Page 96 of Lady of the Lake

“Something can be tiny and large,” Darius says. “You know, like sweet and sour.”

“We’re talking about winning a war, not sauce flavors,” Serena shoots back.

“Okay.” I lean back into my pillows, my eyelids heavy. “I need to shut my eyes for a few hours, and then I think we should figure out more about Wrythe’s sweet and sour secret. He hates the Fey to a degree that’s pathological, and we need to know what he’s planning.”

“We don’t know where to look,” Darius says.

“I do.” I pull the covers up. “Just need a few hours. Wake me in three.”

The moment my eyes drift closed, I see Talan standing in the forest by himself, looking perfect and utterly bereft.

His velvety voice rings in my thoughts.

A serpent’s tongue to drain me of light…

She haunts my bones, and I lie hollow, empty as a crown.

CHAPTER 45

At Avalon Tower, the hour before dawn is the quietest and most dormant. The late-night library scholars and the knights who pore over maps have gone to sleep, and the early birds—the scribes, kitchen staff, and instructors—are still in bed. It’s the blue hour when silence reigns, the perfect time to go snooping in Merlin’s Tower.

The four of us creep through the worn stone hallways in silence. I’m still exhausted, and my fatigue intermingles with the adrenalin of sneaking around in enemy territory. I’m giddy and nauseated, and every sound makes me jump.

As planned, we split wordlessly at the base of the tower. There are three ways up Merlin’s Tower, and we need eyes on every entrance in case the Iron League shows up. Serena, Darius, and Tana are taking watch positions, and I climb the stairs to the top.

I creep up the stairwell, my ears straining for any sound—a lone guard patrolling or knights at the Round Table discussing the war—but I hear nothing but the soft pad of my own footsteps. Reaching the top floor, I make my way into the hall and press my ear to the double doors. Silence greets me, and I turn the handle and peer into the chamber.

Nothing, no movement or lit candles, only moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows onto the Round Table in the center of the room and the flagstone floor.

Quietly, I step inside. The air is cool and heavy with the scent of ancient oak.

I’ve never been in this ancient hall alone, and I am surprised by how large it feels. My footfalls echo off the stone walls, and the vaulted ceilings loom high above me. I feel the weight of history in this place, the centuries past and the generations of knights.

I cross the hall to Merlin’s portrait.

I’ve never actually examined this portrait up close. Glimpsed from a distance, Merlin seems wise and regal. But when I’m standing right in front of it, he seems different. There is a shadow of cunning in his eyes, a coldness to his smile. Up close, he looks mocking, patronizing. Power-hungry. No wonder Mordred hates him.

Okay, you old bastard, how do I get you to open up?

I brush my fingers carefully along the frame until I locate a loose bit of wood in the side. I press it, but it doesn’t budge. I tug on it, but nothing happens. I run my hand around the frame three times and find nothing. My heartbeat speeds up. In about half an hour, Avalon Tower’s staff will start waking. Someone will come here to prepare the room for the day’s meetings, to sweep the floor.

I don’t have much time.

I check the brick wall around the portrait, pushing and prodding. One of the bricks feels wobbly, but it doesn’t shift.

Frustration builds, a pressure in my skull.

Come on. Fucking come on.

Acting on a sudden hunch, I presshardagainst the wobbly brick, and it sinks into the wall.

A click echoes off the ceiling, and the portrait detaches from the wall, swinging open. A puff of musty air washes over me from inside the vault.

I step into a short, dark hall, and after a few feet, I find a chainmail curtain. I touch it and feel the slight, almost intangible hiss of iron against my skin. It doesn’t do much to me, but this would poison a full-blooded Fey.

It wouldalsodestroy a magical Fey moth. Mordred’s little spy flew in here, brushed against chainmail, and extinguished its own magic.

I push the chainmail curtain aside and step into a stone room. From above, a shaft of moonlight pours inside.

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