Chapter 51
CHAPTER 51
T arasque’s scaled wings beat the air in a hypnotic rhythm. Each stroke of her wings glints peach-gold in the morning light. The sun catches on her iridescent scales in a rainbow of color. She unleashes a wild roar into the wind as we soar above Brocéliande.
I grip her jagged spikes as Tarasque takes us higher into the sky, my fingers numb from the cold. Talan’s arm cinches around my waist, securing me as she climbs higher. Behind me, his chest is warm and solid. I lean back into him.
I glance below. The snow is melting at last, revealing emerald beneath it. A river snakes through the grass, sparkling in the dawn’s first sun rays. It feels like the earth is waking.
I tilt my face upward as we breach a bank of mist, the clouds swallowing us whole. As we shoot upward, I catch my breath. We burst through the top, above it all, swooping over a blanket of foggy white. Exhilaration races through my veins.
Ahead, the portal yawns open—an unnatural tear between the Fey world and the skies above Cornwall.
“We’re almost there,” Talan says next to my ear. “Just another minute.”
I sense the portal’s pulsing power as we get closer, a fracture in the sky that emits a loud hiss. The magic charges the air around us, raising goosebumps on my skin.
My heart speeds up, and we dive through. As my stomach swoops, the world shifts around me, and then we’re soaring through a cloudless sky.
Below, the rugged Cornish coast stretches along the cliffs, clustered seaside cottages, and winding roads. For a dizzying second, I feel wildly disoriented, like the wind is about to pluck me off and cast me into the English city below.
The wind rakes at us, and Talan’s grip on me tightens. He pulls me back against his hard chest.
We arc southeast, racing over the coast toward Camelot, sweeping over cliffs that sheer off into the turquoise sea and the vernal coast. Sailboats bob in the water beneath us, bathed in sunlight.
I lick the salt off my lips and lean back into Talan. It’s a moment of such numinous perfection that it’s hard to remember we’re flying into battle.
But the moment I feel the hum and buzz of Camelot’s veil, my attention sharpens again.
Camelot and Avalon are shielded by a magical veil, woven centuries before. I’ve never had to disable it myself because our boats have their own magic in and out of the hidden city. I tune into the tangled weave of energy, and power thrums over my skin—so powerful, it makes my teeth chatter and sounds like a roaring in my ears. As we race closer, I summon the red bloom of my Sentinel powers and hurl my magic at the veil. It snags on the weave of magic, and the roaring in my ears dies.
We’re through, sweeping over Lake Avalon. Mist twists over its glassy surface, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. We made it.
Tarasque swoops gracefully above the lake, her wings casting shadows over the water below. I suspect Talan is surveying the city with a soldier’s eye, but I’m staring at its radiant beauty.
Amber stone rises through the lake’s mist, the castle’s spires stretching into the skies like golden scepters. Beyond the Tower’s walls, the city sprawls, winding streets lined with peaked rooftops and top-heavy facades. Arched bridges span narrow canals, and brambles cling to aged walls. It’s an ancient city carved into the lake’s shore with the chisel of centuries and wrapped in fog. The city looks like a dream.
And I really hope the day will not end with it ablaze from dragon fire.
I feel my father’s attack echoing through my bones. Just like me, he invaded Camelot centuries ago, his sword drawn. Just like me, it was to protect the Fey.
Someday, maybe I’ll be in Camelot’s paintings, the villainess riding into the city on the back of an enemy dragon.
Tarasque arcs over the lake, sweeping back into the mist again. Our plan is to land on a balcony of Merlin’s Tower. This will be incredibly difficult, but it’s the only way. If we land anywhere else, the Iron Legion will stop us before we ever get to the viruses.
A dragon isn’t exactly discreet, but the tower is steep and four stories high. From the moment we land, we’ll have maybe a minute or two before anyone can make it to the top to stop us. From the balcony, we’ll race to the secret room behind Merlin’s portrait. There, we’ll grab the vials and destroy them, then escape again with the help of Tarasque. That’s the plan to save all of Fey-kind.
My heart is slamming against my ribs as we fly closer. Bells clang as we approach. Alarms—I never thought Camelot’s bells would ring for me.
I spot the giant anti-dragon gun. It’s pointing at us from the turret of Shalott Tower, not an old, unmaintained weapon like those in Dover. This gun is new, and it swings, tracking our flight. It stands just above the balcony where Talan’s mother once languished, imprisoned by Mordred.
“Talan!” I scream, pointing. “Dragon gun! It’s trained on us.”
Talan’s body goes tense, and Tarasque must sense his apprehension, because she roars, sending a gout of searing fire into the air.
Ever since the failed dragon attack in Scotland, Avalon Tower command must have realized that they might be a target for such an attack. And they prepared.
Gunshots ring out, echoing through the air. That gun is a death machine, even for Tarasque.
A spray of blood spatters from Tarasque’s left wing, and the world tilts as she tumbles sideways. I clench my teeth, clinging to Talan as hard as I can. For a few seconds, earth and sky spiral around me as Tarasque spirals downward. Only through Talan’s unyielding strength, his ceaseless grip, am I staying on the dragon’s back.
Camelot’s shoreline races closer—the docks, the stone alleys. Then, with a mighty beat of her wings, Tarasque manages to rear at the last second, rising slowly. The gun keeps firing. If we land on the battlements where I’d planned, it will still be able to hit us.
“Into the courtyard!” I shout into the wind.
Talan pulls Tarasque over the fortress walls, keeping her low to avoid the gunfire.
“Merlin’s Tower!” I point to the ivory castle standing on a hill, four stories high with apple trees nearby. “There. There’s a balcony on one of the towers. See it? We have to make it there.”
“It’s too narrow for Tarasque!” Talan shouts back. “She’ll never fit.”
“We’ll jump.”
He mutters something under his breath that sounds like madness but doesn’t argue.
Bells are still clanging, and screams ring out from the city below, but they’re muffled by the adrenalin coursing through my blood.
We bank sharply toward Merlin’s Tower. A shell whistles past us from the anti-dragon gun, and it explodes near Lothian Tower.
My stomach clenches. There are bodies in Avalon Tower’s courtyard. Civil war has erupted in Camelot, and the dead litter the ground.
Now, we’re their new target. Knights unleash a storm of arrows—iron fury loosed from crossbows, screaming through the air. Tarasque’s scales are impervious, but Talan and I aren’t. One well-placed shot, and we’re dead.
“Take her to the far side of the fortress!” I shout. “We want to draw Wrythe’s forces away from Merlin’s Tower. Let them think we’re going to land in the north. It’ll give us a few extra minutes to get the viruses.”
We veer past Merlin’s Tower, and the soldiers beneath us charge after us, abandoning their positions outside the tower. Tarasque circles, arcing wildly, her pattern hard to predict. She’s skillfully evading the shells.
When we’ve created enough chaos, we sweep back again, heading for Merlin’s Tower.
Gunfire blazes from the turret, each report a sharp crack in the chaos. Tarasque flies in a wild route. An arrow skims past her eye, and Tarasque roars, the sound rumbling down my bones. Unleashing a torrent of hot flames, she lights up the sky.
Panicking, she banks hard, rising high above Avalon Tower’s tallest spire. My stomach lurches at the sudden ascent.
Talan shouts a command, and Tarasque dives, plummeting straight for Merlin’s Tower. This is madness. Reckless, chaotic madness. Utterly uncontrolled.
Wind tears at my face as we drop, and my thighs clench around Tarasque’s neck. Every one of my muscles goes taut.
When I came up with this plan, I’d envisioned a slow, cautious flight. Gently gliding by the balcony, easily jumping on.
But this is anything but slow or cautious.
The ivory tower rushes toward us too quickly. My heart is going to explode because we’re going to hit it. We’re going to die. This is how it ends, with wind and stone and bones crushed to dust, and a dragon’s roar.
But there’s no time to second-guess at this point.
As we swoop by the balcony, Talan leaps. A half heartbeat later, I follow, but I’m a second too late, and my body is angled wrong. My foot slips, and I plunge backward off the railing, arms flailing for purchase. Talan’s hand clamps around my arm, and gravity yanks me down. An arrow thuds into the wall beside me, but he doesn’t let go.
He lifts me onto the balcony, and I tumble on top of him. Smiling and shaky, I take a deep breath.
The moment of peace doesn’t last long. Overhead, Tarasque’s roar rumbles through the skies, sending a chill through my bones.
“Let’s go.” I jump up, already reaching for the door. “We’ve got one minute. That’s it.”
I turn the handle on the balcony door. It doesn’t budge.
“Locked,” I say.
Talan kicks the door, and it splinters open, one hinge breaking completely. “Faster than a lockpick.”
We rush into the tower, crossing the corridor to the hall of the Round Table. I’m relieved to find it unguarded, but it won’t be for long. I open the door and enter the hall, racing across the stone floor to Merlin’s portrait. Quickly, I find the switch to open the secret door. It clicks open, and Talan moves to take a step.
“Wait!” I say. “Iron. And viruses. I’ve already built up an immunity. Let me do this. You stay here and kill anyone who comes close.”
I dash to the iron mesh and pull it aside. Inside the secret room, I cross to the desk and remove the vials of viruses, sliding them carefully into my padded bag. The vials are still in their wooden holders, and I take care not to smash them against each other, fighting the urge to jam them into my bag. That would kill Talan and all the demi-Fey here.
As I close the bag, I hear Talan’s voice. “Nia, you need to go faster.”
And yet, if one of these breaks…
I gingerly tuck the last vial into the bag and exit through the iron mesh curtain.
“They’re almost here,” Talan says.
“ Fuck .”
“We might have to fight our way out.”
I swallow and nod, but we rush for the door anyway. I grab Talan’s hand, and we race into the hall, where I guide us to an ancient, narrow passage. If anyone comes looking for us, they’ll probably head straight for the hall of the Round Table.
We follow the twists and turns of the corridor. I cradle the bag gently, relief washing over me at every step. All we need to do is get this bag somewhere that Tarasque can land, and we’ll summon her to us.
Talan and I step into a hallway with a high stone archway. Light streams in through stained glass windows, illuminating the portrait of my father wielding a bloody sword.
“Hi, Dad,” I say quietly.
Talan goes still. “Footfalls,” he whispers. “Someone is about to turn the corner.”
I pull a dagger from my sheath, ready to hurl it at whoever I see.
But in the next heartbeat, I find myself staring at my ex-boyfriend covered in blood.