by May Dawson
I hold it to my chest, nodding. There’s something magic about the string that connects that ancient relative who faced the end of Camelot and me.
But I hope we don’t both see the end of our kingdoms.
Merlin leans in close to me. “Don’t fret, Tera. Even if you do die, you’ll find death is far from unpleasant.”
My lips part in surprise, but having delivered that highly alarming thought, he’s moved on to Rian beside me.
I loop the sheath onto my belt, and it disappears. I can sense it there, and when I drop my hand to the hilt, it’s cool and solid under my fingertips, but I can’t see it.
Devlin inclines his head toward the door, and I follow him out onto Merlin’s front porch. This time, the ceaseless chatter of the wind chimes doesn’t seem eerie at all.
“I already said goodbye to the others,” he says. “I need to head back. Find my men. Lie, as I do.”
“Did Merlin say anything strange to you?” I ask.
“Everything he says is strange.”
That’s impossible to argue with.
“Goodbye, Tera,” he says, cupping my face with his hands.
I want to tell him not to say goodbye, but there are no guarantees, so I lean up onto my tiptoes and kiss him. His body is comfortingly solid against mine as my lips nudge his open, and the two of us share one deep, soulful kiss.
“Goodbye, Devlin,” I tell him, just in case.
He touches my chin, tilting my jaw up so he can look in my face one last time, and gives me a strange, slow smile. Not a smirk for once.
“I’m glad I met you, Tera Donovan,” he says. “It’s been an adventure.”
Then he turns and strides away into the night. I watch him go, until he disappears into the shadows.
Chapter 27
When we step through the portal into a frost-bitten night, the stars are vibrant and alive in a deep blue cloudless sky. It’s hard to believe that this is a world at war. We make our way back down the treacherous mountainside. It’s foolish to move like this at night, but we don’t discuss it; we just head through the ice-crusted snow, stepping carefully, moving as one.
We all want to see for ourselves what’s become of Avalon.
When we reach the city, at first it seems quiet; every house is shuttered for the night, with smoke curling out of the chimneys. Snow blankets the roofs and glitters under the moonlight. Everything seems picturesque.
Then the screaming starts.
We exchange glances, searching for the source of the sound. But Penny must know; she dives forward. The enchantment that made her look like a dog Earthside shakes off her with each leap. She’s a blur as she changes, until suddenly it’s a long black dragon that races across the ground, then takes to the air.
The five of us run after her as Penny swoops low over the rooftops.
We arrive at the house just in time to hear the last crack, to catch a glimpse of a long, cruel Ravenger tail weaving behind it as it stalks inside the house.
“I’m going up,” Airren says without hesitation. “They’ve probably sealed themselves upstairs. Meet me inside.”
He jumps and catches the edge of the gutter, easily pulling himself up and onto the roof. Mycroft hands him up his sword. The two of them trade a look. Then Airren edges along the roof for the window.
“Rian, Tera, stay back,” Mycroft warns us.
“I feel like you keep forgetting that I’m your king,” Rian says lightly. “And perhaps you keep forgetting that Tera is…Tera.”
I pull a face at him. Mycroft goes into the house first—of course—and Cax, Rian and I follow after, with drawn swords.
“Kitchen’s clear,” Mycroft says, since that’s the first room that we’ve just stepped into. There’s a lantern knocked over on the table, and Cax sets it upright before it can ignite the room. But other than that, there are no signs of struggle beyond the broken-in front door, covered with claw scratches.
Mycroft turns the corner into the next room of the house and disappears. There’s a hiss and he calls back, “Living room is not clear!”
“Stay here,” Cax tells us, because apparently once Airren and Mycroft are gone, he thinks he’s supposed to boss the prince and me. Cax ducks through the doorway.
Magic brightens the doorway like a flash of lightning, and there’s the sound of swords ringing out and hissing and thuds.
My sword’s growing heavy, and my fingers begin to ache around the hilt. My jaw sets with irritation. Are these men always going to insist on trying to keep me out of danger? I’ve been in and out of trouble without them as the Lady Fox, but their protective urges still take them over.
Rian opens the door on the other side of the room curiously. I expect it to be a pantry, nothing dangerous.
And indeed, there’s nothing inside but tidy rows of jam and canned green beans and tomatoes and pickles.
But a Ravenger leaps through the kitchen window, as if it’s coming to the rescue of its companion. I throw my arms up as glass shards spray over us, but even as I can feel little slices digging into my skin, I press forward with my sword.
The Ravenger whirls, slamming into the table, breaking it in two. It’s so enormous; it seems to fill the room with teeth and claws and fury.
The lantern slams into the stone floor and breaks apart. Little flames flicker across the ground, looking for a place to catch before they die.
Rian and I are separated on opposite sides of the Ravenger, and when it whirls to face him, I drive the sword into its side. Its head snaps back to me, its teeth snarling. It doesn’t even seem to miss a step.
Take control of their minds. That’s what I need to do. But I need a minute of quiet to think first, and that’s hard to find when the Ravenger is trying to literally bite my head off.
Penny slams into the Ravenger, tearing away at its neck, and the Ravenger screams. It flees, thundering through the house and up the narrow stairs. Penny jumps after it, her leathery wings half-unfurled in this tight space, her lips curled back from her teeth.
Penny’s grown to be beautiful and fierce, and I’d stop to marvel at her if Rian and I weren’t racing up the stairs behind her, swords drawn. We’ve accidentally driven the Ravenger toward the very people we hoped to protect.
The Ravenger slams through a bedroom door and we follow. Airren stands at the window, and he looks to us in surprise; he’s helping a woman make her way down.
“Tera, the baby!” he calls, and I turn to find a crib in the corner of the room.
The Ravenger lunges for the crib at the same time I do.
“Pesterus!” Rian shouts, flinging out his hand, and the Ravenger slows. It seems to be moving in half-time, not quite right.
I reach the crib first. I catch the silent, wide-eyed toddler up to my shoulder and spin, protecting her with my body as teeth snap against my shoulder. The Ravenger’s snout bumps my shoulder, and I feel its sharp, broken teeth graze me—
But Airren is there, driving his sword into its eye, and the thing falls at his feet. He stabs it again, making sure. The sword glows bright in the darkness, even brighter than in Merlin’s house, as if it gains power in darkness.
“Are you alright?” he asks me.
I stare at the enormous terrible monster at my feet. My adrenaline is pounding. “Can’t tell.”
“Alright then,” he says, nonplussed.
I carry the tot downstairs and into the yard, where her parents wait.
“Thank you, thank you,” says the weeping woman. “I thought we were all going to die…”
“I’m glad you’re all okay,” I say as I hand the girl back. Her arms clutch her mother’s neck and she finally sobs in fear.
The woman might not have been able to see well through her blur of tears but suddenly her eyes widen. “Tera Donovan!”
Her fear is palpable as she backs away from me.
“Unfortunately,” I say evenly.
I turn on my heel and walk away. My hands are shaking now, even though they didn
’t shake at all when I stepped into the path of that Ravenger.
“Tera.” Mycroft materializes at my side, as silent as ever. His face is grim and emotionless as ever, but his hazel eyes are worried. “Don’t take it to heart.”
“How do I not take it to heart?” I demand. “They’ll never see me as anything but Tera Donovan, the dark lord’s daughter.”
He touches the small of my back. His touch is always so comforting, but right now, I barely feel it. He says quietly, “But we know.”
“That’s not enough.” As soon as I’ve said it, I know it’s true. I’ve said before it was enough, that I could be Tera Donovan by day and the Lady Fox by night, and all that mattered was that I knew who I was. But it’s not good enough.
I thought I wanted to be free of Dirtside.
Maybe what I want is to be free of myself.
Chapter 28
Devlin
My parents are on their thrones, surrounded by the court, when I throw open the doors and stride past the guards into the throne room.
I carry the shield over my shoulder, and a murmur of voices pass through the crowds. All the lords and ladies of the court—raised to aristocracy after the murder of the original nobility of this land—are dressed in their finest tuxedoes and ball gowns, a sea of black with pops of colorful silk.
The court is an irrelevant blur to me as I head toward my mother, who sits up on the dais with a smile on her face. My father is beside her, smoking his pipe, looking absent as he so often did.
“You returned safely, son,” my mother says warmly. “And I see you have the shield I asked for.”
Asked. That’s a funny way to phrase it.
I stop at the base of the dais and sling it to the slick marble floor. “Of course. I’m ever the faithful son.”
Faithful to my people, not to her.
My mother rises to her feet and holds her arms out to me. I climb the steps to the dais, and she gathers me into her arms before pressing a kiss to my cheek. I graze her soft cheek with my lips. The revulsion I feel when I’m close to her never shows on my face.
I’ve been practicing that emotionless face since I was seven years old, and my parents took me on my first ‘great hunt’.
“I am so very proud of you,” my mother says, and then directs her attention to the court, slipping her hand over my arm, which forms automatically into a crook for her to hold. The court stills, and everyone seems to hang on the words of her rambling, praising speech exalting the shield, her son and…if one were to read between the lines…herself.
I begin to relax into a familiar pattern. The cycle of threats and affection, of control and praise, spins endlessly with her. As a child I had few defenses against it.
It takes children a long time to give up wanting their parents’ love. It might be our greatest vulnerability as humans.
I thought I’d given up wanting anyone’s love, but Tera Donovan has proven to be my second greatest vulnerability.
“Come here.” My mother steers me to my father’s throne, which is absent. He’s disappeared while my mother spoke, and I glance at the gilt door to the side of the dais, which leads through the narrow passages to their chambers. It’s closed.
“Let the people see you on the throne,” she says, taking the throne beside me, still holding my hand. “Let them see their future.”
Reluctantly, I take the throne. When I sit in this seat, the view of the hushed faces in the crowd feels below us, distant. I don’t like to think of myself as above any of them. It makes me feel too much like my parents.
I haven’t sat in this seat since I was a child on my father’s lap.
My mother’s servant materializes at her side, offering crystal goblets of wine. I take one and balance it lazily on the arm of the throne, determined to spill it when I have the chance. There’s something unsettling about tonight. The wine might be drugged or poisoned.
“Oh!” she tells me brightly, as if she’s remembered something pleasant. “Do you know the castle chaplain? Eurich?”
“Of course, Mother,” I say, my mind racing even though my face is placid. “I go to services regularly.”
“Out of desire or out of duty?” she asks.
“Out of duty.” I don’t believe in any fairy tales, but my mother believes in using religion to control our people, and so we must set an example. “You taught me to attend faithfully and keep my thoughts to myself.”
The church has been quite an ally to me in smuggling Vasilik nobles to safety. In the chapel, going through the rites, I have the chance to pass information to Eurich and receive it back from him.
“I did.” She touches my face affectionately, and her face crumples slightly before she returns to her usual faint smile. She seems genuinely distraught. “I think perhaps I taught you too well to hide your thoughts.”
“Mother?”
She raises a finger on the arm of the throne, the same way she did to call the wine.
But this time, the servant that walks across the dais carries a platter with Eurich’s head. His eyes are closed; his mouth is not. His tongue sticks out from between his teeth, bloated and dark.
My stomach reels.
Eurich talked. That’s the message my mother is sending with his head. I wonder if she knew I betrayed her while I was still dirtside.
“Eurich had so much to say,” my mother tells me, her voice casual. “Well, not at first. Maure had to have quite the long talk with him first. It took almost the whole time you were dirtside.”
At her first words, a dozen guards tromp out of nowhere, their armored feet clanging against the floor. They line the edges of the dais, though when they take their places, they don’t block the crowd’s view of the throne.
Suddenly, sickenly, I know Tera was right when she asked me to stay. I always wanted to believe I could save my people and myself too.
The throne is suddenly warm against my thighs, along my back. I start to jump to my feet, and the goblet falls to the floor and shatters, spilling wine that trickles down the dais steps.
I haven’t gone anywhere, though. My arms are suddenly against the arms of the throne, which are hot, too, unbearably hot now, and I can’t seem to yank my arms away.
My mother has been planning this for a long time. These enchantments are not easy.
“How many times did you have them practice running in here on cue, Mother?” I ask. “Did you mark their positions on the floor with tape to make sure no one missed their spot? You wouldn’t want to block their view, after all. You always loved a show.”
I glance out at the crowd. Two hundred of my mother’s most loyal court members, no doubt. It is bizarre to think that so many people will stand by and watch me be tortured to death, and still be ready to smile should my mother crack a joke.
“I loved you,” my mother says, her voice raw. “Where did I go wrong?”
The doors at the end of the great hall open. No music plays. The room is eerily silent.
Maure, my mother’s favorite torturer, walks slowly toward the front of the room. His head is down, and his bag over his shoulder makes a soft little clink sound as the metallic objects within it shift. The crowds’ eyes follow him curiously, and I admit, my eyes are drawn to him too.
I know my mother’s putting on a show, but I’m still rather deeply invested.
Maure finally reaches the top of the dais. A servant pushes a table across the dais in a well-choreographed move. Maure sets the bag carefully on the tabletop and opens it. He takes his time searching for the perfect tool.
I always knew it might well end this way. I’ve learned enchantments to make it easier to detach from my body.
When he begins to cut me, I scream and scream, but that’s just my body. I fall deep inside myself.
And Tera is waiting there. Not her. My memories, or maybe it would be more accurate to say my dreams. Because she meets me with a smile on her face and a warm, tender hug, as if I’ve just come home to her, as if it’s the most commonplace t
hing for the two of us to be reunited.
In the distance, I can hear myself making a desperate, keening sound.
I’ve been most afraid of betraying my people in a moment like this, of babbling out names and meeting locations and drop sites, as much as I’ve tried to keep my rebellion fractured. I barely even know the full extent of it; it’s grown so much the past few years, and I’ve tried to keep as few contacts as I can manage, as the Fox.
But they don’t even bother to ask me questions for a long while. My mother watches as he pries my fingernails off, as he cuts off my shirt and lays it neatly to one side so he can gouge my shoulders and arms. Tears roll down her cheeks, even though these are her orders.
Everything out in the real world is muted. Then I snap back into my own body, fully, and my chest heaves with ragged breaths as all the pain hits me fully.
She tells him to stop. She rests her hand on my shoulder and murmurs in my ear, “I have magicians and enchantments of my own, son.”
I try to go deep again, but I can’t. I can’t get away from this moment, from the pain that has me jerking at my chains, from her tears or from Maure’s tools.
She keeps asking me questions.
Finally, desperately, I reach out. Rian and I have planned for this moment; we’ve practiced.
And yet, when I call out, it’s Tera’s name in my mind.
I shake my head to clear it. I only have a few minutes. My mother will know I’m reaching out to them, she’ll be able to feel my magic.
Devlin? Are you okay? Her voice is alive with fear.
No. Why can’t I reach Rian? Is Rian dead?
No, he’s right here.
Maury pulls a pair of what might be garden shears out of his bag. He kneels at my feet, almost out of my line of sight.
“Tell me who worked with you, Devlin,” my mother says. “Please. I want this to be over.”
Tera, I say desperately, because I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out. Ask Rian about the fallback plan.
She disappears. The seconds tick by—longer for me, no doubt, than any of them—and then my screaming is so loud that I’m afraid I might not even be able to hear her in my ear.
