Page 111 of Avalon Tower
She pivots and stalks into the hall.
“You’re not telling the truth, are you?” Raphael’s eyes search mine like he’s trying to read me. He’s sifting through each one of my secrets. I can feel it, and it sends a shiver up my spine. Does he know that every night before I go to sleep, I think of him, of being curled up in his arms and breathing his scent?
A bell rings inside the hall, signaling that I’m about to start.
I swallow hard. Tell people the things they need to hear to calm them down. My ever-faithful strategy. “I’m going to go in now,” I say in a dulcet tone I always used to placate Mom and give him a sweet smile. “It will be fine, Raphael. You taught me everything I need to know. You’re a brilliant teacher.”
I clean up messes. It’s what I do. I keep people calm, happy, and safe. I’m a balm to soothe panic and rage and bare feet pierced with broken glass. I’m a blanket of fog to cool a sofa burning from a lit cigarette. I smile at the police when they come to the door, and I get them to leave happy. “Everything will be fine,” I say again, touching his shoulder.
His ice-cold gaze doesn’t soften.
The heavy wooden doors to the main hall are shut, and I push them open with all my strength. They slam against the walls, announcing me with a loud crash. The room falls still, and everyone turns to look at me.
Cadets and teachers pack the chamber, seated on rows of bleachers that surround the combat hall. Just for me. There are even some faces I haven’t seen in Avalon Tower before, members of MI-13 who’ve come to watch me, including some with gold torcs. In the center of the room, the veil writhes before the mage.
Its power is immense, the humming in my ears drowning out everything else. A roiling cloud of magical mist shimmering with colors, thick and impossible to look through it. It’s not very big. Ten feet high, maybe, and six feet wide, a gleaming wall of magic towering over me.
A few feet away from the veil stands Wrythe and a figure draped in black robes—the veil mage.
“Nia.” Raphael’s deep voice stops me in my tracks, and I look back at him. “I gave you an order, Nia. I ordered you to tell me the truth.”
I stare at him, aghast. Why is he so determined to fuck up my focus right before the trial that means everything? Right here, in front of everyone.
“Not now,” I whisper.
I can feel everyone staring at us.
“Not now?” His voice is cold and quiet. It’s like I don’t quite know him anymore. “I’m a knight. I’m not your friend, Nia. I brought you to this academy for a reason, and it wasn’t because I liked you. I need you to be a Sentinel. I don’t know what foolish notions you’ve got in your head, but you should have done as I told you. I see now that I was right about you before, wasn’t I? You’re a spoiled, selfish girl who grew up in dissolute chaos, and as a consequence, you know nothing of the real world, or of war, or of what it means to make sacrifices for other people. As far as you’re concerned, this is all a game.”
I stare at him, stunned. My cheeks flame red, and my stomach twists with nausea. “What happened to you?”
His face is an expressionless mask. “What happened to me? I don’t think you understand.” He leans closer. “I don’t think I like you very much, and I never have.” He seems to hesitate for a moment, and his fingers tighten into fists. “From what I can tell now, trash is a perfectly accurate description.”
There it is. The blow I’ve been waiting for all along. The heartbreak I knew he’d deliver. My eyes sting, and a lump forms in my throat. He’s the same fucking Raphael he always was. The one who ruined my life all those years ago.
A bolt of rage thuds in my head, making it hard to think. I turn away from him, stepping deeper into the room. The veil’s humming is muffled now because all I hear is the rhythmic beating of my own heart. My chest is aching and hollow.
My gaze flicks to the enormous portrait of Merlin hanging on the wall. He wears a deep blue robe flecked with silver stars. I think of him, imprisoned in that oak tree by the woman he loved. Sealed up, abandoned, with roots growing into his chest.
I am the cold mist coiling over the lake, I tell myself.
I pause, fury igniting my blood.
I turn back to Raphael. A woman with white-blonde hair stands beside him, and it takes me a minute to remember her name. Ginevra, I think—the Pendragon agent with a gold torc. She’s tall and elegant, her hair neatly swept up into something like a tiara. And she’s whispering to him, her eyes sliding to me.
I’m now utterly distracted from the extremely important task I’m about to undertake.
But right now, I’m not the calming, soothing Nia who wants to make everyone feel better. Right now, I’m a raging tempest churning the lake waters. I’m the sword forged in fire beneath its surface.
I narrow my eyes at Raphael. “Do you know what, Launcelot?” My voice echoes off the hall.
His attention cuts to me, and Ginevra stares at me with raised brows.
Heat ebbs from my veins, and I feel as if I’m turning to ice. “You’ve proven yourself to be the same self-obsessed twat you always were. You don’t have to be wealthy to think you’re better than everyone else, do you? To some people, arrogance comes just as naturally as breathing. And in reality, Raphael, I saved your ass more than once, you egomaniacal, solipsistic, stuck-up prick. Do not speak to me again unless it’s an order. Unless it’s life or death. You’re not good enough to speak to me, and you never were.”
My words have a growl in them that echoes off the combat hall. Raphael visibly flinches. Good.
The hum and buzz of the veil returns, and wrath floods my veins. I turn back to the veil mage. I know everyone is staring, stunned. I know they’ll be talking about this for weeks.