Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy)

by Alessa Ellefson

  Facing me, the angel carved on the back of the chair seems to move. My eyes widen as I realize it’s crying, tears of black trailing down its perfectly symmetrical face. The demon it’s about to skewer with his sword opens its mouth, and more of the black goo pours out of it, climbing up the ebony chair.

  Before I know it, the strange liquid’s enveloped Owen’s hands and feet, spreading up and over his limbs. A guttural cry’s wrenched from his thin throat, like his innards are being torn to shreds. He starts struggling against his bindings, his movements getting more jerky and feeble.

  “H-Help,” he gasps before screaming again.

  His eyes, clear for the first time since the accident that sent him to the asylum, are staring straight at me.

  “Please,” he whispers, his body shaken by spasms.

  I lurch forward, grab him under the shoulders, and pull.

  “Come on,” I say, gritting my teeth and trying not to touch the foul substance still creeping up his body.

  Another shudder runs through him as the black liquid reaches his navel, and he lets out a shriek that nearly bursts my eardrums. I pull even harder, sweat dripping down my face and back.

  “Try to push yourself!” I yell.

  Owen stops screaming so suddenly I let him slip from my grasp before I realize what I’m doing and tighten my hold on him again. His breath comes out in short gasps, like he’s drowning.

  I don’t care anymore if the black stuff gets on me or not. I need to get him out of there! I grab for his arms, my hands plunging into the dark slime, and find myself grasping the chair instead. I move my hands around, but can’t feel his limbs.

  “Owen, where’s your hand?” I ask, my throat clenching with fear.

  But the boy’s too far gone from the pain, and he doesn’t respond.

  “Owen,” I say, getting more and more frantic, “lift your god-damned hand so I can get you out of there!”

  The black liquid reaches his sternum. Owen’s shoulders convulse.

  “No!” I scream, tearing at the slime as fast as I can, trying to get it off him. “Nononononono!”

  My hands are a blur, but the more I fling the goo off from Owen, the faster it seems to be climbing up his body. Soon it reaches his chin. His head falls against the back of the seat, his mouth open.

  “Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t…” I cry, tears pouring down my face to lose themselves in the black mixture.

  The liquid pours inside his mouth, cutting off his last gurgling cry. Within seconds it closes over his nose, reaches over his scalp. The last thing I see are his eyes, staring into mine, before the darkness envelops them and he’s gone.

  I sink to my knees before the now-empty seat. Owen. Gone! What am I going to tell Bri?

  I don’t know how long I remain prostrated before the Siege Perilous. I don’t even notice when the blackness that’s stolen Owen away disappears again, leaving the seat as pristine as it was before.

  All I can think of as I clench and unclench my hands is how cruel God is to make me witness my friend’s death, but also be the one to have to bear Bri the news.

  In a spurt of rage, I push the seat violently away from me. It topples backward and falls with a loud thud, making the floor shake.

  Then, out of the sudden, deep quiet that’s descended upon me, comes another long, terrifying scream.

  I smack my head up into the side of the table as I look about for another victim, when I realize the screams are coming from outside.

  I rush to the window. Long shadows are now enveloping the courtyard below me, distorting everything in sight. I can see the asylum north of where I stand. On the other side, going west, is the road we take to and from the landing pad, where the boats are waiting the coming of the weekend to send us back to the surface.

  Frowning, I squint at the three long shapes on the hill, their graceful keels curving up into three stylized dragon heads. I blink a few times, then squint again as a dull flash of blue reaches me once more. My breath catches in my throat; running between those boats while waving a knife is a girl, and just a few steps behind her, taking its time, is a blurred-out shape.

  My heart quickens, and I run out of the room, bumping into a white-clad man standing in the doorway. I bounce off the wall before tearing down the hallway toward the stairs that lead to the exit.

  “Help!” I cry out, sprinting so fast a stitch develops in my side.

  From the ground level, I can barely make out the boats. Another sharp scream rings out in the air, then is just as abruptly cut off.

  “Leave her alone!” I yell as my feet pound down the wharf.

  I reach the first of the boats, but find its surroundings empty. Without waiting to catch my breath, I race to the next one. Lying on the blackened grass behind it is Jennifer, a dark shape bent over her.

  My blood runs cold, and I throw myself forward. My fingers graze only air as the shape moves away from me, revealing the rest of Jennifer’s body. I land on my knees on the burnt-out grass next to her.

  I gather Jennifer’s limp body in my arms and look up, but the dark figure’s gone.

  With trembling hands, I shake her by the shoulders.

  “Wake up,” I say, unable to contain a sob. “Wake up. It’s gone. The thing’s gone!”

  But Jennifer’s limpid blue eyes don’t open to glower at me like they usually do.

  “Come on,” I say, shaking her more forcefully. “This isn’t a joke, Jennifer!”

  Someone pushes me aside and grabs her hand. “What did you do to her?”

  My mouth opens and closes without uttering a sound as I watch Lance take Jennifer’s pulse, his movements frantic. Someone else arrives, the same squire who’d come to Jennifer’s aid after I punched her.

  “It’s her!” she says, pointing her finger at me as more people appear. “She’s the one who did this. I saw her!”

  “What?” I mumble.

  “You didn’t have enough beating her senseless,” Daniel says, scowling at me, “you also had to try to kill her!”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You said you would make her pay,” the girl says, bursting into tears, “and now you have!”

  “You’re a witch, admit it!” a boy spits at me.

  “You’re trying to kill everyone around you!” someone exclaims.

  “She’s probably got Fey blood in her,” Daniel says. “Always said she was a troll.”

  “Or maybe she’s a demon escaped from hell,” the squire retorts.

  Helpless, I watch as Lance picks Jennifer up in his arms like she weighs no more than a bag of feathers, and hurries away.

  At the end of the pier, he runs into Arthur.

  “She’s still alive,” I hear Lance say before he continues on down the hill toward the school.

  With that one word, it’s like the whole world’s been lifted from my shoulders. I sink farther into the ground, unable to move another muscle. I don’t even react when a pair of shiny black boots enter my vision.

  “Come with me,” I hear Arthur say above me.

  I don’t even care that two knights have to drag me with them like some convict. All I know is that I’ve at least saved one person, and it’s all that matters.

  I’m half dragged, half carried back to school. My ears are buzzing, and my head feels like it’s about to burst like a champagne cork. It’s not until we’ve reached the second floor and I see the large KORT room door wide open that I balk.

  “Come on,” a knight says, shoving me inside.

  I trip on my own feet, but manage to stay upright with the help of Percy, who’s holding my other arm.

  “Y’all right there, Morgan?” he asks. “Come on over ’ere, and ’ave a seat.”

  I slump onto the cool stone bench, my eyes riveted to the Siege Perilous. Though the inky liquid that poured over Owen is now gone, sucked back into the chair, I can still see the boy as he was, just moments ago, his gaunt face distorted with pain.

  Hunched over, I let ou
t a whimper. I can hear people trying to push their way in to get a better view of me, but Gauvain and Gareth shove them back out.

  “Enough!” Arthur yells. “I want everyone who’s not a KORT member or an eyewitness to leave this room immediately.”

  With mumbled words of protest, students file back out, leaving a small group behind.

  “Murderess!” Jennifer’s friend hisses at me on her way to the other side of the room, followed by the rest of their pack.

  I watch them fight over who gets to sit farthest from me.

  Someone knocks at the door, and a second later, a freckled face appears.

  “What is it?” Percy asks.

  “I c-came as a w-witness,” Jack says, in obvious awe.

  “Take a seat with the others,” Percy says, motioning toward the bench.

  I try to give Jack a small smile, but he studiously avoids my eyes. To my surprise, he doesn’t stop next to me, but goes to join the others, and I know that he’s going to talk against me. A feeling of betrayal washes over me, but then I shake it away. I can’t blame Jack; my situation isn’t very pretty right now.

  “You’re finally learning, Smith,” Daniel says. “Thought you’d been taken in by her, like the others. But the witch hasn’t won you over yet, huh?”

  There’s a collective sniggering that gets cut short when Gareth walks over to take a seat. The giant guy pulls his chair out and sits down heavily in it. Daniel lets out a loud cry.

  “Oh, excuse,” Gareth says. “I didn’t realize.”

  And, very slowly, he lifts his seat to let Daniel pull his foot out from under it.

  In another time, another place, I’d have been delighted at the sight. But right now, I can’t bring myself to care.

  A moment later, the door opens again to let in a pale Lance. He marches straight to his seat besides Arthur’s.

  “How is she?” Arthur asks him.

  “We’re not sure,” Lance says with visible difficulty. “Dr. Cockleburr says that she’s showing the same signs of poisoning as Rei, but, from her first observations, it appears something may have stopped its progress. It does look like she was in a fight, however, as she’s bruised around the eye.”

  “Is she conscious?”

  Lance shakes his head.

  “It’s her fault!” Jennifer’s friend yells out, standing up and pointing her finger at me. “It’s because I stopped her that Jennifer’s alive! I—”

  “Silence!” Arthur says. “Sit back down. You will be given the opportunity to speak later.”

  Arthur turns back to Lance. “You were the first knight on the scene,” he says. “What did you see?”

  “I’d heard of a commotion at the landing docks, so I hurried up the hill. When I got to the boats, I saw that girl push Morgan away and Jennifer already unconscious. I checked her vitals, then picked her up to take her to the mending wing.”

  Arthur nods. “Did you note anything strange?”

  “I saw a dagger lying on the ground, but I was too concerned about getting Jennifer help to pay attention to much else.”

  “All right,” Arthur says, taking notes. He then looks at the back of the room, where the witnesses are huddling together. “You.” He points to Jennifer’s friend. “Stand up, and give us your name.”

  “Sophie Williams, sir,” the girl says.

  “Status?”

  “I’m Jennifer’s squire, sir.”

  Gareth stands back up, holding up an old, but well-cared-for Bible.

  “Place your hand on the Bible and swear to speak the truth and nothing but the truth,” he says, “and may God be your witness.”

  Sophie places her trembling hand on the Bible and whispers, “I swear.”

  Gareth sits back down, causing Daniel to scramble to get his feet away as fast as possible.

  “So what did you see happen, Miss Williams?” Arthur asks, pen at the ready.

  “I went looking for Jennifer, sir,” Sophie says. “She’d gone to the infirmary after being punched in the face by her.”

  “Morgan had punched Jennifer?” Arthur asks, sounding mildly surprised. He clears his throat. “Please explain.”

  “Well, we were walking together to get to the fairgrounds,” Sophie says, “having fun, when we came across that murderess. She’d slipped, and Jennifer went to help her. But instead of getting thanked, she got punched in the face!”

  I let out an involuntary cry of protest—how dare she lie so blatantly, and after swearing to God on top of it! I’m halfway up when a small sign from Percy makes me sit back down.

  “But when Jennifer didn’t come back, I decided to go check on her. That’s when I saw her, sir.”

  “Saw who?” Arthur asks, his voice level.

  “That murderess.” Sophie spits out.

  “You can call her Morgan,” Percy says, in his usual bored drawling. “Or Miss Pendragon. Your choice.”

  “Please continue,” Arthur says.

  The girl glares at me. “She was running up to the boats, and I heard Jennifer scream. So I ran up there too, but when I got there, she was already down, and that murd…Morgan was trying to kill her.”

  “How exactly was Morgan killing Jennifer?” Arthur asks.

  I’m amazed at his composure while I’m being accused of yet another murder. I stare, wide-eyed, at his strong features as he looks back and forth between Sophie and his growing stack of notes.

  “She was slapping her, sir.”

  Arthur looks up at Sophie, his eyebrows cocked. “Slapping her?”

  “On the face!” she says to add weight to her account.

  “Very well,” Arthur says. “Did you hear anything at all, from her or around you?”

  Sophie looks stumped for a second. “Not really, sir.”

  “What do you mean, not really?”

  “Well…” Sophie bites her lower lip, throws an accusing look in my direction as if this question is my fault, then adds, “She, that is Morgan, was talking to herself.”

  “And what was she saying?”

  Sophie shrugs. “I’m not sure. I-I was too busy trying to save Jennifer. And then Sir Lance arrived.”

  “Thank you,” Arthur says, “you may sit down.”

  “But I know she was trying to kill her!” Sophie adds. “She’d threatened her. And look at her hands—they’re black, black with the poison she used on Jennifer and the others!”

  We all look down at my hands, and she’s right; my palms are blackened, though I know it’s not because of Jennifer. Hiding my hands deep in my pockets, I momentarily squeeze my eyes shut as visions of Owen’s terrified face come back to me.

  “Yes, thank you,” Arthur says while Gareth forces Sophie back down on the bench with one large hand on her shoulder. “Next.”

  Daniel gets up then. He gives me a tiny smile of derision, then states his name. “Daniel von Blumenthal, sir.”

  Staring down at my lap, I slouch back against the cold wall. I know exactly what he’s going to say, or the rest of their group— it’s Switzerland all over again. In their eyes, I’m a psychotic killer who itched to give Jennifer her due. Well, they might not be entirely wrong on that point, but I never actually wanted her dead. Maybe permanently disfigured or incapacitated…

  I choke back a gasp. Maybe it is my fault she’s now dying in a bed somewhere in the infirmary, I realize. Have I not wished, multiple times, for her to pay for all she’s put me through? Though I’m not the one who’s hurt her, except for the black eye, maybe my wishing it so is what caused it.

  “Morgan?”

  I jerk my head up and blink at the faces staring at me expectantly. I realize that everyone’s already spoken, Jack included, and that it’s now my turn to give an account.

  “Yes?” I ask, standing up so quickly it makes me dizzy.

  Gareth comes to stand beside me, offering me the Bible.

  “Place your hand on the Bible and swear to speak the truth and nothing but the truth,” he says, “and may God be your witness.”r />
  I place my hand on the crackled cover. “I swear,” I say.

  “Please state your name and status,” Arthur says.

  I cast him a mocking look—as if nobody in here knows me. “Morgan Pendragon. Page.”

  “Please state the events leading to the recovery of Jennifer’s unconscious body by Sir Lance.”

  “First of all,” I say, “I would like to make some clarifications.”

  Arthur’s pen stops over his papers. “Very well,” he says with a sigh.

  “When I saw Jennifer this morning, I was looking for my friend’s brother. Jack can attest to that.”

  Jack flinches at the mention of his name, but I ignore him.

  “However I didn’t fall down on my own, as was stated,” I continue. “I was attacked.”

  “Attacked?” Arthur asks the top of his nose scrunching in concern.

  “Yes. By them,” I say, making a sweeping gesture toward the group sitting on the other side of the long bench.

  “How so?”

  “It was an elemental attack,” I say. “A sylph.”

  “You’re quite sure about that?”

  I nod.

  “And you saw them do it?”

  I hesitate. “Not exactly,” I admit. “But it wasn’t the first time I’ve been subjected to bullying from Daniel, so I assumed—”

  “Let it be noted that the accusation of an attack is an assumption by the accused,” Arthur says, making further notes.

  I clench my fists, but keep on with my story—now’s not the time to go berserk. “While falling down, I split my lip open, and under the pretense of helping me, Jennifer threatened me.”

  This time, Arthur can’t help but look at me.

  Sophie springs up from her seat. “Lies!” she yells. “We didn’t hear her say anything!”

  Gareth, who’s back in his original place, has to force her to sit down again.

  “What did she threaten you with?” Arthur asks me.

  I glance quickly in Lance’s direction, but his face remains blank. “I-I’d seen her do something the night before, and she didn’t want me to tell anyone about it.”

  “What was it?” Arthur asks.