surprise, I realize that the roots are shifting beneath me to make a very treacherous-looking set of stairs that lead below ground.

“I don’t think this is such a good idea,” I tell Puck in a loud whisper.

Yet I keep going down, one step at a time, farther and farther into the ground, until my feet reach a patch of soft earth. I stop before a wide archway gaping at me like a toothless mouth. The air here is much cooler, making me shiver.

Before I can backtrack, Puck rams into the back of my legs, forcing me forward.

The moment I step through the threshold, my skin tingles as if I’ve just walked through a giant spider web.

“Where are we?” I whisper, terrified to make another movement.

When my eyes adjust to the dimness, I realize that I’m inside a small, barren room.

“I don’t know why you wanted me to come here,” I tell Puck, feeling brave again now that I find we are alone down here. “There’s no milk, no cheese or cookies, nothing.”

A slight rustle reaches me, like drapes made out of beads being pushed back, and a small glow appears in the back of the chamber.

“What the—”

I cross the alcove toward the light and find it’s coming from a small round bowl of black polished stone.

I reach for it, feeling the runes carved in its rim with my fingertips. The glow emanating from it makes the stone seem translucent. I clutch the bowl to my chest, and the roots that had been hiding it from sight fall back in their original place.