Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy)

by Alessa Ellefson

  My initial excitement peters out. Here I was, thinking that I’d finally be able to show everyone that I was actually good at something.

  “You need to gently pluck—gently, Mr. von Blumenthal! No need to squeeze them to a pulp.” The teacher walks down between the two rows, looking over at our work. “When you’re done with your pickings, you may grab one of the glass vials by the windows, fill it up with water, then place the flowers in it.”

  “What are we going to do with them afterward?” a curly-haired girl asks.

  “When you’ve placed the flowers inside, you’ll replace the vials by the windows and let them simmer for three hours,” Miss Pelletier answers. “Which will result in what, Miss Adams?”

  The curly-haired girl looks about, uncomfortable. “Scented water?”

  “Which we can then turn into essence of—”

  The sound of breaking glass cuts the teacher short.

  “Elias Gianakos!” Miss Pelletier yells, rushing over to him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Shaking, the boy holds out his bloody hand before him. “S-Sorry, miss,” he says. “I didn’t mean to…”

  “No, you never do,” the teacher says. “Go see the nurse. Miss Henderson, come help me clean this mess.”

  Without a word, a tall blonde girl grabs a broom and sets to sweeping up the broken shards.

  “Happens all the time,” Bri says. “It’s a wonder they ever accepted him into Lake High.”

  Jack comes back with one of the few round glass vials left and hands me one.

  “One thing’s for sure,” Owen says, nearly dropping his own container, “he’s never going to make it as a knight if he keeps at it.”

  “You mean not everyone does?” I ask, carefully dropping the flowers into the water. “Not even after passing the test?”

  “Nah,” Owen says, flicking the remains of a flower off his fingers and gingerly picking up another one. “Only those who get through all the trials.”

  “Which means you’ve gotta demonstrate your abilities in fighting,” Bri says. “Barehanded and with weapons.”

  “And with elementals,” Owen adds.

  “And those who don’t want to fight?” I ask, stoppering my vial.

  I look up when no one answers. All three of them are staring at me like I’ve just sprouted a pair of horns.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Why wouldn’t you want to fight?” Owen says. “It’s the greatest honor you can get! To defend our world against the Fey who would otherwise kill us all!”

  “The Bible clearly says to put your sword back,” I say. “I don’t see why I should fight when I don’t—”

  Owen throws himself at me, and we both land among Miss Pelletier’s foxgloves moments before one of the large hanging pots comes crashing down, shattering the table beneath.

  I cough as clouds of dust swirl about us before settling back down on the remains of my workstation.

  “What happened?” Miss Pelletier cries out. “Is anybody hurt?”

  “I-I don’t think so,” I say as Owen helps me up.

  “Just your plants, miss,” Bri says. “They’re completely squished.”

  “As long as nobody’s hurt,” the teacher says, sounding on the verge of tears.

  “Trust the new girl to cause trouble on her first day here,” I hear Keva say two tables over.

  “It wasn’t her,” Owen says, angry. “It was Daniel. I saw him use EM!”

  “Don’t be silly, Mr. Vaughaun,” Professor Pelletier says with a frown. “Elemental manipulation’s not allowed outside of training until you’ve reached squire level. Go get a broom to clear this up.”

  “But that’s not fair!” Owen exclaims. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “Did I say you did?” the teacher snaps. “Now get a broom and start sweeping!”

  Muttering under his breath, Owen complies, but I grab the broom from his hands.

  “You saved me,” I explain.

  “Sweet, thanks,” Owen says.

  But Bri slaps him across the head. “Don’t be a ninny. You can sweep too.”

  Their fight brings down the teacher’s wrath upon us, and we all end up on cleaning duty. By the time the bell rings, the place looks as it had before, minus a few plants.

  As we leave, I see Daniel high-five his two friends, and I remember that strange glow I’d seen coming from him in Sir Boris’s class. Something tells me that Owen was right, and that spells trouble for me.

  The next couple of classes are mercifully easy and mundane, which I thank my guardian angel for, not that he had anything to do with my schedule. By the time three o’clock hits, I’ve already managed to get two of Sir Boris’s assignments completed, and the third one well under way. If this keeps up, I’ll have all twenty-seven of them done within the week!

  “Miss Pendragon, would you mind telling us what you’re doing when you’re supposed to be listening to me?”

  I look down to find that I’ve turned Lady Ysolt’s instructions to shreds.

  “I suppose you feel you don’t need this class,” she states, circling me like a vulture. A gust of wind poufs up her hair so she looks like a rooster. “Very well then, what would you do if you saw a crack in your brace?”

  I see Bri’s hand shoot up, but Lady Ysolt ignores her.

  “Have it repaired?” I venture.

  “And how can you tell it needs to be repaired?”

  “Because…there’s a crack?”

  A few people chuckle, and Lady Ysolt snaps her boots together, her sword clanking against her side.

  “And if there are no cracks,” she asks, her voice dangerously low, “does that mean the brace is uncompromised?”

  “Yes,” I manage to say around the lump that’s growing in my throat.

  A tight smile appears at the corners of her full mouth, not a good sign. “What happens if a rune’s overused without being properly tended for, even if no cracks are apparent?”

  Why is she asking me so many questions? This is my first day here. Can’t she give me a break? I see Bri raise her hand again, and I stare at her, willing for her knowledge to pass into my brain, but it’s no use.

  “Well, Miss Pendragon,” says Lady Ysolt, “we’re all waiting for your wisdom.”

  “I’m not sure,” I say.

  “It’s simple, Miss Pendragon. You die.”

  I shudder at the words, and can’t help but think back to Agnès and her strange and unexplained death. Could it be that she’d stumbled upon a Fey? But that isn’t possible. We were going to a regular boarding school! And what about my father?

  I rub my clammy hands against my uniform in a vain attempt to dispel my unease.

  “Which is why you need to pay a little more attention to my instructions,” says Lady Ysolt, jolting me away from my unpleasant recollection. She jostles a basket before her. “Now, everybody grab a ring and fan out. Just don’t forget to return them when lesson’s over.”

  The class erupts in a general brouhaha. Even Bri can’t control the excited glimmer in her eyes as she reaches for a ring. When it’s my turn, however, Lady Ysolt pulls the basket out of my reach.

  “Not you, Morgan,” she says. “You’ll be observing this week.”

  With a sneer, Daniel pushes me aside. “Guess Stupid will never become a knight now,” he says to his two buddies.

  They laugh as they head for the farthest end of the training field.

  “Fine,” I mutter to myself, walking over to the side. “I don’t want to learn how to fight anyway.”

  Don’t lie. Admit you’re jealous.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, slumping into the seat. “Look at them. They look ridiculous.”

  A few feet away from me, Elias is scrunching up his face in concentration, yelling some strange word over and over again. Not even Bri nor Owen seem to be making much progress with their manipulations either, while Jack, for once, looks completely lost.

  They all look like they’re sufferi
ng from constipation, my guardian angel notes.

  I chuckle. Maybe it’s not so bad to have been left out then.

  “Remember your lessons,” Lady Ysolt says, marching before them. “Breathe deeply, and call the elemental out.”

  There’s a loud whoop. Over at his end, Daniel’s managed to create a fountain of water, the jet spurting in the air and showering everyone within a five-foot radius.

  My eyes widen at the sight. Saint George’s balls, that’s really impressive!

  “Very good, Mr. von Blumenthal,” Lady Ysolt says, the plates of her strange clothes reflecting the waning light of day. “I see talent hasn’t skipped a generation in your family. You may want to control where the element goes now.”

  She catches the rest of the class staring and claps her hands. “Did I say you could stop?” she yells.

  The rest of the students scramble to resume their practice and I, noting nothing more interesting is happening, decide to take a nap instead.

  Their methods are so backward, my guardian angel chimes in.

  “How would you know?” I retort, placing my arm over my eyes.

  And why is there only one supervisor? My guardian angel tuts. Elementals can be quite dangerous, and accidents happen so easily…

  “Stop always being such a downer,” I say. “This school has taught this for centuries. You don’t think they know what they’re doing?”

  Doing something dumb over a long time doesn’t make it any less dumb, he continues in his usual mocking tone. How long was it again that humans believed the earth was flat?

  “Seriously?” I ask back. “You can’t even let me rest for five minutes?”

  My guardian angel doesn’t reply immediately, then says, It seems awfully quiet all of a sudden, don’t you think?

  Realizing he’s right, I scramble into a sitting position and find Keva frowning down at me.

  “Who were you talking to?” she asks.

  “No one,” I say with a flush.

  Keva narrows her eyes at me. “You’re schizophrenic, aren’t you? That’s why your family kept you away all these years.” She grimaces. “Class is over. Ysolt wanted me to let you know.” As she leaves, I hear her add, “Worse than I thought, she’s completely mental!”

  The rest of the week passes by in a blur. By the time Friday hits, I don’t think I’m making any sense anymore, not to myself nor to anyone else willing to listen long enough to my babble.

  “You’re never going to catch up if you keep doing that.”

  “Doing what?” I ask.

  Jack points down at my notebook, where a large ink stain has spread over my latest essay on the habits of bogeys and their lesser-known cousins, the domovois.

  Jack snatches the notebook from under my hand. “Really, Morgan. Bogeys aren’t afraid of books, not unless you think you can him bash their heads in with them, which is highly unlikely.”

  “Just hand that back to me,” I say. I tear the sheet of paper out and apply myself to copying my first answer over.

  “Can’t you just finish it for me?” Owen whispers across the table.

  “You’re not going to learn anything if I do,” Jack retorts without looking up from his book.

  “I will,” Owen says. “I’ll just memorize what you wrote for the exams.”

  Jack wrinkles his nose in disgust, but picks up Owen’s essay. Giving up, I let my pen drop and recline against my seat. Over the last five days, I think I’ve spent more time in the library than in any other room.

  I stare up past the arcing bridges at the vaulted ceilings five floors up. Bri was right. Despite my initial awe of the place, I’m already getting sick of it.

  “You can’t call domovois Peeping Toms, Owen,” Jack says, crossing out Owen’s answers furiously.

  “Why not? I distinctly recall one got caught trying to sneak into this woman’s bed while her husband was gone.”

  “That’s because she’d let the stove run cold and the domovois was freezing to death,” Jack says. “You have such selective hearing.”

  “It’s so creepy,” Bri says, “to have a Fey live with you like that, don’t you think? And those poor people were so afraid, they couldn’t even do anything if the critters got pissed at them all of a sudden.”

  “You know, I’ve been thinking,” Owen starts.

  “Well that’d be a first,” Jack retorts under his breath as he rewrites a whole section of Owen’s essay.

  “What if people can have stronger affinities for certain elements, and not others,” Owen continues, unfazed. “Maybe Daniel’s just better at linking up with nymphs and sylphs than the rest of us, and that’s why he’s gotten so good so quickly.”

  “Or maybe he’s better at it because his blood’s purer,” Bri retorts. “He’s from one of the original families, after all.”

  “The original families?” I ask, looking away from the unicorn weaved in the tapestry closest to us.

  “Back in the Middle Ages,” Jack says, tossing the notebook back to Owen, “the original knights who were first taught to use elementals were extremely powerful. Less blood dilution over the generations generally results in a greater ability to control the Fey.”

  “Unless you’re you-know-who,” Bri says, dropping her voice lower as Madame Jiang, the librarian, passes by with a cart of books.

  “Who’s you-know-who?” I ask.

  “She means Jennifer,” Jack says, who turns out to be uncommonly patient with all of my questions—maybe from having been friends with Owen for so long. “She never had the qualifications for being a knight, but because of her family background…they kind of let it slide.”

  “I still think that if I were to use a salamander,” Owen says, “things would be different.”

  Bri flicks him on the head. “Don’t be such a nincompoop. Salamanders are the most dangerous. You’re going to burn your hair off.”

  “Says who?” Owen retorts, rubbing his forehead.

  Madame Jiang stalks over, a frown creasing her otherwise smooth forehead. “This is a library,” she whispers harshly. “Which means no speaking or you’ll be sent out.”

  “It’s time for our last EM class anyway,” Owen says, hopping up onto his feet.

  We pack up and hurry outside, laughing. As we round a corner, we cross the path of two older boys coming in the opposite direction. The moment they see us, they turn sideways until they’re walking down the hallway like a pair of giant crabs, but not before I notice their blackened faces and their very obvious lack of eyebrows.

  “Busted!” Owen yells after them.

  The pair flinches, then hurries away, presumably to the infirmary to get treated. A large, beefy arm comes down around my shoulders, its weight forcing me to stoop over like an old granny.

  “That was our work. Very pretty, don’t you think?” Gareth asks.

  “Playing with live fire,” Gauvain says, shaking his head so his dreadlocks swing around it. “And so close to the face too!”

  “Morgan, my chère,8 how are you doing?” Gareth asks, flexing his biceps so I’m nearly choking.

  “On your way to practice, hmmm?” Gauvain asks.

  “Yeah,” I reply, trying to move from under Gareth’s crushing arm. “Last lesson of the week.”

  Gareth nods understandingly. “Today’s a special day for us too.”

  “We’re going to play a trick on that one,” Gauvain says, his French accent thick from excitement. He points at a boy a few yards ahead of us.

  “Percy?” Keva asks, suddenly next to us.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “He got us in a pigeon of trouble,” Gareth says.

  “It’s ‘smidgen,’ you oaf,” Gauvain says.

  “No thanks, I’m not hungry,” Gareth says, finally lifting his arm off my shoulders. “But you watch, Morgan. Tonight, he’s going to get spanked.”

  “And not by us,” Gauvain adds with a dazzling smile.

  “Make sure to stop over!” Gareth says as the two cousins dash away, the
floor shaking under their steps.

  “We will!” Keva shouts back, waving energetically. “See you later, suckers,” she adds to us, leaving after them.

  Bri jumps from foot to foot. “That means we better check out the arena tonight!”

  “No way,” Owen says. “I’ve a feeling I’m going to have a breakthrough today. I’m not wasting a single second of training until I get it this time.”

  “Whatevers,” Bri says with an indifferent shrug. “I still say watching Percy in a fight’s way more entertaining. What do you say, Jack-Jack? Morgan?”

  “Sure,” I say. “I’ve got nothing better to do anyway.”

  A loud cheer erupts from the stadium next to us, and everyone looks up, gaping.

  “It’s the fight!” Bri yells.

  She pulls off her ring, tosses it back into the basket, and drags Jack limping after her.

  “Owen, you coming?” she calls out as more students run by to get to the arena.

  Owen waves her away. “Not now. I told you I’m gonna have my breakthrough today.”

  “Suit yourself. Morgan?”

  “I’ll be right there,” I say, lingering behind.

  The training field is now empty, except for Owen and myself, Lady Ysolt having been forced to take Elias to the infirmary after Daniel pretended to lose control over his nymph and shot the boy down instead.

  “You sure you don’t want to come?” I ask.

  I may be behind when it comes to all this Fey stuff, but I’m still older than they are, and I don’t like the idea of leaving Owen behind alone.

  “Just go,” Owen says, fixated on his ring. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been doing the same thing for the last week.”

  And with very little progress, my guardian angel adds. But no surprise there.

  The crowd lets out a roar of surprise, and I turn toward the sound. From where I stand, I can see people gathering at the entrance to the stadium, cheering on the fighters.

  “Be careful,” I say over my shoulder as I trot over to see what the fuss is all about.

  “What’s happening?” I ask the first person I reach, a bucktoothed girl with severe strabismus.