Page 98 of Lady of the Lake

I whirl, heart thumping. Wrythe stands beyond the iron chainmail. His long, black cloak drapes to the floor, and his eyes gleam like pale coins. Behind him are Tarquin, Genivieve, and two of the biggest goons I’ve ever seen.

“Get her,” Wrythe says.

I unsheathe a knife, but my movement is slow and clumsy. Something is wrong with me. I try to summon the power of the three, but I can no longer feel their presence at all.

One of the goons grabs my wrist, his touch clammy and rough. I tug at my powers, trying to seize control of his mind, but it’s like I’m trying to scoop water from an empty well. Nothing but dust. The magic is gone, dried up. I’m empty.

Wrythe’s lackey twists my hand, and I scream and let go of the knife. It clatters to the floor, and the other guard grabsmy left hand. Tarquin and Genivieve don’t move from Wrythe’s sides. The two of them areglowingwith joy at my current situation. Absolutely lit up by schadenfreude.

“What?” I say, my mouth feeling numb. “What did you do to me?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Wrythe says dryly, “but you’re standing in a room where many experiments were performed, biological agents cultivated. Agents that work against magic. Some of them are bound to be in the air. Harmless for pure humans, of course. But you’re not human, are you? You’re tainted. A mongrel.”

I stare at him, seething. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because, as I’ve said repeatedly, the Fey are dangerous and need to be exterminated. For good.”

“Youinflicted the famine on Brocéliande. You’re the reason they invaded in the first place.”

Wrythe sighs. “I wish I could say that. That was my father. A brilliant man, truly. I’m merely finishing what he started. And I’ve hardly done it alone. Sir Kay was very much aware of what we were doing and approved of it. To a certain extent.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“You didn’t know him,” Wrythe says, his voice rough. “He was pragmatic. The Fey were a threat, and threats require solutions.”

Tarquin’s voice cuts through the moment. “We should search her. She hides blades.” He steps forward eagerly. “I’ll do it.”

“No,” Wrythe says, eyes narrowing. “Genivieve will. You’ve been fooled by her tricks before.”

Color flares in Tarquin’s cheeks, but he steps back. Genivieve saunters closer to me with a mocking smile. Her hands roam over me. She finds my sleeve knife, the blade in my boot, and my lockpicks.

“I knew you weren’t worthy of an Avalon Steel torc,” Wrythe says. “A worthy agent would never step inside a well-protected room without making sure he had all the information. You tripped the alarm as soon as you opened the portrait in the hall.”

Tarquin chuckles. “And you thought we didn’t know you’d returned. We had eyes on you as soon as you landed in Camelot. It was cute how you sent your friends to watch out downstairs, not even realizing there’s another entrance in here, through the Pendragon quarters.”

“Enough, Tarquin,” Wrythe murmurs. “You don’t need to tell her everything.”

But Tarquin bristles, his lip curling. “You thought you were the clever ones, but we were always one step ahead.”

“Enough!” Wrythe snaps, and the word cracks through the air.

I stand there, cold realization seeping into my bones. I should have known.

This place isn’t just an academy. It’s a trap for the demi-Fey. They’d lured us right into it, invited us to enroll so they could use us, then arrest us.

The Pendragons weren’t helping us in Brocéliande. They never bothered with the actual war. All their effort was pointed internally at Avalon Tower, at the demi-Fey. Spying onus, figuring out how they could take over and crush their “enemy from within.”

“What’s this?” Genivieve’s voice slices the silence as she pulls something from my boot. Silver gleams in the moonlight. An inert moth, its wings dull.

“Give that to me.” Wrythe’s eyes are bright with a hunger that turns my stomach.

He takes the moth, turning it over with fascination. I stare, and a sharp tendril of dread coils through my gut.

This one was so light and flat, I didn’t feel it when Mordred dropped it into my boot or notice it when I put the boot back on.

Hedidalways tell me not to trust anyone.

“Well,” Wrythe says, “isn’t this interesting? Nephew, perhaps you should fetch your new friend.”

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