Page 52 of Avalon Tower

My heart is a wild beast.

I let out a long, slow breath. I’m resting on the quiver and arrows, and they dig into my back. I’m dirty and wet, and I’ve torn my pants. My face burns and feels sticky, and when I wipe my forehead, my fingertips come out smeared maroon. Drying blood. I think I cut it when I was racing through the branches in the grove. Oh, and I bit my tongue.

I have the quiver, but I lost the bow on the way. Still, despite the injured ankle, this is overall a success. I’m alive, and on the way to Allevur.

Fuck. My elation dies when I realize that I’ve lost my bag, too—which had my forged papers in it. If anyone asks for them, I’m screwed. The disguise no longer makes any sense.

Once I get off in Allevur, my appearance will draw instant attention. I look around, searching for anything that might be a change of clothes, but all I see are crates nailed shut. On either side of the carriage, there’s a door—but there’s no way of knowing what’s beyond it.

Wrythe taught us that the train of Gobannos is a strange hybrid of human technology and Fey magic. Once inside, perceptions can become strange to those not used to magic. Carriages are glamoured or twisted into strange shapes as magic bends reality to its will.

It can be dangerous to venture into the unknown, especially now that I look more like a fugitive than an aristocratic Fey hunter.

I crouch down in the carriage and wait. Hopefully, I’ll go unnoticed in here until I get to Allevur.

I unshoulder the quiver and stuff it behind a crate. As the train chugs along, I lean back and shut my eyes, trying to ignore the pain in my ankle. Have I made a terrible mistake? Rushing onto a Fey train because I heard a voice that might or might not predict the future?

It’s certainly possible.

When the mission ends—assuming I get home safely—I could be kicked out of the academy and on the next boat back to the U.S.

The instant pang of sadness catches me by surprise. My life before Camelot was a different sort of chaos, one that made me feel tired instead of exhilarated. One where I spent lots of time alone.

No Tana, no Serana, no Darius.

No Raphael.

Not that I care about him.

I drop my head into my hands, trying to focus on the next step. I’m still in mortal danger. I’ll deal with the fallout of my actions later.

The carriage door opens, and my head snaps up, pulse roaring.

A blond Fey steps inside, frowning. He’s wearing a black uniform and holds a short sword, but even I can see that he’s untrained, holding it as if he’s holding a club.

I stumble to my feet, standing unsteadily.

He cocks his head at me, and his bronze eyes gleam in the dark, lupine and eerie. “Who are you?”

In the dim light, I can see the suspicion etched on his face. I can only imagine how I look to him. Dirty, bleeding, clothes ripped. I look exactly like a fugitive.

My heart speeds up. He’ll take me into custody. In less than an hour, I’ll be locked in a Fey jail, being tortured for answers.

My mind flashes to something I learned in one of my spy classes. Alleviating suspicion is a difficult task. But shifting it is much easier. You just need someone else to point a finger at. Unfortunately, there’s no one here but me.

“Someone attacked me!” I say in Fey. “I…I think he was a demi-Fey. A stowaway.”

He tenses, peering behind me. “Where?”

“I think he’s hiding in the rear carriage.”

“Stay here,” he commands, and walks between the crates to a door behind me. He readies his sword, then opens it, stepping into the darkness of the last carriage. But from here, I can see it’s also empty of people, which isn’t ideal.

My breath shallows. I need to get out of here, now.

I run for the other door. Pushing through it, I burst into a passenger carriage. Fey dine at tables, sipping drinks and eating hors d’oeuvres. I’ve never seen so many Fey at once, and they’re all looking at me, champagne flutes paused in midair.

My chances of blending in are now zero.

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