Chapter 47
CHAPTER 47
I thrash against my captors, but it’s useless. I’m already halfway to the grave. My breath wheezes in desperate little gasps, and I’m still trying to fight Wrythe’s people off like I have a chance.
One of them, a young recruit with pimply skin, punches me in the stomach again. The other cadet has slicked-back brown hair and a posh accent that you can tell is faked, unlike the pimply guy. The fake-posh prick twists my arm until my shoulder feels as if it is about to pop. After that, I decide my best course of action is to wait until I get my strength back.
If I survive that long. I can’t breathe. I cough wildly, my lungs still tight and wheezing.
The route they take is clear this time, the shortest route to the dungeons in Avalon Tower. Wrythe has stayed behind to orchestrate the chaos he’s spread, to control the narrative. So, it’s just me and the Iron Legion.
“Wait!” someone calls from behind.
The Iron Legion stops short and turn to look. “What is it?” the pimply one says.
Genivieve has caught up with us, her cheeks pink and her blonde hair neatly tied back. She beckons the Iron Legion guys to follow her into a narrow corridor. “In here.”
“Why?” the same guy asks belligerently. “That’s not the way.”
“Because I said so,” Genivieve answers tightly. “There’s not much time.”
Reluctantly, they drag me into the corridor with her, my feet sliding limply over the flagstones. My mouth feels dry, and my stomach curdles with nausea.
This hall is ancient and winding, and they pull me after Genivieve, past a bend in the passageway.
“That’s good enough.” Genivieve unsheathes a dagger.
“What are you doing?” the fake-posh one asks.
“She’s getting rid of me, you idiot,” I answer faintly.
Genivieve smiles at me. “See? Even the mongrel gets it.”
So, this is it? My grand exit—cornered by a couple of pimply boy sadists and a basic bitch?
“But…” Fake-posh says ponderously. “The Seneschal said?—”
“He’s wrong,” she interrupts him. “He’s banking on Raphael giving up and letting his ex rot in a dungeon. Which, fair enough, he should. But no—apparently, she gave him a few mind-shattering blowjobs, because he’s not letting it go. He’s already sniffing around for us.”
A flicker of hope blooms, then quickly dies within me. Even if Raphael is looking for me, he’ll never find us in the vast network of winding hallways in Avalon Tower. That’s why Genivieve dragged me in here.
“It’s easier this way,” Genivieve says, taking a step toward me. “We tell them she tried to escape. She used her magic, the naughty thing. Diametric magic. We had to kill her, there was no other way.”
I can’t break myself out of their grip.
“I must admit, I’ve fantasized about this moment for quite a while, Nia,” Genivieve says, “and it feels just as wonderful as I’d imagined?—”
Someone slams into her, knocking her to the floor. It takes me a moment to recognize Darius, gods love him, and then another immense figure steps out of the shadows. Serana glares at the humans, an axe in both hands.
The lackeys drop their grip on me, and I slump to the floor. I hit my head on the flagstones, and the world goes dark for a few seconds. I drag myself over to a wall, listening to the sounds of metal clashing against metal. The clanging blades blend with screams, and the smell of blood hangs in the air, so thick it coats my tongue.
“Nia?” Serana wraps her hands around me. “Are you okay?”
Darius sheathes his sword and reaches into his pocket for something.
“Asthma,” I mumble.
“Yeah, we noticed.” Darius shoves an inhaler into my face, knocking the plastic vial against my teeth. “Sorry, sorry.” He sounds frantic with worry. “Are you okay? Nia. Can you breathe?”
He curls his hand around the back of my head and pushes down on the inhaler twice. I suck in the albuterol, coughing a few times as the medicine fills my lungs.
Thank the gods for my friends. If I survive this, it’ll be because of them.
“I’m okay,” I rasp. “Thank you.”
Serana wraps her arm around my waist and drags me to my feet. I still feel like shit, but at least I can breathe again.
I look around me. There’s blood everywhere, pooling on the old stones. Two Iron Legion corpses and Genivieve just beyond them, her head nearly severed from her body.
I lean into Serana as we walk away from them. “How did you find me?”
“Tana told us where you were,” Serana says, “and Raphael was frantic. We could all hear you wheezing, so we grabbed your inhaler and ran after you. Raphael is searching for you, too.”
“Where’s Tana?” I ask.
“Waiting for us at the docks,” says Darius. “She said if we go through the east end of Camelot, the Iron Legion won’t find us.”
My mind is spiraling. “And where are we going from the docks?”
“ We aren’t going anywhere,” Serana says. “The other demi-Fey need us here. But you have to disappear. Tana said that if you don’t leave Camelot within an hour, you’ll die.”
“And the rest of Avalon Tower will follow,” Darius adds.
“You can’t stay here, either,” I say. “Wrythe engineered a plague to kill us all.”
“What are you talking about?” Darius asks.
“That’s the weapon in Merlin’s Tower,” I rasp. “It’s a biological weapon that targets Fey and demi-Fey. The Pendragons want to destroy us all. I’m mildly infected already, but demi-Fey can’t spread it, though we can catch it. He’s going to unleash it on Brocéliande, then into Europe. It will kill all the magical creatures. I got a teeny whiff of it, and I feel like death.”
Serana and Darius are stunned into silence. Finally, Serana says, “We’ll tell Raphael and Amon. We’ll find Nivene. We’ll find a way to stop this. But you need to get the fuck out of here, because they’ll make an example of you.”
We reach a window, and I realize I’m supposed to scale the wall. “Okay.” I take a deep breath. “Down we go.”
I scoot outside, legs first, and find the first foothold, but one question haunts me. I don’t belong anywhere, so where am I supposed to go?
By the time we get to the docks, I’m out of breath again, and I take two more puffs of my inhaler. Thank gods for this thing. My legs feel shaky and weak.
The sun is rising, the dawn’s rays glittering on the water’s surface with flecks of gold.
My heart clenches when I think of Talan. Rose and honey.
Tana stands by the docks with a small rowboat, and she shifts a sack into the wooden hull. To my surprise, I recognize another woman by her side: Ysolde, Raphael’s silver-eyed sister from Brocéliande.
“I knew you’d make it,” Tana says, beaming.
But despite her smile, her cheeks are wet with tears, and her eyes are puffy and bloodshot.
“I’d be dead if it weren’t for you,” I say.
She steps forward and hugs me hard. “Avalon Tower is doomed. Death hangs above it like spreading darkness.”
She pulls away from the hug.
“It’s a plague,” I say. “That’s the Pendragons’ secret weapon against the Fey.”
“What?” Ysolde looks grief-stricken.
Tana frowns. “Of course. Something tiny and huge. The cards told me over and over, but I didn’t understand until now.”
“To be fair to the tarot cards, they were made before modern biological weapons existed,” Serana says. “I mean, it’s a complex idea to convey with things like the six of swords and the Fool, right?”
“It would have been helpful if they’d updated the major arcana with something like the Evil Scientist,” Darius adds. “Or the Power-Hungry Warmonger, which are both pretty common these days? So, it’s not like, ‘Oh, five of coins and an upside-down club. Maybe there’s a biological weapon hidden in the tower.’”
Tana looks at me. “These two will never stop taking the piss out of my fortune telling, and yet they rely on it for literally everything.”
“I’ll stop taking the piss when I’m dead,” Serana says with a smile.
“Let’s hope that’s not today,” Tana says.
“On that note,” Darius says, “let’s get Nia out of here and go look for Raphael.”
Serana reaches out to help me into the boat. “Can you row?”
“She doesn’t need to. That’s why I’m here,” Ysolde says. “I can send her to Avalon.”
“Avalon?” I ask weakly.
“To see your dad,” says Ysolde with a smile.
Tana points at the boat. “There’s a small pouch of jasmine tea in the pack and some sandwiches. It’ll get you through this sickness that hovers around you. Stay away from Camelot. You will die if you return today.”
I sigh. “Cool. Apparently, I’ll die in Brocéliande, too.”
Tana shakes her head. “No, I didn’t see that one. Camelot is where the danger lies. But please take care and leave the virus situation to us.”
A lump rises in my throat as I wonder how long I’ll be stuck on Avalon with my dad, listening to him reminisce about the glory days from two thousand years ago.
Finally, they all stand back. Ysolde shuts her eyes and breathes deeply. Tiny waves churn around the boat, and it drifts away from the shore, carried by Ysolde’s magical current.
As the boat glides over the lake, the golden city shrinks, fading like an old memory. I feel unmoored, adrift, rootless. But hasn’t that always been the truth for me?